#this chapter ate me alive

[dirtgrubber]

“You jumped off a building without a second thought?” He says in disbelief. His hand delicately clasps onto Lucifer’s shoulder blade, a careful touch. “Hmm. Aren’t you reckless.”

from @morningstarwrites Of Saints And Sinners

[punkshort]

i know who you are | 7. the week

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Chapter Summary: Joel is on a mission to win you back. You struggle with your feelings and visit an old friend for some perspective.

Chapter Warnings: language, angst, pining, sad!Joel, amnesia, slow burn, physical violence, wounds/blood/injuries/gore, vague reference to suicide (Joel remembering his incident after Sarah), alcohol consumption, non-descriptive smutty memory, mentions of murder (adults and children), mentions of pregnancy (not reader)

WC: 7.7K

A/N: I took some liberties with the background of the Fireflies, it's not exactly canon.

Series Masterlist

Somewhere in Northern California

It took two days.

Two full days of freezing temperatures and frigid wind as he traversed up and down mountains, through snow covered forests with little to no shelter, but he finally made it. Right before nightfall, he approached the edge of the town you grew up in. The town your parents still lived in ten years ago. The town that holds a history of you and everything you hold dear.

It was too dark and he was too tired to enter the town and go any further, but fortune smiled upon him for the first time since he left Jackson when he spotted a dilapidated woodshed tucked into the forest. It was small, no bigger than a bedroom, but it would do. It would be the first time in two days he would get to sleep with a roof over his head, and he desperately needed it.

He grossly overestimated his ability to survive out in the wild. He did it before, of course, but life in Jackson made him soft. Made him complacent. Made him weak.

Time took its toll on his body. His age was an offensive reminder every time his knees creaked or his back twinged. He wasn't as fast as he used to be, nor as strong. But he was determined and stubborn, two things that would never change.

With hands trembling from the cold, he jabbed his knife into the lock and broke it with ease, a small triumph in an otherwise unforgiving journey. The shed was mostly empty, save for a pile of wood and an axe. Plenty of room for both him and the horse.

After he scattered some oats on the floor, he grabbed his rifle and marched back out into the snowy tundra to do a perimeter check, knowing he would fall asleep the moment he allowed himself to slow down. By the time he deemed the area safe, he retreated back into the woodshed and lit a fire in the tiny furnace to warm up a bit.

Once he got feeling back in his fingers, he cracked open some stew and ate it cold straight from the can, too impatient to warm it up and too eager to get some rest. The wind howled outside, practically screaming at him with every gust: How could you say that to me?

The horse nickered softly, her head lowered, one back leg cocked as she began to doze off. He laid on the wooden floor, partially resting inside his sleeping bag, ready to strike if there was an intruder. The back of his wrist laid against his forehead while he stared blankly at the ceiling, wondering for the umpteenth time if what he was doing was even going to work. If he would even be capable of finding your house in this town, let alone finding any pictures still in good enough condition to bring back to you.

But it was all he had.

You had mentioned to him when he was sick, after you saw the photo of Sarah, how you wished you had pictures of your family. You looked so somber and distant and he was once again reminded that even though you lost them ten years ago, in your mind you only lost them months ago.

He couldn't imagine losing Sarah twice. Waking up one day, thinking she was alive and healthy and late for school just to be told she was killed mercilessly ten years prior and died in his arms. You were so much stronger than him. You always were. You were told your whole world changed, your family gone, and then tossed into a house with him, pressured by everyone every damn day to regain your memories and become a completely different person when he knew deep down if the same had happened to him, his answer would lie at the end of a barrel. But unlike before, he might not flinch.

You really fucking hurt me, Joel.

He rubbed his face aggressively, the pain and anguish in your voice haunting him. This trip left him with too much time to get lost in his thoughts, too much time to wallow in his grief and replay every single painful memory from the past several days.

Sighing, he dropped his hands to his chest and tried to think about something else. Letting his eyes drift shut, he let his mind wander back to before. Before your accident, before he fucked everything up, back to a time when you were happy and stupidly in love.

"What's cookin', good lookin'?" he heard your voice behind him.

He grinned as he stirred a pot of sauce on the stove while you wrapped your arms around his midsection, burying your face against his back.

"My accent rubbin' off on you now?"

You giggled and let go, walking over to grab the bottle of whiskey and pouring you each a glass.

"Maybe."

You handed him his glass and clinked them together before taking a sip.

"How was patrol?" he asked, turning his attention back to the pasta.

"Boring," you replied, hopping up onto the counter next to him, swinging your legs back and forth. "Jesse has a lot of work to do. He's not seasoned enough to be out there without one of us."

He nodded thoughtfully and lifted the spoon up to your lips to taste the sauce. "Needs lemon," you said, licking your upper lip while he snatched a lemon from a basket in the corner of the kitchen and sliced it in half.

"Yeah, I know, but he's got potential. Just gotta get him to focus a bit more. Gotta be more aware of his surroundings."

You hummed and rubbed the back of your neck with a wince.

"You hurtin'?" he asked, but you shook your head immediately.

"Just tired."

"You sure?" he said while he strained the pasta. "I can rub your neck later."

"Oh, well in that case, yes. I'm absolutely aching over here," you said with a smile.

"Don't tempt me, baby," he told you, setting down the pot before wedging himself between your knees, his hands rubbing over your thighs. "Might not stop at your neck."

"Is that right?" you teased, pulling your lower lip between your teeth playfully.

"Mhmm. First it's your neck, then shoulders," he said, pressing a gentle kiss against your lips, "then your back," he dragged his hands up your back and pressed you forward, nearly pulling you off the counter.

"Then what?" you asked breathlessly, arms loosely draping around the back of his neck.

"Before y'know it, you'll be pullin' at my belt, tellin' me you got an ache someplace else 'n you need me to stuff you full of my cock." His hands dragged up and down your back, his mouth nipping gently at your throat as you tipped your head back with a gasp.

"You know me so well," you murmured, a lazy smirk spreading across your face when you felt the urgency behind his touch.

"Yeah I do, baby," his words getting lost against your skin, "know you like the back of my hand. Know what makes you tick. What makes you feel good. Know what makes you scream my fuckin' name." His lips slotted over yours urgently, the pasta cold and long forgotten as you wrapped your legs around his waist and pulled him close.

"Take me to bed, Joel," you begged after you pulled your head away, breaking the kiss and then quickly latching onto his neck. "Need you. I want - shit!" you cursed when one of you accidentally pushed a plate off the counter and it smashed into pieces against the floor.

"Leave it, don't care," he said, picking you up and pulling your attention off the shards of ceramic littering the floor. "I'll clean it up later."

His eyes popped open, the echo of your giggle from that night bouncing around his skull. It was almost laughable now, thinking he felt lonely before compared to how he felt in the middle of fucking nowhere with only a sleeping horse to keep him company.

He wasn't stupid. He knew he would need to do more than bring home some pictures to convince you to forgive him. But it was a start, and maybe, just maybe with time, you would come to understand what you meant to him.

And if he was really lucky, he might end up meaning something to you, too.

It was stupid and it didn't mean anything.

That's what you kept telling yourself ever since Joel left and you found yourself curling up in his bed at night instead of yours.

His bed was more comfortable. His room didn't store the bad memories of your fight. It was simply easier to sleep there.

It certainly didn't have anything to do with the way the sheets still smelled like him. Like the soap you both used combined with the outdoors and a hint of his sweat. And on the third night when you picked out a flannel of his from the closet and wrapped it around yourself, it was only because it was a particularly frigid night.

You didn't miss him.

Well, you missed having another person in the house, sure. But you didn't miss him on some deeper level. Maria and Ellie were wrong. They had no idea what they were talking about. They had no idea what was going through your head, what you were feeling, what you were struggling with.

There was no possible way you could have feelings for Joel. Not after everything he did and said. Not after the lies and the cheating and the deception.

But then why, when you were struggling to fall asleep at night, did your mind always wander back to the way he looked at you in the meadow, or the way his arms felt wrapped around you on the back of the horse, or the way he made you laugh when you played Monopoly?

And why did it feel like a part of you left with him that night?

"Pathetic," you muttered to yourself, pulling the sheets tighter and rolling over onto your side, his soft, worn flannel like butter against your bare skin. You squeezed your eyes shut, forcing the memories from your mind and instead, replaying what he told you about the hospital.

He almost killed you. He was seconds away from putting a bullet in your head and only after presumably begging for your life did he let you go, and then he had the nerve to keep that information from you not only once, but fucking twice.

He was protecting Ellie.

But he still shouldn't have lied.

With a groan, you rolled onto your back and stared up at the ceiling, sleep so far out of reach you didn't even feel like trying anymore. Then a thought occurred to you:

You weren't the only one he let live. There were two other people in Jackson who were there, who were shown mercy and didn't appear to hold any resentment towards him for it. In fact, they seemed rather happy with the second chance they were given.

You hadn't seen Ben or Lisa in a long time. The opportunity never presented itself for you to seek any perspective from them about that day.

Perhaps it was time to change that.

It took him a few hours to scope out the town and venture out of the woods, but by late morning he was heading down what looked to be one of the main thoroughfares in town, eyes squinting against the blowing snow as he tried to pinpoint the location of town hall.

All he remembered was your street name but he had absolutely no idea how to find it, so his plan was to break into the town hall and find a map. From there, he prayed Ellie's drawing was truly accurate enough to narrow down your parents' house.

He was freezing. His face was numb and his back was fucking killing him from riding so much, but he was so close. If he was lucky, he could find your house, get what he needed and head out all before nightfall. Maybe he could even spend another night in the woodshed. It wasn't so bad. At least he was warm.

As he continued to steer his horse down another road, he couldn't help but think Tommy was right about the storm. It was providing him some cover, just in case there were survivors around that wouldn't take kindly to his intrusion. He just hoped it would blow through in a day so his ride back would be clear.

After another thirty minutes of wind whipping at his face, the cold penetrating his coat and several layers underneath, he finally saw it. It was a smaller building than he imaged it to be, but the sign was clear. Hoping that the town size was as small as the town hall, he steered his mare down the drive and through the parking lot, making sure to take in his surroundings, confirming he was truly alone before he slid down from the saddle and trudged through the snow to the front doors.

He wiped away the snow from the window, peering inside before heading to another one and doing the same. It appeared to be empty so he tried the door, unsurprisingly finding it locked. He pulled out his knife and worked on the lock, his fingers stiff and his ears so cold he could barely feel them anymore. Finally, he broke the lock but when he shoved the door, there was something blocking him on the other side.

"Shit," he muttered, glancing around, kicking and dusting snow off the surrounding area, looking for a brick or a rock. Giving up, he grabbed his rifle from the saddle and angrily made his way to the nearest window, smashing the butt of his gun against the glass repeatedly until it shattered. He gasped for air, not realizing how much energy he was exerting before he continued, knocking out as much of the glass as he could.

Sticking his head inside, he looked around. The place seemed empty. It was quiet, covered in dust and debris. Untouched dust was good. It meant nobody had been there in a while. Human or otherwise.

He crawled through the window, taking great care to not catch on any jagged edges. He held his breath, ears straining for any noise that might give someone away, but all he heard was the howling wind outside. This is your fault. Still, he kept his guard up. He walked room to room, finding his way to the lobby and searching the front desk for a map.

"You gotta be fuckin' kiddin' me," he grumbled as he opened and shut each drawer in the desk, only pausing to snatch up an old protein bar and shoving it in his pocket.

With a sigh, he looked around the room. There were a couple benches, chairs that were moved and tipped over, papers scattered about but his eyes were drawn to the portraits on the wall. There were a few paintings of men he would never recognize, unknown sheriffs and mayors, and some framed pictures of the staff, but the one that really drew his attention was the large map on the wall next to the front doors.

It was a road map of the town. Simple, but it was all he needed. He rounded the desk and shined his flashlight over the map, studying it, searching for where he was before looking for your street.

"Grant Street."

"Grant?" he repeated, his fingers lightly skirting up and down your bare back.

"Mhmm," you confirmed, eyes closed, a small, satisfied smile tugging at your lips as you buried your face into his neck.

"That's funny," he said, his hand wandering past your waist and over your ass.

"Why's that?"

"Grant's my Mama's maiden name."

Your eyes opened and locked onto his. "Maybe it's fate, then."

Maybe it was.

Grant was only four blocks north. It didn't look like a very long road, either.

He could do this.

He was so close.

Lisa answered the door with the same look of surprise as before, although this time she was clutching needles and yarn in her left hand while the fire quietly crackled behind her.

"Hey," you said, arms wrapped around yourself as the snow storm continued to swirl behind you. "Can I come in?"

"Oh! Of course!" Lisa said, stepping back, "how rude of me. Can I get you something warm to drink?" She closed the door behind you and took a step towards the kitchen. "I just boiled some water for tea, it's still hot."

"Tea sounds lovely, thank you," you said as you hung up your coat and scarf, trying your best not to make a mess of melted snow all over her floor.

She told you to make yourself comfortable while she prepared your tea, so you wandered into her tiny living room, the space seeming a little larger now without your two imposing men.

"Where's Ben?"

"Working," she said, setting down a teacup and saucer next to hers. "I put a little sugar in it."

"Oh, thank you, that's perfect. I like it sweet," you replied, sitting down on the same couch as before and bringing the cup to your lips.

"I know, I remember," she said, and when she sat down and fixed her billowy top, you noticed for the first time the small bump protruding low on her hips.

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise and she followed your gaze.

"Oh, yes," her tone soft, "I'm due this spring."

"Wow. Congratulations, Lisa. That's wonderful, I had no idea. I thought I would have seen you from time to time at the infirmary," you explained, setting down your tea.

"Nick agrees to see me after hours, sometimes he makes house calls," she said, picking up her needles again.

You titled your head to the side. "Why do you want to be seen after hours?"

Her lips pressed into a thin line, eyes fixed on the yellow blanket she was making. "I still find it difficult sometimes to face some of the others in town, I suppose. I know I shouldn't but the guilt sticks with me."

"Guilt?"

Her eyes flicked up to yours and she shifted her weight. "I know Ben mentioned the Fireflies to you." She held out her wrist, showing you the small moth-like symbol tattooed there. "I'm not sure how much you know or remember-"

"Actually, that's why I'm here," you said, taking a deep breath. "Joel told me everything. About the Fireflies. About the hospital."

Her eyes widened, the needles abandoned in her lap.

"Oh."

"Yeah," you said, chewing on your lip and glancing at the fire. "He told me what he did there. Told me he spared us, let us go."

"Yes, he did," she agreed softly.

"Can you tell me more about that day?" you asked, dragging your eyes back to meet hers. "I'm having trouble understanding how I could have known this before and still managed to fall in love with him."

She frowned. "What do you mean?"

You laughed dryly and shrugged. "I mean he almost killed us. He killed countless innocent people, friends of ours I'm assuming, and I'm expected to believe I just looked past it? We just looked past it?" You motioned between the two of you. "He's a murderer, Lisa. He-"

"We're murderers," she corrected, and you fell silent. "We killed innocent people. We helped lead a revolution that resulted in hundreds of deaths, and where did that get us? Nowhere! People weren't any better off. In fact, they were worse. Friends and family killed, caught in the crossfire, tangled up in this idea of freedom and safety and giving their lives to an empty cause."

You swallowed as you watched Lisa's face, her eyes fiery and her tone hardened, transforming into a different version of herself before your very eyes.

"What Joel did..." she trailed off as she thought back to that day. "We did bad things. So did he, but he single handedly cut the Fireflies off at the legs. He stopped the insanity, stopped the war, stopped the ridiculous experiments and half baked ideas to save the world, regardless of the lives lost along the way. You don't remember, I understand, but allow me to explain."

"Please," you begged softly, "please tell me everything."

She rested a palm against her swelling stomach and leaned back. "We realized we made a mistake pretty early on," she began, "but we didn't have anywhere else to go. We had been living in the wild for so long. We were tired and hungry and weak and we fell for it. Fell for the sales pitch when they found us. We were told we wouldn't have to fight, but they didn't tell us what they expected us to do."

"W-what did we do?" you stammered, sitting on the edge of your seat.

"We killed people. Innocent people, point blank. FEDRA soldiers. Civilians who ratted out our location for extra food for their family. Children-" her voice wobbled a bit as she looked down at her stomach. "Children who were experimented on, vaccine prototypes tested on, who became horribly disfigured a-and screaming in pain, begging to be put out of their misery-"

"Okay," you said, cutting her off and taking a deep breath, unable to hear much more. It was becoming clear why Joel kept this from you, and although you had a right to know, you were beginning to understand his motivation. He was trying to protect you.

"Anyway," Lisa continued, flicking a tear from her cheek, "we planned on getting out. We couldn't do it anymore. Then, Joel showed up."

You held your breath, waiting for her to continue.

"We were doing perimeter checks. Loosening a spot in the gate so we could sneak out later that night. Then we heard the gunshots. And at first, we thought some infected got in. It was the perfect distraction, so we grabbed our gear and made a run for it."

She paused to take a sip from her tea, her eyes looking miles away.

"We almost made it. We were in the parking garage loading up a vehicle when he snuck up behind us. Told us to lay face down on the ground with our hands behind our heads. We never saw him and it wasn't until later we found out he was all alone. The whole time we were convinced it had to have been a group of men. It seemed impossible for one man to do what he did, but somehow..."

She trailed off again and cleared her throat.

"He gave us a second chance when we didn't deserve it," she said solemnly. "You and Ben dealt with the weight of what we did far better than me. I still struggle with the guilt, I can't..." she looked up at you, "I hope you never remember."

A chill went down your spine and you nodded.

"Try not to hold it against him," she said, offering you a small smile. "We've all done terrible things. It's not all black and white."

It ain't black and white.

"Yeah, okay," you replied quietly, standing up from the couch, your mind reeling. "Thanks," you added, motioning to the tea before she walked you to the door, "and congratulations again."

"Thank you," she said, rubbing her belly, her green eyes sparkling. "I'm glad you stopped by. The truth is sometimes ugly, but that doesn't mean you don't deserve to understand the whole picture." You nodded and bent over to shove on your boots. "Joel's not a bad man. I'm sure he was just trying to protect you by leaving some things out about our past. He would have told you eventually."

When the whole goddamn world ends and all you got left is one or two people you care 'bout, you'll do whatever you gotta do to protect 'em.

"Yeah, I'm starting to realize that now," you said, shrugging on your coat with a wry smile.

The whole way home, you practically kicked yourself for not visiting Lisa sooner. Maybe it would have made a difference, maybe not. But it finally felt like a missing puzzle piece was back in place and you could begin to make sense of your confusing feelings for Joel.

Ellie was incredibly talented.

He needed to make sure to remind her of that when he got home because even through the blowing snow, in near whiteout conditions, he was still able to figure out which house was yours because Ellie's drawing was so detailed, so accurate that it almost felt like he had been there before.

He was eager and impatient. He just wanted to get inside and get what he needed and leave, but before he did, he peered inside the windows and did a walk around the whole house three times, just in case. It was a small brick ranch and if the snow wasn't so thick, he would be able to see the black shutters framing the front windows, just like in the drawing.

He shouldered open the side garage door first, a pile of fluffy snow spilling over the hard concrete as he stumbled in and shimmied open the roll top door so he could bring his mare inside.

He pat her between the eyes, murmuring his thanks for being so damn tough and sprinkled some more oats on the ground before slipping inside the house.

The door from the attached garage led right into a kitchen, which, by the looks of it, was rifled through on more than one occasion. No doubt some survivors had come through over the years and turned the place upside down for anything useful, but that didn't matter to him. What he needed wouldn't be stolen.

Glancing at the fridge, he paused when he saw some photos stuck to the door. He leaned his rifle against the wall and shook his head, curls flinging melted snow over the dusty floor, then bent over to examine the pictures. Most of them didn't have you and he began to worry he was in the wrong house after all, but then he saw it: at the very top was a picture of four people, all wearing summer clothes and Mickey Mouse ears with the Cinderella castle in the background. A middle aged man and woman bookended a young man, lean but muscular with his arm draped around your shoulders.

You were younger, maybe still in high school, and your hair was longer and lighter, but he would recognize that smile anywhere.

He carefully plucked the photo from the fridge and brought it closer, his eyes raking over every detail of the picture, from the brightness in your eyes to the cotton candy pink sky behind you.

You looked so happy.

Nothing like the way you looked when he last saw you: broken and bruised. Ruined and dejected. Because of him.

You spared my life just to break my heart.

He blinked and pocketed the photo before turning around. The living room was in worse condition. It appeared someone must have stayed there at one point because the couches were shifted around, an armchair wedged in front of the door, cushions flung around haphazardly.

He had to move furniture out of the way, dig around a bit through broken bookshelves, but he managed to finally unearth an old photo album. Resting on one of the couch cushions with a huff, he took a few moments to flip through it, smiling now and then when he saw an especially cute picture of you. The wind outside was howling so loudly, the old house creaking with every gust that he couldn't hear when footsteps slowly crept up behind him and knocked him unconscious with the butt of his own rifle.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

He knew better. He should have scoped out the inside of the house before getting distracted. But he was too excited and too eager to get what he came for that he forgot his own rules. And he took for granted the snowstorm would hide his tracks.

Now he was hunched over on the living room floor, leaning against the wall with his wrists tied behind his back while five raiders went through his things.

"Hey man, don't you like peaches?"

"Fuck yeah I do, give it here."

Joel groaned, the back of his head throbbing, thick, sticky blood slowly trickling down the back of his neck.

"He's waking up."

"Hey, princess, how's the head?" one said with a sinister laugh. Joel ignored him.

"You got some nice shit. Wanna tell us where your camp is?"

Joel opened his eyes and glared at the man in front of him, wearing a leather jacket and leather gloves and a black bandana pulling his dark, wiry hair off his scarred face.

"Fuck you."

The punch came fast and hard across his jaw, making him see stars for a moment. The other men chuckled and got back to dividing up his things.

"You wanna try that again?" the first man asked, crouching down in front of him. Joel tugged on the rope holding his wrists together. The knot was tight but it wasn't foolproof. He just needed a little time to loosen it up.

"Don't got a camp."

"Bullshit," the man barked, spitting against the wall next to Joel's head. "Ain't nobody out here with this kinda gear and a goddamn horse roughing it all alone. Now, just tell us the city and we'll take it from there. We'll even let you live."

He heard one of the other men scoff but the rest remained quiet, and if Joel wasn't already convinced they were planning to kill him either way, he definitely was now.

"Boise."

"Boise?" he repeated, and Joel nodded, twisting his hands behind his back, feeling the coarse rope burn against his skin. The man in the leather jacket sighed and hung his head before landing another blow, this time across the mouth. Joel's lower lip got snagged on his teeth and tore. Blood trickled down his chin as he angrily whipped his head back towards the raider.

"I told you what you wanted!"

"You fed me a bunch of bullshit is what you did," he said, kicking Joel in the ribs. He gasped for air, doubled over against the wall, coughing and spraying blood across the faded floral wallpaper. He wondered if your parents did the wallpaper themselves, if your mom picked it out, or did the house already come like that?

Joel tugged harder on the rope, feeling it start to give. He needed to stay focused. He needed to make every move count if he wanted to get out of this alive.

The raider pulled a revolver from the back of his pants - Joel's revolver - and flipped it over in his hands. Back and forth, back and forth. Then he leaned forward and pressed the barrel against Joel's forehead.

"I'll give you one more chance, asshole," he said, his dark eyes boring into Joel's, "tell us where your camp is or else I shoot you in the fucking head."

"What the hell was he doing here anyway?"

"Shut up, Mike," the guy in the leather growled, eyes still trained on Joel.

"No, but seriously. There's nothing in this house worth taking. We've been through this neighborhood months ago."

The raider's eyes flickered around the room and Joel tugged harder on his restraints when he looked away. Then the man spotted the photo album lying face down on the ground.

"What's this?" he asked, lowering the gun and picking up the album. He began to flip through it and Joel felt the rope finally give. The raider let out a low whistle and slid a photo out to look at it closer. "Don't tell me you came out in the middle of a storm just to find something to jack off to," he teased, holding up a photo of you in a yellow bikini by a pool. He flipped the picture back around and grinned. When he went to stuff it in his pocket, his attention momentarily diverted, Joel took his opportunity to strike.

In the blink of an eye, he snatched the revolver from the raider's fingers and shot him in the temple, his body immediately falling limply to the side. Wet, sticky blood sprayed all over Joel's hand but he just tightened his grip on the gun, taking aim and bringing down another one of the men while they were still too stunned to move.

"Fuck!" one of the remaining three men screamed as they scrambled for cover. Joel ducked behind the couch and held his breath, straining to hear the scuffling of their boots, trying to pinpoint where they were in the small room. When he heard one of them accidentally knock against the kitchen table, the wooden legs scraping against the linoleum, he straightened up and took aim, taking out another man with a bullet right between the eyes, but unfortunately one of the last two men got a shot in as well.

The bullet grazed against his left bicep. Joel hissed and ducked back behind the couch. He would deal with it later.

"Come on, man, we can work something out," one of the men called out after a minute. "Let's just go our separate ways. Act like this never-"

Joel jumped up and shot the man in the cheek, the bullet traveling through his mouth and out the back of his head, leaving brain matter that looked like globs of gelatin dripping down the kitchen cupboards after he fell lifelessly to the ground.

Joel stepped towards the kitchen, now only one on one. He got cocky. He was feeling too confident with how quickly he took out the group. He didn't even see it coming when the knife lodged into his side, just above his hip. Without thinking, he yanked the knife out, twisted around and jammed it into the final raider's throat, watching as he fell to the floor, choking on his own blood, and didn't look away until he stopped twitching.

Adrenaline still coursed through his veins and he used it to his advantage, his left hand pressing weakly against his wound, the wound in his arm preventing it from being very effective while he searched the dead bodies of the men for anything useful. He had brought some first aid with him when he left Jackson but he was too far from home, he would need antibiotics, at least, if he was going to make it back.

Of course, he came up empty, so he snatched his first aid kit from the table and stumbled down the little hallway, searching for a bathroom. He knew it was a lost cause, the raiders already admitted to clearing the place out months ago, but he had to try.

He flung open the medicine cabinet with a grunt, the pain beginning to set in now. Pressing his bloody fingers against the stab wound as hard as he could, he rummaged around the cabinet, leaving paths of red everywhere his fingers touched, then tried the drawers under the sink.

Nothing.

"Fuck," he muttered, collapsing onto the cool tile floor as he began to sort through his first aid kit. There were no towels left but he was sitting on an old bathmat. He groaned in pain when he lifted his hips to pull the bathmat out, shook out the dust and dirt, then pressed it against his side, bringing his knee up to hold it in place.

With trembling fingers, he threaded a needle. He wiped the blood from his hands on his shirt, but they were stained red. Ripping open his jacket and flannel, he lifted the two other layers he had on underneath and lowered his leg to get a look at the wound.

It was deep and he was losing a lot of blood, but he was fairly certain the knife wasn't long enough to knick any organs. His stomach wasn't swelling, that was a good sign.

He only had a small bottle of antiseptic, so he used most of it to clean the wound and then the needle, saving a little bit to use on his arm later.

He took several quick breaths in, hyping himself up, then paused when he first shoved the needle through his skin. Tears sprung up, blurring his vision, but he blinked them away.

Focus. Focus. Focus.

In and out, in and out, he slowly stitched himself up. The angle was awkward and the stitches were ugly, but it got the job done: the bleeding stopped. His heart was hammering in his chest, sweat poured from the sides of his head, mixing with all the blood drying on his face and beard. He slumped to the ground with a pained groan, lying flat on the floor in a pool of his own blood, staring up at the ceiling. He just needed a moment to rest, a moment to catch his breath and then he would go.

Would he ever see you again? Would you ever even know why he came out there? Would you always wonder what happened to him? You told him you cared about him, but was that even true anymore? After what he did?

"C'mon, baby, gimme a sign," he whispered to himself, "gimme a sign that I still got a chance in hell 'cause if I don't, I'm not sure I got the strength to make it home." Tears welled up in his eyes again and this time he let them fall. He sniffled and waited. For what, he wasn't sure. Divine intervention? Genius to strike? A brilliant idea to form? But all he heard was the blowing wind outside.

The tile felt so cool against his burning hot skin. A small voice in the back of his head told him the longer he stayed there the weaker he would become, but he was just so tired. He rolled his head to the side, his eyes about to slide shut when he saw it: a dusty, opaque orange bottle rolled all the way against the wall underneath the sink.

Blinking a few times, he wondered if he was imagining it.

He wasn't.

Stretching his arm out, he slowly reached underneath the vanity and pulled out the half empty bottle. Holding it above his face, he squinted at the letters on the faded sticker.

Penicillin. Use as directed by your dentist.

His breath caught in his throat when he read your name on the label.

He finally got his sign.

"What happens when we die?"

"What?"

You rolled over onto your side to face him, wrapping your arm around his waist. He looked so peaceful, lying in bed like that. His eyes closed, face relaxed. You repeated your question.

"Don't know," he said, cracking open one eye to look at you. "Haven't died yet."

You giggled and he smiled, pulling you closer. He smelled so good. Like the rain and sex and smoke from the fire.

"I mean... do you think there's a heaven?"

He hummed and kissed the top of your head, his fingers lightly trailing up and down your bare arm.

"Yeah, I do."

You swallowed nervously and drew invisible circles into his skin, making him shiver.

"Do you think..." you trailed off and he froze, picking up on your tone.

"What, darlin'?"

"Do you think we'll make it? To heaven, I mean?"

His eyebrows pinched together. "Why wouldn't we?"

"You know why," you replied softly, "we've done bad things, Joel."

"Yeah, but we ain't bad people," he reminded you, then rolled over, pushing you onto your back so his arms caged you in. One knee slotted between yours and you spread your legs, hooking your ankles around the backs of his thighs.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure," he said, dipping his chin down and pressing his lips firmly against yours. You sighed, your shoulders finally relaxing. "Besides, this is heaven right here," he murmured against your mouth, feeling you smile.

"Ain't nothin' better than this."

You awoke with a gasp, your heart fluttering wildly in your chest. That was the first time you had a dream about Joel, and something about it made you uneasy.

You had slept in his bed the entire week, wrapped in his clothes, and today was the day you had expected him to come home. Shrugging off the dream to no more than your subconscious fixated on his return, you forced yourself to get out of bed, fixing the sheets so it wouldn't look like you had been sleeping there and then headed to your room to change and freshen up.

The past couple days you had secretly hoped he would come back sooner but you refused to let it show. If Ellie or Dina or Maria asked you about it, you played it cool, or at least you thought you did. But every night you stayed up as late as you could, curled up on the couch all alone, waiting. Every time someone walked by, your body stiffened and your pulse raced, expecting to hear his heavy footsteps walking up the porch, but they never came.

But today was the day. The seventh day. His note said a week, and you knew if Joel was alive, he would stick to his word.

His absence afforded you a lot of time to think. Time you didn't realize you desperately needed, and now that you were able to process everything clearly without his overwhelming presence muddying the waters, you felt confident you knew what you wanted now.

All day at work, you were distracted. Nick had to call your name repeatedly to get your attention on more than one occasion, and by the fifth time you felt guilty. He didn't say anything, though. He understood. By then, most of the town knew Joel had left. Word spread like wildfire, especially once the storm passed through. It didn't take a genius to figure out how difficult it would be to survive all alone in those conditions.

Then the rumors started.

You tried to ignore them, but it was hard. When people began drinking and getting loud in the dining hall, it was impossible not to hear.

When you heard a man claim he saw Joel's horse frozen in a river during patrol, you stopped going to the dining hall to eat.

It was dark, it was just a deer, Tommy had told you later after he went out to the river to check, but it still shook you up.

When the sun set on Jackson on the seventh day and Joel still hadn't returned, the fear began to take hold. Your stomach churned, making it impossible to eat the following morning. You had hardly slept, the bags under your eyes dark and heavy. Nick begged you to take the day off but you insisted you needed to stay busy, although it didn't help much. On your lunch break you tried to casually walk by the main gate, the one near the stables, hoping to catch a glimpse of him returning, but you had no such luck.

So you went back to work. You kept your hands busy, tried to keep your mind occupied, but it was impossible.

I'll spend the rest of my life makin' it up to you.

You couldn't get those words out of your head. The guilt was weighing you down as you grew worried that was going to be one of the last things he ever said to you.

"Went on a date the other night."

"With who?"

"Cindy, from the kitchen."

Ricky laughed heartily and Andrew smacked his shoulder with the back of his hand.

"Shut up, man. We're on watch, we can't be giving ourselves away."

"It's the middle of the goddamn night and we haven't seen any infected in weeks. It's too cold for them, they're all frozen somewhere waiting to thaw in the spring," Ricky said, shouldering his rifle.

"Yeah, but still. You never know. There's more than just infected out there."

Ricky chuckled and shook his head. "Tommy telling you ghost stories again?"

"Raiders ain't ghost stories, asshole," Andrew shot back.

"And raiders never make it this far up the mountains, asshole," Ricky replied, mocking Andrew's tone.

Andrew grumbled under his breath and strolled away from the tower, towards the gate, his eyes scanning the treeline. He couldn't see a damn thing. It was pitch black and deathly quiet.

He turned on his heel and began the slow walk back towards the tower where he could see Ricky unwrapping a granola bar and pulling a paperback book from his back pocket.

Just as he was about to chastise him for letting his guard down, he heard twigs snapping in the woods. He whipped around, bringing his rifle up so he could get a better look with his scope.

"What the hell was that?" Ricky's whisper materialized in his ear.

"Dunno. Something's out there."

Ricky lifted his own rifle and scanned the trees as well, both of them holding their breath, waiting for another noise.

"Maybe-"

Then they heard more twigs snapping and pine trees raking against fabric. Louder this time.

"Fuck," Ricky muttered nervously, his palms growing sweaty inside his gloves.

"There," Andrew said lowly, and Ricky followed his aim. Something was approaching in the dark. Something big.

"I got it."

"No, just wait a second," Andrew said, squinting through the scope. Then his jaw went slack when he realized what it was.

"It's a horse."

"What?"

"It's a fucking horse, bro," Andrew repeated, his voice rising a little.

When it finally emerged from the forest, they saw the rider slumped over, covered in snow, their face buried in the horse's mane.

"Holy shit," Andrew said, slinging his rifle over his shoulder and racing towards the ladder. "Radio Tommy!"

"W-what do I say?" Ricky stammered, fumbling with the radio dial.

"Tell him it's Joel!"

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[longing-for-the-past-times]

The four times you fell asleep on Ghost and the one time Ghost fell asleep on you - five.

simon 'ghost' riley x fem!reader

word count: 9k (as you will see, a lot of stuff happens)

synopsis: When the mission goes south and you end up in the hands of the enemy, Ghost finds himself alone and angry, reflecting on what your presence actually means to him.

warnings: violence, graphic descriptions of torture, occasional swearing, mentions of smoking, hurt/comfort, slight happy-ending, Ghost being angry and tortured by his inner demons, military inaccuracies

notes: So this is it - the finale of a series that was initially meant to be a one shot consisting of several random fluff-filled scenes. I am actually quite satisfied with how the story turned out, although I have to warn you that this chapter is longer than usual because it consists of several pure narrative parts (background descriptions and such).

If you need therapy after reading this, just dm me the bills and I'll work something out :)

reader's callsign is Bambi (she/her)

find it on ao3 part one part two part three part four part five

masterlist

five.

To say Ghost was angry would have been an understatement. He was fuming, his heavy breathing being the only sound that filled the now-silent room. Even after half an hour had passed, the burning feeling in his chest did not fade away, serving instead as a reminder of his helplessness. He was angry at Laswell for pairing you up with the younger sniper team. He was furious with Price for his decision to not go after you the moment your radio stopped working...

But in the end, he was livid with himself for not being there to protect you in the first place.

He couldn’t shake the guilt that ate him from inside like a parasite, and as the seconds turned into minutes which would be bound to turn into hours, he felt the weight of his inaction suffocating him like he was the one under torture. Clenching his jaw, he began to stomp around the living room of the safe house. The tension in the air was palpable, thick enough to cut with a knife and, as he felt the concerned looks of the others on him, Ghost couldn’t help but replay the events of the past 36 hours in his mind.

He felt he had failed you when it mattered most, but he was determined to set things straight and bring you back unharmed.

Or at least alive and breathing.

--- 28 hours earlier

The sky was painted in golden hues by the time you left the briefing room, the morning air being a cold, yet comforting sensation that welcomed you when you got out of the main base building. Your mind was reeling with a plethora of classified intelligence and even more questions, but at least your adrenaline levels were high enough to chase any remnants of sleep away.

It had been almost a day since you left your apartment, but you weren't in a rush to go back. You would have to pack for the next mission anyway, and the given approximation of "an undefined amount of time" was an additional reason to delay the task. Instead, you went to the only place where you knew you'd find Ghost at this hour: the unofficial smoking spot of the base, named after the lack of security cameras in the area.

And there he was, perched on a plastic chair that made him look comically big and threatened to barely hold his weight. His mask was raised to his nose, highlighting a prominent jawline, peppered with faint scars and a hint of blonde stubble. Involuntarily, your eyes focused on his plump lips and the way they were wrapped around the cigarette, its burning tip glowing orange with each drag he took. His eyes were focused on a random point on the ground, but you knew he had heard you coming- his body had unconsciously shifted towards you, his legs adopting an open stance, almost as if to greet you.

"Thought you said you'd quit", you teased him in a soft tone, dragging a chair and sitting next to him. You opened your mouth to add something but were taken aback when you saw his lips curl up in a gentle smile, accompanied by a weak laugh.

There was no humour in it, but that did not stop you from relishing in the rare sight of Ghost's grin, your eyes once again focusing on the faint scar that rested on his lower lip. You didn't know the story behind it, nobody but Price did, yet that didn't stop you, Soap and Gaz to come up with scenarios of your own, one less likely than another.

"You're staring!", he remarked in a gravelly tone, blowing out a huff of smoke.

You knew it was wrong, but you secretly enjoyed second-hand smoking when he was around. He was too stubborn to let you try one of his cigarettes, always arguing about the negative impact on your health, but it was not like he could forbid you from keeping him company. The traces of smoke in his scent were an integral part of him and sometimes you just couldn't get enough of it, your lungs always begging for more.

"I'm not!", you eventually countered, taking a deep breath in. "And you did not answer the question!"

"It wasn't a question!", he argued back with a serious expression, his lips now forming a straight line.

"You know what I mean!"

You also knew that the banter you two had going on was meant to keep him away from the edge that would send Simon away and bring back Ghost. You'd already seen glimpses of him back in the briefing room when Laswell brought you up to date on the details of the mission. Just as you were witnessing Simon now, smoking half a pack of cigarettes in a desperate attempt to keep the deadly persona of the 141 Lieutenant away for as long as possible.

"Can I try one?", you went on with the distraction, already knowing his answer.

"No." - his answer was definitive, his clipped tone leaving no room for negotiation.

Huffing in annoyance, you crossed your arms over your chest and furrowed your brow, slightly scrunching your nose. He did not seem to be fazed by your childish outburst and instead, inhaled deeply, cheeks hollowing as he drew in the smoke. The exhale came shortly after, grey tendrils of smoke escaping his parted lips before he decided to speak again:

"Wanna hear something funny?"

You were already aware of Ghost's penchant for what he called "dad jokes", but what actually were just really bad puns, although, with him, they often had the tendency to turn out darker than expected. That was why you had to carefully pick your answer because you did not want to have Ghost on the bad side before going into mission - either because you refused to listen to a pun, or because of your reaction to it.

"I'm really not sure…", you shook your head, struggling to avoid eye contact.

As expected, he went on regardless of your answer.

"What do you call cigarettes you find in a thrift shop?"

A faint smirk was profiling on his lips again as he was clearly waiting for your reaction before delivering the pun.

"Go on, tell me", you eventually nudged him, rolling your eyes in fake pretence.

"Second hand smokes."

You struggled to suppress the smile that was threatening to spread on your face, but eventually, you ended up looking to the ground and shaking your head in defeat. Another low chuckle was heard from Simon, yet when you looked back at him, the cigarette butt was already in the ashtray and his balaclava was back on. You let out a deep sigh, your lips forming a pout, but you accepted his extended hand, allowing him to lift you from the chair.

"Come on, I'll drive you home. Price said the plane leaves at 1300 hours which leaves us with… exactly 6 hours and 45 minutes to get our things in order."

"Can't wait for it!", you let out an ironic huff, a shiver going down your spine upon hearing a hushed laugh in reply.

You and Ghost were in a good place. You could only hope this would last.

---

"Sergeant L/N, these are Privates Reynolds and Jones! They will be accompanying you on this mission as a sniper, respectively a spotter!"

From the instant you set eyes on him, you knew Captain Price had chosen the tarmac to make the introduction with a firm reason in mind. Perhaps it was the thunderous roar of the engines or the massive air currents caused by the propellers of the military aircraft you were about to board, but you could tell the atmosphere was intimidating enough for the two young men that they could only hold your gaze for so long before nodding their heads in acknowledgement.

"This is Sergeant L/N and she is going to be your mentor and leader for the duration of this mission", Price went on, his tone mercilessly cold.

The previous night he'd been a friendly face, "the dad of the group", as you drunkenly mentioned him in the toast, but that day he was the Captain of one of the most lethal Task forces there had been. And with that position came no room for mistakes or second thoughts.

"You will listen to her, no matter the situation. She tells you to shoot, you shoot. She tells you to hide, you hide. Hell, she tells you to come out and surrender, you do just that if you want to come home in one piece and not in a body bag!"

And he had a tendency to be slightly dramatic sometimes. Yet it was well-intended: you could only remember the "pep-talk" he'd given you before your first mission, after having placed you in the care of one of the most deadly operators you've ever seen, also known to others as "the big boy with a skull face"; that mission had gone sideways minutes after it had begun and you ended up saving yourself and the Lieutenant twice just by being high on energizers and adrenaline.

You and Ghost did not talk about that.

"Good to meet you, boys!", you shook their hands with a firm grip before nodding them into the direction of the aircraft. "You should go and buckle up. I'll be joining you soon!"

"Yes ma'am!", they answered in unison, shooting each other a cryptic look before heading in the direction of the plane.

You and Price caught that, but before being able to talk about it, you were interrupted by the big boy with the skull face himself:

"Those are the boys Y/N's supposed to be babysitting?"

Ghost was not one to mince words, even on a good day. Perhaps, at one point in the past, he had simply decided that hiding behind a wall of well-chosen words was not worth it, or he simply preferred to make himself understood from the beginning. And when opposing something, as he was at that moment, he did not bother to hide it:

"You're lucky they're not in your care!", you decided to steer the conversation in another direction. "I don't know where Laswell found them, but I bet at least one's dad has stars on his shoulders!"

Neither you, nor Ghost liked Price's lingering silence, but you didn't show it. You trusted Kate well enough to know she would have ensured they posed no real threat to your safety and the mission's success before having them join you on the field.

What actually bothered you was that it all happened on such short notice. You barely had time to bounce back from the previous assignment before having to start a new, high-risk, high-stakes one. You were aware of your limits and confident enough that you could pull this one off - but having to look after another two people you met a couple of hours before going into the field? Sure, you knew your limits, but did they know theirs?

"Stop it! Get it out of your mind, now!"

Ghost's deep Manchester accent pulled you out of your head and back into the present moment. You shot him what was meant to be a reassuring look, unaware that you actually looked like a deer caught in the headlights. It took you a moment to realise Price had left, leaving you two alone on the tarmac.

"They do anything you don't like, they act fishy - you report directly to me!"

He took a step forward, the tac vests you'd fastened on your bodies almost making contact. You pursed your lips in an attempt to hide the tremor that coursed through you and raised your eyes to take a better look at the skull plate, firmly attached to his black balaclava by messy stitches.

Just like Price, he was quick to bounce back into being the Lieutenant of Task Force 141. You were used to seeing him in full combat gear considering the big count of missions you went together into, but you couldn't help but furrow your brow at the sight of an additional Ka-Bar knife strapped in a detachable holster on his belt. And at the two fragmentation grenades attached to the same belt. But after all, he and Soap would drop out of the plane before you hit the landing zone - he would need all the additional equipment and ammunition he could get.

"Are you ready to go into the hornet's nest?", you tried to tease him in an attempt to mask the audible gulp you had to take as the adrenaline started to kick in.

"You'll have reduced it to half before I even take out my knife!", he hummed as an answer, a soft warmth glowing in his chocolate eyes.

You opened your mouth to talk back, but you were interrupted by the loud beeping that signalled you to board the aircraft. You knew you had to go, you had a tight schedule to follow after all, but neither of you seemed to want to be the first to leave.

"I'll meet you at the safehouse?"

This time you couldn't look him in the eye, pining your gaze to the ground as your voice trembled, a soft vibration that got lost in the brutal cacophony of sounds. A surprised sound left your lips when his tac vest came back into your sight, two gloved fingers resting on your chin and lifting it until your eyes made contact with his.

"I'll be there."

You maintained eye contact as his hand fumbled for something on his vest. His glance was soft and tender, just as reassuring as his words and the gloved fingers that still lingered above your helmet strap.

"And I'll want that back."

You shot him a quizzical look before feeling an unfamiliar weight in the pocket of your tac vest. Your eyes shot down to the place, catching a glimpse of his skeleton glove before setting on the crumpled, half-smoked pack of cigarettes, and a small smile tugged at the corner of your lips.

"That's an order, Sergeant!", he barked out before heading towards the aircraft. You couldn't help but roll your eyes and follow him, left hand resting over the smokes.

"Roger that, sir!"

--- 2 hours earlier

"Watcher 1 to Bravo 4-7, how copy?"

Laswell's voice could be heard through the radio, partially interrupting your watch. With mechanic moves, you pressed the communication button and brought the microphone closer to your chapped lips:

"Watcher 1, this is Bravo 4-7, solid copy! Go on for traffic."

"Interrogative, have you got eyes on the target?"

Shifting a bit under the dessert camouflage net, you peered down the scope of the rifle to check the gates of the compound. Two men with hunting dogs seemed to be on foot patrol, automatic guns swaying at their hips.

"Affirmative. Do you want me to take them down?"

It had been more than 20 hours since you got into position, yet all you were ordered to do was to keep watch and stand for future orders. Since it was not the first mission of this kind, you had expected that yet you could see the Privates getting jumpy and distracted, the two of them idly chatting between their own shared camo net.

"Negative, we expect the smugglers to arrive shortly after they switch patrols- we plan to infiltrate so hold your fire!"

"Copy, Watcher 1! Bravo 4-7 out!"

Taking one last look at the current patrol, you switched the communications on the channel you used to communicate with the two Privates. During your first mission, Ghost wasn't exactly the most talkative partner and not being able to entirely understand his intentions almost got you killed. After you got to know him better, you knew that he had been testing you and that he was always ready to step in if things went more south than expected, but nonetheless, you decided to do things differently with the two soon-to-be operators:

"Bravo 4-7-1, this is Bravo 4-7, how copy?"

You turned your eyes to the left, a frown on your face as you saw the camo net slightly shift as the radio began to crackle.

"Bravo 4-7, this is Bravo 4-7-1. Uhm… solid copy?"

"This is Bravo 0-7. Why the hell are you talking to your supervisor on the main channel?"

You couldn't help but giggle at Ghost's rough voice and you rolled your eyes at his antics. He was surely having the time of his life after having found a way to pick on the two men.

"Sorry sir… uhm, we were answering to Bravo 4-7-1 and…"

"Bravo 4-7-1, this is Bravo 4-7, switch to channel 4 and we'll continue our private chat there."

The quiet air was filled with even more crackling static and occasional mutters coming from who was probably Reynolds. Still keeping your eyes locked on the gates of the complex, you let out a sigh as you pressed the communication button again before Ghost could intervene:

"Bravo 4-7-1, use the red dial that is next to the communication button. All Bravos, sorry for the disturbance - though we could all use a small break!"

"You've got it, Bambi! How are you holding up there?"

You smiled hearing Kyle's reassuring tone, briefly accompanied by what must have been Price's laugh. Ghost and Soap would infiltrate the building from one side, while the Captain and Gaz would break in from the other- and you would keep watch and annihilate any unexpected threat, coming from the outside.

"It's all good, Gaz, all good. Just sitting my ass here and waiting for the moment I get to save yours!"

"Have you seen this ass though? Definitely worth killing for!"

Naturally, Soap couldn't help but intervene, his cocky reply being laced with a hint of playful arrogance. You opened your mouth to give him a well-chosen answer, but Ghost beat you to it. He was in full-combat mode, his stern voice being more than enough to make you bounce back into the harsh reality of the mission.

"Keep talking, MacTavish, and there'll be no rear-end left of you by the time the job is done! Party's over, get your asses back into the game!"

"Roger!"

But you still laughed after you made sure your radio was off, shaking your head in disbelief. Even when pent up on combat stress and adrenaline, you knew Ghost's pun was intentional. Involuntarily, your hand brushed over the crumpled pack of smokes, fishing it out of the pocket and bringing it closer to your face. Closing your eyes, you inhaled slowly, a deep sigh leaving your mouth. Even after a bumpy plane ride and 20 hours spent on a stakeout, Simon's scent was lingering, a silent sign of his presence.

"Bravo 4-7, this is Bravo 4-7-1, how copy?", Private John's voice could be heard through the radio, a tense silence settling in after his words. You had an inkling that they still had second thoughts on whether they were on the right channel or not.

"Solid copy, Private." You eventually decided to end their inner torment and reply, a grin forming at the corner of your lips when you heard a collective sigh from the two.

"Ma'am, we're sorry about before…"

"Mistakes happen- let that be your biggest and last one", you were prompt to cut them short, remembering how Ghost had tried to instil discipline through clipped, yet complete orders. "Now, Reynolds, tell me what you two are looking at!"

"Yes, ma'am! We're looking at two solid iron gates which are openly guarded by two mobile patrols, each one consisting of an armed man and a hunting dog. They haven't rotated in the past 5 hours, I think, so they are probably expecting to be changed soon-"

"Which also means that they might have got bored and should not be as attentive to their surroundings as-"

"Wrong, Private Johns, you are dead. Lesson number one on the battlefield, never underestimate your enemy!", you barked through the headset in a manner that would make Ghost proud. "You always need to uphold the enemy to the highest standard, not rely on their mistakes to succeed. Mistakes are occasional, but underestimating them is what will get you killed!"

The prolonged silence on their part was not a good sign and, for a moment, you wondered whether you'd been too harsh on them. But they must have known what they were signing up for temporarily joining the Task Force, so you sighed in defeat and pressed the communication button once more:

"I want you to move to the next ridge and keep watch from there. I expect detailed reports every 15 minutes from now on. Any questions?"

"No ma'am. Bravo 4-7-1 out."

"Bravo 4-7 out."

---

You started to realise something was wrong when another hour passed and the patrols were not switched, but instead doubled, with no signs of smugglers in sight. So far the main channel had been quiet and you divided your attention between the Privates' reports and being on the lookout for any signs that you've been compromised.

Your left hand was unconsciously fiddling with the cigarette pack, while your right one was adjusting the scope to focus on the road leading to the complex. Your breath hitched upon seeing a Humvee heading towards the gates and you fumbled for the communication button of the radio, bringing the mic closer to your mouth.

The sudden explosion of static coming from the radio had you almost ripping off the headset from your ears, a cold shiver running down your spine the moment you realised it.

Your radio was not working.

"All Bravos, this is Bravo 4-7, how copy?"

You could feel your heartbeat increasing at an alarming rate when no answer came and you turned to look at the place where Privates Reynolds and Johns should have been, keeping watch on the complex. Your heart dropped further in your chest when you realised the ridge was empty and there had been more than 15 minutes since their last report- still that didn't justify why they'd left their position without telling you. Were Price's orders not clear enough? Sure, your radio may have broken somehow, but they should have come and checked in with you in person as they must have been trained.

You let out a string of curses under your breath, the realisation of the imminent danger you were currently in hitting you like a bullet train. You must have been compromised, the same way the scouts Laswell mentioned had been - and your radio was not working because someone must have been using a signal jammer in the area. And judging by the absence of the two Privates, the order to retreat had already been given.

You needed to get out of there.

With rapid, but calculated movements, you disassembled the sniper and began to pack it into a camo warbag. You were slowly rolling up the camouflage net when multiple gunshots were fired on the road you had been watching. Your eyes widened in disbelief when you saw what must have been the convoy supposed to transport the weapons Laswell talked about, coming under heavy fire. There had been someone else who had known about the transport, and who must have done everything they could to get their hands on it.

And taking into consideration what they had done to the Special Forces scouts, you could easily rule out the saying that stated that the enemy of your enemy was your friend. So when you heard men hollering in what seemed to be Russian in your vicinity, you ripped out your dog tags and all the badges that identified you as a British Special Forces operator and buried them into a shallow mound, carefully placing one of Ghost's cigarettes on top of it. As the shouts grew closed, you took in a deep breath and your left hand gripped around the hilt of the extra Ka-Bar knife you kept in your boot.

With a small sigh of resignation, you accepted the fact that you couldn't outrun them without the high risk of getting killed. While the ridge you were stationed on was a good point of observation, it provided no proper cover outside of the camouflage net you've already packed and it only left you with the choice you've been trained to make and despised the most.

Surrender yourself and hope somebody will come to save you.

-- present time

"Why didn't she listen to the orders to retrea-.."

One of the Privates whose nametag read Johns tried to speak up, but his words faltered as the deadly gazes of the remaining Task Force 141 operators were set on him. And at that moment they resembled a pack of hound dogs, eager to be released on a hunt.

"Listen here, boy", Soap began in an unusually calm tone, although his tensed-up form spoke otherwise. "You and your friend here- you better pack up and make sure you board Laswell's ride, as soon as she touches ground here." His words were cold and calculated, his voice getting harsher as he went on. "See, right now we are all focused on getting back our comrade- to put it plainly, we do not have the time to deal with you leaving her behind deep in enemy territory."

He paused for better effect.

"But Lord save you once we find her because nothing will hold us back and we. Will. Be. Coming. For. You."

"That's enough, MacTavish!", Laswell curtly said as she entered the safe house. She was dressed plainly, if not for the bulletproof vest she'd donned and the usual stack of manilla folders she was usually carrying around had been replaced by a laptop she placed in front of Price and opened. "I take full responsibility for what happened to Miss L/N. As for now, she is declared as MIA."

"What do you mean, happened? I don't care what you're going to say, but I am sure as hell going to get her out of wherever she is!", Ghost couldn't contain his growl, his fingers turning white from his hard grip on the chair.

If any of his teammates noticed the sudden shift in his demeanour when Laswell declared you as missing in action, they had the common sense to keep their thoughts to themselves. All of them were stressed, angry and tired, but there was one more feeling that was bubbling in Ghost's chest, something that he hadn't felt in a long time, not since he'd been buried alive in a dead man's casket.

Simon Riley was scared. He was scared he wouldn't be able to get you in time, that he would fail to protect you when you needed it the most. He couldn't control the frantic way his heart hammered in his chest when his brain fabricated scenarios in which you were alone, cold and petrified, and it took him a great deal of what was left of his self-control not to throw caution out the window and run to find you.

Ghost was scared for you, but what terrified him the most was the thought of having to live in a world without you.

On the outside, he seemed still as a statue, his trained blank look not betraying the internal conflict that was raging inside. He saw Laswell's lips move and the laptop screen that was placed in front of him, but the lights were too bright and the colours, too saturated. He was supposed to watch a video, a drone footage, as his military-trained mind registered, but the voices in his head became too loud to ignore and the temperature in the room was too high for his liking. His breaths quickened and he felt the mask sticking to his face, suffocating him, as if he was in the coffin again, in the dark, and alone with a rotting corpse. Only it was not the body of the person who'd betrayed him, but your sleeping silhouette, gently resting your head on his chest and sighing every once in a while.

The footage from the drone zoomed in on a familiar figure who was encircled by armed men from all directions. The scene of you being taken as a hostage played in front of Ghost's eyes, but his mind did not register it as his sole focus was on your slumbering figure, the warmth of your body against his playing a big role in persuading Simon that you were actually there, with him, safe and sound.

Yet you weren't, and when he tried to brush a strand of hair away from your face he was met with the rough and cold surface of a skull plate, his fingers instantly jerking away in repulsion. A wave of nausea had him shot up from his chair and stumble to the bathroom, shaky hands fumbling with the thick mask before he could empty the contents of his stomach into the toilet.

When he opened his eyes again, he felt as if he'd been dunked in a barrel of cold water. His mind was no longer muddled with what-ifs and second-guesses, but had a clear purpose in sight: one that would keep him going until the end of the earth just to see it done. His hands no longer trembled as he pulled the black balaclava on his face and headed back to the main room, paying no mind to Soap's concerned gaze.

His eyes were cold and determined as he laid his hands on the first assault rifle within reach, methodically assembling it and stuffing as many ammunition magazines as he could into the pockets of his tactical vest. His hands itched for a cigarette, but the urge only strengthened his resolve: he would find you, even if it meant it was the last thing he did.

---

You didn't even have the energy to flinch when the fist collided with your face, sending your head rolling backwards. The world was reduced to a blurry mess, blue stars dancing before your eyes. Out of instinct, you lolled your head to the side and spit on the ground, in an attempt to diminish the metallic tang of blood in your mouth. You could still feel the unpleasant stinging that overwhelmed the left half of your face where you'd been hit with the back of a gun but tried to ignore the blood that was trickling across your cheek, all too aware of the jagged line that started near the temple and stopped short of the jawline. The bastards knew how to do their job and they weren't ones to shy away from using you as a means to an end- the future facial scar they'd given you serving as solid proof for that.

"He asked you a question, filth!"

An angry conversation was taking place right in front of you, but you were too busy trying to alleviate the pain, to focus on your captors. Sometimes, familiar words would reach your ears: american, military, information; but it was clear that they were struggling to find a way to make you talk. The questions were always the same ones, similar to what you've been prepared for in interrogation training- who were you, who were you working for, what are the Americans planning? Why has everything had always something to do with the Americans?

And just as you'd been taught in interrogation training, your answers were short and clipped- revealing little to no information at that time. You were still in the phase where they saw you as an asset, a potential source of information, taking into consideration the fact that they didn't kill you on the spot, and it was up to you to dictate the rhythm of their game. Speak too fast and too soon, they will get everything they need and kill you. Say nothing for too much time, they will see you as a dead-end and kill you.

You were currently walking the tightrope, trying to keep the balance between the increasing pain you found yourself in and the amount and importance of the information you were giving them. All you had to do was to make sure you stayed alive long enough for your teammates to find you. You knew they would take care of the rest.

"We shall try a different question then, kotyonok…" You shot your captor a cold look full of spite, not sure what disgusted you more: the mocking nickname he gave you or the pressure his fingers applied on your face, so different from the calloused, yet gentle touch of Ghost. "You wouldn't tell us your name- at least give us your codename and we might get Boris here to clean up your cheek. I know you wouldn't like that cut to scar…"

Your hands were numb from the tight grip they used to tie you to the metal chair, but you could still feel them shake when a knife, your Ka-Bar knife, was pressed against your cheek. You bit your lip so hard it drew blood in an attempt to stifle the tears that were pooling in your eyes, and you couldn't help but whimper when the blade was lightly traced against your skin before being sheathed, a heartless laugh following the gesture soon after.

You closed your head and let your head hang low, the rhythmic drip of your blood being the only sound that filled the room for a while. You could only hope you would make it through the next hours and your teammates wouldn't have to be greeted by your still-warm body.

---

Ghost was quick to follow the sound of Gaz's voice, his steps leading him to what proved to be quite a strategic place to observe the complex. A brief look at his compass confirmed the coordinates registered along with the drone footage, and even if more than 4 hours had passed since you'd been captured, his eyes were frantically searching for any signs that might lead him to you.

"I found something! She must have been camped here, there are still traces in the ground from where she pinned the camo net!"

"There was something in the footage…", Gaz started to mutter to himself, starting to hit heaps of dirt at random. "She was crouched over the earth like.. she was trying to bury something, I think?"

Not bothering to reply, Ghost's eyes began to systematically scan the area. At first glance, it all seemed the same, the desert soil not providing much diversity in terms of landscape. But you had to leave a mark behind, something subtle, yet noticeable at the same time, something that you could find only if you knew what you were looking for…

"That's bloody good work, Gaz!"

Kyle stopped dead in his tracks, eyes widening at the sudden praise coming from his usually cold-demeanoured Lieutenant. For a couple of seconds, he was too distracted to notice that Ghost had kneeled on the ground, his gloved hands digging through a heap of dirt, a white cigarette carefully placed away from the mound. By the time Price and Soap joined them, he managed to unearth your dog tags and Special Forces badges and put them on display:

"She knew she would be taken in… and that revealing her identity at a later point would buy her time…"

"That's basic interrogation training, Sergeant!", Ghost barked at Soap in an unusually aggressive way that made the Scot frown in his direction.

He opened his mouth to talk back, yet no words came out when he noticed your dog tags wrapped around Ghost's hand and the obsessive way he seemed to fiddle with them. Subtly sharing a knowing look with Price, who just raised his eyebrows in a silent suggestion to let it slide, Soap turned around and started scanning the perimeter for any sign that might point to your current whereabouts. Your sudden disappearance had a big impact on all of them, yet it seemed that it affected Ghost the most, his recent mood swings being strong proof of it.

"Bloody bastards… they smoked my cigarettes…"

Simon stomped the cigarette butts under his boot, turning his head to Price, but the Captain was already meters away, fishing another cigarette butt from the ground. Nodding his head in Ghost's direction, he brought the radio closer to his mouth and pressed the communication button:

"Kate, I think we have a lead. Well, at least a path of …smoked stubs?"

Yet before Price could give the order to spread out and start looking for more tracks, Simon already went ahead of others, pulling the automatic gun from his shoulder. Under all the layers comprising of the tactical vest and the rest of the military-issued gear, his heart was thundering in his chest. Second thoughts were already forming inside his tired mind: they really got you, they stole your cigarettes, the pack he gave you for safekeeping and that was supposed to be your lucky charm- somehow, he had thought that having a physical piece of him would keep you out of harm's way.

He could only hope he found you in time before the damage you'd sustained would become irreversible.

---

"I don't think you understand how this is working, milaya…"

He was so close to you, that you could feel his rancid breath on your face, a faint familiar smell lodging in your nostrils. Your head was throbbing, and you decided you were hallucinating- Russians didn't smoke the British cigarette brand Ghost did. Your mind must have been playing tricks on you, subconsciously wishing for the masked Lieutenant to find you faster.

"So far we had a monologue…- but I still think you have potential."

Out of reflex, you flinched when someone gripped your shoulders, but the pain your mind was preparing for did not come. Instead, you were untied from the chair and violently shoved forward. Your hands were still tied behind your back and you ended up falling face first on the hard concrete, letting out a pathetic moan that raised a few laughs from your captors.

As you lay there, disoriented and struggling to regain composure, you felt a pair of arms hooking your shoulders, pulling you upright and dragging you out of the room. You were too exhausted to put up a fight, the pain dangerously dulling your senses, but that didn't stop you from thrashing around in your captor's grip and throwing curses at him. To your dismay, he didn't seem fazed by it, his grip never faltering as he hauled you through a deserted corridor, seemingly underground, judging by the lack of natural light. You maintained your aggressive facade, yet your eyes were carefully studying your surroundings, taking in every little detail that might prove crucial, should you be able to escape.

Before you realised it, you were thrown into a dark room, yet this time you were able to cushion the fall and land on your knees. Wincing at the brutal impact, you squinted in an attempt to make out your surroundings and any potential escape routes.

"See, little one, everyone has a breaking point.."

The harsh voice of your captor broke through the silence, followed, as if on cue, by the lights being turned on. The sudden brightness had you close your eyes in discomfort, your wrists starting to turn red and raw from your relentless efforts to free yourself from the tight ropes. You could feel blood trickling through the small abrasions where the rope had cut into your skin.

"It seems plain violence is not yours. Not even cresting your pretty little face… I will tell you a secret, you might not live long to keep it anyway, but that is the breaking point of many- ladies and men both."

As he went on with what you decided was a well-rehearsed discourse, he started walking in circles around the room, almost like a predator circling its prey. The intimidation technique was not foreign to you, yet you did your best to morph your face into a scared and hesitant expression, giving him what he wanted to see: a person who was on the verge of breaking, someone who should be kept alive for a little more.

"So I thought to myself- the doll does not work alone. Maybe we should bring one of her friends here and see who gives in first."

If you weren't busy maintaining the terrified mask, you might have laughed at his weak attempt to extract information about your teammates. He was trying so hard to be menacing, yet he didn't know that you had been trained by the Ghost himself, who had drilled all possible interrogation scenarios into your mind. You made a mental note to thank him if you ever got out of there.

"But then I remembered we had a special room we haven't been able to test yet."

His voice grew closer and closer. Keeping your eyes glued to the ground, you focused on the blood that was dripping from your face, staining the concrete floor crimson. When he exhaled in your direction, you could clearly feel the smoke of Ghost's cigarettes wafting towards you, your hands clenching in fists at the audacity he possessed. You opened your mouth for the first time, if only to give him a piece of your mind, yet you barely had time to register him roughly grabbing you by the collar of your shirt and violently dragging you to the middle of the room.

"And if this doesn't break you… do not worry, we will find something else!"

You could barely make sense of his words, his unveiled threat, before your head was forcefully shoved into what you made out to be a basin. Piercing-cold water enveloped you from all sides, and panic surged through every fiber of your being when you realised that there was a firm grip on the back of your head, preventing you from pulling out. Your throat burned with each passing second, and your vision gradually darkened as you struggled to stay conscious, your body going limp on the edge of the bathtub.

"After all, we have all the time in the world. No one will find us here… not when we are right under their noses."

---

It took them one hour under the scorching sun, but the members of Task Force 141 had managed to discover the Russians' hideout. Following the cigarette butts eventually led them to a camouflage net, one which Ghost almost ripped away when he recognized it as yours, and they ended up staring at the entrance of what was supposed to be an underground bunker. The few guards that were lingering around didn't know what hit them, a blood-splattered skull plate being the last thing they'd seen before collapsing to the ground.

As he carefully threaded through the dimly lit corridor, Ghost's demons had never been so loud. On the one hand, his feet were urging him to bolt, to sprint through every room and hallway and find you as quickly as he could, but on the other hand, he was still part of a team with whom he shared a common purpose. Ditching them would be highly dangerous and irresponsible and it would help no one in the end.

Yet all common sense jumped out of the window when the silence was shattered by a high-pitched scream followed by a loud string of curses, both in English and Russian. Simon barely waited for Price's curt order to go before he bolted in the direction of the commotion, swiftly incapacitating any man who was foolish enough to get in this way.

At that moment, he didn't even need the mask to become one with the Ghost- the primal need to protect you overtook his senses, the chaotic surroundings fading into the background as the singular purpose took hold of him. When the automatic gun ran out of ammunition he simply threw it away and lunged for the rifle strapped on his back. When he ran out of throwing knives, he openly jumped on anyone who got in his way. He did not hold back, being quick to send his opponents staggering backwards and crashing into walls or doors. His objective was clear - to create a diversion, a way to distract attention from you and put an end to the torment you must have been going through.

He didn't even bother to check if the door was unlocked before kicking it to the ground, unaware of the splinters that lodged themselves into his gear. When he registered the lower half of your limp body, beaten and bruised, he saw red. Dropping his rifle to the ground, he let out a feral growl as he launched himself at the man standing in the middle of the room, who was staring at him wide-eyed, fumbling with the safety of the gun he was holding. Blow after blow rained upon him, each strike being filled with a mix of madness and rage that Ghost had struggled to contain within himself throughout the day. The Russian, unable to defend himself from Ghost's fury, was crouched in a fetal position, whimpering and sobbing, just like you did hours ago, yet Simon's assault did not seem to falter. He was determined to make him feel at least a fraction of what you've been put through.

Until he realised that there was no other movement in the room, that you hadn't crept up to him and assured him you were fine like he secretly hoped you would. He was almost scared to look in the direction of your still-limp body, his blood running cold at the sight of you leaning against the edge of a water basin, your head still submerged in the water.

Simon had often fantasized about what kissing you for the first time would be like. It was a small comfort he liked to indulge in whenever he would try to go to bed and sleep wouldn't find him. Where would you be, how would your lips feel when pressed against his? Would it be gentle, or wild and passionate? What would you say to him afterwards? Would you regret or do it again in the following moments?

He definitely did not expect your first intimate contact to be on the cold, hard floor of the torture room, with your lifeless body hanging limp in his arms. He ripped his gloves away from his hands, searching for your pulse with trembling fingers and the relief he felt upon feeling an irregular, yet faint heartbeat, had him peel the mask from his face and discard it on the floor. Without wasting a second, he tilted your head back gently and sealed his chapped lips against yours, trying his best to breathe life into your still body. Your skin was cold against his fingers and he could almost feel his heart stop beating when he realised your condition was not improving.

Ghost was not a religious man, yet he started to recite the only prayer his mother ever taught him when he pressed his hands against your chest and started the compressions. Hot tears started rolling down his cheeks as he counted the compressions, lips trembling as he kept chanting your name again and again, urging you to open your eyes and wake up.

A choked sob left his mouth when you gasped and started coughing, your body twitching against your will. He was quick to roll you onto your side, gently patting your back in an attempt to help you expel the water lodged in your throat. His vision was still clouded from the tears, but that did not stop him from cradling your shaking figure in his arms, resting his head atop yours. He could feel your erratic breathing and your heartwrenching sobs, but all he could do was hug you tighter and try to reassure you, even though his voice was breaking:

'It's alright. They won't be hurting you again… I'll keep you safe!"

You didn't know how long you stayed in that position, but you were convinced you had been so deprived of oxygen that you started hallucinating. Somehow, you were absolutely convinced it was Ghost who was holding you tight in his arms, your cheek being squished against a tactical vest that could only be his, judging by its specific scent. Yet the sight of a head of dirty blonde hair made you scrunch your forehead in confusion. Why was he not wearing his mask? Your eyesight was still too blurred to make out the features of the person who was holding you, but you could trace the contours of his face in your sleep, even though you could count on your fingers the number of times you had seen them before.

Breathing heavily, you lifted a shaky hand towards his face, scared that if you moved too suddenly, the spell would break and you would be once again pulled out of the basin and asked the generic set of questions you've been asked for the past half an hour. But when your fingers made contact with Simon's cheek, softly threading through his stubble and tracing the deep scar that almost split his lip in two, you let out a breath of relief, a warm wave of comfort washing over you. Your tired mind took note of the foreign voices that were mixed with Simon's reassuring whispers: there was someone repeatedly asking whether you were okay, someone talking over the radio and someone asking for med-evac. Yet the sudden commotion only made you nuzzle your head against Ghost's chest, letting out a sigh of relief as you finally allowed your eyes to shut closed, the constant thought of finally being safe serving as a temporary balm to your wounds.

The base's hospital was no different in any of those regards, yet Simon had spent the last days inside its four walls, camped out on the armchair Price had arranged to be brought into your salon the moment you'd been transferred from the municipal hospital.

---

For someone who had spent a good part of his life in hospitals, Ghost hated them. He couldn't stand the pungent smell of chemicals or the hushed conversations that took place in the brightly lit corridors. The constant beeping of the monitoring devices would drive him insane and he detested the cheap food.

Ghost hated hospitals, but he hated being away from you even more.

So he had resorted to spending the last three days acting both as a makeshift nurse and a guard dog for any of the curious passers-by who would try and peek at the operator who had been captured by the enemy and survived torture. Soap, Gaz or Price would usually join him outside working hours, trying to make small talk or urging him to eat the take-out they bought him, but he would only leave your side for bathroom breaks and showers.

He spent the rest of the time next to your sleeping figure, lying still in the armchair and keeping his eyes glued to you. Every once in a while, he would zone out and find himself counting how many times your chest went up and down, totally unaware of the heart-rate monitor that was placed right next to him.

For the time being, Simon was grateful you'd been filled up with painkillers and still sleeping. He couldn't wait for you to wake up, but he wasn't mentally prepared for it: it wouldn't be like before when you fell asleep on him and woke up feeling slightly ashamed, but refreshed, a soft smile lighting up your face. This time, you would wake up to a body full of bruises and a new scar marking your face- and he had no idea what he could say to help you get through it.

Simon was not a man of words, so he decided to convey his feelings through actions and gestures. His moves were well-rehearsed as he emptied the glass of water he'd filled a couple of hours before and refilled it to the brim, placing it on a table next to your bed. His gloves had been long gone by the time he changed your blanket with a fresh and soft one that Soap had brought the last time he came in. After he ensured you were comfortably tucked in, Ghost busied himself with rearranging the flowers and the get-well-soon cards that had already been neatly arranged at the edge of your bed.

After there was nothing left for him to do, he eventually dragged the armchair close to your bedside, removing his mask with slow and weary movements. The dark circles that had formed under his eyes were a stark contrast against his pale complexion, and the stubble he'd neglected for the past few days threatened to turn into a full-grown beard. Yet that did not stop him from exposing his face in your presence, his tired mind arguing that perhaps the sight of him might pull you out of your head, at least temporarily.

A heavy sigh left his body as he laid his upper body on your bed, his head carefully resting on the top of your hand. Out of instinct, he nuzzled his cheek against the soft skin of your palm, relishing in the warmth of the contact, and draped one arm against your body, gently pulling you closer to him.

Minutes passed and his eyes gradually fluttered closed, his soft breaths slowly mingling with yours. He would never admit it out loud, but especially after the events of the last mission, the sole way he could fall asleep was in your proximity, only finding solace in the warm feeling of your touch. It may have taken him a while, but he eventually came to the realisation that it was in your arms that he felt safe, where the turmoil and chaos of the outside could temporarily be forgotten. And he was determined to keep it that way, no matter what it took.

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

more notes: do you guys would like a bonus part, say, an epilogue for this? I'm thinking of something like "the one where they finally get a bed" or something... let me know in the comments (or ask box if you'd like to remain anonymous)

taglist: @neoarchipelago, @thecorruptedlovely, @mitchlow, @fieldsofbats, @thaprilks, @stars-andfreckles, @that-napa-know-how, @preistinajamjar, @iamaliceinwonderland, @allaboutirem0, @lilpothoscuttings, @01trickster10, @yyiikes, @joanne-uwu, @dorck26, @wawuwe, @karagd13-blog, @rindulacre, @claibornc

[lialacleaf]

A Touch Too Personal

Chapter 1

Simon Riley x Reader

Summary: You had a crush on Ghost since you started working for Price in communications, but the gruff, reserved Lieutenant only acknowledged your existence on the job. That starts to change with a simple, thoughtful gift.

Warnings: Fluff, Simon is bad at processing emotions, past trauma

Chapter 2

You cared deeply about every single one of your teammates. It didn’t matter that you were sitting in an office talking to them over the radio, you were still providing them with intel and directions that kept them alive.

They were like a second family, and so Task Force 141 slowly began to feel like having a lot of older brothers.

Johnny was your go to partner in crime when it came to making mischief, and you knew he was always down for a good prank.

Kyle on the other hand was good for having deep conversations and was the one you always went to for advice.

Ghost…well ghost was a bit different. Your feelings towards him weren’t exactly that of a sibling. Maybe it was because he was more reserved than the others, a mystery or puzzle that you couldn’t quite figure out, but you couldn’t help but feel warm inside on the rare occasion that his intense gaze did linger on you.

Which lead to your current dilemma.

Every time you went home, you made sure to bring one of the boys a gift when you returned to base.

Being that Price was like a father figure, you brought him a handcrafted mug from your hometown’s local pottery festival. Soap had gotten a pocket knife with his call sign engraved on it, and Gaz had received a baseball cap with a hand stitched 141 on the side in his favorite color.

However, now it was Ghost’s turn, and you were at a loss. What would he even like to have? You knew he had an array of tactical gear, you’d seen him knit pick through it on occasion, but you didn’t know enough about working in the field to know kind of tools he’d like. He had so many knives already, that it felt redundant to get him another.

What on earth were you supposed to give this man?

“Maybe you could make this Ghost fella something yourself?” Your mother suggested as you sat in your parents living room to ponder the issue.

Your mother liked Ghost’s nickname, and laughed whenever you brought it up. You could only assume she was picturing a little boy in a Scream costume, and you had to admit that was a little funny. Ghost was the only one to not have shared his real name with you, and thus always ended up being teased by your family, not that he was aware of that.

“Like what?” You asked.

“I don’t know, but I’m stopping by the craft store, how about you come with me instead of sulking in the living room?”

~

You watched your mother peruse through the holiday decorations and shook your head. That woman was amassing quite the Christmas village collection.

You wandered through the store with dwindling hope until you saw it. It was in the fabric section that you found the most perfect pattern for your Lieutenant.

The fabric had a black background, with white Ghosts all over it. You picked up the roll with a brilliant smile on your face, and ran over to one of the fabric department employees.

“I need some of this,” you said, giddy and bouncing on the balls of your feet.

“How much do you want?” The woman asked, preparing her scissors.

Ghost was a pretty large man, and you took a moment to think about just how much fabric you were going to need.

“Uhhh, a lot.”

~

“Lass! How was the family?” Johnny asked, pulling you in for a tight hug as you pulled your luggage into your room on base.

“It was good, ate a lot, took my cousins shooting, family stuff,” you said with a grin. “I gotta show you something,” you insisted, pulling him inside your room.

“Oh? What’s that?” He asked curiously.

“You know how I always bring back a surprise?” You began, a grin on your face.

“Who’s the lucky winner?” He chucked.

“You tell me.” You beamed at him as you pulled out the larger than life knot-tie blanket you’d made, and Johnny’s jaw dropped.

“You did not!” He gasped, chuckling at he inspected it. One side was the Ghost fabric you’d found, and the other was made from the softest army green material you could find. In the top corner. You’d stitched in a small British Flag patch, and each corner has a sandbag sewn in.“You made him a bloody weighted blanket? What gave you that idea?” He asked.

“We’ll I couldn’t find anything I thought he’d like at first, but then I saw the fabric and it just fell together so perfectly!”

“Oh man, I would kill to see his reaction to this,” Johnny said, giving you a pat on the shoulder.

“You say that like we ever get to see his reaction to anything,” you stated. You’d never actually seen him without some sort of face covering.

Johnny tisked softly and shrugged. “Alright, you got me there,” he admitted. “He’s in his room now, probably as good a time as any.”

You couldn’t help but grin broadly. “Perfect.”

~

You felt a lump form in your throat as you approached Ghost’s door. You knew it was just the nerves that came along with your little crush on the Lieutenant, but it still made the task at hand a little daunting.

You took a deep breath, knocking softly on the door. Maybe you should have wrapped it for him. What if he didn’t like it? How were you supposed to react if he just brushed you off.

The door opened before you could rethink your decision. It always came as a shock how large Ghost was, no matter how many times you stood mask to face.

“You’re back.”

You felt your heart rate spike. He had noticed you were gone? Had noticed you? Of course he had noticed, it was his job to notice, it didn’t mean anything.

“Yeah,” you said, waiting for him to ask how your trip was, or if you were glad to be back. He didn’t.

“I got you something!” You said suddenly, holding the folded blanket out to him, and his entire body seemed to freeze. He stared at it for a moment or two, as if he were slowly processing the object.

“What is it?”

Your smile faltered. “It’s a weighted blanket,” you said as he inspected it as if it were some kind of trick. “It’s a weighted blanket,” you said as he took it carefully from your hands.

“Where’d you get it?”

Shit, he hates it.

“I- Uhm. I made it,” you admitted, your cheeks blazing. This was stupid. You were stupid.

He looked between you and the blanket in his hands, and nodded. “Thanks,” he said before stepping back into his room and closing the door.

You pressed your lips together firmly in an attempt to not start bawling. You walked off on shaky legs, taking deep breaths. At least he hadn’t told you he didn’t want it.

~

Simon sat on his bed, his thumb brushed over the small flag patched into the corner of the blanket. The fact that you had made him a gift by hand had his stomach in knots. He knew about your little gift tradition with the rest of 141, but he hadn’t expected to be included, nor did he expected you’d go to such trouble. The two of you weren’t even very close.

He swallowed thickly as tears pricked his eyes. This was the nicest thing any teammate had ever given him.

He brought the fabric to his face and gave it a deep whiff. It smelled fresh, like laundry detergent. You must have washed it before you gave it to him.

Simon spread the blanket carefully over his cot, admiring how the fabric felt against his hands. It didn’t catch on his calloused fingers, and wasn’t too fluffy.

It was large too, as if you’d taken his massive size into account. He was certain he could easily caving himself in it. His bottom lip wobbled slightly, and it was an effort to hold his tears at bay.

That night, Simon slept soundly, wrapped in your carefully crafted gift, and you were the only thing on his mind.

AN: Let me know if you'd like to be tagged!

[trikaranos]

TRIKARANOS CHAPTER I: S·T·T·L

TRIKARANOS is a dramatized narrative based on ancient events following Crassus (and Pompey and Caesar) through the years 87-48 BCE. Intended for an adult audience.

⭐ Trikaranos will always be free to read. In the near future, you’ll have the option to support this comic & my ability to spend time making it (I Am Extremely Fucking Broke And Have Bills To Pay etc etc) through Patreon! currently, I have a tip jar!

⭐ There is no set update schedule (chapters vary in length and will be posted as I finish working on them)

⭐ alternative places to read it (coming soon!)

CREDITS all additional art used are in the public domain, and the specific images used are open access, etc

🍊the first collage panel is combination of: Plate 113: Greeks Battling the Trojans (from Ovid's Metamorphoses), Antonio Tempesta / The Trojans pulling the wooden horse into the city, Giulio Bonasone (after Francesco Primaticcio) / Terracotta hydria displaying Achilles waiting to ambush Triolos and Polyxena 🍊the second collage panel is: The Lictors bringing Brutus the bodies of his Sons, Jacques Louis David / the paint over of Brutus executing is own sons is my own work based on the composition of this relief of Brutus and condemning his sons to death. 🍊I also used my own art: a panel from the Prologue, and my own illustration of Brutus with the bodies of his sons

📖 PREVIOUS CHAPTER | START HERE | ToC (under construction!)

UNDER THE CUT creator’s commentary, ancient citations, whatever else seems relevant. ideally, this is optional! you shouldn’t need the citations for it to make sense as it unfolds since it’s a comic and a story first and foremost, but it’s here if you’re curious about something or want to see where the inspiration is coming from!

I'm so fucking normal about Crassus and his family (<<< this is a lie)

Marcus Crassus was the son of a man who had been censor and had enjoyed a triumph; but he was reared in a small house with two brothers. His brothers were married while their parents were still alive, and all shared the same table, which seems to have been the chief reason why Crassus was temperate and moderate in his manner of life. When one of his brothers died, Crassus took the widow to wife, and had his children by her, and in these relations also he lived as well-ordered a life as any Roman.

Plutarch, Crassus

like, it actively fucks me up that this is something that's survived about him for over 2,000 years. they all ate together at the same table. Jesus Christ.

so! Crassus' dad! Publius Licinius Crassus (consul 97) fought on the side of Cn. Octavius (consul 87) in the Bellum Octavianum, and it didn't go great for him.

Crassus: A Political Biography, B.A. Marshall

also. currently, if you look Publius Licinius Crassus up on wikipedia for an overview, his page lists his son (and also my main character for this comic) with the cognomen Dives, which is in-fucking-correct.

Marcus Crassus and the Late Roman Republic, Allen Mason Ward

and to circle back to houses and meals shared with family, some citations that made me feel some kind of way when I read them

Marcus Crassus and the Late Roman Republic, Allen Mason Ward

finally, there is discourse or whatever on the placement of the sons of Publius Licinius Crassus. Crassus is the baby brother here simply because I'm writing this story and I get to pick the themes, but also because no one has provided a solid enough argument for him being the second eldest son that I'm willing to buy into with enthusiasm, and I'm more inclined towards G. Sampson's conclusion on the matter.

Defeat of Rome: Crassus, Carrhae, and the Invasion of the East, Gareth C. Sampson

and while I'm just kind of talking about stuff that I read that I enjoyed, this article by Martin Stone lives in my head rent free

A Year of One's Own: Dating the Praetorship of Marcus Crassus, Martin Stone

[yoditopascal]

Like A Prayer (Part 2)

summary: best friends with wade you’re always being dragged into something even when he’s not trying to, what are you to do when you find the fate of your timeline in the hands of yourself, your chaotic merc and an angry wolverine who’s hellbent on drinking himself to death?

content warning: romance, some angst, a little fluff, character deaths, canon-typical violence, smut, lots of cussing, mutual pining, found family, drug and alcohol use, reader insert but with no use of y/n cuz I hate that shit, deadpool being deadpool, mentions of poor mental health (depression anxiety and ptsd mostly), scent marking, the honda odyssey scene needs a warning all on its own MINORS DNI

a/n: I wanted to get up to the part where you finally meet Logan but it was too long 😭 and I ended up deciding to split the chapter up. In the mean time I hope this enough to tide you over. <3

tag list: sorry if you weren’t tagged I tried tagging everyone that asked but some usernames didn’t work! @allmyn1ghts, @blooket-scares-me, @amararosesblog, @talanyra, @spideybv28

Previous Chapter//Next Chapter

Wolverining is Hard

When you come to, your arms are tightly secured behind your back. Sitting up you try to take in your surroundings as you wiggle around trying to free yourself. The room you’re in is dark with a metal table and a singular chair in the middle and smelled strongly of disinfectant.

Just as you felt like you were making progress with your restraints, really you had just dislocated your hand, a door opens up on your right flooding your vision with a blinding light.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Came an accented voice, it sounded British. Just as your eyes had started to adjust to the light you were harshly hoisted up to your feet and dragged away into another room before being dumped unceremoniously at the feet of a pair of red and black boots

“Pookie you’re alive!” said Wade dressed in a new and improved Deadpool suit. Where did he get that? You thought to yourself. “I thought these TVA fucks ate you or something!

Helping you to your feet Wade pats you on top of the head before gesturing between your restrained hands and a guy holding what looked like a giant remote in his hands.

Rolling his eyes the guy snaps his fingers and you’re manhandled again as your restraints are roughly yanked off.

Taking in your surroundings you notice you’re in what looks to be an office with office workers and a floating platform above it. On the platform, where you all were standing, are a bunch of monitors all showing different scenes of you and your friends.

“Where are we Wade? What is this place?” You asked confused as you rubbed at your sore wrists, getting closer to him.

“You, baby girl, have just been upgraded to first disciple! Congratulations!” He said jokingly, just as he was about to say something else he was interrupted by an accented voice, the same one you had heard before.

“As you can see Mr. Wilson your friend is alive and well mostly well.” Said the man from behind Wade with the British accent, he eerily reminded you of Mr. Darcy from Pride and Prejudice. Frowning, the man watched you with a disgusted expression as you flicked your hand popping your wrist back into place as you sucked in a breath in pain. You had definitely dislocated it earlier.

“Now as much as I hate to cut the reunion short it’s time for her to go back home.” He said snapping his fingers again, suddenly you're surrounded by men in body armor again, one reaches out quickly to grab you but you stumble back into Wade who pushes you behind him.

“Wait wait wait….you’re just gonna send her home? To die?” He turns to ask the man behind him. He could feel you pressed against his back, like you were trying to get under his skin. You were scared and he couldn’t blame you, you still had no idea what was going on.

“Die? What are you talking about?” You asked looking back and forth between the man and Wade until a gloved finger fell on your lips silencing you.

“Shush child Marvel Jesus is talking.”

“What the fuck?” You whispered, pushing his hand away.

“You can’t send her back Paradox.”

“Oh I can and I will.” The man, Paradox, had said as one of his armed men came up to him handing him one of those electric baton stick things you had seen earlier. You immediately tensed up, as he started to approach you with it, not knowing what it would do to you on contact.

“No wait wait wait please just hang on a fucking second!” Wade shouted, it was one of rare times he got serious and it made your hair stand on end

“What now Mr. Wilson?” Mr. Paradox asked, groaning dramatically, as if all of this was just a giant waste of his time

“W-what can I do to fix it? The timeline?”

Timeline? What the fuck was happening? You thought confused as you looked back at Wade again as he stared down Mr. Paradox

“Nothing unless you can bring Wolverine back to life in the next,” he says nonchalantly as if it were the most obvious thing in the world as he checks his watch “96 hours. But that’s impossible to-“

That little bit of information was enough to get the cogs in Wade’s brain turning as he hatched a play.

“Say less, I’m on it like a car bonnet!” Wade said cheerfully, you had no idea what the fuck that many but whatever it was Wade had set his mind too it and once his mind was set nothing was going to get in his way.

“Mr. Wilson-“ Mr. Paradox had started to say but before he could get another word out, Wade lunges forward and headbutts him full force, breaking his nose on contact, knocking him out as he snatched up the strange remote device Paradox had had in his hands.

Before you could even blink, Wade grabs you, scooping you up into his side, right under his armpit, as he opens up another one of those orange portal doors and jumps right through it with you.

The other side of the portal opens up midair and you crash land in the middle of a frozen forest. The ground and trees around you, covered in a powdery dusting of snow as a harsh wind blows over you causing you to shiver slightly, as you go to sit up you find yourself unable to move as a sharp pain shoots up your right arm.

It took a few moments to realize Wade had landed with you, more like on top of you it seemed, until you heard him groan from your back.

“I gotta get better at opening those things.” He groans, getting up.

“Sorry sugar lumps, we didn't really stick the landing there.” He said stretching his sore limbs as he gestured to your arm. It was bent at an awkward angle behind you, most definitely broken. Standing to your feet you grab at the injured appendage, popping it back into place with a loud snap and a yelp before it has a chance to heal wrong

“Ok Wade I’ve had enough of this Leon and Helena bullshit-“ you panted out still reeling from the pain of your arm.

“Ha! Resident Evil 6 humor!”

“Enough! Please just tell me what’s going on?!” You finally snap as you pull your cardigan around yourself in an attempt to block out the cold. Wade looks you over as if contemplating what to say next before he groans, running a gloved hand over his mask.

“Ah shit where do I even start?” He says as he sits down on a pile of rocks that had a makeshift stick x on top that looks suspiciously like a grave, you chose not to comment on it, as he begins to explain what had transpired over the last hour.

Apparently he was Marvel Jesus, you still didn’t get that part, and your timeline was dying. How? You weren’t entirely sure but Wade kept mumbling under his breath about some “Aussie fuck stealing his thunder from down under”, and that Mr. Paradox guy, who’s in charge of those TVA bastards that kidnapped you and Wade, was in charge of overseeing it but instead of letting it die out naturally over the next hundred years or so was going to speed up the process and now Wade only had 96 hours to fix it before everyone you knew and loved died.

“Which is why we’re here!” He said cheerfully pulling two shovels out of nowhere. Looking behind him to see where the shovels had intact come from you missed as he took a sip from his newly acquired ‘I Like Me’ mug through his mask before tossing it. “Grab your shovel jelly bean, we're hunting a Wolverine!” He said tossing the second shovel at your feet as he pulls the makeshift x grave marker from the pile of stones and starts to dig.

As soon as he said that you felt your stomach drop to your ass. That was a grave behind him, and it wasn’t just anyone’s… it was the Wolverine’s. You were digging up Wolverine to save your timeline?

“Holy shit.”

To say you idolized the guy was an understatement. When you were a kid you had all kinds of Wolverine comics and stickers, hell you still had a pair of Wolverine underwear to this day. Digging up his grave after all this time, after all that he went through in life just felt…wrong.

“You can cream your spinach later, right now we need to see if widdle Wolvie is really taking a dirt nap or not.” Chunks of dirt flew through the air as Wade kept digging, completely absorbed in his task.

“Wade this is-“ Not right you wanted to say. You start feeling your anxiety bubble up in your chest. “I can’t-!”

The sound of his shovel hitting something metal, adamantium, stopped you in your place. Tapping his shovel twice more to make sure he had actually hit something and that it wasn’t just his imagination, Wade looked over to you before turning back to what he had found, wiping away the dirt, he stared down at the now exposed decaying metallic skull of the Wolverine.

Your breath caught in your throat as you watched Wade stare at the corpse for a moment, lost in thought, before he raised his shovel over his head and bought it down on Wolverine’s skull over and over again, not stopping until he got even frustrated and snapped the wooden handle over his knee, no doubt breaking it in the process.

“Damn it! Son of a bitch! Fuck! Motherfucker! My world is fucked!”

He screamed, throwing the pieces of the shovel and swinging his arms as he punched at the air. It had been a long time since you had seen him this serious, albeit the last time you were quite literally dying, and it was honestly terrifying.

Your stomach sank even further at his words. Hugging your arms to yourself in an attempt to make yourself smaller you slowly approached Wade just as he was pulling the adamantium skeleton fully from the grave, dragging it over to a downed tree as he propped it up to sit cross legged by him.

“That was weird. I’m much calmer now.” He says with a chuckle, you’re not sure if he’s talking to you or the corpse. “Look, I’m not a man of science, but you seem incredibly passed away. But it’s good to see ya.” he pats the corpse on the knee causing you to wrinkle your nose up in disgust as bile rises in your throat. You’d seen Wade do a lot of strange shit over the years of knowing him, but exhuming a grave of a fallen hero and having a one on one with his dead body was a whole new world for you.

“I gotta be honest, I’ve always wanted to ride with you, Logan. You and me, getting into everything. Just fucking shit up. Can you imagine the fun, the chaos, the residuals?”

You didn’t even want to know what he meant by that as you crept up next to Wade, kneeling down by his side.

“G’day, mate? There’s nothing that’ll bring me back to life faster than a big bag of metal cash.” Wade placed a finger under the corpse’s chin making its mandible move up and down as if he was talking to him, you put your arm on his to get him to stop but he just kept going as he moved to hold his masked head in his hands.

“No, no, no, no, uuuugh!” He groans dramatically as he throws his head back, thumping it on the tree trunk behind him. “He had to get all noble and die for real. God damn it! We coulda really used your help right about now Hugh.”

“Wade,” you said softly as you reached out to rest a hand on his shoulder, “we’ll figure something out, there’s got to be another way right?”

Wade’s masked face turns to look at you, deep in thought, before the sound of multiple approaching footsteps pulls him out of his head. Pulling you until you were tucked between him and the tree truck, he peeks over the tree before ducking back down just as fast, cursing under his breath.

“Wade Winston Wilson! You’re under arrest by the Time Variance Authority for too many crimes to count, come out!” Came a booming voice over the chill of the air. You and Wade look at each other for a moment as if deciding what to do.

“This is your last chance! Throw out your weapons and come out peacefully!” The voice said again as he and a bunch of other TVA agents began to surround you.

You look Wade in his eyes again and nod, knowing he’s going to have to fight to get you both out of there. Looking around himself for anything you could use to defend yourself, his eyes land on the adamantium skeleton sitting nearby and he gets a horribly morbid idea.

“I’m not gonna give you my weapons! But I promise not to use them.” He shouts back as he turns back towards you, placing a hand on your head. “Ok Nugget you know the drill.” He says so that only you can hear.

“You go right, I go left.” You nod your head towards the tree line in the background on your left.

“Good girl.” He pats you on the head one last time, tucking baby knife into your hand. “Maximum effort.” He grunted as you both stood, jumping into action. You break to the left as fast as your feet can carry you just as Wade jumps over the tree trunk pulling Wolverine's body with him.

Hearing rapid footfalls following close behind you try to pick up the pace, your lungs burning as you run, just as you reach the woods a gloved hand reaches out tangling itself in your locs before yanking you backwards. You hit the snow covered ground with an audible thud. Your head ringing and vision blurred from the impact. Just as your eyes were starting to clear, that rapid thumping noise from before came back with a vengeance.

Shaking your head to clear it you try and get back up to your feet until a black boot, steps down on your shoulder harshly. Above you stood a TVA agent, his stick pointed right at you as he glared down at you. Just as he began to lower it, you pulled baby knife from your boot, stabbing it as hard as you could through his foot.

He screams in pain as he stumbles backwards falling on his ass as he goes to pull out the knife. Scrambling back up you yank the knife from his foot before embedding it in his exposed neck. Pulling the knife back out again the fall back on your ass in shock at what you just did. You killed someone and hadn’t even hesitated. Sure you had see your fair share of people dying, thanks mostly to Wade, but never had you actually been the one doing the killing.

Before you have a chance to wallow anymore to yourself, you hear a body thud next to you and jump.

“My bad!” Wade calls as he smacks a TVA agent across the face with something that looked suspiciously like a metal femur, shattering his helmet and mostly his face on impact. “Wolverining is hard!”

“Wolverine was a hero and the only thing worth a shit to ever come out of Canada!” Shouted a voice from in front of you two, it was the same guy from before, the one who you tackled through the portal earlier, and he looked pissed. Before he had a chance to say anything else a katana goes bouncing off the ground and right through the guy’s mouth.

“Get my country’s name out of your fucking mouth.” Wade said as he walked up to the still standing body, pulling his sword out of his mouth. “And my sword, gimme that.”

Cleaning off the blade with his sleeve, Wade looks you over, checking you for injuries, something he couldn’t break himself from doing, no matter how much you told him you could heal, before pulling you to your feet.

“We gotta find us another Logan, an alive one.” He said looking around himself assessing the overall damage.

“How?” You question still trying to quiet the pounding in your head, it was starting to fade out now, only being a low murmur at the point, but it still made it hard to focus.

Pulling something from his belt, Wade holds up the remote looking device he had stolen from Mr. Paradox earlier between wiggling fingers.

“This my dear bestest pal is how.” He said opening it up and hitting a few buttons. Another orange portal opens and you stare at it in contemplation, nervousness grips your stomach as you think about what the two of you would get into on the other side of the portal. Wade goes through first holding out a hand for you from the other side. Swallowing down rising anxiety, you take up his hand following him through.

On the other side of the portal the atmosphere is much warmer, you're both in a club, a nice one at that, surrounded by other people as they mingle and converse by the bar.

“Logan I’m gonna need you to come with us!” Wade spoke over the music. Looking around the room, you wonder which of these people he was talking to, none of them really looked like a Wolverine to you.

“Who’s asking?” came a familiar voice from the bar. Turning to look to see who it was that said that, you were shocked to see a guy, about your height, with a crazy hairy torso, wearing a tight fitted black v-neck.

His face definitely screamed Wolverine to you but there was something about this man that just struck you as off.

“Look at this little Mary Lou Retton. Did you stick the landing little guy? Yes, you did, comic-accurate short king.” Wade cooed to him from your side in a baby voice as he crouched down dramatically.

You frowned up as Wade as he mocked him, definitely planning to ream him out later when you, yourself, was the same height as the man he was making fun of. This Wolverine stares at you, recognition and another emotion in his eyes, that you weren’t sure of as his nostrils flared and they took in yours and Wade’s, no doubt horrific, scents. Just as you were about to tell Wade that this Wolverine would work, another orange portal opens up behind you and he dragging you inside with him.

“Cue the fucking montage, baby.”

[moonlight-prose]

RIGHT WHERE YOU LEFT ME

➛ 03. BRIDGE OVER TROUBLED WATER

a/n: we are getting down to the nitty and gritty of this man's pain. and he's finally starting to the accept the fact that he has to talk about what happened to him. honestly out of all the chapters this one might be my favorite. solely for the soft vibes i tried to shove into what is already a very angsty story. also somehow wade weaseled his way further into this chapter than i intended him to. so enjoy the humor i've tried to add throughout. (i am reposting this since it didn't show up in the tags yesterday.)

summary: to open up was like taking a knife to a steel door. he never saw the use in letting someone in. but dinner spent in your company and conversations over wine and whiskey is where things begin to take a turn.

word count: 8.3k+ (i don't even know how tf that happened.)

pairing: logan howlett x f!reader

warnings: partially explicit scene, angst by the bucket load, vulnerable and emotional logan, grief, trauma, heartache, fluff, domestic vibes, alcohol consumption, wade breaking the fourth wall, wade being a shit wingman, the beginnings of something more.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER | SERIES MASTERLIST

Blood poured over his hands and soaked into the ground below. The warmth of it coated his senses, dug into the grooves and lines of his palms. He swore he felt it down to his bones. Now permanently mixed with a version of him long forgotten—the man who used to smile.

Their shouts of pain rendered him immobile. Useless to help them, useless to save their lives. Useless. Useless. Useless. He fought against the restraints, the invisible shackles put there by his own hands. Whether to stop him from going or to keep him from harm—he'd never know—but he battled regardless. With a snarl, he felt them snap, his claws sliding free in all their familiarity. A weapon of destruction unable to be used for salvation.

When he began to run he felt it. The piercing echo of her. The power she emanated as they took her life, brought her to the brink of death. He felt her voice punch through his chest—puncturing him in his heart. She screamed his name with her final breath. Called out for his help; for him to save them all.

He could almost see her in his mind, the horror that befell a school of such powerful people. And he loathed himself for breathing. For living after they were taken so quickly from him.

His family. His home.

What once existed would no longer return. That alone broke him further than their deaths. The knowledge that his world—his universe—would be without their heroes. So much of their worth had been given to humanity. Only to be stripped of their lives within the blink of an eye.

And he couldn't save them. He could barely stand on his own two feet without stumbling.

"Logan!" The scream split along his skull, rupturing veins that healed far too quickly for his liking.

What the fuck was the point of his abilities if he couldn't put them to use? If he couldn't do the one thing they counted on him for.

Their blood stuck to him, burrowing into skin that would never scar. He'd never have proof of the wounds that rested along his heart. Forever damned to carry the weight of his own failure—the guilt that ate him alive. For what? To tell the story he could barely stomach himself? What was his life to the lives of those who meant so much more?

Why did he have to fucking live?

He stood on the doorstep. Death stained the walls, pierced the air with its pungent copper tang. He keeled over at the bushes, all the alcohol he'd consumed expelling itself from his body at the sight. His family was dead. His family was dead and he couldn't join them. He couldn't fucking die.

What once felt like a gift—eternity to find these people who loved him—now rang true with the only word that could make sense. Curse. His curse.

"No," he gasped, eyes bleary with tears as he scrambled to his feet and sprinted through the broken down door.

His claws came free, expecting a fight. Only to be met with silence. An eerie echo of nothing.

No laughter, no life, no chatter of students.

Nothing.

The breath ripped from his lungs as a blaring horn spilled in through the apartment's open window. In an attempt to get some cool air, he pushed the couch closer to what airflow there was. The only downside was hearing everything as he slept. Each little noise and loud mouthed fucker as they wandered the rather empty street. He wanted to leave—move to a better spot where humanity was sparse—but the pull of you across the street kept him there.

"Fuck," he grunted, eyes blinking away the nightmare that tore at his psyche.

The bottle of whiskey underneath the kitchen cabinet called his name. Offering a respite against the horrors he couldn't run from. And with a pained groan, he stumbled towards it—grabbing his coffee mug from the counter. The amber liquid felt bitter against the back of his throat. A familiar burn he welcomed.

He may not be able to stay injured, but this he could have. The darkness at the end of the bottle. The silence he found in collapsing drunk against the couch.

The streetlight outside lit the area filled with trash and the few people sleeping in darkened alleys. If he listened hard enough he could hear their heartbeats. Smell the pungent scent of the city as it seeped through the window. He could feel the thrum of New York beneath his feet—unfamiliar in its nature but home nonetheless.

The sight of a light flicking on grasped his attention—a glimpse of you staggering to the kitchen for a glass of water clear through your window. You should really get curtains, or blinds. He'd help install them for you. But then he'd never get this again. A small insight into your life, a peek into what he left behind a day ago.

Your lips against his still seared through his body—your moans and want for more left him breathless. And he had to go and fuck it up. Just as he did with everything in his life. He ruined the good. Corrupted the innocent.

Doing the same to you felt unfathomable—painful.

But how could he stop?

When you were catching his gaze in the window. Your glass of water was forgotten and the blanket dropped to the leather chair behind you. He left the bottle on the floor by the couch, his empty mug beside it as you grabbed for something. Logan yearned to hear your voice. To apologize for how he left things. But saying sorry never came easy and he found that keeping you at a distance was much safer than what he actually wanted.

The ringing on his phone broke his penetrating gaze. He reached for it quickly, pressing it to his ear as you brought your phone to yours. A breath was all that echoed through the small speaker—soft and warm. He swore he could feel it against his cheek. Hear the echo of your heart pounding beneath his.

"Can't sleep?" you uttered, finally putting his mind at ease. He exhaled a deep breath—hearing it fill your ears as warmth trailed down your spine.

"Nightmares."

You watched him stand still as stone. His fingers gripped the phone for assurance. A sense of stability from a past that had already cracked him in half. The sorrow in his eyes practically bled through the streets. Lapping at your feet like the waves on a shore. And in an act so unlike yourself, you took a step forward. You stood in his grief and offered to drag him to the sand—gave him hope that this world might treat him differently.

Logan wouldn't save himself because he believed he deserved it.

He'd save himself because he knew you deserved a better man.

"Do they happen often?"

The soft echo of your voice tinged with sleep set his mind at ease. For the first time that night he felt himself breathe properly. He could taste the sweetness in the air, the heat that clung to his skin held traces of you when you started to open your window.

Leaving you at your door suddenly felt like the stupidest decision he'd ever made. But the fear is what kept him at a safe distance. He couldn't hurt you here in this shitty apartment. He couldn't destroy what good you held in your heart standing here at an open window.

"Every night," he rasped. His hand clenched, the bones of his knuckles shifting as silver began to peek through the pierced skin.

He knew you could see it. He heard your heart speed up through the phone. And with a ragged sigh, he retracted them forcefully—hiding the beast within to present you with the man beyond.

"You don't have to hide them from me." If you turned, you'd see the punctures in your door you tried to hide with duct tape. The claws that came free because of your touch—your kiss.

They should have scared you.

Logan almost wished they had.

"You don't want to see that part of me honey," he muttered, watching as you stood closer to the ledge—your hand pressed to the chipped wood. "It's not all sunshine and rainbows."

You laughed and he felt it down his spine. "No. I think that's only in Wade's mind."

"Don't say that fucker's name please," he groaned. "Not while I have you here."

"Did I touch a nerve? Wolverine?"

Your smile deepened, mischief practically dripping from your words. Yet Logan couldn't help fixating on the way his title sounded off your tongue. The hero name he loathed for so long suddenly made his heart flip. He gripped the phone tight enough until he heard a faint crackling sound—his body going taut at the thought of you saying it under different circumstances.

Moving past the subject was all he could do. All he wanted to do.

"Why are you up bub?"

You sighed, leaning against the window frame. "Restless. Too much energy from the day."

"Not too much moving in the archives huh?"

"I'll have you know I walk constantly. It's a very demanding job."

He snorted. "Down to the end of the bookshelves and back?"

"Shut up." Your laughter echoed across the street and it nearly startled him how normal he felt. How human. "I can guarantee my job is a lot more work than yours."

"You're right. Saving the universe is nothin' when it comes to books."

"I'm going to hang up."

"Don't. I'll stop." Despite his serious tone, he didn't try to stop the chuckle you felt strike against your heart. The husk of its deep nature.

The memory of his touch still rang clear in your mind. How his lips molded against yours, his body firm and hot beneath your touch. You weren't restless because of work. In fact you felt the pain in your feet begin to spread up your calves the longer you stood there. You couldn't sleep because of him. Too busy replaying that moment to find time in your schedule to sleep.

"Logan." His gaze fell serious at the soft murmur of his name. "Tell me about your dream."

He bit back the urge to push you away, to claim he was fine. That nothing happened and acknowledging it wouldn't save him from himself. But that's not what you were trying to accomplish, and he knew that. He could see it clearly in front of his face. But he was a man hardened by the nature of silence—of ignoring his pain until it eventually withered and died inside him.

Changing that wasn't a battle he'd win tonight. Nor tomorrow.

He sighed, seeing how you fought back a yawn. "Not tonight honey."

"Why–"

"I will." Your breath echoed loudly in his head. He wished he could feel it. "I'll tell you everything. Just not tonight."

Your finger traced the silhouette of him against the glass. "When?"

"I don't know." He imagined your touch was against his skin, pictured how you'd trace the lines of his muscles. How you'd lick along his veins for a taste of him on your tongue. "Tell me about your day."

"That's boring," you groaned.

"Not to me bub. I like history." He smiled. "I used to teach it."

"Fuck off. Did you really?" You perked up within seconds, eyes alight as they were the other night. And Logan felt himself get dragged in a bit deeper. He knew he was fucked the second he saw you, but now...there was no stopping the inevitability of you. "I guess I learn something new every day. James."

He growled, low and hungry—pleasure filling his stomach. "Don't start somethin' you can't finish honey."

Silence filled the air and Logan felt the doubt pull at his nerves. He watched you lean into the glass, your scent filtering through the warm air. Sharp and heady. Darker than your usual honeyed sweetness; the taste of it spread along his tongue—shivers rolling down his back. You wanted him. No fuck that.

You needed him.

"And if I want to," you breathed, trepidation and hope overlapping in your words. "Finish this."

He bared his teeth in a grin that felt feral—as if he could taste your flesh. "We will," he stated with such severity. A promise lined in truth for once. "Now go on. Tell me about your day."

He awoke to the sounds of clashing pots and pans being tossed on the stove—the incessant beep of the coffee machine blaring off every thin wall. And Wade singing loudly—and horribly—to some fucking pop song from the eighties Logan would learn the name of against his will. He groaned, slamming his head back against the couch in the hopes that this was all a dream.

If he wished hard enough maybe he'd wake up to silence.

Or to you.

"Good morning peanut!" Wade's voice shouted, another bang sounding off behind him. "I've got coffee, Canadian bacon, and the final answer for what came first—the chicken or the egg."

Logan longed to stab himself in the skull. This quick healing factor became a fucking pain in the ass at the worst of times. He staggered into the kitchen, immediately wishing he'd drank the entire bottle of whiskey last night at the sight of Wade in a pair of white underwear and nothing else.

"What the fuck." He shut his eyes, reaching blindly for a mug and the coffee pot.

"Yeah..." Wade slammed the pan on the stove, a now broken yolk spilling over the edge. "Laundry day and Al called dibs on the top load. Just call me Risky Business."

Logan's sigh was ragged, beyond exhausted as he gulped down the first dose of searing coffee. "He wore a shirt in that fucking movie."

"Lookie here! Someone is up to date on their Tom Cruise movies. Don't tell me you're a Top Gun fan honey badger because I have some fucking news for you. We topped them for highest grossing movie of all time." Wade smiled as the destroyed egg slid onto a chipped plate. "Financially topped. Personally, I don't think scientology allows Tom Cruise to fuck anymore."

"I'm not listenin' to your fuckin' bullshit," he grunted, pouring another cup.

The charred egg was slid his way. "Aren't you gonna ask me?"

"Ask you what?"

Talking this early in the morning made the veins in his throat strain—his grip on the mug nearly cracking the porcelain. In times like this Logan felt the overwhelming need to throw his roommate out the fucking window.

If only to get thirty seconds of hearing him scream on the way down.

"What came first."

He moved to make another pot of coffee, ignoring the chatter that fell from Wade's mouth. In order to even feel coherent enough to make sense of it, he'd need four more cups. Or enough to bathe in if the morning didn't calm down. The sun blinded him as he turned to glance out the window; the air stale and hot choked his senses. He'd never felt this overstimulated before—this out of place.

"You look like you've seen better days in a horror movie. Up having late night phone sex?" Wade grinned and leaned across the counter—his head in his hand and love in his eyes. "Tell me about it, stud? Tell me more, tell me more. Did you get very far?"

"Oh god," Logan groaned, slamming the coffee pot back into place. "Can you shut the fuck up for once? I'm begging you."

"Did you beg her?"

His claws pressed to Wade's smug face—blood spilling against his cheek. "I will cut your fuckin' mouth off."

"I just wanna know why you're waiting so long to give her the Hugh Jackman."

"The what?" he growled, heat blistering against his face.

"Ya know." The crude gesture to his groin had him digging his claws directly into Wade's cheek. But even then he mumbled around the metal piercing his skin. "The package. The full shebang. Rock her like a hurricane—or whatever the fuck that German band was talking about. Cause I sure know she's aching for it."

"Don't fucking talk about her like that."

Wade smiled until his cheek sliced down to his mouth. The sight was disgusting enough for Logan to forgo wanting breakfast. And lunch. And dinner at that.

"You don't believe me! HA! Let me tell you, you're pretty but there's nothing going on up there." A tap on Logan's forehead forced the claws to sink just a bit deeper. "That sweet angel across the street is ready to save that horse and ride you instead cowboy. All. Night. Long."

"You don't know what you're talking about." Yet even as he said the words he felt the lie stick to the back of his throat.

Last night's conversation was proof enough that Wade was telling the truth. Even Logan could fucking see what was right in front of him. Someone beautiful, someone smart. Someone...he wasn't worthy of. If he combined all those factors he only came up with one conclusion. The longer he stayed away from you, the better you'd wind up being.

The safer you'd stay if he wasn't constantly shoving his way into your life.

The loud sigh from Wade's healing mouth shoved another wave of guilt into Logan's stomach. "Look. Ignore it all you want, but sooner or later you're gonna wind up with only your hand for some company and she'll find someone who actually wants to be with her."

Wade was right. For once.

What Logan didn't expect was the anger he felt at the visual of you finding someone else. The rage that nearly overwhelmed him. That's how it should be. You with someone better, a man who actually gave you a chance at a relationship. One that wasn't doomed from the very start. He let the thought simmer, chewed on it for as long as he could.

And not a minute later came to the answer he'd been looking for.

Logan would rip apart any other man without hesitation if they came into your life.

This wasn't a fling. He'd known that on his Earth and knew it now. He clawed his way out of a grave once to get back to you. And he would do it again and again and again. As many times as it took to make sure he got a glimpse of your smile, felt the love in your touch.

"Grab your shit we've got somewhere to be," he grumbled, shoving the burned egg in his mouth and washing it down with fresh black coffee to kill the taste.

"Yes! Now there's the Wolverine I know." Wade shouted, pumping his fist in the air. Logan couldn't tell if he was being vulgar or not. 

"Let's go bang your girl!" A snarl ripped through his throat, blood splattering on his bare chest as he pinned Wade to the wall—his claws embedded in the man's heart. "Or you bang her and I quietly stay at home with the window open to serenade you two with the sensual sounds of Marvin Gaye."

He grinned, eyes flashing over Logan's shoulder. "Directly from Sam Wilson's playlist if you know what I'm getting at Marvel fuckers."

On days where people were stuck at work and students infiltrated the library above, you found the solace of the archives to be everything you needed. For an hour you'd been placing books in their correct spots, labeling boxes to be housed somewhere new, and theorizing where you went wrong the other night when Logan left.

You didn't want to let the disappointment get to you. Nor should you. The phone conversation last night clarified enough for you to know him leaving wasn't your fault. It wasn't due to your kiss or even because he didn't want to be there. He simply hadn't healed from what his world did to him. Whatever Wade mentioned to you in a ramble of semi-seriousness gave you enough of a picture to know what that might have been.

No matter how much you wanted to help him; to make him see that you weren't scared of what he had to give. This wasn't your war.

Logan made sure you understood that.

That still didn't stop the swell of dismay at his actions. The belief that you weren't good enough to hear his story began to eat you alive the longer he pushed it off. Each comment came tinged with pain you'd never be privy to. Agony he wanted to endure alone.

You would give him the space he needed—the time that was required in order to heal from wounds you couldn't see. They were there. Dug into the shape of his heart—carved into the metal of his bones—but Logan wouldn't allow you to bear witness to that. To a broken side of a man who wanted to be better. If only he knew he didn't have to be for you to ache for him.

The thought of him alone left your heart twisting in your chest and stomach fluttering.

You slid another book into the correct spot, silence echoing like a void that went on for miles. Only for the ring of your phone to shatter it like glass. You scrambled for the device in your purse, breath filling your lungs at the sight of his name as it flashed across your screen. 

Maybe this made you seem desperate—a type of clingy that would make any other man run. You couldn't find it in yourself to give a shit.

"Logan," you said—his name leaving your mouth in a breathy manner you regret within moments.

"Oh shit girl you've got it bad."

The pounding of your heart jumped at the loud echo of Wade's voice blasting through the small speaker. "Wade?"

"The one and holy." To say you were perplexed felt like an understatement. But before you could spill the millions of questions on your tongue, Wade kept going. "Hey! What kind of wood do you prefer?"

A loud rumble of an engine blared in the background—killing your ears. "What?"

"Oh right fuck me. Silly question. There's twelve thousand words already written about what type of wood you prefer." He laughed as the sound came again. "I'm talking the tree kind. Got a preference for scents?"

"She's not gonna be able to smell it you dumb fuck!" Logan shouted. You heard an audible screech before a loud rustle had you pulling the phone from your ear with a groan. "Honey?"

You smiled, walking towards the part of the room that didn't echo with your voice. "I'm scared to ask what you guys are doing today."

"Oh," he chuckled. You wished he'd bought a better phone, longing to see each expression that crossed his face. "I owe you a door."

That kiss reemerged in your memory once more. Burning through your body in quick rapid strokes. As if Logan was fanning the flames of something stronger—a fire that you wouldn't be able to control. You imagined what he looked like at this moment, if he still wore the exhausted look of grief from last night. Or if he'd covered it with a mask of annoyance due to Wade.

"I can just call the building manager to fix it." You put it on your list of things to do today already, but the idea of seeing Logan again was too tempting to pass up.

He huffed, falling silent. Wade's voice shouting about the Lorax became all you heard for a brief moment—Logan no doubt figuring out what he could say to fix this. The glimpse of him last night had set your teeth on edge in a way you'd never experienced before. You felt you could sink your canines into the tension and rip it to shreds with ease.

"Where I come from it's only right to fix what I broke."

What he broke.

This wasn't about the door. You could see it clearly in the pained way he spoke his words—each one more clear than the last. Leaving you in a rush with no fucking explanation left him worried that you weren't going to be around if he kept pushing you away. You were something good—a light he sought in the darkness he found himself in—and messing up this chance wasn't going to happen twice.

He'd done this before. He pushed those he loved away.

Doing the same with you only made his chest echo with the hollow emptiness that he'd grown tired of feeling.

"You can fix my door under one condition," you said, effectively breaking the silence.

"Anythin'."

The flutter in your chest felt lethal when he spoke to you like this; open and willing to bend where you wanted him to go. A man had never given you this before. The attention, the knowledge that he wanted all of you. Not just sex, or meaningless conversations. He wanted every piece you were open to sharing—every dark crevice and thought you felt embarrassed about.

You only wished he'd understand you wanted the exact same thing from him.

"Dinner. My place. Seven p.m."

Fuck what you wouldn't give to see his smile as he let out a sigh of relief. "I won't be late."

You smiled, worrying your lip between your teeth—that familiar gooey warmth now back in your chest. "You better not be."

"I've got great timing honey. Got nothin' to worry about."

Bullshit. You nearly said it, but a loud shuffle and a few bitten off curse words—mainly growled on Logan's end—cut your conversation short. A triumphant laugh you could only figure to be Wade's pierced your eardrum as the phone was unwillingly handed off once again.

"I just want to let you know I've got money on whether or not he nails you tonight. So don't let me down cupcake."

"You're betting on this?" you exclaimed, loud enough to hear your voice bounce off the walls and echo back to where your supervisor was no doubt sitting.

"Of course. I'm not one to turn down the sleazy art of gambling." He sighed wistfully. You'd never wanted to punch someone more in this moment; suddenly aware that this is how Logan must feel every day of his life. "Besides if you heard the sounds that came out of our shower this afternoon. Oh ho ho. Something tells me that he was letting off some Steam Boat Willy to the thought of his late night phone buddy."

Disgust at Wade's words was rapidly overshadowed by the thought of Logan in the shower. Naked and desperate to find some release after your conversation last night. To say you hadn't pictured what he'd look like hard and aching from your touch would be a lie. But actually knowing that's what happened left you winded.

Your chest heaved as your body grew warm—the image of him with his hand around his cock, his head thrown back in pleasure, almost made your knees give out.

"Your thinkin' about it huh?" The overconfidence in Wade's voice snapped you back to reality within seconds.

"Shut up."

"Got ya red handed angel."

With a roll of your eyes, you made to head back to your work—Wade's words only served to fluster you more than you wanted. "Don't piss him off too much okay Wilson?"

His laughter nearly appeased you as the piercing sound of a saw went off again. The both of them must have ventured to a warehouse to find materials. You wanted to confirm your thoughts when Wade did it for you. As if he could hear you loud and clear.

"Who knew our man had lumberjack experience?" He sighed dreamily, a shout of what you guessed was Logan saying fuck off filtering through. "God it's like watching X-Men Origins Wolverine. Back when his hair screamed Staying Alive and I went by the name Billy Butcherson."

A cough from behind you gave enough notice that you had in fact been caught by your boss—her glare burning through the back of your skull. The short break you were allotted passed five minutes ago. Normally you'd be fighting your way to the end of the day. Today though...you felt that delicious bite of excitement at knowing you'd be spending tonight with Logan.

"I've got to go. But Wade..."

"Yeah?"

"Take a picture for me will you?"

"Already done. Got my phone set to burst. Which is what Logan's gonna do tonight instead of tainting our shower walls–" Logan's roar of I'll fuckin' kill you came seconds before you heard a thwack overlapped with Wade's high shriek. 

The line went dead instantly.

The elevator wasn't moving fast enough for your liking—each flash of a floor passed sent another wave of nerves through your body. Work dragged on longer than you expected. And the groceries you picked up on the way didn't feel like enough to make a meal grand enough for a night like tonight. You tried to destress by saying he wasn't expecting much. This wasn't even a date.

That is until you realized...that's exactly what this was.

A date that felt long overdue.

You hadn't known Logan long enough to pursue a relationship as deep as this, but that's where things got fuzzy. He knew you. Or a version of you that felt entirely different to the person you were now. And maybe that's where the security that this would last came through. The knowledge that no matter what happened, Logan was in this for the long haul.

This wasn't temporary.

A creak of the doors opening didn't deter you from digging through your mountain of thoughts. Each one more worrisome than the last. You should be terrified that this was it. The future had already been written and Logan was at the end of the road. That alone would be reason enough to turn tail and run.

Then you turned the corner leading directly down your hallway.

Logan stood leaning against the wall, a lit cigar in his mouth, smoke trailing past his lips, and a heavy wooden door placed directly beside him. A toolbox that looked to have seen better days sat by his feet. A bouquet of honeysuckle and peonies placed directly on top—wrapped in brown paper with a yellow and blue bow.

Whatever fear might have lingered in your body dissipated when his gaze found yours and his lips pulled into a smile.

"You're early," you said—desperate to catch your breath. The scent of his cigar lingered on your senses, mixing with the leather of his jacket.

Suddenly Wade's words from earlier felt a lot more real than you expected. He showed up dressed casually. Jeans, flannel, the familiar dog tags strung around his neck. Yet whatever transpired the night before came rushing back with the promise of more.

This was a date. But whether it would lead to something else you'd leave entirely up to him.

"I told ya I had great timing honey."

Heat trailed down your body where his eyes followed. "I didn't believe you."

"I know."

The claw marks on your door brought a flustered smile to your face. As if to say you were okay with them staying. You wanted them to stay. Logan's eyes darkened at the sight, a flash of something worse taking hold of his mind as you pushed it open.

You longed for him to tell you the truth. He wouldn't either way. But the hope still remained—lingering on the edges of your heart.

"Easy enough to fix," he muttered, reaching for his tools—the bouquet of flowers gripped tightly in his large palm.

"I didn't know what exactly to get." He stood in your living room, eyes trained on the window. Finally he was on the other side—in your home—and yet he found he didn't belong here. "Do you have a preference?"

He sucked in another drag from the cigar before pulling it free—stamping it out on his palm as you watched. A heady wanton look crossed your features. You doused it quickly in favor of unpacking the groceries. He made sure to store it away for a later time. One that didn't feel dragged by the weight of his own thoughts.

"I'm not picky."

You nodded. "Feel free to use whatever's useful. I don't have tools though."

"I came prepared bub." He lifted the box with a smile and suddenly recalled that he bought you flowers. Much to Wade's annoying comments about this being a first date. Logan wouldn't push you in any direction you felt uncomfortable going towards. But in an irritating turn of events, Wade was right. Twice. "These are for you."

The smile on your face was worth every dollar and excruciating minute spent picking out what went with what. He reminded himself to thank Wade. Even if it left a bitter taste in his mouth.

"They're beautiful." The delicate white lay atop pink flowers that filled your senses. An aroma you'd never known could work so well together. "Why these?"

A touch of crimson began to tint the tops of his ears as he let out a breath. "They're uh..." He coughed. "The day we met I said somethin' kinda awkward."

"I smelled different."

"Yeah." Logan wanted to bury himself six feet under at the teasing glint in your eyes. "That's how you smell. To me. Like honey and flowers."

There had to be an explanation for the way your heart split down the center—as if to offer him one half. To give him a part of yourself that once didn't belong to him. But that's where you were wrong. Even in a different universe, he would find you. You were once everything to him; the person he'd go through hell for. That fact never changed. Even if you did.

You wanted to spill every emotion, every truth about how your heart already longed for him in ways that left you reeling. But Logan wasn't a man to speak longer than he had to. And before you finally gained the courage to open your mouth, he was stepping back into the hallway. His hands busy with a project and mind eons away.

Dinner was simple to cook knowing he'd eat whatever you made. Pasta, some wine, and an old bottle of whiskey a friend of yours bought sat on the table as he put the final touches on the door. You'd spent the time at the stove combing over every word spoken. Every minute touch and fleeting look. As he worked effortlessly on setting your new door in place.

A dark honeyed wood with grooves throughout that almost resembled the small panes of a window. The quality was stunning. Beyond anything you'd seen before.

You wanted to prod and ask where he learned to do this. But the sight of him slightly sweaty, flannel tossed into his toolbox, and arms on display when he carried the door to its spot, left you dazed. Each movement caused the muscles beneath his skin to ripple—face screwed in a look of concentration while the sound of the drill echoed off the hallway walls.

For a moment you forgot dinner was cooking as you practically ogled his form. That familiar flame burned through your body when his gaze met yours and a smile crossed his lips.

Logan could feel your eyes on him—the aching burn of your gaze now seared into the bare skin of his arms and shoulders. And he fought himself to keep going. To ignore your now heady scent—the way your heart sped up with each shift of his body—and finish what he started. If he was being honest, which he rarely was with himself, he put on a show for you.

You liked him.

He just wanted to reaffirm that fact once in a while.

The smell of slightly burnt garlic had him biting back a smile as you rushed to fix what his distraction caused. His ego swelled. Heart pumping with a sense of pride the second he caught you flustered with your head bowed in the kitchen.

"Smells delicious honey," he said, testing the lock on the door a few times until he felt satisfied with his work.

"It's not much." You popped open the two types of alcohol, pouring a generous helping of wine in your glass. He fixed himself his own whiskey. "Something my sister taught me when I was in college. She believed if there was nothing else to cook, pasta was always the correct answer."

"Smart woman."

You pushed the plate his way and caught the grin he hid at the small act of domesticity. What began as a nerve-wracking date became an insight into what your future with him might look like. Dinner at a tiny kitchen table, his jacket draped over one chair, the scent of flowers twining together with the faint traces of his cigar.

A life that felt perfect enough to keep forever.

"I hope you know Wade's betting on tonight," you said, pouring another glass of wine.

You were settled next to him on the couch, dinner resting full and warm in your stomachs. The alcohol tasted sweeter on your tongue compared to an hour ago. He lounged with his legs spread, glass balanced in one hand. A lazy look of satisfaction in his hazel eyes.

Logan had never felt this comfortable. Soothed by the scent of you beside him, the whiskey on his tongue, and the sight of you with your legs curled beneath you. The red wine made you smile more, laugh easier. He noticed how you bloomed before him, light shimmering between small jokes and half assed teases.

All his life he wondered what home would truly feel like. What would having a place be? And this...you beside him with an endless night stretched before you, gave him the answer.

Home felt like you.

He groaned, head falling against the back of your couch. "He's a lucky fucker with that can't die bullshit. What's the bet?"

Your eyes dragged to the door—tracing the carved marks as his hand hesitated to settle on your thigh. "That you'd and I quote nail me."

"What?" he spit.

The laugh that bubbled to the surface echoed with the heady effects of too much wine. "I hate to break it to Wade. But I don't have sex on the first date."

Logan's lips turned up, hand finally against the bare skin of your leg. Your skirt fanned around your lap, covering your soft skin that lay beneath. "So this is a date huh?"

"Yeah." He tugged you closer. "At least I think it is."

"I think so too."

Unconsciously, you toyed with the chain of his dog tags, catching a glimpse of the worn letters of his name. Any other time you'd push the questions away. You would claim that tonight wasn't the right time. After all this felt good, right in ways nothing had before. But the wine made you loose lipped. Braver than the other times you pushed past the line he drew deep in the sand.

Except this time...he started the conversation.

"You asked about my nightmares last night."

Your eyes caught his, fingers stilling against his chest. "I know you don't want to talk about it."

He shook his head with a deep exhale he felt down to his stomach. "If this is what I think it is. What we're startin' here. Then you should know what you're getting into honey."

"I know what I'm getting into–"

"No. You don't." He sat up straighter, tugging you close until your legs lay over his lap. "You don't know what happened to me. What I did..." He sucked in air as his heart began to twist. The cold wash of anxiety suddenly brighter than a few minutes earlier. "What I couldn't do."

The pain in his eyes chipped off a piece of your heart. Oh how you longed to give it to him.

Cupping his cheek, you felt the scratch of his beard against your skin. "Logan. You're not a bad man."

"Yeah bub. I am," he barked in a half laugh meant to discourage you from seeing his grief.

That's what this was. The full spectrum of his emotions scared the shit out of him more than any villain he fought. More than the thought of dying alone one day. The moment you saw them for yourself, he knew you'd run. He almost expected it. Which is why he'd taken so long—put it off each time the curiosity lingered in your gaze longer than he liked.

He told himself you didn't need to know.

It was better this way.

Tonight proved that all those reasons—all those excuses—stood no chance when it came to you.

"I don't believe that," you whispered, your other hand curling around his dog tags.

"Gotta remember I'm not him. I'm not the hero and never have been." When you looked at him like that—eyes wide and lips turned down—he felt the full weight of the words he was about to say out loud. Words he hadn't spoken since Laura met him by the fire way back in the Void.

Somehow saying it to the other Logan's daughter felt easier. As if he couldn't disappoint her anymore than he had. She'd been there at his death, watched him struggle to protect her, and loved him in spite of all that. She called him Dad and spoke over his grave with a smile. Knowing full well he'd never come back to life, he'd never find his way back to her.

Laura wasn't his kid and yet...he knew she'd understand.

But saying it all to you…

He wasn't sure he'd survive it if you never understood.

"The X-Men in my world weren't as respected as the ones in yours. We were heroes, but the humans. God they fuckin' hated us." His eyes burned with each memory that came rushing back. A river that threatened to drown him. "And I always had to be an asshole. I didn't know what home felt like—what...family felt like. So when I got it, I pushed it away."

"Oh, Logan–"

"No, let me...let me finish honey." He gripped the glass until he heard a crack—his eyes dazed and mind lost to a different time. The night that would later become his ghost. "So I left and did the only thing I was fuckin' good at. I drank until I couldn't feel anythin' anymore. And the humans decided they'd had enough of the X-Men."

Grief struck your heart straight down the center. Tears spilled down your cheeks at the sight of him so broken—so raw from a time that would never leave him. You finally knew why Wade never explained it to you.

This wasn't his story to tell. Not his past to share.

"I came home and they were–" His fingers dug into the skin of your thigh in an attempt to ground himself. Claws slipping free as he struggled to get the final words out—the truth of why he pushed you away. Why he should keep pushing you away. "They were dead."

You pressed yourself against his side, lips against his temple as he silently bit back the emotions he refused to set free. What would become of him once they were finally out? He couldn't risk hurting you because of it.

"They called for me." His breath was ragged, voice thick with tears that never fell. "Jean. Charles. I heard them die in my head. But I was too fuckin' drunk to save them. I got home and all of them were...Jesus. The humans called us mutants vicious, but I'd never seen anythin' like this."

The worst part crawled up his spine with a chill that had his claws coming free. "And you. You survived due to your gifts. Apparently you hid in the future—snapped there without even realizing it. But by the time you returned they were dead and no matter how many times you tried to go back, you couldn't." He raised his head, eyes red and glassy. "You tried to kill me that night. I couldn't blame you for it cause I wanted to die."

"That's not me."

He shook his head. "I know, but you have to know why it happened. I couldn't protect you honey. I couldn't protect any of them."

"The humans did this. Not you." You dragged his face to yours, forcing him to see the sincerity in your eyes—the fire that burned no matter the variant. "You did not kill your family Logan. Don't take their shame."

"It's easy for you to say that bub. You weren't there." He felt your touch mark against his skin and fuck how he wished it would leave a scar. "I'm not the fuckin' hero. I'm the man who fucked it all up because he was too proud for his own good. I need you to see that."

Your gaze hardened. "Why?"

"So you know what you're gettin–"

"Bullshit," you demanded. "I know exactly what I'm getting into Logan. I knew the second I met you. So don't do that. Don't push me away." The press of his forehead to yours leveled the pain and allowed him to breathe. "I'm here to stay. Whether you want me or not."

He grinned, tears finally falling as your lips found his. You breathed life back into his chest, made his heart worth beating again. For all that time he damned himself, loathed the reflection in the mirror, he never thought he'd get this. The soft press of your kiss, the bitter tang of wine on your tongue as his hand gripped your hip—his claws retreating back into his body.

"Trust me. I want you," he mumbled against salt stained lips and broken smiles. "I'll always want you."

"Then it's a good thing I want you too."

That familiar flicker of sparks still existed in the air, begging for more. But you were content to stay here. Kissing him over and over again in order to embed the sensation in your mind.

"Thank you for telling me," you sighed, fingers curling into his hair to drag his lips back to yours.

The thud of his heart ran through his whole body. "Can I show you somethin'?"

You nodded, pulling away as he dug into his pocket. As much as he longed to keep kissing you, to spend all night right there on that couch. He knew there'd be time for that. A night where you were both unburdened by the weight of a past that defined who you were. Tonight was not that night.

The picture was old, burned slightly at the edges and crinkled, but he handed it over with a grin. A group photo like the one stored in the archives at your job. Only this time you recognized two faces among the small team of people in yellow suits. You were smiling with an arm around Logan's waist, your face pressed against his chest.

The sight of his smile—wide and unfiltered—made your heart leap. But the blue aura that seemed to wrap around your body is what gave you pause.

"The blue..."

"Your powers." He pointed to the way it ended at your hands, seeming to stem directly from your chest. "Turning them off wasn't really a thing you could do. Somethin' about time being a constant flow of energy. Charles always explained it better."

Thousands of questions came to mind. All of them pertaining to the powers and the team and more specifically him. He sunk into the couch with a sigh, his eyes hazy with a different kind of need. An ache that no doubt begged him each night. Sleep. Rest without any nightmares, free of the shackles he'd placed on himself.

So you stood, nearly startling him when you did. Nothing had to be said about your intentions, or why you held out your hand for him to take. He simply followed. Each step heavier than the last. The kitchen could be cleaned tomorrow, the bottles put away later. You couldn't find it in yourself to care when his hand was in yours and he smiled at you as if you'd hung the moon in the sky.

"Thought you said Wade was losin' tonight honey?"

You laughed, pushing the flannel from his shoulders as you led him to your bed. "He is. We're just sleeping."

There was no mistaking the doubt in his eyes, the trepidation of his nightmares. "I might hurt you."

"No you won't." Drawing his hand up to your mouth, you lay a kiss along his knuckles. "I trust you Logan."

"You shouldn't." His breath was a shuddered exhale at the sight of you pulling your dress up and over your body.

"Well too bad," you replied, tugging the covers back while he pulled off his shirt—leaving his boots by the door. "You don't scare me Wolverine."

"Wolverine huh?" Crawling into bed with you was easy. Though the mattress sunk under the weight of his bones, you still let him tug you closer—his arms wrapped around your bare waist. "It was James the other night."

"Careful," you said. "Or I'll start calling you Howlett."

A growl rumbled in his chest, his teeth nipping at the bare skin of your shoulder as you laughed. And suddenly he remembered what it was like to live. To want more than just the bottom of a bottle and a peaceful night's sleep. He could recall nights like this in the past. A different you curled up against his body—the love resonating in how you clung to him.

It all slammed into him at once.

Although tonight he didn't push it away. He kept you close, his nose burrowed in your hair, and welcomed the gentle tug of a few hours rest.

Tonight—for the first time—he slept.

Without nightmares.

[blairaptor]

Drawing inspired by the penultimate chapter of @kaydear's modern AU Bad Batch fic. It's one of those wonderful moments where the writing gave me such a strong visual that I couldn't wait to get it on paper. Rambling praise for the fic (and I guess spoilers?) and lines-only version of the drawing under the cut.

I read this fic last summer and it was my favorite thing that I read that entire year (and that includes all the traditionally-published books I read as well).

I wish I could draw like every other scene, but I'll summarize by saying that the exploration of each character and the moments where they connect are so real and satisfying. What blew me away the most was seeing how Crosshair existed as a modern character in a domestic setting, without the Empire and the inhibitor chips. I guess we'll never know exactly what Omega whispered in his ear here (unless Kaydear you want to spill!) but I assumed it was encouragement to go make things right with Hunter. And I just felt the relief when I read their conversation and Crosshair finally told his secret and let go of the guilt that was obviously eating him alive.

There is a lot of fan content I've seen that extrapolates the relationship between Omega and Crosshair... this fic is one of the best. I ate up every scene that focused on the two of them.

Kaydear you have a gift, and I am blessed to experience it.

Oh and here are just the lines in my sketchbook, because I thought they looked nice:

[teriri-sayes]

Reactions to The Incomprehensible's Chapter 330

New title - 42. Me?

Brief summary: Cale's allies waited for news of DHB. Raon introduces egg Eden to everyone. Cale explains to his allies about the game world, Eden's situation, and his plate.

==========

Today had lots of funny moments. First up was Eruhaben. He was thinking about how he always treated DHB as a kid even though DHB was the third oldest among Cale's allies. So Eruhaben decided that from now on, he should now treat DHB as an adult and an equal...

Imagine his shock when he meets DHB as... a dragon egg. 🤣🤣🤣 Eruhaben stood there for a long time, dumbfounded. 🤣🤣🤣

Sheritt was relieved to hear that DHB was saved, though we did not get to see her reaction upon meeting egg Eden. Meanwhile, the two kittens treated Eden as their new youngest. 🥰🥰🥰

And the way Raon introduced egg Eden Miru to everyone was like this Lion King scene:

Eden was so embarrassed at all the attention and affection he was receiving that the egg was shaking from embarrassment. 😂

When Cale explained about the game world, On and CH snitched on what Cale had been doing. 🤣🤣🤣

Cale: explains to everyone about the game world Eru: Wait. More than that-... Are you saying that you're called the Worst in the game? Cale: Umm... I didn't say that On: Yes, he's the Worst. HD: Interesting. I'll guard this place. I don't understand what you guys are talking about anyway. On and CH: He also has angel blood mixed in. Lock: Wow, he's an angel? CH: He also has demon blood mixed in. Currently, Cale-nim is the boss of the 3rd and 7th Evils among the Eight Evils. This will be of great help when fighting enemies in New World in the future. Eru: Sigh. Well, increasing your work is a talent too. Cale: feels wronged No, I didn't mean to? Cale: Really! It just happened on its own even when I stayed still, okay? Of course, I threatened the Vicious Dark Bear to get the 7th Evil. But the rest just happened without me knowing! Eru: Pfft. Narrator: Eruhaben didn't believe a single word Cale said. Cale felt wronged.

"Increasing your work is a talent too." 😂😂😂 Eruhaben stabbing Cale where it hurts. 😂😂😂 And Cale feeling wronged because "it just happened without him intending to"... 🤣🤣🤣 Cale, how can you achieve slacker life if you have a talent for increasing work? 😂😂😂

Lastly was Cale explaining on what happened to his plate... 🤣🤣🤣

Cale: I have no plate anymore. The heart and glutton inside me ate the plate full of dust. Of course, the life force of the world made this process easier. Eru: …Your heart ate it? Cale: *excitedly explains how his plate turned to dust and scattered into his blood, making his body stronger. Also how he will be fine as long as his heart was okay and his blood was flowing fine* Cale: You could say that it’s like my whole body has become the plate. Isn't that a wonderful thing? Narrator: Cale couldn't help but laugh. Cale: Hahahaha! Narrator: Then Cale laughed and realized. Cale: Hahaha…haha…ha… Narrator: That he was the only one laughing. For some reason, his allies's expressions were vicious. Cale sipped his lemon tea cautiously. And he muttered timidly. Cale: Umm, I got stronger.

Cale, I think you need to explain first about your ancient powers. I'm sure they're confused about your "heart" and "the glutton inside me" eating your plate... 😂😂😂

Then casually explaining that your plate broke so badly it turned to dust. Mila turned pale and had to be supported by Dodori. Eruhaben clenched his fist. And Rasheel looked like he was about to cry as he questioned why Cale was still alive then. 😂😂😂

Cale laughing out loud and stopping when he realized that everyone was looking at him viciously afterwards... 🤣🤣🤣 You'll be fine as long as your heart was okay and your blood was flowing? Who's the one who once stabbed his heart? Who's the one who constantly bled? You think everyone will be relieved to hear that "you'll be fine"? 🤣🤣🤣

Ending Remarks It seems the Aipotu arc is nearing its end. The glutton priestess eating Cale's plate though... Crybaby, why are you saying she's scary when you ate it too? Anyway, next chapter will be about Alberu's call to Cale. I can already imagine him saying "You're driving me nuts" once he hears what Cale had been up to. 😂😂😂

[twirlingsmilingwriting]

Tolerate it || Young!Coriolanus Snow X Reader

"I sit and watch you reading with your... head low"

Truly feeling like the luckiest person alive when your former classmate and short term boyfriend asked you to marry him. Not even a year into the marriage and also a year into his presidency does the original love and admiration you felt from him start to dissipate. You can't help but feel trapped and tricked into a marriage in which he may have never loved you to begin with. Warnings: Angst, Love-Bombing, marriage, gender ambiguous reader, typical snow tags (manipulation), social isolation, alluding to sexual acts but not described, kissing Word Count: 1.5k

A/N: I was listening to Evermore after watching tbosas and Tolerate It was just SCREAMING Snow vibes. I was fidgeting with the gold charm of my pearl necklace while anxiously looking over at my husband whose nose was too deep into a book to seem to care about me. I dropped my gaze from him to scan across the table and room. Our large dining room was red with gold accent pieces I had spent the morning dusting decorating the walls. We both sat at opposite ends of the long table, ever too long to just seat two people but it seemed the man couldn't do anything at home if he was within five feet of me. A bouquet of roses I placed in a ceramic vase sat between us on the table. He loved roses, he always did, so I placed them there to brighten his day and maybe even spark up conversation between us. I polished the plates we ate on delicately and even spent the afternoon painting designs onto the back of them. I had done all this in hopes I'd receive some sort of compliment from him but alas, there was none. I sat back and reminisced on the days of our love before it was like this. Truly, when I had first married Coriolanus I had felt like my life had started a new chapter. We dated in the spring and summer time of the year after we graduated from the academy. He was top of the class and while I never matched him in intelligence he had seemingly randomly taken a liking to me. We were acquaintances at most before that and then he started talking to me any chance he could get. I would gush to my friends about his charming smile and posture and they would warn me of the rumors that went around about him. They would tell me to never get to close to him as all those who got did would end up disgraced, missing, or dead. In some masochistic way, I truly felt enthralled by his magnetic aura, danger, and the mystery that surrounded him. His bright red coat was as red as the flags that man was but the danger of it all excited me. He wasn't the nicest man out there but when he was nice to me, I felt unique. I was the exception to his coldness.

We'd go out on dates and he would shower me with sweet nothings. He would tell me how I was the light that lit up the darkness of his life. He said my beauty could turn a man to stone. I will never forget the way he kissed me on the busiest street in the capital under the dancing streetlights and how I felt like time had stopped in that moment. The way he stroked the side of my face so delicately and told me I was the only one who had ever made him feel so alive. I was holding onto every breath that man had exhaled hoping he'd inhale me further into his life. We'd spend days together and call at night. I didn't notice it at the time but in retrospect it was tactical. I spent every moment of my waking days with him and soon my life started to be built around him. Every phone call from a friend I received that spoke about him in any negative way made me push them away and out of my life even further. He was the only one I talked to. He is my world. We were two seeds that had gotten dropped into the same pot and were growing into each other.

In the fall, I fell for him harder than I ever had before. It came to a height when we were walking through a park and watched as the changing leaves fell from the trees. He held my hand in his and he held me so tight as if he was afraid I'd float away and leave him. I would never of course, my life would bend to his will. My head rested against his arm like the red coat he always wore. He'd recount to me stories of his life that would make me laugh and smile. His strikingly blonde hair blew in the wind softly and I noticed every detail of how his icy blue eyes would crinkle when he'd smile at me. He was like a beautiful painting whose artist was unknown. I remember thinking that all I would ever want to be in this life is as significant to him as he is to me. I remember the earth shattering halt my heart felt when he turned to me and dropped down to one knee and proposed. A smirk plastered his face when I said yes. He stood back up and pulled me in by the waist. One hand on my chin and the other on my lower back. The feeling of his warm, soft lips on mine and the feeling of his hair tangled between my fingers. I remember the ecstasy of the moment and the feeling that my friends were wrong, the world was wrong, no one knew Coriolanus like I knew him. He wasn't a cold, calculated, and constantly plotting man, he was just misunderstood. When he pulled away from the kiss, he whispered in my ear that he would live a thousand life times if it meant he got to love me in the next. I remembered everything.

That was the first night we spent together. He snuck me into his house and we giggled in his bedroom when he shut the door. We told each other secrets and moved the furniture so we could dance. My head was placed onto his chest and we swayed to the sound of the music playing from his grandmothers record player. We shared moments of passion in his bed, fell asleep in each others arms, and woke up tangled in bed sheets. I remember thinking he was truly mine.

We married shortly after in the beginning of December. The ceremony was lavish and beautiful. I remember the way his fingers tucked my hair behind my ear. A single tear fell from his eyes and he leaned in and kissed me. He must've been so taken aback from my beauty as I was with his. Only one of my friends attended the wedding but I was too happy that I was marrying the man of my dreams to care. The first weeks of our married life were wondrous. He had risen to power and we had moved into the absolute gargantuan mansion we live in today. He couldn't seem to keep his hands off me and I was the diamond of his eyes. He loved to show me off for the cameras and crowds. Then one day, winter came and roses don't survive.

It started off small. He didn't want to talk or cuddle in bed at night anymore. I assumed he was just tired from working so hard. Then he stopped complimenting my outfits or hair, trading them with passive aggressive comments and ways I could improve myself for him. He no longer wanted to talk at dinner. We stopped speaking at some point. He wouldn't want to hear my voice unless it was to service him. In public, he still was my adoring husband but in private, I felt like I was living with a stranger. At night, I can hear him whispering sweet nothings to the air and humming melodies and I can only hope he's dreaming about me.

These days, I haven't been sleeping, I've been trying to listen in and see if I can make out the words he is saying in his sleep but I haven't been able to make out any other words than lines about trees. While he is having his meetings all day, I am constantly doing new diets, trying new makeup, new hair, decorating the house differently, leaving loving notes on his desk, anything to try and earn a compliment from him. Even if a compliment is too much, I am begging for a word from that man. I love him. I still love him. I don't believe it is possible for me to stop loving him. I can't dare to think of loving any one else. He is so much wiser, and smarter, and more beautiful than I am and I find myself becoming the moon to his earth. I spin around him, pulled in by his orbit except, I'm not his moon. I'm just a star in his sky that is begging to be his sun. I just want a footnote in the story of his life. Even an annotation on a page of his story will be enough for me.

The sound of him placing his heavy book onto the table pulled me out of my trance and my eyes met his blue ones once more. Instantly, I am struck frozen. His eyes had such a way of pulling you in. I looked down at his lips as they pressed a small smirk and his eyes squinted a little while he picked up his fork from the table and looked at me. He examined my appearance and I sat up straighter. The thick tension in the air put me on edge. Finally, his lips parted and he spoke.

"Is that a new hair color?" he asked, keeping his eyes laser focused on me.

"It is... d- do you like it?" He looked me over again and leaned back in his chair contemplating what to say next. Then, shortly, sweetly, and sharply, he muttered the word,

"Tolerable"

~

PART TWO PART THREE

[lizardboiii]

ANGER MANAGEMENT┃R. Sukuna

[Possessive!Sukuna x Fem!Reader]

・❥・

│Summary: Anger management was by no means your strong suit. No amount of lessons or prayers could change that. In fact, it feels like you’ve been doing a lot worse lately with the appearance of a new neighbor in your next door apartment.

“You're an insufferable bastard and I hope you move.”

“Eat shit and die.”

“Fuck you.”

・❥・

│cw: 18+, SFW, vulgar language, slight PTSD, blond man

│w/c: 3.4k

│chapters: (i) (ii) (iii) (iv) (v) (vi) (vii)

│notes: Blonds and therapy. Who's to say you can't have both?NeighborsAU!, AncestorsAU!

・❥・

│Chapter III : IRKED

WACK

You startled awake at the feeling of a foreign object smacking against your face. Snapping up from your position on the couch, you looked around wildly for the source.

“Wakey wakey, (y/n)~” Yuuji smiled down on you as he went to unleash another strike onto your perplexed form.

Recovering quickly, you violently grabbed the pillow before it met its mark and ripped it from his hands, “YUUJI!”

The pinkette only laughed your anger off as you chucked the pillow back at him. A tight knot formed in your stomach as you growled at him. Frowning, you took a deep breath. There was no need to flip out on Yuuji. He was just joking.

Shaking your head you checked your phone for the time, 11:46am.

“SHIT!”

You stumbled off the couch and stuffed your phone into your pocket. The beginnings of an adrenaline rush making you spin past a taken aback Yuuji.

Yuuji stumbled and watched you with confused eyes, “Huh? What’s going on?”

You raced for the door, “No time! See you later, Yuuji!”

Yanking the door open you were quickly stopped by a firm chest. ‘Stopped’ as in slamming into someone's chest face first. You grabbed your nose bridge in pain as you glared at the offender.

Sukuna loomed over you with bored eyes, “Leaving?”

You scowled, “Yes, and it’d be nice if you could move your fat ass already.”

Sukuna smirked, “Of course. But,” a large hand moved up from his pocket.

You flinched when he snatched the base of your neck. His thumb rested on the dip of your collarbone while the rest of his hand sat comfortably behind your neck. Slowly he traced the pad of his thumb across and up the crevasse of your neck before he landed on a spot.

Caressing small circles in your skin with his thumb, Sukuna’s stare bore into your neck, “You sure you don’t wanna cover this up first?”

Your brows tightly knitted together as you slapped Sukuna’s hand away in disgust. His smug smirk instantly reminded you of the brief conversation you held with him last night.

His rough voice asking you to stay.

Skillful wandering hands. 

A sharp yet sensual bite to your sensitive neck.

You shot a hand up to your neck to cover the rediscovered bruise. Sukuna’s eyes shone bright at your flustered expression.

“Of course,” He picked up a strand of your hair and twirled it, “I wouldn't mind if you're trying to show it off.”

Snarling, you gripped your neck harder, “Get your hands off me.”

You grunted when he suddenly tugged on your hair, “You weren’t complaining last night, rat.”

In an instant you swiped at him, just barely grazing his skin, “I’ll flay you alive, bastard.”

A dangerous smirk showed off his sharp canines, “I’d like to see you try.”

You let out a frustrated groan as you flung your hands up in defeat, “I don’t have time for this you pink haired bastard!”

You recklessly shoved past him while grumbling curses at him underneath your breath. Wicked laughter only mocked your late departure as you scrambled into your apartment.

Fucking bastard.

Taking a deep breath you quickly ran into your room and grabbed the first pants and shirt you saw. The colorful loose fitting sweats barely matched your poorly picked out shirt.

Running around your apartment like a mad woman you brushed your socks, ate your teeth, and combed a granola bar.

Wait- 

You brushed your teeth, combed your hair, threw day old socks on, then grabbed a granola bar as a quick breakfast.

Throwing on sneakers, you raced out of your apartment. As soon as your foot entered the hallway you internally groaned at the sudden need to glance over at a certain door. 

The expectation of Sukuna still standing at his door waiting for you wrapped around you like a blanket, suffocating you. Against your better judgment you took a hesitant peek over at Sukuna’s apartment. 

His door stood tauntingly still. The only indication of anyone else living on your apartment’s floor was the muffled noise of pots and pans clattering. Yuuji was probably making breakfast for the two of them.

You pressed your lips together. Why did you even think Sukuna would wait for you? It’s not like he had an obligation to speak with you. Yet, you couldn’t help the small prick in your heart at Sukuna’s disappearance.

Shaking away your thoughts you made haste to the elevator which took you down to your building's parking garage. The air was chilly as you stepped out into the concrete fortress. 

It was to be expected. The winter months were beginning to wrap up as the year moved along.

Hell, even March was closing in. 

The thought made you frown. Just a couple more weeks and you’d be visiting your parents for your scheduled family vacation. It was tradition to take a ‘family spring break’. 

Jumping in your car, you sighed at the thought. You hadn’t seen them in person since you first moved into your apartment almost a year ago… when your lessons first started.

You clenched your steering wheel hard. How disappointed would they be if they found out you still hadn’t even made it a month yet?

Checking your car's clock you cursed, 12:05pm. Your lesson started at 12pm. Anxiously, you pressed your foot down on the gas harder.

This was the third time this week you were going to be late to one of your scheduled meetings, and you knew they were catching on. You shuddered at what a certain blond would say to you.

Arriving at a quaint building you took in its familiar brick exterior. The place looked more like a college dorm facility than a professional rehabilitation center. Though, the building was next to the border of the local campus which explained its college look. 

You pressed your lips together tightly, your expression contorting to match your inner anxiety. The thought of being so close to the main campus made you queasy. Finding the courage to get out, you slammed your car door shut and trotted inside the building.

Signing in at the reception desk, you gave the old receptionist a forced smile. The elder lady beamed at you with a genuine grin in return, “Late again I see miss (l/n)!”

You let out a hoarse laugh, “Yep…”

Uncomfortably ending the conversation you eventually made your way over to the intimidating wooden doors that led to the group discussion room. 

Reluctantly, you ripped one of the familiar doors open. Upon entering you were met with spinning heads and speculating stares.

Silence filled the room as you stood awkwardly by the door, unmoving. You chewed on the skin of your mouth when a voice finally acknowledged you.

“Miss (l/n). I’m glad you could make it.”

You flinched at his stoic voice, “My bad, Sir. I had a late night.”

The blond man crossed his legs and pushed his glasses up with his pointer and thumb, “Just like the past few nights?”

You cleared your throat. The feeling of eyes on all sides of you bore into your soul.

“Why don’t you have a seat, Miss (l/n)?”

“Y-Yes.”

・❥・

You internally cheered when the meeting had finally adjourned. Stretching your stiff limbs you were quick to grab your stuff and get the hell out of there.

“(y/n).”

You turned around and forced a smile, “Nanami.”

The older man sighed, “Come into my office.”

You clenched your teeth, “Of course.”

Following behind the taller blond you frowned. You knew exactly where this conversation was going.

Nanami opened the door to his office and held it for you. You shot him a mumbled thanks before you slumped into one of the leather chairs that sat across from his desk. 

Keeping your eyes straight ahead, you didn’t bother to look at your surroundings. You had been in this room enough times to know every detail in it. 

From the stupid stress balls with smiley faces on his desk to the ever growing collection of diplomas on his walls. You couldn’t forget about the eye rolling ‘hang in there’ poster with a doe eyed little puppy.

However, Nanami wasn’t a full time anger management coach as hard as that was to believe. His full time job was working at the university as a psychology and criminal justice professor. His side gig was dealing with unorthodox people… like you.

Nanami slowly crossed the room and sat down in his brown leather chair. He clasped his hands in front of him and waited for you to speak.

It was always like this. He knew that you understood what you did wrong. So, instead of pointless questions he allowed your guilt to spill the beans for you.

You sighed heavily, not wanting to argue with him today, “Alright I get it. I was late three times this week.”

You waved your hands around dramatically, “But it’s not like that even means anything. I’ve just been busy.”

You could feel the anger in the pit of your stomach heat up, “What right do you have to judge me?! It’s not like you're labeled some freak who needs help!”

A loud silence flooded the room. 

Nanami sighed, “As I suspected.”

Your eyes widened at your mistake, “N-No I didn’t mean that! It’s just that I've been stressed. I swear to you I’m doing a lot better!”

His gaze held your own, “Do you understand the amount of money your parents have put forth into this program?”

You flinched, “Of course I understand-”

“Then why do you not act like it?”

You bit your lip at his question, “I do, I’ve been doing better-”

Nanami held up a hand to silence you, “You had been getting better (y/n). You were on the right track.”

Every syllable he pronounced made you inch back in shame.

“For the past month I have observed a sudden change in your behavior. You’ve been less receptive to the lessons and even disregard coming on time.”

You clutched your hands together in your lap, “I know.”

“So what is it?”

You looked at him confused, “What?”

Nanami frowned, “What changed in your life that made you angry again?”

Flashes of Sukuna hit you like a brick. That fucking bastard did this to you. He was the reason you were getting yelled at. That piece of-

“You're blaming someone else aren't you?”

You jumped at his statement, “He’s a part of the cause! Of course he’s to blame!”

“Accountability, (y/n). We discussed this earlier this week if you would’ve paid attention.”

You clenched your teeth together harder, your knuckles turning white as you clutched the chair's arm rests, “It’s just…been hard.”

“What has been?”

“Living next to some scum bastard I can’t stand to look at! Everyday I’ve had an encounter with him! I can’t have a moment's rest for god's sake!”

Nanami threw you a look before grabbing a happy blue stress ball. He handed the worn ball to you expressionless. You angrily took the dumb ball and squeezed the life out of it.

Counting down, you took a breath, “I understand that I have definitely started some of the fights. But you wouldn’t understand how infuriating he is. It’s like he does it on purpose!”

Nanami nodded, “It hasn’t gotten physical yet I assume?”

You felt your stomach drop. Vivid flashbacks of Sukuna’s head bouncing off the door entered your mind. The sick satisfaction you got from the thunk of his skull hitting the hard wood. Suddenly, the sound of loud sirens entered your ears as you tried to push away more memories.

“No.”

Nanami hummed, “Good, then you're still on the right track. As much as I’d hate to remind you, we wouldn’t want another incident to extend your stay here. You're lucky that girl dropped the charges.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, flashes of red and blue starting to form, “I know.”

“(y/n).”

You forced yourself to look at him.

“Although you have been slipping lately, that is nothing to be afraid of. Relapsing is easy, that is why you are here.”

You clenched the ball harder.

“Do you remember the first day you came here?”

Did you remember? Of course you did. You practically assaulted him in his own office.

You laughed, “I think seeing you here was more of a shocker than having to come.”

A faint smile made its way onto his face, “(y/n) I want you to come back.”

You raised a brow, “I’m already here?”

Nanami shook his head, “No, come back to college.”

You froze, “W-What?”

“I want you to return back to college and finish out your degree. You were only months away from graduating when you dropped out.”

The stress ball in your hand morphed around your fist, “I’m not allowed on campus anymore.”

You shot daggers into his glasses, “You know that.”

“Online.”

Nanami straightened his back, “Finish your courses online and continue your dream.”

You casted your gaze to the floor, “Why should I?”

“Why wouldn’t you?”

You clenched your teeth, “Why do you even care?”

“You were my best student.”

The ball in your hand blurred as tears dotted your eyes, “…I don’t know if I can.”

Your throat felt constricted, “I-I want to but-” Your breath came out ragged, “What if-”

“Prove to me you want this.”

You lifted tear filled eyes to an outstretched hand. Nanami held a single coin. A 30 day chip.

“Prove to me you’d do anything to go back to school. Even earning this. If you can manage at least one month I will talk personally with President Masamichi to allow you to finish out all your classes and graduate. No questions asked.”

You stared at him with wide eyes. The coin beckoned you to take it. To get away from your dead end job and become something.

“It’s your choice (y/n).”

You took a deep breath and snatched the coin from his hand, “I want to go back. No matter what it takes.”

Nanami nodded, “I look forward to see you back in my class.”

You laughed lightly, “I’m sure you’ll regret that like the first time.”

The blond merely shook his head, “Not once did I.”

A warm feeling filled your chest. The coin heated your palm as your tears slowly dried. Could you really save your ruined life?

“Ah, one more thing,” you watched as he pulled out a thick Manila folder.

“You’ve missed so much during these past few days that you’ll need to extend your stay today. Though unfortunately this means I will have to work overtime.”

Your jaw dropped as he began reading off papers. His lecture not stopping for any of your small pleas. 

This guy-

・❥・

You walked into your apartment exhausted. Mindlessly throwing yourself onto your couch you yelled into a pillow, allowing the stress of the day to leak out of you.

You had to stay two extra hours in Nanami’s office listening to every part of the lectures you missed. The man didn’t even let you go to the bathroom.

It didn’t help that after you finally escaped from your lessons you had to stop by the grocery store once you remembered you had no food in the house. 

Your luck only ran out more when you got stuck in rush hour traffic. You sat in bumper to bumper traffic for three hours trying to make it through the city only to find out the store was closed for technical maintenance.

What the hell did that even mean? It was like the universe was trying to get you to fail already.

Pouting, you rested your chin on your pillow and scrolled through your phone. A quick answer back to all your messages left you bored after a few minutes. Glancing at your phone’s clock, your eye twitched, 6:45pm

You sighed heavily and flipped onto your side. It was well past dinner time and you didn’t even get to eat yet. A loud stomach growl signified the need for you to finally get up.

Scraping yourself off your couch you made your way over to your open kitchen. You were certain you at least had one cup of Kraft Mac And Cheese left.

Flipping on the lightswitch, the sound of a flickering light caught your attention. Abruptly, the lights in your kitchen went out along with every other source of electricity following in suit.

You clenched your teeth together and opened your fridge. A pit in your stomach formed at the sight of a scarce fridge engulfed in darkness. The damn thing had turned off as well. Trying your stove you cursed when it also made no indication of being on.

You came to the sudden conclusion that everything in your apartment had been turned off. Fuck.

You weighed your options. Stay home and starve for the night with the hopes of your electricity coming on by morning. Or, drag your sorry ass over to Sukuna's and see if his electricity was up and running.

If his wasn’t you could report the issue much faster if it was a building issue rather than just your own apartment. But did you really want to talk with Sukuna? Especially after the day you just had?

Groaning you rubbed your brows. Screw it. Might as well make it a test of faith for the next month to come.

Swiftly exiting your apartment you took notice of the lit up hallway. At least now you knew the entire building’s power wasn’t out.

Knocking on Sukuna’s door you waited for familiar footsteps. No answer.

You knocked louder. Nothing. 

The quiet buzz of the hallway's lights mocked your pathetic attempts.

Growing agitated you went to bang on the door with your fists before you caught yourself. Calm down. Breath.

After a quick count down from 10, you gently knocked again. Faint rummaging flowed from the door's crack but there was still no answer.

You clenched your hand in a fist. Why did you even care at this point? You knew the building's power was still on.

You should just go to the reception desk and report-

Sukuna’s door leisurely opened to reveal a figure you knew all too well. You swallowed hard at his lack of attire.

Sukuna’s tattooed chest was on display as gray sweatpants hung dangerously low on his hips. Your eyes trailed his pronounced v-line before you snapped them back up to his eyes. Shit.

“What?”

Sukuna crossed his arms and leaned against his door frame. You watched as his arms flexed naturally showing off the thick lines that decorated his skin.

You chewed your lip, “Is your power on?”

“Obviously.”

Your jaw twitched, “Mines off. Can I borrow your kitchen?”

What the hell were you saying?? You didn’t even want to talk to him now you wanted to use his kitchen??

Sukuna snorted, “Why should I?”

You glared at him, “Listen, asshole. All my shit went out, you can at least spare me your damn microwave.”

Sukuna rolled his eyes before his pushed off his door frame. You grunted when he carelessly shoved past you and walked over to your door.

“What are you doing?”

Your brain spun as Sukuna abruptly walked into your apartment like he owned the place.

“Fixing your problem so you don’t bother me.”

You had little time to rebuttal his insult as you internally worried about the disarray of your apartment. The place looked like a hurricane went through there.

“W-Wait a minute!”

You ran after his form pathetically holding your hand out to stop him. Embarrassment filled your face as you watched him look around your apartment in disgust.

“You live like this?”  

You growled, “I haven’t had time to clean, dick!”

Sukuna scoffed, “Sure. Where’s your Breaker Box?”

Composing yourself, you led him to a small room near the front of your apartment. The ‘room’ was barely the size of a closet, Sukuna’s form just managed to fit.

The box sat attached to the back wall along with long forgotten brooms and other random items you shoved in there. Immediately, you heard Sukuna tsk before he retreated out of the small space.

“It looks like everything is on. You must’ve blown a fuse.”

Sukuna scratched his neck, “Have the desk worker call you an electrician in the morning, for now you can stay at mine.”

You nodded, “Okay. Wait what-”

Sukuna didn’t bother waiting for your answer before he started walking back to his own apartment.

You stood in place, jaw to the floor. Did he just ask you to stay the night?

・❥・

[bunnywritesjunk]

My King

Series summary: Your parents signed you up for an Alpha Omega Match company when you were eighteen. It took years for them to find your match, but you meet the giant austrian man. Will he be a good partner?

Chapter summary: You and König attend a holiday party.

Pairing: König x Fem Reader

Warnings: A/B/O dynamics (Never use this abbreviation without the slashes it is an indigenous slur) 18+ MDNI, vague racism, heat (omega verse)

Word count: 3.1k

Genre: Mostly Fluff a little angst here and there. Smut.

A/n: Omg....Hi guys......it's me.....hey.......I am alive. This chapter is defiantly geared more towards my poc readers. Theres some angst that i'll revisit in a later chapter. Some comments are made. You'll see. Anyways, I can't promise I will be posting super consistently but I will definatly try to post more then I have been.

Previous Chapter

Chapter Five:

Your editor droned on about deadlines and writing engines as you ate some soup König got you earlier. You can hear the desperation through the computer screen. You'd be lying if you said you were listening. They'll get the pages when they get them, with you, no money. König sat on the couch waiting for your meeting to be done. 

“I'll get the next chapter done, Frankie.” You said.

“You promise?” He was almost teary-eyed.

“Yes, I promise.” 

You hung up and closed your laptop while sighing. You got up and walked over to your giant Alpha. You outstretched his arm, inviting you to cuddle. You obliged plopping yourself on his lap and resting your head on his chest. The November winds were seeping into the atmosphere slowly. You didn't mind. That meant the holidays were coming. 

“The 141 is having an early holiday party. Everyone goes on leave one week into December, so we celebrate early. Would you like to go with me, Schatz?” 

“Oh yes, that sounds lovely. When is it?” You asked delightedly.

“This weekend. It's a dressy event.” 

The weekend was in four days. You haven't done your hair or dressed up in a while. You'd want a new dress for this especially with the cold, but you supposed you could make something work. As for your hair, it was time to hit up a YouTube tutorial for some ideas. König seemed to sense your internal struggle. 

“We can go shopping today, I need a button-down shirt.” 

“You don't have a button-down?” You asked a little amused. 

“Never needed one.” 

“Huh, well I also want to get my hair done. But, I've never been to a stylist here.” You started searching for braiders in the area, and to your surprise, there were some. 

The prices were comparable to ones in the US so that gave you some comfort. König looked over your shoulder browsing the different styles along with you. Some he has seen and others he hasn't. He chimed in with some styles he thought would look cute on you every so often. 

“Oh, she has an appointment available tomorrow.”

“Book it, I'll take you.” 

“I can take myself it's alright.”

“Nein. I'll take you.”

You grumbled a bit at his stubbornness but gave in. You booked the appointment and placed your deposit. 

“How much is it?” König asked.

“Um, all together with the deposit, one hundred fifty euros. I was also gonna tip but I forgot Europe doesn't do that.” 

König replied with a 'hmm' and tapped away on his phone. Your phone dinged and you checked the notification. 

'König has sent you € 150,00' 

“Kö, You don't have to pay for this.”

“Why shouldn't I? You are mine, You want it, I like it when you look beautiful, so I pay.” He said simply.

König had a habit of paying for everything. You liked it but it made you a little uncomfortable. This wasn't how you'd be treated back in the States. Whenever you mentioned it, König would always rant about how American men were cheap and lazy. He also would mention how he has more money than he needs so spending it on you is fun. König loves to see your little face light up whenever he buys you something sweet, or a piece of jewelry you were looking at. He told you to get dressed for the shopping trip and you obliged, making sure you were bundled up for the cold weather. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The two of you opted to shop for König's clothes first. Finding clothing that fits him nicely is a challenge with how tall and muscular he is. There were some stores specifically made for big and tall men that you went into first. One store only had bright floral patterned shirts and loosely fitting dress pants. Neither you nor your Alpha liked that. The next one had some nice boots in his size. They were a fancier version of combat boots. Finally, you found a simple black button-down shirt and slim tapered dress pants for him. You made him try it on before leaving the store.

 My god...You had to keep yourself from drooling. The pants hugged his waist perfectly, and the shirt was just tight enough for you to see some muscle peeking through. König smirked at your reaction. 

“You think this will look good with my sniper hood?” he asked. 

“What?! You're gonna wear your hood and cover-up that gorgeous face? No way.”

“I don't show my face to anyone on base, Schatz.” 

“Hmm, well you look good in anything so... I guess.” You pouted.

König got dressed and paid for his clothes. Nearby there were a few boutiques with dresses. You wanted something nice, but not too fancy. You didn't want to overdress. König was patient with you as you browsed a bunch of stores. Eventually, you found something you liked. It was a midi deep purple knit dress. It had elegant sleeves and looked like it could be dressed up or down. Perfect for a cold night. König sat on the bench of the fitting room as you tried it on. You came out and twirled giving him a full view of the dress. 

“So?” You asked.

“Beautiful.” He motioned for you to come closer. When you did he placed a hand on your hip gingerly. 

“I can think of many things I could do to you in this dress.” He said quietly. 

“König!” You gave him a light slap on the arm and went back into the changing room embarrassed. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next day you started prepping for your hair appointment. You had to wash your hair but the stylist said she could blow-dry it for you. You spent about an hour washing your hair and another detangling it. König kept you company on the couch as you combed and sectioned it out. You sighed and slumped on the couch once you were done. Your arms were a little sore but you were glad you were done. You put your bonnet on to keep your hair neat and moisturized. You made sure you had your tip ready and a book to read while you got your hair done. König stood at the door watching you pace around the apartment gathering your things. 

The drive to the salon was quick and smooth. König gave you a kiss on the cheek before you exited the car. You opened the door to the building, and the smell of hair spray wafted into your nose. A tall woman greeted you as you walked in. Her hair was braided back into neat rows and her dark cheeks had a warm glow to them. 

“Are you my twelve pm?” She asked with a smile.

“Yes, I am, nice to meet you.” 

She guided you into a salon chair and got started. Her hands were quick, skilled, and gentle as she worked her way through your head of hair. In about two hours she finished. You admired your new do in the mirror and thanked your stylist profusely. König waited at a café down the street. You spotted him sitting peacefully at one of the outdoor tables, away from most other patrons. As you got closer he glanced up to meet and look at you. His eyes widened, taking in your new look. Although he had his mask on you could tell he was smiling under it. He stood up to greet you. 

“You look beautiful, Liebe.” He leaned down to kiss your forehead careful to avoid touching your freshly done hair. You giggled bashfully and returned his kiss on his cheek. 

The next few days went by quickly. You did some extra work and scheduled an editor meeting before the weekend. When Saturday rolled around, you were anxious. You wanted to make a good impression with your Alpha's coworkers. How do you act around military personnel? Your father never brought you around any of his military friends. As you got ready you just tried to keep an open mind and stay confident in yourself. Also, you will get to see Soap again. You slipped on your dress and spritzed a light mist of perfume.

You walked out of your room while looking through your purse to make sure you had all of your essentials. König was sitting on the couch but stood when he saw you. He was dressed and ready, looking over your form affectionately. You zipped around the dining room and kitchen making sure you had everything in order. König walked over to you, stopping you in your path. He slinked his hand around your waist pulling you out of your thoughts. He pulled you into his chest gently. 

“Relax, Schatz.” He purred. You looked up at him and gave him a nervous smile. 

“I think I left my wallet in my room. Do I need it? Should I bring a gift?” You rambled. 

König pulled your wallet out from his back pocket and handed it to you. He shook his head and gave you a small smile. His sniper hood was hanging haphazardly over a dining room chair. He led you towards the door swiftly grabbing it and opening the door. You followed him out reluctantly. 

The drive to the base was uneventful aside from your occasional worrying that was quelled by your alpha quickly. You can't help but feel more on edge than you usually would, but you can't put a finger on why. König pulled up to the massive, barbed wire-lined fence. A man in full military gear and a large gun strolled up to the window. You hadn't noticed that König out his hood in a while back. He rolled the window down and quickly flashed his ID to the soldier. The man nodded and waved his hand in the air. The gate slid open almost painfully slowly. König placed a hand on your thigh as he drove slowly through the base. It helped calm you for the time being. 

There was a large building with a few dozen cars parked outside. König Parked the SUV rather haphazardly a good distance away from the entrance. When you opened the door you heard faint music coming from the building and lots of voices and laughter. Your alpha lapped the car and met you on the passenger side. You started to walk towards the door but he stopped you.

“What is the matter, Schatz?” His eyes softly gazed down at you. 

“Nothing is wrong, I'm fine.” You said quickly.

“If you are uncomfortable, we can go.” He gently caressed your cheek., his scent enveloping your senses. 

“I'm ok, I'm just a little nervous.” Deep down you knew something was off, but you were confident you could get through this night. 

“Shcatz, You forgot your collar.” König said nonchalantly.

You gasped and your hand flew up to your neck covering your exposed scent glands. 

“Oh no! Why didn't you tell me? Now I'm gonna stink up a storm in there.” You turned around embarrassed and even more on edge. 

Your Alpha said nothing, he simply opened the back door of the car and pulled out a small black bag before closing the door. He spun you around by the waist to face him waving the bag in front of you. You glanced at him unsure before taking the bag. König gave you a small nod waiting for you to open it. Inside was a large square jewelry box. When you opened it it held the most beautiful gold metal collar. The one you looked at from the boutique a while ago. 

“König....” You truly didn't know what to say. Tears pricked your eyes but you quickly wiped them away and replaced them with a smile. 

“Thank you, Alpha.” You said while wrapping your arms around his middle. 

He held you close and kissed the top of your head through his hood gently. He pulled away and took the collar out of its box. He clasped it around your neck locking it with the provided key. It fit perfectly, you could barely tell it was there. König held the small key out for you to take but you shook your head. 

“Keep it safe for me Alpha.” You said giving him a warm smile. 

Although you couldn't see his face, you could tell he was happy you trusted him with the key. König held out his elbow for you to hold and led you towards the event. You were still nervous but you brushed it off, you had someone there to protect you. The large hall was buzzing with conversation. Most people were sitting around in large groups having conversations and others were at the bar. There were string lights hung all around the ceiling giving the place a relaxing atmosphere. König led you to the bar eager to get a drink. Parties are not you or your Alpha's natural element.

He ordered a beer for himself and a gin and tonic for you. As you waited you glanced around taking in the different people. You were probably one of the very few omegas. You could tell who was military and who wasn't very easily. Some were still in uniform, others wore masks or dog tags. Some soldiers brought a plus one but it was a minority. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw a figure approaching. You turned to see a familiar mohawk. 

“Hey! There they are!” Soap exclaimed pulling you into a bone-crushing hug. You could smell the alcohol on him. 

“Hey, soap.” You eked out while being squeezed. 

Soap turned to König and gave the large Apex a hug as well. König grunted, a little uncomfortable with the contact but patted his back affectionately. 

“We've been waiting for you two to get here, everyone wants to meet the Colonel's Mrs.” His Scottish accent was thick and slightly slurred. 

The bartender set your drinks down and you quickly scooped yours up and took a sip. Soap led both of you away toward a group of men. You lingered behind König slightly allowing him to greet the group first. Soap announced your name loudly sparing König of the burden. You waved shyly giving everyone a small smile. Everyone greeted you and your Alpha before returning to the conversation they were having. You were grateful the attention on you didn't last as you could sip your cocktail and listen to the drunken ramblings of the soldiers. 

As the night dragged on, you met various people. You chatted with Ghost a bit and met Captain Price, as well as Gaz. Though the drunker people go the more rowdy things become. You sat on a chair near the group, only on your second drink. Your Alpha was loosening up after four. Soap suggested they go out to the field and play football, challenging Ghost to a team match. The whole group along with some others from the party joined them outside. König glanced over at you. 

“Will you be ok if I join them?” He asked gingerly.

“Of course, go have fun.” You gave him a reassuring smile. 

You watched him follow his coworkers out of the door into the frigid night. You decided to hang out at the bar as your drink was almost done. Although the night has been fine so far there was still something nagging in the back of your head. You plopped down on one of the bar stools and ordered another drink. Good thing this event had an open bar. You scrolled on your phone for a while not noticing how fast an hour has passed. An Alpha sat on the bar stool next to yours sighing loudly. You didn't bother acknowledging him as many people have sat there in the time that has passed. 

“It's a nice night huh? Not too cold.” The guy said in a European accent you can't place. 

You looked up from your phone. “Oh, are you talking to me?” 

“Yeah, I am. So uh, are you a new recruit or?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Oh no, I'm just a visitor.” You glanced back at your phone hoping he would leave you alone. 

“I've never seen an omega like you.” 

“An omega like me?” You looked at him puzzled.

“Yeah, you're so exotic. I thought omegas like you have to stay in your own countries.” He said while taking a sip of his drink. 

“Well, that's rude and extremely ignorant.” You scowled at him.

“Come on, it's a compliment. I mean I knew your kind your be spicy but damn.” He chuckled. 

You took that as your cue to leave. And you stood up from the bar your felt a tug on the crown of your head. 

“I mean, is this even your real hair?” He rubbed the hair he grabbed in between his fingers. 

You ripped away from his grip. “What is wrong with you?! Don't touch me!” You yelled. Everyone at the bar turned to look in your direction. 

“Relax, I'm just joking around.” The Alpha said trying to diffuse the situation. 

“You don't touch a random person's hair, who raised you?!” 

You felt a hand rest on your shoulder gently from behind. The Alpha you were confronting turned pale. 

“Schatz? What did he do?” Your Alpha asked lowly.

 You turned to face König anger still written all over your face. As angry as you were, you wanted this to be a teaching moment for this young Alpha. You turned back to the Alpha who was standing up now sweat forming on his face. 

“Nothing Alpha, this guy just needs to watch where he's going, right?” You eyed him carefully. 

“Yes! Yes, I'm very sorry miss.” He looked down at your feet. 

You looked up at König who seemed unconvinced. He was staring daggers into the young Alpha. You saw König take a deep breath closing his eyes while doing so. When he opened them he looked down at you.

“Time to go, it's a long drive home.” He placed a hand on the small of your back and led you out.

 Some people glanced in your direction as you left. You couldn't help but feel embarrassed. You hurried to the car in an effort to get out of the cold. König opened your door for you and helped you slide into the passenger seat. 

“I forgot something inside, I'll be right back.” He said quickly shutting the door and storming back inside the building. 

You couldn't tell if he was about to torture that soldier or not. But you did what you could, if he gets in trouble it's his own fault. König came back out no more than two minutes later. As he started the car, you got cozy relishing in the heated air. 

“What did you forget?” You ask him.

“I had a project for Ghost, I had to tell him about it.”

“Hmm.” You responded, not buying it completely. 

As your Alpha drove, the gentle rocking of the car lulled you to sleep.

As your Alpha drove, the gentle rocking of the car lulled you to sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

König shook you awake gently. “We're home.”

You stirred and sat up stretching gently. You felt warm, a little too warm. Did you drink that much? You followed König into the apartment and kicked off your shoes at the door. That's when the cramp hit you. It was so painful it made you dizzy causing you to stumble. König caught you by the arm and ushered you to the couch.

“Schatz? You're burning up.” He laid you down and hurried to the kitchen.

You felt the sweat forming on your brow. Your heat had come early. You whined into the couch cushions trying to breathe through the dull achy pain. König brought some water and sat you up to drink.

“Why didn't you tell me your heat was coming?” he said concerned.

“Early...it came early.”

taglist: i hope i got everyone

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@tizylish @thychuvaluswife

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[padfootagain]

Love in Verses (X)

Chapter 10 : [I] was angry that my trust could not repose in the clear light, like poetry or freedom leaning in from sea

Hi! Here is another chapter! Today: lots of misogyny, the academic world being what it is, and some time spent at the beach with our best boy Elwood!

****

Pairing: Hozier x fem!reader (professor!AU)

Warnings: slow burn, angst, hurt, hurt/comfort, tooth-rotting fluff in later chapters, some scenes in later chapters will have heavy sexual themes even if it’s not explicit nsfw description, so minors here

Summary: Your life seems perfect. You're engaged, your career is thriving as you become an assistant professor at Trinity College, and this Andrew Hozier-Byrne you're sharing an office with seems to be a nice guy you hope to call a friend soon. Life seems to be smiling at you... until everything goes sour. When your fiancé breaks up with you, your perfect world shatters. And when your colleague also gets his heart broken soon after, your shared office seems to be a curse rather than a blessing. But Andrew seems determined to mend your broken hearts... Will things finally go according to plan?

Word Count: 4344

Masterlist for the series – Hozier’s masterlist – Main masterlist

Oysters

Our shells clacked on the plates. My tongue was a filling estuary, My palate hung with starlight: As I tasted the salty Pleiades Orion dipped his foot into the water.

Alive and violated, They lay on their bed of ice: Bivalves: the split bulb And philandering sigh of ocean Millions of them ripped and shucked and scattered.

We had driven to that coast Through flowers and limestone And there we were, toasting friendship, Laying down a perfect memory In the cool of thatch and crockery.

Over the Alps, packed deep in hay and snow, The Romans hauled their oysters south of Rome: I saw damp panniers disgorge The frond-lipped, brine-stung Glut of privilege

And was angry that my trust could not repose In the clear light, like poetry or freedom Leaning in from sea. I ate the day Deliberately, that its tang Might quicken me all into verb, pure verb.

Seamus Heaney, Field Work, 1979

Lunchtime with Andrew and Colm had turned into lunchtime with half the department somehow…

You were tired, you wanted to go home. A few weeks into teaching, you were already starting to feel the familiar tug of exhaustion. You had a thousand things to prepare for your research, books to read, articles to go through… And Andrew and you were still trying to fight against Sam and Frank’s marriage the best you could.

After the flower fiasco, out of which Andrew had managed to gain a moment of glory and a longing gaze from Sam, the two of you were working on a way to make you shine in Frank’s eyes. The perfect gift to offer the couple as they were moving in together seemed a good occasion. You had spent most of your evening the previous day browsing the internet with Andrew. He had come over to your place, had left well after midnight, didn’t want to disturb you by sleeping in the second bedroom. And you had fun, that was the strangest part of your evening. You had fun looking for gifts with Andrew, it had turned into finding the most ridiculous items available for purchase, and you had laughed until your eyes watered at his silly jokes. It was a sad thing to realise this had been the more you had laughed since Frank had left you…

You had stopped listening to the on-going conversation about a writer you didn’t know, your mind wandering away from your lunch to settle back on the previous evening. You were beginning to pick on some of his habits, noticing details about him. He hummed a lot, he tilted his head when thinking, ran his fingers through his hair when he was focused, he rubbed at his neck, his chin, his cheek when he was nervous or uncomfortable, pushed up his sleeves often too. Last night, when the conversation drifted away from your exes and onto the last museum you had visited, his head was tilted, his gaze stern and unwavering while he listened intently to you. It felt strange, to be near someone who listened to you so fully. Frank didn’t…

Your heart and chest grew warm at the memory of Andrew getting ready to leave. After midnight, he made a joke about the Gremlins when you offered him one last drink or bite to eat before he would leave, feeling guilty for your conversation and planning to have robbed the two of you of a decent dinner, your stomachs filled only with biscuits and coffee. He was putting on his coat when he joked about making a mess of your apartment if you fed him now, you both laughed at the silliness of it. You waited for him to wrap a warm scarf around his throat, to cover his ears with a beanie.

“Good night, Andrew.”

Simple words, and yet they made him look at you. You noticed the way his head bent a little, as if leaning towards you. His eyes were so green at such an ungodly hour, tiredness making the brown of his eyes recede. He offered you a shy smile, fidgeting with the sleeves of his warm grey coat.

“Andy.”

You stared at him in silence, surprised by his answer. His smile widened when he went on.

“Andy’s just fine, Y/N.”

You could only smile up at him then, you noticed the way his cheeks were flushed when you repeated his name.

He was so cute…

“That’s a little too much though, this whole thing about a feminist rewriting of history. To give classes about that… what a joke…”

Patterson’s words tore you away from your happy memory, pushed you right back in the present, in the reality you faced daily. University was not as progressive as it longed to be seen as, you were a painful witness of that…

You remembered the list of names Andrew had spontaneously given you during your first week. You reckoned his selection was spot on. Patterson was no exception. Mahoney was nodding enthusiastically, and you chose to ignore them. You were too tired, too emotionally exhausted to go through that kind of misogynistic conversation. You forced yourself not to listen to Andrew’s and Colm’s answers as they entered the debate, defending your side.

But then Andrew looked at you, spoke your name, and you were forced into reality again.

“Asking for help because you’ve run out of arguments?” Mahoney asked Andrew, and it was supposed to sound like mockery but it was too bitter for that.

“Y/N is literally an expert in what we’re discussing and a woman, don’t you think you should listen to her rather than your stupid biased views on such a matter?”

“I know plenty about the matter.”

“What a misogynistic answer… thank you for proving my point about your absolute ignorance.”

“And you’re an expert?”

“I’m not. That’s why I ask someone who’s dedicating her life to the voices of women and who is a woman when discussing something about women.”

Andrew’s breathing was heavy, his eyes stone cold and sharp. You had only seen him angry once before, that night you had learnt about your exes’ engagement. It made his voice deeper than usual, a low rumble that was scarier than the loud booming voice Frank used during arguments. His impressive stature wasn’t helping. And yet, when Andrew turned to you, his eyes were soft again, his voice back to its usual warmth, and he didn’t seem intimidating anymore.

“Do you want to add something?”

You didn’t, but the conversation was happening, and fleeing would only result in more violent views being expressed next time. So, you sharply looked over at your two mocking colleagues, and got to work.

You countered every argument, you offered numbers and examples even though you knew it would make no difference. After a while, you were getting angry more than annoyed. Colm and Andrew were backing you up every now and then, but the rest of your colleagues seemed uninterested by the debate at best, at worst they were enjoying the argument.

You let out a wry chuckle at Patterson, who was now not even trying to find arguments, but straight up rejecting your facts.

“How scientific of you to dismiss proven facts simply because they don’t fit your narrative…” you fought back with sarcasm, and he glowered at you. “And you call yourself an academic?”

“Hey! I’m not attacking your professionalism…”

“Are you not? As Andrew said, I’m the expert in this field. I am studying this issue and the impact of misogyny and patriarchy. And yet, you dismiss all my arguments without any proof whatsoever, without offering another explanation. You are only rejecting facts that do not fit your view of the world, or to be more precise, the world that brings you in a position of power over others. You enjoy the system that favours you instead of favouring everyone.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“You are ridiculous, claiming to have arguments when all you have are thoughts and no facts or proof whatsoever. I do have those. You’re a misogynistic man who clings to his tiny bit of power and feels emasculated if anyone dares to contradict him. You’re pathetic.”

You shot up, standing in a hurry and grabbing your stuff before heading back to your office. You didn’t pay attention to the discontented grumble that followed you, nor the scratch of another chair being pushed away from the table. You didn’t notice Andrew was following you until you were outside the room, heading for the stairs to go back to your office. You turned to him with a surprised expression painted all over your features.

“Andy?”

“Hmm?”

You stared at him in silence for a moment.

“You’re okay?” he asked with warmth in his voice and gaze.

“Yeah… I’m okay. I’m used to it.”

You didn’t like lying, but it was only half a lie. You were used to it, it happened more often than you had expected when you had chosen this career. You thought that the world of knowledge was a progressive one, a world filled with open minds. What a fool you had been… how naïve…

Now, you were growing numb to it, to some extent. The animosity was never far away. The attempts at slowing down, blocking, or even ending your career were a threat too. And you wished you could say you didn’t care at all by now, but you did. You did, and it drove you mad how frustrated you felt in front of such injustice, over the weight that was put onto your shoulders, over the exhaustion that came with constantly having to prove yourself, over the doubts that slithered there through your system even if you tried not to listen. It was the hardest part of your job, by far.

And then there were a few good ones like Andrew who gave you faith in humanity all over again.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, shifting his weight from one leg to the other, rubbing at his neck.

“It’s not your fault. On the contrary… thank you, for taking my side.”

“Of course.”

“And thank you for asking me. For including me in the conversation. For recognising the need to put me at the centre of the argument, instead of a male voice.”

You let out a chuckle as you opened the door of your shared office.

“I bet your mam taught you well.”

He grinned, fondness evident in his eyes as he talked about his parents. You had noticed how love was always in his gaze when he spoke of his family.

“Yeah… trying to put in practice what she taught me.”

“Thank you.”

“You’ll never have to thank me for something like this.”

You tried to ignore how much that fight had shaken you, but you could barely focus all afternoon, and Andrew seemed to notice. It was still early when he turned off his computer and grabbed his coat, then planted his tall frame in front of your desk.

“Come on, let’s go to the beach.”

You stared at him with a blank stare, blinking.

“The beach?”

“Lunch got me worked up… I can’t focus on anything. I need to clear my head, and to me, there’s no better place for that than the sea. So… come on! Let’s go to the beach!”

“I have work to do.”

“You’ll work tomorrow.”

“Andrew…”

“Andy,” he corrected you with a warm smile, and you couldn’t refrain your own grin.

“Andy,” you repeated. “I’ve got things to do!”

“Yes! And they include breathing the fresh air of the sea, listening to the waves and having fun!”

“And freezing to death? It’s November… in case you’ve forgotten.”

“I haven’t forgotten… I go swimming almost every morning.”

You stared at him with unfaltering eyes.

“You’re insane.”

“I need to go home first, but we can meet up by the coast? I know a nice spot.”

“Okay.”

“Do you like dogs?”

You raised a surprised eyebrow at his question, it was coming out of nowhere.

“Erm… yes… of course…”

“Good. I mean… I have to get my dog. He will never forgive me if I go to the beach without him.”

“You have a dog?! How cute! What kind of dog is he?”

Andrew chuckled at that.

“I don’t know… some kind of mix between a border collie and… something else. I have no clue.”

Your expression softened as you smiled. He looked away, his cheeks turning a bright shade of pink under the darkness of his beard.

“Alright, I’ll text you the address of the nearest village, and I’ll guide you the rest of the way.”

“You’re not about to murder me and get rid of my body in some deserted creek, are you?”

He laughed at your joke, bright and loud, and you were quite proud of that, of being responsible for such a sound.

“No guarantees…”

“I should decline then…”

“Hey! You need to live a more adventurous kind of life! Take risks!”

“You could be planning on feeding me to your dog.”

“Now that you mention it, he hasn’t had his ration of human flesh this week.”

“See? That’s what I’m saying!”

You both laughed, Andrew shook his head fondly at you.

“Elwood is a good boy, don’t worry. I won’t be long.”

You were shutting off your computer as well when Andrew exited the room.

You had hurried to the tiny village, spotted a shop and were now motionless in the middle of the aisle, staring at rubber bones and colourful balls.

Andrew should have reached the village fifteen minutes ago, but you were starting to get used to his chronical lateness. He seemed to never be on time for anything. “Time blindness”, he called it. Whatever it was, there was no need to worry. He would show up eventually, apologise profusely, with a mix of guilt and embarrassment on his face, and then you would tell him it was alright because you couldn’t find it in you to be annoyed at him, and he would look at you again and smile…

You smiled as you reached for a squishy ball, with little flowers painted on it. Yellow and white. Daisies.

You bought the toy, went back to your car to wait for Andrew. He arrived almost thirty minutes late, hurried out of his car and secured his dog on a leash before walking over to you. The guilt and embarrassment you were expecting were painted all over his features, indeed.

“I’m sorry… it took me longer than I thought to pick this one up,” he explained with a nod towards his dog.

“That’s okay. And God, you’re adorable,” you said to the dog, crouching down to let the dog approach you. “What’s his name?”

“Elwood.”

The dog seemed to immediately like you, he let you pet his head, wiggling his tail in delight.

“Oh, yes… you’re a good boy!” you cooed. “Here, I’ve bought you something!”

You stood straighter again, offered the ball to Andrew.

He stared at you with bewilderment.

“You… you bought him a toy?”

“Yes! I love dogs! I hope I can have one, someday…”

“You… you shouldn’t have…”

“It makes me happy.”

Andrew couldn’t find any argument against that.

“Thank you.”

You headed towards the beach together. Elwood was obedient yet excited, clearly recognising where you were heading. It was sunny despite the cold weather, you readjusted your scarf a couple of times, put on your gloves after a while. And it was easy to find a topic of conversation with Andrew. First work, your classes, your research as you reached the beach. Then politics as you walked across the sand, sending the ball away for Elwood to catch and bring back. Then movies and art as you watched the waves roll towards you. And then your broken hearts when you were sitting in the sand, side by side, watching over Elwood who was running around by the edge of the water.

The sand was soft under your fingers, your gaze set on the horizon, an infinity of blues and greens, of white waves and the moving shapes of seagulls.

“Are you coming to the dinner next week?” Andrew asked, his deep voice breaking the quiet of the cold sea.

You heaved a sigh, closed your eyes for a second. Frank and Sam had invited both you and Andrew to have dinner in some expansive restaurant in Dublin. A way to ‘get a brand-new start’, Frank had called it. You thought it was rather a new way to get your heart broken, but you didn’t have a choice. If you wanted Frank back, you couldn’t miss any opportunity to see him.

“Of course, I’m coming.”

You opened your eyes to look at Andrew as he slowly nodded.

“I’m glad you’re coming,” he confessed. “I was worried to go on my own.”

“Don’t worry. We’re a team for this! We said we would help each other out, and we will. We’ll get the people we love back.”

Andrew smiled, a gesture grateful, but tainted with sorrow. He set his green eyes on the horizon, you watched as the loose curls that had escaped his man-bun were floating in the wind. But then you followed his gaze, stared at the wildness of the sea, its everchanging shape, and you wondered if anything was meant to last in this world, if anything at all could be called permanent…

“What’s going to happen, then? If we fail, if we can’t get them back, if they really don’t love us anymore… what will happen then?”

Andrew was silent for a moment, staring at you now. You could feel his gaze set upon your face, but you couldn’t look at him. It was easier to search for where the sky met the sea.

“Then… we’ll go through hell.”

You let out a long exhale. His voice was quiet, barely there over the wind. Deep, calm, aching.

“We’ll suffer. A lot. And eventually, we’ll get over it.”

“How?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“I don’t think that I could love anyone else the way I love Frank.”

“We don’t have to love them the same way we love Frank and Sam. On the contrary, I think every love we feel is unique. It’s shaped by the person we feel so intensely for. I’ll never love anyone the way I love Sam. But maybe I’ll be able to have a love that’s just as important. It will simply be… different.”

“Missing him feels like grieving.”

“Hmm… Missing her feels like grieving too. It’s the same kind of… void. The emptiness that’s left behind. The silence, the habit of opening your mouth to speak to them, but remembering they’re gone, that there’s no one left to listen to you now, and closing your mouth again… a mouth that’s rendered useless now, as there is nobody left to listen to you anyway.”

Slowly, you nodded, feeling your throat tightening at the pain in Andrew’s voice, at the way his thoughts echoed your own.

“I forget that he’s gone all the time,” you nodded, sniffling, although you weren’t crying. “I just… forget… and then I remember, and it hurts all over again.”

“Yeah… me too.”

The wind was so cold, it felt like knives entering the skin of your cheekbones. You readjusted your beanie so it would perfectly cover your ears. Every time either of you spoke, a tiny cloud was born from your lips, and died in the wind.

Andrew’s dog was unaware of your sadness, unaware of the hole that was gnawing a little bit more every day at your heart. He was happy running around the beach, chasing after birds, playing with the waves.

You smiled, soft and sad and filled with the want to forget again.

“I really like your dog a lot,” you chuckled.

Andrew looked at his pet as well, a tender smile on his lips.

“I’m glad,” was his only answer.

“He’s a good boy.”

He hummed softly, rubbing at his cold hands.

“I don’t think Sam likes him very much.”

“Really?”

“I don’t think she likes dogs in general all that much. She was always nice to him, don’t get me wrong. But I don’t think she loved him. When I do. I love him. He’s family.”

“Of course, he is,” you answered with an unmistakable fondness in your voice, one that made Andrew look at you again.

You could feel him shifting next to you, guessed that he hesitated to ask a question. You encouraged him to ask whatever he wanted. You were in a confessing mood, after all.

“What’s your dream?”

You looked up at him with a questioning look, surprised at his question coming out of the blue.

“What do you mean?”

“Do you have a dream? Or… did you have one? When you were younger?”

You blinked up at him, feeling silly as you thought of an answer.

Of course you had dreams. You had tons of them.

“I’ve learnt a long time ago that dreams don’t come true.”

He frowned at your answer, his gaze saddened at your words.

“If you could make one true, what dream would it be?”

You blinked tears away, set your gaze on the sea again.

Blue. Blue and splashes of white. A thousand hues of those colours, as far as the eye could see. Such a beauty… And the sound of the waves reaching the shore, curling into white foam, regular like a pattern, soft like a melody.

“I really wanted to be loved for who I am. I just… I would really like for someone to love me. To care about what I think, to care about what I have to say, to hold me when I feel sad. I just… I would really like to feel safe, just once. To have someone… who would treat me as their equal, someone for whom I wouldn’t have to overthink each answer, someone with whom I wouldn’t have to fight to have a chance to be listened to. Sometimes I… It’s so hard to be a woman sometimes. It feels like I’m always fighting. Fighting for my rights, fighting for a chance to be who I want, fighting to be listened to, fighting to be taken seriously, fighting to get my life together, fighting to meet people’s expectation, fighting… for everything. I just… I want to have someone who would make me feel safe enough so I could stop fighting around them. It’s a lot to ask.”

“It shouldn’t be.”

You were surprised by his words, but when you looked at him, his stare was stern and unwavering.

“Did you feel like that with Frank? Did you feel safe enough to be yourself?”

You bit on your lip, hesitated on whether to lie or tell the truth. You didn’t feel like lying though…

“Not all the time.”

You let out a sad chuckle.

“But it’s just a dream, Andy. Dreams don’t come true. I can’t offer to stop fighting. If I do, I’ll just end up giving up… And I’ve done so much already to get my career, to be who I am today… I can’t rest, not when there’s no one to offer me a place to do so. And there will never be anyone to offer it to me. People are too flawed for that.”

You were surprised when Andrew reached for your hand, but you let him touch your skin, wrap his fingers around yours. His hand was so much larger than yours…

“I really wish you could have someone who would make you feel this way. I wish… I wish you didn’t have to fight in the first place.”

You looked up at him, blinking tears away.

“You’re so strong,” he whispered, and there was something close to awe in his expression, although you couldn’t believe that someone could have such feeling aimed at you. “I hope you know that, at least. That you’re unbelievably strong.”

You smiled, and so did Andrew. A genuine smile, that wasn’t so sad anymore.

“What about you? What was your dream?”

Andrew let go of your hand, rested his forearms on his knees as he looked at Elwood, checking that his dog was alright, but he was still busy running after seagulls.

“I wanted to be a musician, once.”

“A musician?”

“Yeah… I used to sing a lot. Played guitar too. I still do, with old friends.”

“What made you decide to be an academic then?”

A pause, filled with Elwood’s happy barks, the distant cries of seabirds, the regular whisper of the sea.

“There were sacrifices to be made. I didn’t want to make them. I thought I could, for a while. I had a few opportunities. But they were all… They were not me. There were talks for an album at one point, an opportunity for me to sing and be paid for it. But they wouldn’t have been my songs. They were pop hits in the making. They were aimed to please others. And I… I didn’t want to do that. I had things to say, and I wanted to tell them my way. It didn’t work out. And then my father…”

He blinked tears away, and you said nothing. He cleared his throat.

“My father had surgery when he was younger. He had some trouble again a few years ago. He’s fine now, and it wasn’t anything serious, but… I don’t know, I think… I thought about the cost that having a life on the road would have. If I wanted to make music the way I wanted to, it would cost me even more than a pop hit would. And I was in love with Sam, and my family needed me, and I thought… I thought it wasn’t worth it. At one point, I had to choose between studying or music. I changed majors from music to literature, finally had the opportunity to study things I was interested in. I didn’t drop out. Instead, I stayed in Dublin, I gave up on the hope of having a career as a musician.”

“Do you regret it?”

“Sometimes,” he admitted. “More so since Sam has left.”

You playfully nudged him.

“Hey! We wouldn’t have met had you become a rockstar! So, it’s not all that bad! I’m glad you chose a life where we could become friends.”

He looked at you, hazel turning fully green in the pale light of winter, cheeks pinkish in the cold. His nose was a little red, his gaze tender as it rested upon yours.

“I’m glad we could become friends too, Y/N. I’m really glad about that.”

You exchanged a smile, rested your head on his shoulder, wrapped your arm around his. You both remained silent for a long time, staring at the sea, the beach, the birds, Elwood still having the time of his life. And you were content to say nothing, to simply be there next to Andrew.

Your cheek felt warm while it rested against him.

[archiveikemen]

Liam Evans 2nd Birthday Campaign: Story

Chapters 1—3

This is a fan-made translation solely for entertainment purposes with no guaranteed perfection; expect mistakes, grammatical errors, and some creative liberties. All original content and media used belongs to Cybird. Please support the game by buying their stories and playing their games. Reblogs appreciated.

Read this before interacting

One night, a few hours before his birthday.

Liam: Are you ready, Kate?

Kate: Yes, sorry for keeping you waiting. 

I thought back to something that happened a few nights ago—. 

= Flashback Start = 

Kate: Nn…

Liam: Sorry, did I wake you?

I was woken up by Liam’s gentle voice as he climbed into bed like a cat. 

Kate: It’s okay, welcome back.

I reached my arms out to hug him and my eyes narrowed from the feeling of his body warmth, when— 

Kate: … You smell nice.

There was a delicious smell coming from his clothes. 

Kate: Did you eat something, Liam?

It wasn’t the first time he went out at night. 

(Before we started dating, it seemed that he had to regularly go outside and satisfy his curiosity.) 

(But after we started dating, he did that less frequently and stopped doing dangerous things.)

I thought that going out at night was a way for him to distract himself a little because he couldn’t sleep, but…

(Why did he come back smelling this delicious…?)

Liam: I didn't eat anything… maybe the smell from the food stalls clung to me. 

Liam: There’s a nighttime event happening in London for a week, starting from today. 

Liam: I passed through the market where the food stalls were, so I think that's why I smell like them.

Liam: The smell must be bothering you. Sorry, I’ll leave right away. 

I grabbed his hand as he was about to get off the bed and buried my face in his clothes. 

Kate: … Now I’m hungry.

I couldn't help but laugh. He happily hugged me again and narrowed his eyes tenderly.

Kate: I wish I went with you.

Liam: I wanted to go with you too.

Liam: How about we go together?

…

Liam: Shall we get going?

As we walked hand in hand, I recalled the conversation we had about his birthday present.

(Knowing how he is, I didn’t expect Liam to directly say what he wanted…) 

Liam said that going out together was his birthday present. 

(But I still want to make him happy and give him something.)

After giving it some thought, I had an idea and decided to put it into action. 

…

Kate: Wow…!

The bustling market lined with various stalls lit up the night. 

Liam: There may be a lot of people here, but it’s still night time. Don’t stray too far from me, okay?

He took my hand, and we walked along the street filled with delicious smells and cheerful sounds. 

Kate: They have alcohol, fish and chips, pie, and even scones.

Liam: They’re selling sausages and other meat dishes too.

Kate: And there’s gelato over there! 

We chatted happily while exploring the stalls, but—

Liam: Ah, I thought you’d like this pie, Kate.

Liam: Those limited edition cookies over there look lovely, I think you’ll like them too.

Liam: These cocktails are low in alcohol content, so they're suitable for you to drink. 

Kate: … You sure know a lot, don't you, Liam?

He scratched his cheek and smiled bashfully, narrowing his eyes. 

Liam: I memorised those things because I’m always thinking about you.

(I truly am the luckiest person alive…)

His words brought me joy, and his actions conveyed his love for me.

Liam: How is it? Does it taste good?

I nodded repeatedly with a mouth full of meat pie.

Seeing this, he looked satisfied and ate his pie, however—

Kate: Liam, you have something on your mouth… 

Liam: Kate, you have something on your mouth…

Both of us reached out at the exact same time to brush away the crumbs from the corners of each other’s mouths.

Our eyes met and we blinked at each other in silence. 

It was him who burst out laughing first.

Liam: Haha! We were thinking the same thing.

Kate: Fufu, even our timing was the same.

Liam: We might really be getting increasingly similar to each other recently. 

Kate: We even bought the same food the other day. 

When I went home with new items from the bakery, I saw him waiting for me with the same items. 

When I was mentioning places I wanted to go on dates, he suggested the exact same spots… 

(I feel so much joy whenever such things happen.)

After laughing together for a while, he caressed my cheek.

Liam: … I guess this is what they call “feeling blessed”. 

Liam: It looks like our worlds revolve around each other. 

Liam: I can’t contain my happiness whenever I realise that.

I wrapped my hand over the one caressing my cheek and lowered my gaze. 

Kate: I feel happy and blessed too. 

Kate: Wonderful, isn’t it? We’re always thinking about each other.

We smiled and gently embraced each other,

Liam: … You’re a natural at making me happy, Kate.

Kate: Fufu… and you’re a natural at making me happy. 

The sound of his laughter in my ear filled me with joy once again.

Liam: I feel like kidnapping you right this instant and take you straight to bed. 

Kate: Before you do that, I want to buy a cake first.

Liam: Could it be… my birthday cake?

Kate: Yes. Shall we choose one together?

I was sure he would be happy with anything if I were the one choosing or baking it. 

(But Liam isn’t a fan of sweets, so it might be better to get a smaller cake.) 

Liam: … Yeah, I want to choose one together with you.

Kate: There’s a cake shop over there.

Kate: Let’s go, Liam. 

The way he squinted as if dazzled by a bright light the moment I took his hand left an impression on me. 

= Flashback End = 

Kate: … Liam, you’re upset, aren't you?

He paced around with light, cat-like steps while carrying me in his arms and suddenly stopped.

Liam: I’m not.

His lips didn't form a smile, causing me to feel guilty and reflect on my actions a few hours ago.

= Flashback Start = 

Kate: This is all we could get. Are you really okay with it, Liam?

Liam: Yeah. I like this cake better, actually.

The cake shop had such a busy day that only small cupcakes were left.

(This is a little too plain for a birthday cake…) 

While I was thinking of wanting to somehow bring a birthday feeling to the moment, something caught my eye.

Kate: Liam, I’m going to get a little something from that shop over there. 

Not wanting to disturb him while he was browsing other shops, I let go of his hand after saying that. 

He frantically tried holding my hand again, but— 

Kate: It’s okay, the shop’s just over there. 

Since the shop was only a short distance away, I started walking towards it before he could grab my hand. 

The instant I turned around after buying what I wanted,

Kate: … Liam?

There was a sudden crowd of people passing by and before I knew it, he was out of my sight.

Just as I was desperately searching for him in the crowd, I felt my body being lifted off the ground…

= Flashback End = 

(We somehow managed to reunite and return home, but…)

According to the hands on the clock, it was almost dawn. Yet, I still hadn't been able to say happy birthday to him.

As I was gently set down on the edge of the bed, I glaced up at him standing in front of me.

Seeing the sadness in his eyes caused guilt to well up in me again. 

Liam: … Had I held your hand properly, you wouldn't have gotten lost. 

= Flashback Start =

Liam: There may be a lot of people here, but it’s still night time. Don’t stray too far from me, okay?

= Flashback End =

(I should've known that Liam would put the blame on himself instead of me.) 

Feeling ashamed of myself, I once again held the hand I had let go off. 

Kate: It’s not your fault, Liam! … I’m so sorry for worrying you.

His voice was trembling as he hugged me tightly, his eyes shaking. 

Liam: Don’t ever leave my side again.

Kate: … Okay. 

While we were feeling each other's warmth, 

Liam: ah…

He noticed the time and pulled away.

Liam: I didn’t realise it at all. 

I took a cupcake and something else out of a paper bag and lit it.

It was a candle in the shape of a rose. 

Kate: Happy birthday, Liam.

His eyes wavered as he accepted the cupcake. 

Kate: I’m so happy to celebrate your birthday again this year.

Kate: Thank you for being born. 

Liam: … You left to buy this? 

I nodded with a wry smile, and he bit his lip before smiling softly and closing his eyes.

Liam: … Thank you, Kate. 

Bit by bit, he started speaking the words he had been hiding in his heart.

Liam: Before I met you, I was always afraid of celebrating my birthday. 

Liam: I used to think that as long as I never know what this happiness feels like, I won’t feel sad when it disappears. 

I was reminded of the things he said when sharing his true feelings on his birthday last year.

= Flashback Start =

Liam: I… I was terrified of being celebrated… and knowing how it feels to have a birthday with you in it…

Liam: I was foolish and all I could think of was the possibility of me losing all of that… it scared me.

Liam: But if I keep running away… I’ll be trampling all over your kindness and feelings.

Liam: I don't have any other option but to choose this moment, because I just love you so much. 

= Flashback End =

The rose-shaped candle melted away, like it was shedding one petal at a time.

Liam: … There might come a day when, like this candle, all these happy moments will melt away. 

Liam: But I can’t go back to spending birthdays without you, and I don't think I can ever let go of your hand. 

He blew out the candle and it turned into something shaped like a flower bud.

Liam: Next year, the year after that, and until the day I die… will you celebrate my birthday by my side?

He brushed his finger across my lips as he made a wish for a future we had yet to see. 

Kate: … Of course I will. I’ll be right here by your side, celebrating your birthday even if you say you don’t want me to. 

Kate: I’ll keep doing that until the day you can finally say from the bottom of your heart that you’re glad you were born. 

I heard a slight gasp as I pressed the cupcake to his lips. 

Kate: Let’s eat, Liam. 

(Liam still struggles with his birthday.)

I can’t save the person who lived through his painful past. 

(I sometimes find myself wondering why couldn’t we have met sooner…)

(But I’m sure there’s a reason for us to only meet now.)

It's because I’ve set my heart on loving all his past wounds and living by his side.

Liam: … Kate.

Kate: Nn.

He stole a kiss from my lips after taking a bite of the cupcake.

Liam: Is it sweet?

Kate: … It became sweeter because of you. 

He kicked the cream from the corners of my mouth, looking amused—.

Liam: I’m not a fan of sweets, but I want to see more of your sweet expressions.

He deepened the kiss and we fell onto the bed. 

Kate: Liam, wait a second.

Liam: I can’t wait anymore.

He undid the ribbon at the back of my shirt, causing it to fall off my shoulders.

As he took off my skirt, he reached for his own shirt as well.

Liam: I want you right now. 

I was enveloped by the sweet smell of vanilla, tempting me to give into him on the spot, but—.

Kate: I want to give you your present! 

I slipped out from under him and reached under the bed.

Liam: … Don’t tell me, you’ve been hiding it there?

I lifted up a large paper bag with two hands and showed it to him, who was still in shock on the bed.

Kate: You never noticed, did you?

(It was the right decision to hide it before we headed out.)

Kate: Now close your eyes.

Following my instructions, he closed his eyes. I stood on the bed and swiftly ripped open the paper bag.

Liam: Wha…

He looked up and at the same time, a shower of flower petals rained down on him.

Liam: Wow… petals!? 

The pink petals fell over his head like blessings, scattering onto the white sheets. 

In an instant, Liam and the bed were covered in petals. I couldn't contain my smile of satisfaction.

Kate: These are the petals of the modern roses you’ve always been giving me. 

Kate: I thought of expressing my gratitude by giving you a bouquet.

Kate: But apparently, pink roses have another meaning to them.

Liam: Another meaning…?

I picked up one petal from his head.

Kate: It means “happiness”. 

Kate: I wanted to shower you with petals signifying gratitude and happiness, because you’ve given me an abundance of them. 

Sitting on the bed surrounded by the smell of roses, he fell silent for a moment before chuckling and squinting his eyes as though faced with a bright light. 

Liam: I truly am so blessed.

I leaned in and was about to kiss his forehead covered with rose petals, when— 

Kate: Whoa!

Liam: Are you okay!? 

I slipped and fell right into his chest. 

Kate: T-this is embarrassing…

I got on my knees to support my body, he wrapped one arm around my waist and cupped my cheek with the other.

When I lifted my head, I saw that the light of dawn was starting to shine into the room. 

Liam: I’ve always wanted to be a star.

Still smiling, he started to speak.

Liam: I thought that everyone would love me if I shined brightly enough. But then I realised, I can’t just turn into a star.

Liam: Because today, you’re the one shining so bright. I’ve always thought so, but you’re especially dazzling today.

(Ah…) 

I recalled noticing him gazing at me while squinting his eyes as though dazzled by a bright light. 

Liam: You gave me love that was once so out of reach for me, and made my days so bright with happiness that it’s almost terrifying. 

Liam: The name of the brightest star in my world is Kate. It shines so brightly and is precious to me beyond words. 

Liam: It’s you.

His smile as his joy and love overflowed was so bright, it made me squint my eyes. 

There was a star right there before my eyes. 

Kate: For me, you’re that star, Liam. 

Kate: The person who brings me so much joy and love… you’re my brightest star.

We laughed together and it was soon dawn. 

Liam: Well then, because I want to hold onto my brightest star…

With the arm wrapped around my waist, he gently laid me down onto the bed and I rested my body against his. 

Liam: Even after the night fades into day, stay shining in my arms.

My heart hammered against my chest as I closed my eyes and waited for a kiss. 

— We were each other’s brightest stars, shining brightly through our love. 

[love-lilly02]

The Challenge: Chapter 6

Chapter warnings: Talk of insomnia, torture, not eating, depression, brief hyperseuxual mention, physical and mental scars, nightmares (please let me know if i missed any or if any need to be added!)

“MIA”

The words bore into his mind, tore a hole in his frontal lobe. He felt like he was drowning, sinking deeper into a black pit, the dark whispers of your voice and the blaring words of black text against a white screen. 

“MIA”

They haunted him, day and night, hour after hour. when he blinked the words were there, when he ate the hologram of them passed in his view. 

Never, in his life had he had to suffer with someone being marked as MIA. he had dealt with deaths, he had survived both others trauma along side his own. He had watched teammates get blown up, shot down, stabbed dozens of times. 

They all recovered or died. 

None of them went missing. 

None of them haunted him like you did. 

Sometimes, he would hear your voice calling to him. He could be filing paperwork, sitting in the mess hall, doing fucking anything. 

And you were there. 

Asking him to double check your mission reports, wondering what he was doing, if he was hungry, wanted to get something to eat. Sometimes, he would swear on his boys life that you were behind him, sneaking up to scare him like you always did. and he would wait, see if you realized he had heard you coming from a mile away, heard you whisper “scare cam” into your phone camera. He waited and waited, till your calming presence turned into a threatening one, till you weren’t holding a camera but a knife, a gun to his head. 

Those were the worst. That and the nightmares. 

He had stopped sleeping since you left, to afraid of the version of you he saw in his dreams. You terrified him, and not in the good way you used too. You would kick and scream at him, say it was his fault for allowing the mission, his fault for not watching you closer, his fault you disappeared. You would scream and beg the Russians to leave you alone, sob that you didn’t know anything, you had no clue what was going on, who they were, that you just wanted to go home. 

You wanted your boys.

And you would scream for their help, call each of their names in turn. That’s what always got him, hearing your blood curdling scream as you were cut into again, burned again, slapped again. And every time he screamed back, every time he tried to move, tried to help you, but he was rooted in place, stuck in this hell forever. 

Yeah. Sleep became a foreign concept. 

The others noticed. Of course they noticed. Each of them had their own way of dealing with your disappearance, but it showed. Simon would have to double wrap his hands at the gym, Kyle stopped eating for weeks at a time. Johnny was just quiet. 

It scared him. Your loss scared him. It scared him how loosing one person was able to break apart his team, the men who made it through thick and thin. And he had seen these same men live without each other, on solo ops or when one of them was hurt. They missed each other, sure. And it hurt like fuck to not have the other fourth there, like a piece was missing. 

But not this. Never this. 

This was new. This was raw, this was foreign. 

This was hell. 

And as far as he knew, no one was lucky enough to crawl out of it alive. 

Exhaustion tugged at your body, dragging you down with every step.

sleep was a foreign concept, something you abandoned back at the Russian base. 

You abandoned a lot at that base. 

You abandoned them. 

You told yourself that they didn’t care, they didn’t give a fuck if you left the team. They wouldn’t care if you never came back, if you just disappeared without a trace. Protocol stated that, with the way you went out, you were to be declared as MIA for seven years before you could be presumed to be dead. It wouldn’t take you seven years to get back to base, but it would take you way longer to get over what happened. 

Much. Much longer.

It was an illusion, honestly. Something all basic magicians could perform, but not with a grenade. It was that or be shot down, although you were beginning to think being shot was the better option. It was certainly easier to deal with a bullet wound than second degree burns. 

Maybe. You had never been shot before, who were you to know? 

Anything had to be better than this. The burns scraped against the material of your suit, sending your body into intense amounts of pain with every step. It felt like someone was pulling you through a cheese grater, constantly, until you were nothing but shredded meat and skin. 

The price you have to pay to live. 

In order for the “trick” to work, you had to throw the grenade right at your feet. Which meant that your soles and legs were the most burnt, whereas your torso and upper body only suffered mild burns. Your hands were done for, completely charred to the point you could hardly flex your fingers anymore. 

The reasoning behind that was your escape. Once you had thrown the grenade down, you used the five seconds it bought you to flip over the drain cover you were standing next too, effectively falling into the sewers and out of bullet range. 

The cover, however, was red hot from the impact. 

You would take it over being a goner. 

Everyone else probably thought you were dead, or had died from the resulting explosion. You didn’t know if enough blood was left for it to be believable, you hoped so at least, that bought you some time. Immediately upon hitting the water you went radio silent, cringing at the disgusting slop that came up to your waist. Being in the water helped a bit, allowed the burns to be surrounded by something that was at least cool. 

Open air did the exact opposite. 

You weren’t sure exactly where you were, some rural town in Russia, that’s for sure. The only reason you could tell that was because of the signs that you saw every so often, each one written on in their harsh language. Of all the things you studied, Russian was among your least favorite, and while you were conversational you couldn’t read it to save your life. 

A fucking shame, really. 

Which left you to the next best thing, pray to some god for a way out of this hell. 

There was a list of things Johnny McTavish hated to do. It wasn’t a very long list, but it was there, in some corner of his mind. 

He hated being forced to stay still, he hated being told to be quiet when he was overexcited. He hated confined spaces, and— in the wrong situations— he hated being tied up. 

But the number one thing on that list, the thing he despised the absolute most was disappointing his boys. Tied, of course, with making them worry. Just the thought was enough to make him spiral, a fact that had been proven dozens of times. 

And a fact that was not helping his case right now. 

Truth be told, he didn’t mean to switch up on them. He understood that they were used to Johnny always being loud and obnoxious, that it was something they had come to love about him, how even in their worst moments he was able to at least make them smile. 

Which was the problem. This was a pretty bad moment, and he couldn’t even make himself smile. 

And he had tried, honestly. Not in front of the others— he couldn’t embarrass himself like that— but alone, he tried doing some of the things he would do on a good day. Drawing, dancing, cleaning his rifles. 

But he just… couldn’t. 

Johnny was no stranger to depressive episodes, he experienced them all the time in his youth. Of course, back then he would have a quick fuck and make himself feel better, or maybe a few rounds from a few different people, but now adays that old trick didn’t work anymore. Usually he would just stay with Simon, talk it through with him. 

But that wasn’t really possible. Not with this problem. 

He hadn’t realized just how much the team was dependent on your being there, how different things were without your presence. You balanced things out perfectly, acted as a moderator for the four of them. 

It was no surprise they fell for you. Anyone would have, after all. 

It kind of reminded him of some Shakespeare play, or like a hallmark movie. They found you, fell in love, never said anything, and they lost you. 

In any other situation that thought would have made him chuckle. 

Now it just makes him even sadder. 

He wants to help, he wants to do something. He wishes he could make the nightmares Price has go away, he wishes he could make Simon understand that no amount of training could prepare him for the situation you had found yourself in. He wished he could make Gaz eat something, anything, with the thought that you wouldn’t want him to starve, you wouldn’t want anyone to hurt themselves in the way the four of them were doing.

That didn’t stop them from doing it, of course, but he still wished.

Salvation came in the form of a video. 

Gaz had called a mandatory meeting, claiming it was something of the utmost importance. They all met in Prices office, cramping into the small space. 

Soap and Ghost took a seat on the couch, leaning into each other slightly. Price stayed at his desk, mounds of paperwork shoved to the side for Gaz to sit, perched as if he would have to make a run for something at any given moment. 

They stayed quiet for a while, all of them just drinking in the atmosphere. 

This wasn’t unusual, being called into the office like this. Usually it was by Price, who wanted to either scold them for their behavior or inform them of a mission. The only difference was your absence, your spot on the doorway glaringly empty. It felt like a black hole, sucking them deeper and deeper into their depression. The tense silence of the room didn’t help at all, and it was making each of them antsy. 

“Right.” Gaz said simply. “Gonna keep this brief, then.”

He removed a computer— which the others hadn’t noticed was there— from his lap and placed it on the desk for everyone to see. A video was pulled up, paused on a black screen. 

“Not before her junior year, but it’s bloody close.” Gaz mumbled, clicking start on the video. 

After a few seconds of silence, your face came up on the screen, sitting next to a girl they don’t recognize. She begins talking first, introducing herself as Amy. Your voice fills the room next, proudly saying your name and grade, the very beginning of your junior year. You opened your mouth to keep going, before Amy turned to you and laughed. 

“Fuck wait I forgot my grade.” You stared at her for a while, and then rolled your eyes, cutting the footage. The video resumed in much of the same fashion, and they realized what this was. 

A blooper reel, for something you had tried auditioning for. 

As the video continued, it slowly became more clear what the audition was— a performance at your school. You and your friend kept goofing off during the recording, resulting in multiple takes of one clip, regardless of how long it was. For some of them, you would press record and step away from the camera, then just start laughing uncontrollably. 

It took a long time to realize that they had forgotten your laugh. Having gone weeks without hearing it was hard, and watching a younger, clearly happier you laugh so freely was odd for them to see. Your face was just about clear, missing some of the scars you now possessed from your years of experience with field work. 

You were right, you did look different. 

“Where did you find this?” Price asked, leaning forward. The glasses he used to read had long ago been thrown on the desk, all his attention on the computer in front of him. 

“Did some digging.” Was all Gaz said. 

It was all the answer they needed. 

They watched the video all the way through the end, and when it finished they watched it again. And again. Till the sound of your laugh was engraved in their minds, till they were able to smile along with your jokes without having to wait for your explanation, till it felt like you were right in the room with them. 

Finally, the video stopped repeating, and the office was quiet again. Simon tugged off the mask and ran a hand over his face, signing loudly. “She’s got seven years before we can jump to conclusions.”

“I think if i tried to jump right now, I’d fall flat on my face.” Price said, leaning back in his chair. The office went silent again, before a quiet chuckle came from Soap. He covered his moth quickly, failing to suppress his giggles at Price's statement. 

If there was one thing the boys loved about Johnny it’s that his laughter was infectious. Once he started laughing, Gaz was smiling at him, and Ghost was smiling at Gaz’s smiling at Soap’s laughter. Eventually they were all giggling, each at each other in turn.  

“Fuck—“ Soap said, wiping a tear from his eye. “Even when she’s not ‘ere she’s makin’ us laugh.” 

“She’ll be back. Seven years couldn’t keep our girl away from us.”

“Our girl, eh?” Simon asked, throwing an arm around Johnny’s shoulders. Soap leaned into Simon’s side, smiling against his chest. 

“Our girl.” Price confirmed, nodding. “No matter what happens, challenge be dammed, she’s our girl. Nothing’s changing it.”

“Excuse me sir? Do you speak english?”

“We no take foreigners-“

“Please—“ You begged, looking at him with your best puppy dog eyes. You watch as his gaze trails up and down your body, stopping at the marks on your hands. "Please I really need your help.”

The man looks around for a moment, double checking that no one is around before he grabs you by your collar and pulls you inside harshly. He closes the door, grumbling for you to sit in the kitchen.

You follow his instruction, taking a seat in the too cramped space. You watch as he moves around the room, throwing things into a pot and getting different medicines from the cabinets, mumbling to himself in Russian all the time.

After a few moments of tense silence, the man places a small container full of white ointment on the table.

"Will help with burns," He says.

As if that explains anything?

You let it go, however and smile at him in thanks. The moment you put the cream on your hands you fight the urge to scream at just how badly it burns, opting instead to bite your tounge till you can taste the blood in your mouth.

The man watches you struggle, and takes a seat across from you.

“You American spy?”

“No, sir, I just work for the army.” 

The man nods, standing up “You will have more burns, I leave you to apply the rest.”

He walks out of the kitchen, and you hear the closing of a door some feet away. For a brief moment, you consider the thought that he might have cameras in the kitchen, that he's watching you on his phone through the system.

Just as quickly, you dismiss the thought. The man is absolutely huge, not Simon level but pretty close. If he wanted to do something to you he would have.

As it did with your hands, the ointment burned on each part of your body. It was like getting blown up all over again, and you kept your teeth grit so as to not scream out. Once you finish, however, you do feel better.

Slightly.

You leave the kitchen, wrapping the tatters of your suit around your body in a makeshift robe. Just outside of the room you see a set of clothes laid out, as well as a pair of gloves that look slightly too large for your hand size.

By the time you finish dressing, the man is back, carrying some vegetables with him.

“Who do you work for?” He asks, grabbing a knife from a drawer. You watch in awe as he makes quick work of the mound of food that was in his hands, throwing it into the pot without a second glance.

“A task force, sir.”

“The one four one?”

The room is dead quiet. For a moment, the only sound that can be heard is the boiling of water, and you take a cautious step back towards the front door. Running isn't something you want to do, and you're pretty sure it's not something you're 100% capable of, but if you had to get out of here you were willing to risk your health further.

Anyways, you still had that ointment. Technically that's all you really needed, and he wouldn't have given it to you if he didn't want you to use it.

“How did you-"

“Nikolai." He interrupts, holding out his hand. "I worked with them a long time ago."

You remember the name, it was heard in dozens of the stories Gaz and Price have told you about their missions before you joined. You take his hand, biting back a wince at the sting of your burns against the gloves.

“Do you think you could help me get back?” 

AN: VERY IMPORTANT INFORMATION

Hey guys, so while technically this is late i was hoping we could just ignore that fact for a while. If you couldn't tell by the contents of this chapter, this fic is going to take a darker turn than i even thought (this whole thing is written on impulse, i only have the reader's backstory planned and that's it) Future chapters will feature mental health issues, and some abuse so i just wanted to release an early viewer discretion to warn anyone who wouldn't be comfortable reading that stuff.

I promise i'll give you guys a fluffy BTS to make up for this angst bomb. Hope you enjoyed!

My Masterlist

[alessiamalfoyzabini]

Dark Moon | Chapter Fourteen

Pairing | yandere!Jimin x Reader

Word Count | 4,5k

Warnings | +18, yandere themes, Stockholm syndrome, fluff, smut, slight panic attack at first, body worship, pussy worship, pussy eating, face riding, fingering, nipples licking, couch fucking, vaginal sex, intense orgasms and devastating emotions, soft yandere Jimin, mentions of ruined childhood

This fanfiction is yandere, if you don't like the genre, don't read and if you are not of age, don't read.

I don't want to hear any complaints in the comments, thank you.

This does not reflect my way of thinking or living at all, it is just a work of fiction, it is like watching a horror movie, many of us love horror movies, but we would never dream of what we see in those movies happening in reality as well.

Simply put, this story was written for entertainment purposes, it should not be seen as a reflection of my values, opinions or morals. I absolutely do not condone such acts.

⤷ Summary | She just wanted to escape her past, take charge of her life and break out of her steel cage, praying in God for a miracle that could change her life for good.

And her prayers were heard, but it was not the Divine that answered her.

That was certainly the devil in the guise of an angel, she thought as those corrupted and empty eyes searched her soul with extreme voracity.

He turned a sweet, false smile on her, before pushing her into the abyss.

➢ Author's Note | Hi, guys! 🥰❤️

Hope you are happy with this update! This one is a bit longer than the others! Always let me know your thoughts, you make me very happy ❤️

PS: Forgive me for the mistakes, it was not an easy week for me and I did not have much time 😭❤️

Taglist: @katherine-kookie, @dragons-flare, @m00njinnie, @seokjins-luigi, @pjmsneverland, @jimincrystal, @ajkwww, @ungodlyjoon , @hecateslittlewitchling , @namjoonsbuspass , @darkuni63 , @xicanacorpse , @jiminismine4ever , @btssimpjaneth , @antisocial-mochi267 , @reallygenerouskoala , @velvet-stardust2002 , @angelicsmilesworld

Taglist is open!

Chapter List - Previous - Next

"I finally found you," huffed Seokjin in front of Choi Minhoo, the man had been tied to a wooden chair, only Minho, Seokjin, Jungkook and Namjoon were present in that warehouse. The latter were just waiting for Jin's order to act; they were vibrating with fury.

"Be careful, Jin! My family members won't be happy about this!" he ranted with foam at his mouth, as frightened and rabid as a rat in a trap, Jungkook growled at those words, put his hand to his gun that he faithfully kept in his pocket, but a glance from Seokjin froze him in place.

"Uh, that's scary," put on a fake pout Jin with those beautiful rosy lips of his, "Now I'm going to shit my pants, look."

"Take the piss out of me, they're going to destroy you anyway," he growled, but that only made the man in charge of the Bangtans smile more broadly.

"That slut of a cousin of yours hurt Jimin when he was just a little boy, the result was that her body was dismembered by my dogs, and she was still alive while they ate her, you kidnapped and raped his woman, which amounts to another member of my family now," he began as he walked toward Minho, before grabbing the collar of his torn jacket, "I'm tired of having to pick up the pieces of what you and your damn family break, I will kill you all, child or adult, I will eradicate you from this world as the haughty and arrogant scum that you fucking are," he hissed, tightening his grip so tightly that the tendons in his wrists trembled before he pulled away.

Inhaling before recomposing himself, Namjoon and Jungkook looked at each other with a smirk-that was Jin.

"Jin! Jin! Kim Seokjin, stop!" shouted Minho after him as the man walked away, giving way to his bodyguards, "You said you were interested in politics, right! I can introduce you to the prime minister!" he finally shouted desperately, but Seokjin ignored him expressionlessly.

Neither he nor Jimin would have soiled themselves for such a being. He had deliberately decided not to tell Jimin about Minho's capture, knowing him he would have wanted to kill him with his own hands, but he wanted him to spend more time with Y/N.

He knew that sooner or later Jimin would fall into the arms of a woman he would love with sincere passion, that was what was needed for a troubled soul like his.

They needed to be done with the Choi family forever, all of them.

For days there had been a tense air in the house, Jimin was not there-according to him he had vital research to do-and in his place Taehyung had arrived to keep her company. He did not even use the guest room, preferring the living room sofa to Y/N's dismay.

The living room was her favorite place to read and eat, with Taehyung having conquered that piece of the apartment by now she could always be found hanging around it and disappearing.

Taehyung on his part tiptoed around when she was present, feeling uncomfortable.

He had endangered her with his indifference, plus he had also seen her in an extremely delicate moment, where she was weak and naked in every way.

He always peered at the girl with a pout, undecided how to start a possible conversation, she was not helping him at all in this, she was always so quiet and on her own....

With a snort he saw her head for the kitchen for a snack. He had to do it now.

"Y/N" when he reached her the woman gasped slightly, she had not expected him to come and talk to her, they had ignored each other so peacefully until now, inside she regretted leaving her room.

"Yes?" she huffed slightly, turning away.

At first glance Taehyung looked like a man of integrity, serious and good at his job, but at that moment he was showing his face full of emotion. He seemed nervous about something.

"I ... would like to apologize to you," he said with a note of embarrassment, the girl's eyes widened.

"To me?"

"Yes, it was my fault that they managed to catch you that day. It was my responsibility to control and protect you, I broke my word and for that I apologize" Taehyung bowed respectfully, Y/N was simply stunned.

They had never treated her with that much respect, why now?

Something told her that Jimin's hand was present.

"It's not totally your fault, I attacked your friend and you were reasonably pissed off, I apologize for making you worry about Jimin's condition.... I lost my mind in that instant, I did the only thing I thought was right so I wouldn't suffer anymore," she explained with regret.

"You did what anyone would have done," Taehyung replied, "My anger aside, Jimin was not behaving well with you and you did what you thought was right, that doesn't mean I would allow you to do it again, but I can still understand and yes, it remains my responsibility what happened to you, there won't be a next time."

Y/N nodded a little embarrassed, the determined expression in those languidly slitted eyes put her slightly in awe.

"Um... would you like some strawberry tea? I've made too much for myself," she said turning slightly toward the full teapot, with a small smile Taehyung agreed.

"I love strawberries."

Jimin came home with such a serious look on his face that it made Y/N guess that it was better to turn away from him.

Taehyung had left ten minutes earlier and the idea of being alone with a Jimin in that state unnerved her, she did not want to think that the boy would attack her again for his frustrations, so it was best not to pull the cat's tail too much.

The boy in question noticed the girl's strange attitude, she was moving in a hurry to wash her dishes, she wanted to run to her room and this would have been clear even to the least empathetic person in the world.

"Y/N" the sound of his voice uttering her name so quietly made her freeze suddenly, the water continued to flow in the sink without any more purpose and she did not move to stop it, "Can you come here please?"

She closed her eyes with a soft, inaudible sigh, counted to three before turning away with a slight smile.

She left everything in the sink and turned off the water, then walked over to him who sat at the table staring at her with predatory, glittering eyes, one rings-decorated hand tapped on his thick, muscular thigh, the elastic fabric of his pants wrapped around it beautifully and she found herself swallowing, "Sit here."

She did as she was told and the boy's arms soon wrapped around her at hip level, Jimin buried his head between her neck and shoulder, inhaling her sweet scent.

Y/N felt herself flaring up, the sensation of Jimin's warm breath warmly caressing her made her heart, already swollen with unexpressed emotions, throb.

"Jimin?"

"I've missed you," he repeated the words with which he had returned her the day he found her, Y/N instantly relaxed noticing that Jimin did not mean to hurt her in any way.

"I missed you too," she returned the hug, sinking her face into the soft locks of the man who smiled broadly in response.

"It's been especially stressful to handle things today."

"Are you looking for Minho?"

She asked quietly, not giving away how much even mentioning his name destabilized her, but Jimin knew her well by now; in fact, he sent her a reproachful look.

"Don't ask things you don't want to know, baby," he softly stroked one cheek still marked by a light bruise.

"I just wish you would confide in me, you keep everything inside and then you get sick."

"I won't be sick if you're with me," he replied seriously, peering longingly at her, his eyes lowered to her sugary lips and he closed his eyes, trying to hold himself back.

"Jimin...."

"Y/N." he stopped her by pronouncing her name firmly, "I want to make love to you."

A delicious twinge of pleasure made her intimacy throb, the arms she held tightly around the boy's neck trembled, "Jimin, I don't know if..." she felt so confused.

Fuck, she wanted him. She wanted him with all her heart, but she didn't want to be reminded of Minho, or his henchman hitting her repeatedly as she and Jimin lost themselves in their moment.

"Let's try it," she narrowed her eyes at the man's pleading tone, it was a new side of Jimin she never thought she would see, perhaps he had never begged any woman to fuck, the idea that she was the first one he begged even for a kiss appealed to her, "If anything happens I will stop immediately."

After that reassurance she found herself nodding with soft legs, Jimin kissed her with transport, savoring those sweet lips that tasted of tea and strawberries, fuck, it could become his new favorite taste.

Y/N reciprocated more calmly, trying to keep up with the man's voraciousness that did not just stop at her lips, but sank into her mouth languidly seeking the woman's tongue, gently intertwining in a perfect dance for them.

In a way she found it touching how tender Jimin was in squeezing her hips without hurting her, she had never experienced such intimacy with a man before, she liked it, and she did not want it all to end and go back to the dry old normal.

When they parted a few tears escaped from the young woman's eyes, Jimin stepped back slightly wiping the path they traced along her tender cheeks.

"Should we stop?" he asked sympathetically, but Y/N denied it immediately.

"No, it's just... I liked it, I've never done it like that," she said.

"Like that?"

"So intimate, with someone who loves me" she pulled up with her nose crinkling her eyes.

Jimin's blood froze in his veins, not that he had been a saint, but those words punctuated how much the childhood of the girl he was holding in his arms had sucked.

He kissed her again, feeling in his mouth the salty, lukewarm taste of her small tears that broke his heart, yes, Park Jimin now felt sorry for a past that did not belong to him, but love did that and more, it changed people and Jimin fit perfectly into that category.

He loved her and would get anything that made her sad out of the way, he slid into the neckline of her blouse, kissing every available flap of skin before he himself pulled off every single button that separated him from that body that drove him crazy. From the first time he had seen her, he knew he would desire her every hour of every day, sometimes it hurt so much it was unbearable.

When he freed her from that restraint he found himself face to face with the young woman's bare breasts, he inhaled wordlessly at the sight, god how much he had missed this, even as Minho's now superficial footprints on that divine temple made him growl.

Then he frowned, "Were you bra-less the whole time with Taehyung around?"

Y/N shrugged her shoulders, "It hurt..." she mumbled embarrassedly, referring to the bruises clearly, the bra pressed painfully against them.

Jimin inhaled softly, again bridging the distance between the two of them with yet another kiss of the evening, lulling her gently with his breath, his hand slipped over a rosy little button, teasing its tip, which rose turgidly under Jimin's expert touch, which descended to gently lick the areola before gently biting the tip of the sensitive nipple.

Y/N in response pushed her chest into Jimin's mouth, sighing in sweet waves of desire.

The man pulled away only long enough to effortlessly pick her up and carry her to the sofa in the living room, Y/N held back a surprised sob, and she watched the man's playful smile.

"Will we do it here?" she asked curiously, Jimin chuckled.

"We'll do it everywhere, sweetheart," he sighed, attaching himself to the girl's neck with his mouth, sucking and kissing her soft neck to leave his personal mark; he wanted to remove Minho's presence everywhere from her, "And I'll make you feel sensations you never had a chance to experience."

"Mh..." she squeezed her eyes shut under the weight of Jimin descending lower and lower, marking a glowing trail of wet kisses and bites all along her belly, with his hand he passed the barrier of her panties and barely grazing her pubis he sank his hand into her intimacy, gathering between his fingers a large amount of transparent essence that had already left her throbbing slit. It was the first time he had felt her so soaked for him; it felt like a dream.

"Fuck," he cursed excitedly, quickly slipping off his pants with his free hand, giving his big, hard cock some relief.

He went back to sucking one of her turgid nipples as his fingers began to play between her folds, Y/N moved her hips willingly against his hand, in her mind the only thing present was the idea of Jimin taking her on that couch.

"How do you feel?" he asked blowing hot air on one nipple, Y/N's clit twitched seeking attention.

"It feels good... so good," she whimpered, her thighs trembling, "And I want to feel you inside me, Jimin."

The latter smiled, amazed at the woman's stance, before a more wicked grin furrowed his cheeks.

He leaned closer to the girl's ear before murmuring, "And I'm going to come inside you with my cock and my fingers, soon my cock will be the only thing you'll feel between now and tomorrow, baby doll," he ignored the girl's faster breathing and continued licking her earlobe between his lips, "But first I want you to feel what my tongue can do, I'm going to lick your pussy so well that you'll cry for it," he took off his shirt as well, showing off his well-delineated and strong abs, a deep V went down to below the layer of his boxers that he hastened to carelessly throw on the floor, the sight of his swollen cock already moist with precum made her swallow without any more saliva.

She simply spread her legs for Jimin, but the position reminded her of the one they had forced her into and she stiffened.

"Jimin..." she closed her legs again shaking her head, Jimin immediately reached for her.

"Hey, hey...what's going on, baby?"

"I can't do it like this, I'm sorry" she still couldn't get over her trauma, she was about to have a panic attack and didn't want to disappoint Jimin, but the boy hugged her again.

"There are many ways to do it," he chuckled lightly trying to make her calm down, "Don't feel wrong, you're not."

"R-Really?" she looked at him curiously, wanting to have sex with him, but other than missionary and doggy style she had not tried anything else, ever.

The man nodded, "Give me some space, love."

She did as she was told and saw Jimin lie down in her place, she stood looking at him confused.

"What should I do now?" she asked innocently, Jimin gave her a smug look.

"Sit on my face."

The woman widened her eyes, what was she to do?

"I ... are you serious?"

"Trust me, we'll both like it," he replied biting his full lips, making Y/N's legs tighten.

She sighed slightly and listened to the boy, with some difficulty due to her inexperience she found herself with Jimin's face at the height of her soggy core, she found it incredibly awkward, but that feeling of imprisonment was gone.

From his side Jimin gazed in ecstasy at her wet intimacy, licking his lips he opened her folds with a gentle thrust of his fingers, before leaving a long, slow streak of saliva with his tongue, until he stopped at her swollen and needy clitoris, Y/N widened her eyes and collapsed onto the man who did not complain.

With her nose pressed against the young woman's pubis, she sucked conspicuously on that sweet trembling pearl, Y/N cried out in shock at those strange sensations she had never experienced before, Jimin's soft tongue enveloped her softly, but the pleasure was intense, it was all so terribly beautiful and hard at the same time that she began to shake her hips trying to escape from the continuous strokes of Jimin's fast tongue. The boy seemed to love eating her.

"Fuck, oh... oh! Jimin!" she shrieked breathlessly, the man held her thighs tightly preventing her from escaping, sinking his tongue into her hot and wet entrance, Jimin's eyes rolled back at that sweet taste, he could drink Y/N's essence all his life, she would never be enough for him, his cock trembled releasing thick whitish liquid, he could have easily come that way, his balls throbbing painfully with every moan or scream the girl let out without any more reins.

"Please, please stop!" she cried as she felt something coming, something powerful and devastating.

With the tip of his tongue Jimin again played with the shiny, quivering clitoris, finishing with a light bite that made the young woman stiffen, locking her in the grip of a powerful and strong orgasm, breathtaking in places, her first fucking orgasm.

She began to tremble and weep, no longer even able to bear the gentle caresses of the man adoringly wiping away all her pleasure that had soiled the inside of her thighs down to Jimin's chin.

She rolled to the side clutching her legs and wincing again, Jimin lying on his side wrapped his arms around her, kissing her neck and shoulders, gently brushed one thigh and invited her to raise one leg, "That's it, baby girl... let me feel how good I did," he chuckled as he aligned himself with her entrance, lightly pushed the massive tip of his cock already lubricated with his own cum against her ultra-sensitive slit, Y/N gasped slightly with blurred vision, but let him.

Jimin pushed himself into the sublime depths of her pussy with a delighted sigh, tried to be gentle and delicate, but her almost impossible to groove intimacy soon made him lose his mind, the girl's previous orgasm had made her walls more perceptive and consequently also tighter, each thrust was an immense rush of pleasure and stun for the boy, who pounded hard until his swollen balls popped against the girl's sweaty skin, who opened her mouth wide, feeling a stunning mix of enjoyment with a hint of pain that made her lose her mind, pressed her mouth against the back of the couch to keep from screaming, Jimin gasped against her ear.

It was different from all the other times, she was experiencing pleasure, those thrusts were delicious, not painful, Y/N was simply happy.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck! You hold me so tight, my love," he sang lost in his daze, his swollen shaft began to quiver and tremble over and over again, he was coming, "Aaahh... Oh, my-! Fuck, Y/N!" he growled her name like a prayer, quickly sank his cock deeper, touching her cervix again and again, causing the woman to tremble wordlessly as she reached for the man's hand to clasp it between hers.

"I'm coming!" he exclaimed without now a breath, the girl nodded.

"Me too, oh God, me too," she replied without any more concern for her moans, Jimin smiled proudly and taking the young woman's chin in his hands he forced her to look at him.

"Open your mouth" he grunted with dark eyes, Y/N obeyed already knowing what was about to happen and accepting it with pleasure, Jimin spit into her oral cavity and before giving her time to swallow he kissed her, mixing their flavors and tongues, that was enough to make the young man's cock throb, whose pleasure exploded in violent spurts of white liquid in the girl's lap, over and over again he pumped himself into her, who came in an orgasm more intense than the previous one, she could not even find the strength to scream, she just stood there taking the man's seed in spasms.

Jimin waited for her to calm down before leaving her with his now soft and satisfied cock, he lay down beside her more comfortably and kissed her many times, wiping her face of tears with his lips and and gifting her affectionate gestures that even he did not know he was capable of.

He was fucking in love with her.

"I have a surprise for you," he murmured in her ear.

Y/N turned to him with a joyful smile, it had been two weeks since that intense and wonderful evening, Jimin had woken her up the next morning with a series of sweet kisses and breakfast in bed, he was so different from the man who had kidnapped her and that helped her fall in love with the boy even more.

"Really?" she asked trying not to appear too excited, Jimin nodded softly.

"Close your eyes," he said, but the girl looked at him suspiciously.

"Is this perhaps another one of your wild sessions that see your mouth eating me, Park Jimin?" she said with a raised eyebrow, Jimin at first had spent so much time telling her that he would never give her pleasure with his mouth, she still could not believe how much the boy liked to use his tongue to fuck her over and over again, he seemed almost obsessed. She obviously did not complain.

Jimin grinned slyly, "That one later, love," he chuckled, confirming the girl's thoughts, but Y/N stopped at that affectionate nickname, he always called her "love".

She smiled with a warmed heart once again and closed her eyes, when Jimin was satisfied he moved on to the next step.

"Now open your hands."

Y/N puffed slightly, but listened to him once more, something very light and rectangular was placed on her palms.

"Open your eyes."

When she opened her eyes again, she found herself in front of an emerald-colored letter. It was beautiful, little gold leaves were drawn around the edge, intertwining, but still she did not understand what the boy was getting at.

"You wrote me a letter?" she laughed softly, but Jimin shook his head.

"Open it..." he said simply, and there Y/N could see all his nervousness.

She looked at it again, opening it slowly and pulling out a parchment-colored wrapper, she unwrapped it too and her breath caught.

She brought a hand to her mouth and sobs immediately escaped her control, Jimin held her by the shoulders to prevent her from falling.

In her hands were two photographs, the first depicted her sister smiling in the arms of a man with western features, it had been taken at a park well lit by green trees and sunlight, she looked so happy and healthy.

In the second she always had a big smile on her face, but in her arms she held a small bundle that she looked at with eyes full of love.

"She's alive," she sobbed against the chest of Jimin, who nodded relieved to have seen no negative reaction.

"Yes, she ... was bought by a wealthy american, he wanted to give her to his son as a birthday present, but he didn't expect that his son would fall in love with her and decide to marry her, she is fine and lacks absolutely nothing, Y/N."

Y/N lifted his flushed gaze into that of the boy, "Thank you, Jimin.... I know you shouldn't have investigated a client, but you did and I thank you," she hugged him as if he was her only pillar of support, which he really was.

But the boy did not look happy, shortly afterwards he sighed.

"There is also another thing in truth."

Y/N broke away slightly.

"I know everything, I know why you ran away from your family, I know why you changed your name, everything."

The woman froze.

She began to shake her head, trying to pull away, but Jimin held her back, "How did you… no, why?" she was lost, why would Jimin do such a thing? She wanted to forget her past!

"How long have you known?"

"Since you disappeared, the last words you said to me… I had to understand, Y/N."

"No! You shouldn't have done-"

"Your uncle met the end he deserved to meet," he said suddenly.

The implication was there, heavy in both their minds.

They looked at each other a few moments, then Jimin hugged her out of the blue.

"I love you, I love you, I love you," he began to repeat like a mantra with his lips pressed to her temple, "He won't hurt you anymore, baby," he whispered, Y/N snuggled softly against him.

"Never again?" she made in a tiny little voice, as if the child self was asking for reassurance from the man who had become the center of her world.

"Y/N, I haven't changed," he said, the steel in his eyes confirmed to the girl what she had suspected. Jimin had not changed, he loved her and treated her well, but the killer behind those half-moon eyes that smiled at her was always there, ready to snap at Kim Seokjin's every command, and to tell the truth that realization calmed her, "I made him pay for every single disgusting thing he did to you and I made sure he will never do anything like that to anyone else ever again," he concluded, returning his mind to the moment of capture.

It had not been easy to track him down, it had turned out that he was a loan shark under the command of another Korean Mafia family, that was what got him a lot of money unlike his brother and sister-in-law.

"He played us, he said he was going to help our family," she trembled with her eyes glazed over and grainy, looking at Jimin with sadness and sorrow, "Instead it was just an excuse to..." a gasp of vomit blocked the words in her throat, Jimin brushed a light kiss against her forehead.

"That bastard got the punishment he deserved, now you're with me, that's what's important, okay?" Y/N nodded quickly, seeking comfort in his arms. Little Y/N cried bitterly in the mind of the now adult girl, seeing her mother giving in under her father's pressure, the man feared losing her brother's favor and ending up on the street.

"Do you really love me?"

"More than my own life," Jimin replied immediately, Y/N licked her lips.

"Good, because I love you too, Jimin," she whispered dimly, but the boy heard her anyway, smiling relieved he still cradled her with his chin resting on her head.

"I'll take care of you, I won't let you lack anything," he promised, Y/N closed her eyes letting him carry her to bed like a cute little doll.