#without completely falling apart down an anxiety spiral

[keepingitformyself]

especially for tender ones like us

A/N: hehehehehehehehehehehehe synopsis: humor, anxiety, and the salvation of love.

pairings: natasha romanoff x reader

genre: fluff.

warnings: no?

MASTERLIST

please do not repost my work anywhere for any reason at all. if you do see this happen to any of my stories, please let me know. thank you x.

natasha tries not to stumble over her words when she suggests staying in, instead of going out. she does not mean to, but she does. 

how could she not? could you really blame her for wanting a quiet night? something that isn’t so public. she wanted to see you, of course, but she wanted to see you in a space you could be comfortable in, without any of the outside world and free from any distractions.  

you listen intently through the other line, you fight the giggle at catching her little stutter. she can’t see, but you smile widely at the whole thing.

“yeah, we can stay in. i can cook us dinner,” you nod. natasha’s shoulders drop in a quiet sense of relief at your words. her lips curl into a smile. “i’d like that. i can’t wait.”

although this would only be the fourth time you had met up together, to natasha, it felt like the first every single time. 

you continue talking for a little while more. natasha shares details about her day, work, and what she ate during lunch. she tells you how on her way to grab her usual coffee order, an americano, she decided she’d switch her order to a matcha latte after having had you recommend it to her. she tells you, 

“it was good, but not nearly enough caffeine for me to keep up with,” she said, her tone light but teasing. and while it hadn’t become her new favorite drink, just knowing she’d tried it for you was more than enough. her words sent your thoughts spiraling, a warmth blooming in your chest. you were certain that if she were standing next to you, you wouldn’t hesitate to kiss her right then and there.

but you can’t do that so instead, you just fall back on your bed like a high schooler talking to her crush. 

when you finally do meet up the following evening, natasha is buzzing with nerves she doesn't understand. she has taken down whole regimes and has fought aliens from space, yet she seems to draw the line when it comes to facing you. 

she knocks on your door, her other arm clutching a brown bag containing wine and flowers. a reasonable offering if you’re having dinner with someone you want to impress. 

when you answer the door, you're wearing a cream-colored knit sweater. 

“i thought i heard pacing out there.” you joke. 

natasha’s cheeks flush as she tries—and ultimately fails—to fight the smile tugging at her lips. “i wasn’t pacing,” she says, though the slight crack in her voice gives her away.

you step aside and invite her in, and neither of you acknowledges the quiet intimacy of the moment. it feels like more than just dinner, more than just a simple evening in your apartment.

you’re about to cook for her, and somehow, that feels monumental.

natasha’s nerves are a mess, though she can’t quite figure out why—or maybe she can. maybe it’s the way your presence makes her feel unsteady, as though the ground beneath her shifts whenever you’re near.

but natasha doesn’t want to be nervous.

she saw once—a penguin mistaking a sleeping walrus for a rock. the penguin had been caught completely off guard when the walrus stirred, nearly crushing it before it scurried away just in time.

natasha had found it funny at the time, the way surprises can sneak up on you. but now, thinking about it, it doesn’t feel so funny. it feels… unnerving.

surprises are bad for the heart, she thinks. she’s been taught her whole life to avoid them, to anticipate every possibility before it unfolds.

but knowing too much, being too prepared—that can hurt, too.

her thoughts are interrupted by your laughter, light and unburdened, as you guide her toward the kitchen. your smile is so easy, so genuine, and she can’t help but feel how good it is to exist in this space with you.

she offers to help you cook, but you shoo her away instead. you make her watch.

she sits there, with her hands on her lap, and just stares. and she can’t help the look of longing on her face. the kind of thing that suggests she wouldn’t mind this being a constant. 

you made pasta for the evening. nothing too spectacular, but natasha had treated it like you were a top chef and had spent hours crafting everything with your bare hands. 

and then once you’ve plated food for you both and you’ve gotten down to a few bites, you notice the small sigh natasha lets out. the flutter of her eyes as she takes in the meal. 

you smile at her reaction as you move some of the food with your fork. 

“do you like it?”

she looks at you, mid-chew, her mouth stuffed with the food, but she manages a smile. 

“yeah, uh, yes it’s good. it’s so good,” she says, hand over her mouth. 

you continue eating, talking about everything and anything. the night was filled with small moments that would bleed into much deeper ones. you laughed, she smiled, you smiled, she laughed. the kind of things one feels they become when around those who make you tender. 

and you don’t know how or when but you try not to notice how little by little natasha seems to retract a little. 

you decide maybe she needs a small moment for herself and start cleaning up the table. she offers to help, but you wave her off, insisting she relaxes. 

she tries to, but realistically, natasha doesn’t know how to relax. so she sits back and stares at you like she isn’t sure what to do with herself. she isn’t used to this at all. spaces like this–warm, cozy, comfortable.

the impending guilt comes. it’s all so layered. she feels so much at once. the nervousness, the anxiety, the fear of loss, the fear of not being present enough. 

natasha doesn’t know how to be here without sacrificing so much. 

after a while, natasha speaks up. 

“i should probably get going.” her voice too casual to sound like she meant it. she tries not to notice the look of disappointment on your face when you turn around to face her. 

“you don’t have to.” you find yourself saying, not wanting her to leave. 

she hums, something that says she’s already made up her mind. she gets up and gathers her things. 

you follow her to the door, or at least try to—but you pause at the end of the hall when you see her linger near the door, uncomfortably. unsure if she should leave. 

you call her out on it. “you can stay longer if you want.”

natasha wrestles with herself because she really wants to. she looks at the door as if it’d answer for her. 

you’re letting her know. 

natasha feels awkward, clammy hands. she doesn't know what she’s doing. and it’s hard to think of anything else when your eyes are screaming, don't actually leave, at her. 

you look at her carefully, trying to see if you can find any clear indication of what she may be feeling, but it isn’t hard to figure out the redhead in front of you. 

you’ve noted quite quickly how easy it comes for her walls to lower when you’re around. and if there’s anything you’ve learned from that, it’s that natasha romanoff isn’t the trained killer everyone thinks she is. 

sure we all have certain versions we show to certain people. but the natasha you know is anything but rough-edged. the natasha you’ve come to know is actually quite the opposite of what everyone else perceives. 

she’s tender, in her own silent way. too afraid to ever let too much slip away that she’s so painfully aware of everything around her. 

natasha is tenderness wrapped in quiet strength, a paradox of someone who feels deeply but guards herself fiercely. she sees the world clearly—the beauty and the harm—and carries that weight like a constant ache.

like she knows the world hurts more for those most aware of hurt. 

her tenderness isn’t soft; it’s sharp, vigilant, always bracing for the pain that comes with letting others in. you can see it in the flicker of her gaze, the way she hesitates as if expecting the world to hurt her.

and yet, she doesn’t harden. she holds onto that fragile, open part of herself, even when it would be easier not to. it’s beautiful and a little heartbreaking.

natasha looks up at you, then back down at her hands. just above a whisper, she says, 

“i don't know what i’m doing.” 

“that’s the most fun part.” you joke. she smiles, she doesn’t know how to say she wants more time. 

how could she say she feels greedy at this moment? she wants to protect being here with you. we have such little time, she thinks. 

bashfully, she steps closer to you, “i don't want to go.” she says. 

“then don’t.” and natasha almost complies. instead, she takes a step closer, her hand lifting towards your cheek. she’s so close now. 

she kisses you, soft, and shy, but you make her feel sure when your arm circles her neck, deepening the kiss altogether. when she pulls back, her forehead rests against yours, she lets out a shaky breath. 

��maybe i’ll forget my scarf,” she murmured, a small smile tugging at her lips. 

“please do,” you replied. please leave your scarf, please linger near the door uncomfortably instead of leaving. please always come back. “that way you’ll have to come back later for it.”  

and just like that, her quiet uncertainty washes away. 

she takes her scarf off and drops it near the door. you follow her actions, you smile, amusement in your eyes. 

later that night, when natasha gets home, she texts you. 

i forgot my scarf. 

you reply, you’ll have to come get it then. 

[linkito]

kiss prompt #20: on a scar.

this is also scarian. i'm thinking hhau :3c and grian's newly acquired scars (which i guess doubles as #21, on a place of insecurity?)

Grian knows it’s silly to be so insecure over something ultimately so inconsequential, but it’s an amalgamation of several things, really, only made worse by the emergence of these new scars across his face. 

And it’s also horribly ironic, given that he’s neglected his wings for months on end, letting them gather dust and debris, secretly hoping that perhaps it’ll be enough to make him less desirable to the humans who seek out his feathers. It’s ironic that now he’d let something like facial scars bring him down, something that blatantly displays the damage that has been set on him. 

No one would want damaged goods, after all, right?

He ought to be happy about that, right?

Maybe he would feel that way if he had any say in their development, if it had been self-imposed like the time he’d desperately torn out his feathers, trying to hide the vivid purple that stained his body, but— 

It’s Scar’s steady hand that snaps him out of that sea of thoughts before it can spiral, his calloused fingers gently tracing over Grian’s cheek, giving the scar tissue the same tender treatment, almost like nothing at all was different. 

It’s a silly thing to be insecure about. To be insecure about it would be hypocritical. He’s never had a problem with the scattering of scars across his partner’s body, after all— why would he? It’s one of his favorite activities to trace over them, to map them out over his skin… much like Scar is now. 

“Scar,” Grian starts, but he stops at that, unsure of how to proceed. His voice is strained and hoarse. He feels like he can’t actually breach this topic, not without inadvertently insulting Scar with anything he could possibly say. 

It’s shallow, it’s stupid, it’s—

It’s something permanently strewn across his face reminding him of the time he thought he was abandoned. When he was alone and scared, left with only the severe chill of winter and the taste of blood on his tongue. 

Grian doesn’t want to be reminded of that.

He doesn’t want Scar to look at him and see someone different, someone irreparably damaged after just one week spent apart. What if that makes him less desirable to Scar now as well? 

(He knows he’s being ridiculous. He knows, he knows, but he can’t help it. It hurts. It hurts so so much.)

“Grian,” Scar replies after a moment, undoubtedly recognizing the moment Grian gets pulled back under by the torrent of his endless anxieties. He presses closer, offering himself as the tether keeping Grian afloat, foreheads touching so all Grian can see is the boundless affection present in his bright, green eyes.

It almost burns to look at.

Grian can’t look away.

Wordless tears form at the edges of Grian’s vision, but then Scar is speaking again, uttering something so bizarre that Grian is at a complete loss on how to respond, leaving his tears frozen in place as his eyes widen with confusion.

“Thank you,” Scar says, once again brushing his thumb over the mark next to Grian’s eye. His touch is gentle as always, which sets something in Grian toppling, and the tears fall, one by one. Some pool at the tips of Scar’s fingers, slowly streaking down his skin.

Scar is undeterred by it, smiling softly as he leans in and kisses the marred and tear-streaked skin. Grian can’t handle it. 

“Scar, what—“ he manages to choke out before losing his voice to a weak sob, his lips quivering as Scar leans down to press a kiss to the scratch on his chin as well. “Scar.”

Scar hears the unspoken question, and he hums softly against the fragile skin. He answers, but it leaves Grian with even more questions, unable to understand. “You survived.”

Grian opens his mouth, but nothing aside from a ragged breath escapes, because how is he supposed to respond to that? 

He cannot even begin to comprehend why Scar felt compelled to thank him of all things while tracing over his scars like they were something precious— something to be grateful for? celebrated? Grian doesn’t know.

But when he looks at Scar, he sees nothing but sincerity. An honest adoration. Genuine relief that he can look upon Grian’s face at all. That they didn’t lose each other.

And although he may not comprehend, Grian finds that he wants to. He wants to see what Scar sees, because somehow, despite everything, Scar still sees something beautiful when he looks his way. 

Grian’s heart swells and with another broken sob, he falls forward into Scar’s welcoming arms.

[sunflowersandsapphires]

Including Sunlight

When Skies Are Gray, Chapter 4

Series Masterlist             Next Chapter

pairing: Frank Castle x fem!reader 

summary: Frank’s life has reached a crossroads: he can either continue to seclude himself and pursue a dark, lonely future, or he can open himself up to connecting with someone again and maybe achieve happiness. Being the grump that he is, Frank has already committed to the lonely path, but his curious new neighbor might just turn that around. 

warnings: swearing, fluff, Frank having unhealthy coping mechanisms

a/n: I'm so sorry that this update is late, everyone! I've had a wacky month and it has completely thrown me off. Huge shout out to @xxdrixx for reminding me (again XD) to post what I'd written, and to my loves @madschiavelique and @gracethyomen for helping me plot the upcoming angst arc!!!

w/c: 5.9k

You hadn’t known Frank for very long, but that didn’t stop him from becoming a necessary fixture in your life. Needing Frank was similar to needing light, or fresh air. Sure, you could go without it for a bit, but it would drastically reduce the quality of your life. 

Two days into his “business trip” (which you assumed was a cover for some illegal shenanigans because what sort of freelance construction worker has business trips), you were missing Frank something awful, and it seemed like Max was too. Though you’d tried your best to stick to the existing routine Frank had explained to you, the dog would get mopey in the evenings, laying his head on your lap with a dramatic sigh as he stared longingly towards the door. 

Frank hadn’t so much as sent an emoji since his departure, a fact that highlighted his already glaring absence. You had no idea if he was even alive, but you refused to go down that path knowing you’d never make it out of that endless anxiety spiral. Hoping not to bother him while he was away, you’d refrained from reaching out. Until Max’s heavy sighs were too much for you to bear. 

“I’ll see what I can do, buddy.” You promised, pulling out your phone and taking a picture of his pouting face. 

Sending Max’s sulking portrait off to your stoic neighbor, you included a message. 

You: I think he misses you. Hope you made it safely. ❤️

You were about to set your phone down, not expecting him to respond, but your phone buzzed immediately. 

Frank: Sorry, bud. He behaving for you?

You: He’s being a perfect gentleman. Please come back to us in one piece. 

Frank: Cross my heart. 

Smiling at the fluttery sensation in your chest, you set your phone down and resumed petting the pitbull taking up residence on your lap. 

Come back to us. A poor imitation of your melodic voice played throughout his brain on a loop as he got settled in the motel and began recon. It had been hours since you’d texted him and Frank couldn’t stop thinking about it. Not that he could ever stop thinking of you; the only thing that had kept him going through the bland, cross-state drive was the knowledge that he had you to return to.

And didn’t that terrify him. The knowledge that he had forged a connection valuable enough to anchor him on bad days should have triggered his factory reset. Cut all ties, change home and job, never look back. But you made him weak–sapping the resolve out of him with your doe eyes and intoxicating personality. He’d never be able to leave you like that, even if his proximity to you would get you killed.

Gritting his teeth, he began disassembling his rifle for the umpteenth time, hoping the familiar rhythm would provide an opportunity for his mind to claw its way out of the paranoid spiral it was currently parachuting down. Because it would do him no good to imagine the ways this could all fall apart. The high that your genuine care ignited in him was a hard one to shake, and he craved your affection more than any drug. 

Frank was no stranger to being forgotten, hell, most days he wished for it. Disappearing into the shadows made his work easier and it had helped him prevent situations like this, like you, in the past. Yet here he was, three states away, feeling desired and significant because of four little sentences of fucking text. You were a goddamn miracle. 

Placing the final piece of his weapon back into its place, he drew his hands towards himself, examining them. Given the nature of his work, both legal and less than, the skin was rough and littered with impressive callouses. Streaks of gun oil, dirt, and general grime lingered on the pads of his fingers and under his nails, a testament to the indelicacy of his job. How could he allow himself to touch you with these hands?

How could the universe allow him to indulge in something so pure, after what he’d done? 

He’d given you his name, his real one, but there was no way you knew the extent of his crimes against the people in your city–if you did, you’d surely never speak to him again. Before meeting you, he’d never questioned his choices. Wiping the murderous, sex-trafficking and drug-dealing scum from the face of the Earth was his purpose, and he lived it with pride. Pulling the trigger, releasing bullet after bullet into the chest of some criminal douchebag, it was the only reason he had the energy to keep going after the loss of his family. 

But the violence, that he’d made peace with, it separated him from the rest of society, kept him from forming attachments with people as delicate as you. Not to mention, you valued an honesty he couldn’t provide, and a stable relationship would require it…not that he was intending on pursuing that with you. Right?

Sighing wearily, he pinched the bridge of his nose, heart pummeling his ribcage. You deserved to know the truth about who he was and what he’d done, but Frank wasn’t sure he possessed the courage to break that news to you, to risk losing you forever. 

Shifting uneasily on the fraying wicker chair, Frank studied a chip in the faux wood of the table he was seated at. Rubbing a thumb over the exposed plastic, he pondered his next move. His short recon session had verified Madani’s hunch that the arms dealers operated after dark, like most criminals, but sitting around the dingy motel room until then was a one-way ticket to insanity. 

As if his body was pitying his moment of unprecedented indecision, his stomach growled ferociously. Fuck, he could use a decent meal and a hot cup of coffee. Plucking his keys and handgun from the nightstand, he shoved his arms into a black canvas jacket before braving the outside world. 

Digging your glove-covered fingers into the laminated dough, you folded it over itself a few times before placing it back in its designated proofing bin to rise. Taking another lump of the yeasted mixture into your grasp, you savored the pleasant cushiony feeling beneath your hands as you worked, the slightly fermented smell of raw bread swirling around the kitchen as you flipped the mass. 

Your heart thumped serenely as you kneaded the dough at a steady pace, creating a beautiful rhythm you were more than familiar with. It was music, of a sort; the pulse in your ears acting as the bass while the cacophony of rattling spice jars and cracking eggshells composed unique melodies unlike anything else. 

Life was complicated, but food was simple. Customizing pastries and generating new recipes was an outlet for any emotion you could dream of. Tugging at the strands of dough helped soothe the tension in your shoulders, a symptom of the intense restlessness you’d been feeling since Frank left. Though his text had confirmed that he was alive, you couldn’t help but wallow in a feeling of gut-wrenching regret as you lived without him. If something happened to him out there, you’d never be able to tell him–

Shaking your head fiercely to clear the anxious thoughts from your mind, you raced to the walk-in, once again pouring your jittery energy into a recipe rather than letting your composure erode into nothing. Stabilizing the precarious tower of ingredients you’d stacked with your chin, you tread cautiously over to a clean station, unceremoniously dumping the contents onto the steel bench before popping your head out to the front. 

“Stace, you want somethin’ to eat?” You called to the girl, who was currently standing by the register on her phone. 

“What are you making?” She barely lifted her head with the question and her ambivalence made you snort. 

“Oh, you know, same old.”

With a small shrug, Stacy nodded. “Sure, why not.” 

Grinning, you ducked back into the kitchen and popped the lid off of the industrial blender, quickly whipping up two vibrantly colored and impeccably garnished bowls for the pair of you. Passing a spoon to Stacy, you smiled as she dug in eagerly.

“What, you didn’t eat breakfast this morning?” You giggled, reveling in the way her eyes lit up as she ate. 

“Had a feeling you’d be cooking up a storm today.” Stacy replied, tilting her head at you knowingly. “You tend to do that when you’re mopey, and I’m never opposed to a free meal.”

Rolling your eyes, you huffed in defiance. “I’m not ‘mopey’.” 

“No?” Your dark-haired friend smirked. “That’s why you’re staring at that stupid bowl like it killed your family?” 

Ignoring her pointed look, you angled the bowl slightly differently before pulling out your phone. 

“It’s a pretty meal. I wanted to take a picture.” You reasoned, snapping a few photos of the deep violet mixture. 

“To send to lover boy?” Stacy snorted, wiggling her eyebrows at you. 

“No! I mean, maybe, I guess. I mean—“ You spluttered and Stacy laughed boisterously. “Shut up!!” Pouting, you shoved your phone back into the pocket of your apron and stuck a spoon into your breakfast. 

“C’mon, princess, don’t let my teasing interrupt your pitiful flirting attempts. I’m sure he wants to hear from you.” Stacy’s expression was nonchalant, as always, but her gaze softened when your shoulders slumped. “I’m serious. He’s like, embarrassingly into you.” 

“I think you might be confused about which of us is ‘embarrassingly into’ the other.” You whined, burying your face in your hands. 

“Oh you’re pathetically head over heels for him too, that’s why you have no game.” 

Scoffing, you shoved at her shoulder. “You know what, I don’t need to be insulted like this. Get out of my kitchen.”

“It’s not insulting, it’s true!” She chuckled, eating the remaining few bites of her food as you struggled to force her out the double doors. 

“Out, out, out!” You panted, finally getting her across the threshold. 

The whoosh of air from the batwing doors blew stray hairs from your face, giving you pause. Did it matter why you reached out to him? He seemed to appreciate it…

“Fuck it.” 

Frank turned the cheap off-white mug in his hands, letting the quickly fading warmth seep through the material and into his palms as he looked out the streaky window. A gray hue had settled over the rural town he was camped out in, courtesy of the building storm on the horizon. The clouds mimicked his mental state, growing darker by the minute as the world remained stagnant. 

A low buzz caught his attention, his hand shooting out to stop his phone from vibrating off of the table. Flicking the screen open, his heart swelled with affection, like a ray of sunshine peeking through the barrier in the sky. 

You: *image* It’s official, I’m becoming a hipster. I was more concerned about this photo than eating my breakfast.

Not attempting to hide his smile, Frank shoved his empty cup aside to free his thumbs. 

Frank: Well, it looks so good, I might have to forgive you. What is it?

You: A smoothie bowl, very easy to make and quite tasty.

Frank: Never had one of those before. Looks good though, sunshine.

You: Thanks, sweetheart. I’ll make you one sometime.

Frank inhaled deeply, imagining that you were nearby and he could smell your soft vanilla soap. The thought of you cooking for him upon his return warmed his heart while simultaneously cracking it in two. He missed you dearly. Drawing his forearms into his chest, he took a picture of his own food, frowning at the grainy quality of the picture as it sent.

Frank: It ain’t as pretty as yours, but I’m eating breakfast myself.

The remnants of a stack of bland pancakes and some tough bacon paled in comparison to the gorgeous, speckled smoothie thing you’d sent him. Why it was in a bowl and not a cup, he wasn’t sure, but clearly you knew what you were doing so who was he to judge? A few seconds passed and Frank briefly wondered if he’d said something wrong. Before he could preemptively apologize, another bubble appeared on the screen.

You: Glad you are able to feed yourself without my help. I was starting to wonder…

Frank: Oh shut up, you goof. I do miss your cooking though.

You: Just my cooking?

His fingers hovered over the glass display, his brain scrambling for a response that didn’t reveal just how gone he was for you. In the end, he couldn’t find one.

Frank: Not just your cooking, honey. I have some work to do, but take care of yourself and Max for me, will you? 

You: Of course, Frankie. Have a good day :)

Frank: You too, sunshine.

Clicking the power button on his phone, Frank flipped it over, settling his head against his rough hands and massaging his forehead. Coward.

The shrill ringing of his alarm shattered the remnants of his uneasy slumber. Whipping his arm out from under the sheets, he stopped the piercing noise with a frustrated growl. Sitting up was a process, thanks to the new bullet wounds in his shoulder and hip—a true testament to how sideways yesterday night had gone. Madani’s brief had implied that this would be a cut and dry operation. Get in, confirm the sale, contact her team, leave. He’d been given strict orders to not shoot unless absolutely necessary. 

Which was a great plan, in theory. Frank was more than on board with it, even if the whole “no shooting” thing lengthened the process. If it kept him on Madani’s good side, and still managed to get him home before Lisa’s birthday, he could live with it. 

Apparently, the rookie member of Madani’s team was not so thrilled with Frank “stealing” so much of the glory. After Frank’s recon session and subsequent confirmation of the sale, the former Marine was about to call for backup when a scrawny 20-something kid darted into the dark warehouse after the arms dealers, holding nothing but a goddamn glock. Anticipating bloodshed, Frank was grumbling and sprinting after him before the gunshots started. 

Pulling the kid out by the straps of his ill-fitting bullet-proof vest was a task Frank managed by the skin of his teeth, procuring two moderate injuries in the process. Of course, the knowledge that the FBI was on their tail sent the arms dealers into a frenzy. Frank was sure they’d crossed state lines before Madani was even done screaming. Honestly, he half expected the poor woman to have steam coming out of her ears–she’d cussed at the kid with words even Frank considered impolite. 

Not that he could blame her, he was fuming all the same, especially when Madani had explained that he wasn’t off the hook for the mission and should head back to the motel to await further instructions. As if he was reliving it, the conversation that followed played in his head on a loop, their screaming match echoing off the walls of his brain. 

“For fuck’s SAKE, Madani, I did what you wanted–why should I be punished for the stupidity of this asshole?”

“Oh, he’ll be dealt with, believe me. But the agreement was to get Roshev and Miller into my custody. Not give my team a half-assed warning and head back to New York scot free.”

“Half-assed–you’re fucking joking. I had to ditch the objective to rescue YOUR DAMN AGENT.”

“Go back to your room, Frank. I won’t ask again.”

“You’re not–”

“That’s an ORDER, Castle.”

So here he was: waking up on a shitty mattress, his skin and hair still streaked with dirt and blood (because the crappy water pressure and freezing temperature had infuriated him to the point that he’d cut his shower short after cleaning his wounds), in pain and in desperate need of a better cup of coffee than anyone around here was capable of brewing. 

On top of that, it was his dead daughter’s 18th birthday–a fact that hung over him like a cloud of poisonous gas, slowly squeezing the air from his lungs, and he was powerless to stop it. He wanted to scream, to cry, to grieve for her, to do something, anything–but instead he was fucking stuck here, beneath Madani’s thumb until she tired of him. 

It was naive to think that he’d be home today, maybe drinking coffee that you had made specifically for him, bringing flowers to the cemetery, taking Max for a walk, trying to have a quiet day in Lisa’s memory instead of waiting around to deal with two scumbags who got paid to arm other criminals. He should have just shot them.

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes with a rough hand, he stalked to the bathroom to clean up–given that a man covered in blood would probably scare the poor waitress at the diner down the street shitless. As he was rubbing a towel through his hair, his phone buzzed–presumably with a curt message from Madani about something else he’d done wrong. Groaning internally, he braced himself for another argument, but it never came. 

Instead, his phone had an unopened message from you. Flicking open the home screen, he felt a weight fall off his shoulders as he pulled up the photo you’d attached. 

It was a beautiful picture of you holding a basket of vibrantly colored cherries in the midst of some sort of farmer’s market. Your delicate features were highlighted by an array of pinks and oranges, courtesy of the sunrise in the background. Your smile was bright, your eyes sparkling as you beamed at the camera. 

Your first message was a simple explanation of your morning activities. 

You: It’s market day! I bought these gorgeous cherries to make some tarts. I’ll save you one ;)

As he was rereading the message, allowing his general irritation to fade as thoughts of you flooded his brain, his phone vibrated again. 

You: Thinking of you today. I’m just a text away if you need anything ❤️

Sinking down onto the motel bed, his throat constricted as he processed the sentiment. He was surprised that you remembered today was hard for him, even more so that you offered to be a line of support. But that was exactly who you were, wasn’t it? Someone who cared so deeply for the people around her, and for some fucking reason that included Frank. 

Typing and retyping a response to you, Frank blew out a breath. He felt almost…jittery. 

Frank: Thanks, sunshine. That means a lot. I’m looking forward to that cherry tart when I get back. 

You: I’ll make you as many as you want, Frankie. 

Lips twitching, he imagined you whirling around your kitchen in one of your signature patterned dresses making him a special batch of pastries. His heart squeezed painfully; your absence was taking a toll on him that he had not expected. Before he could consider his next message to you, Madani’s number flashed on the screen, indicating an incoming call. Lips curling into a silent snarl, he answered. 

“What, Madani?” He rumbled out.

“Well, good morning to you too, sunshine.” Her response wasn’t meant to dig under his skin, she simply meant it as a superficial jab, but the inclusion of the pet name he associated with you ignited a white hot anger in his gut, feral and hungry. 

“The fuck do you want,” He bit out. 

“Watch your tone, Castle. Remember who owes whom a favor here.”

Rolling his eyes, he brought out a more polite tone. “Yes, ma’am.”  

She huffed across the line, “Fuck you too. We found them. I’ll send the coordinates now.” 

“Lookin’ forward to it.” He ended the call.

Stretching your legs as best you could beneath the hefty pitbull, you sighed. 

It had been hours since Frank’s last text and you were not handling it well–the image of the little typing bubble on his side of the text chain haunting your every moment. Logically, the presence of those three flashing dots just meant he had started to type something and then forgot or had something else to attend to, but that knowledge didn’t quell the anxiety growing in your chest. 

He was out there, doing god knows what, on his daughter’s 18th birthday, presumably alone and hurting–and there was nothing you could do but wait. And cook him a lasagna of course. Which you had, giving your apartment the pleasant aroma of onions, tomatoes, and ricotta cheese as the dish baked. 

Your consciousness vibrated with the tenacity of an anxious chihuahua, listless with boredom and concern about your sweetheart of a neighbor. Squirming out from under Max’s head, you chuckled as the sleepy pitbull huffed in annoyance. “Sorry, bubba. I need to move around.”

In the final 30 minutes that you lasagna baked, you managed to throw together some simple pastry dough and pull out the small basket of cherries from your fridge. Popping one of the scarlet fruits into your mouth, you began to pluck the remaining stems off before removing their pits. Once they’d been sufficiently prepped, and your hands were adequately smattered with droplets of maroon fruit juice, you dumped them unceremoniously into a pot to create a compote. It didn’t necessarily pair well with lasagna, but you’d promised Frank a cherry pastry. 

Originally, you’d considered making him a cherry basil frangipane, identical to the ones you’d stacked in the bakery’s display case that morning. But, after the day he’d probably had, you figured he’d want something…less intricate. The compliment you’d given him during his first visit to the cafe still held true–Frank was simple and honest. He wasn’t difficult to please, but fancy words and expensive ingredients alone wouldn’t cut it. The food had to be good. So, you pulled out all the stops, making a recipe that you hadn’t made since you lived with Leo: cherry turnovers. 

Unlike your wonderful neighbor, the majority of patrons in the city needed a reason besides quality to continue giving you business. Elaborately decorated pastries and unique flavor profiles were what kept the cafe in business, so you hadn’t tried selling a modest dessert like these since your first few weeks at the Rainy Day Bakery. It was familiar, comforting even. You hoped it would bring Frank similar satisfaction. 

Trading the bubbling lasagna for a tray of triangle-shaped pastries, you brushed your hands on your hips. Re-covering the pasta dish, you hurriedly cleaned your kitchen, wiping away the traces of flour and sugar that inevitably dusted your countertops after you baked. As you rinsed out the mixing bowl, a high-pitched whimper popped the bubble of silence surrounding your apartment. Sitting rigidly by the door to your apartment, Max’s dark eyes pleaded with you. 

“Gosh, you’re right, bud! It is dinner time. I’m sorry, I got carried away. Let’s go get you set up, huh?” 

Snatching Frank’s spare key from your counter, you attached Max’s thick leash to his collar and jogged him back to his apartment, adding an extra handful of kibble as an apology for making him wait. Stroking his short fur a few times, you slipped the key into your pocket, scurrying back over to your apartment to grab the turnovers before they caught fire and reduced the building to ashes. 

Carefully balancing the pastries and lasagna in your hands, you marched back over to Frank’s apartment. Pretty soon, and with only one close call, the food was lined up on Frank’s countertop to cool. Brushing your hands together, you admired your handiwork. 

“Please tell me ya haven’t been sittin’ here with the door open all night.” 

The gruff voice behind you made you jump in shock. Whirling around, your fear morphed into pure joy as you took in the ruggedly handsome man before you.

“Shit, Frankie! You snuck up on me.” You practically squealed, rushing to hug him in greeting. He grunted as you slammed against him, hissing as you squeezed your arms around his hips. Eyes widening in realization, you started to pull back. “Oh fuck, you’re hurt, aren’t you? I’m so sorry, I–” 

Before you could unwrap your arms from his body, his broad hands splayed across your back, muscular arms tugging you back against his firm chest. 

“‘M fine, honey.” Came Frank’s soothing rumble. You felt him press a kiss to your crown before he buried his face in your hair. “Missed you like crazy, sunshine.” His voice was soft, as if he didn’t want you to hear the darling confession. 

“God, I missed you too, Frankie.” You chuckled, your eyes prickling with tears, your body in awe of your own honesty. With his stubbled chin atop your head and his thick arms around your waist, you felt entirely sheltered by his body. He’d created a bubble of safety and serenity for you, as he always did. 

Remaining in his arms, you shifted out from under his head to examine him. Though you’d felt it across your scalp, his beard was noticeably overgrown and in need of a trim. His hair greasy and mussed, streaked with grime, just like his face. The skin of his face was tinged red, with blush or sunburn you weren’t quite sure, and the bags under his eyes were deep. In spite of yourself, your bottom lip stuck out, brow pinching in concern. Bringing a hand up to cradle his face, you stroked a thumb gently over his cheek, careful to avoid the sizeable bruise across it. 

“Oh sweetheart. What did they do to you?” You asked quietly, feeling choked up as the hulking man nuzzled into your touch, his eyes falling shut with a weary sigh. 

“It’s nothin’.” He murmured, his words worn out—as if he’d spoken them so many times they’d lost all meaning. 

“Then it shouldn’t take long to get you cleaned up.” You smiled, the gesture not making it to your eyes. Standing on your tiptoes, you pressed a kiss to his prickly cheek before unwinding his arms from your waist. He started to retract his arms, to tuck them against his sides, but you caught his fingers with yours, grasping his hands tenderly. “Come sit, sweetheart. You must be exhausted.” 

The poor man didn’t argue. Instead, he let you tug him to the couch and sit him down, his lips twitching with fond amusement when you tucked a blanket around his shoulders. “This ain’t mine.” 

You shrugged, the hint of a smirk tugging at your lips. “I redecorated.” 

“I was barely gone three days.” Frank snorted, rolling his eyes at you. 

Poorly stifling a smile as you pretended to be annoyed, you spoke as though it was obvious why you’d done it. “Your apartment is freezing, Frank. Did you want me and Max to get hypothermia while you were gone?” 

He huffed a laugh. “Still bossy.” Letting his head tip back to meet the spine of the couch, his eyes fluttered shut. Your cool touch manifested on his cheek once again. 

“Do you have a first aid kit, Frankie?” 

“Under the bathroom sink.” He answered, his words slurred ever so slightly with fatigue. He received a slight squeeze of his arm in response, your warm fingers leaving a lasting imprint on his skin. 

A year ago, he would never have let himself have this—a moment of peace. Time to let his guard down, to trust someone else to ease his pain. But the combination of his aching body, his heavy eyelids, and your fussing nature had him letting go of a tension he’d held for years, and he couldn’t bring himself to care. 

Soft footsteps alerted him to your presence. Though his eyes were closed, he could hear you shuffle into a crouch, your chest positioned at his knees. 

Stifling a groan, he straightened his posture, wincing slightly as the motion tugged on his day old stitches. His eyes immediately focused on your adorable form in front of him, your own gaze roaming over the various bruises covering his visible skin. Dipping a washcloth into a small bowl of water, you gently lifted his wrist, washing away the dried blood on his knuckles. As you worked, a small river of dirty water–tinged pink from his scarlet blood–dripped down his fingers and onto your dress. 

He watched the trio of droplets fall, time slowing as if to highlight the moment that reignited his anxiety. Splashing across the multicolored fabric, the liquid seeped into your skirt, staining it as you held his hand. Your kindness was endless, and his presence was tarnishing it, ruining it, ruining you. 

Jerking his hand backwards, he cradled it close to his chest. “Lemme do this. I’m gettin’ blood on your pretty dress, sunshine.” He started to stand but you shook your head, gently pushing him back into the cushion and taking his hand in your grasp once again. 

Looking directly into his eyes with an intensity that you always seemed to carry, your lips curved into a small smile. “Frank, it’s just a dress, sweetheart. I promise it’s ok. Let me help you?” With your free hand, you stroked a wayward strand of his hair off of his clammy forehead.

Despite the fact that your gaze conveyed your desire to continue patching him up regardless of his answer, your tone was stilted–giving him the option to deny your help. 

“You’re too sweet for your own damn good, you know.” He sighed, letting his arm go limp in your grip to let you finish what you’d started. 

“Well, you’re too stoic for yours. Makes us quite a pair, doesn’t it?” Your eyes glimmered roguishly, your smirk encouraging him to roll his eyes. 

“Whatever you say, sunshine.” He snorted, knowing full well that you were right. 

You made quick work of tidying up the split skin across his knuckles, moving on to the bruised skin of his cheeks. 

“Didn’t know you were growing this out, Frankie.” You quipped, tugging gently on the untamed curls of his beard. 

His lips twitched, revealing a glimpse of his teeth as he smiled. “Wasn’t plannin’ on it. Whaddya think?” 

Making a great show of shuffling back to study his face, you tapped your chin. “I like it.” 

“You do? Last time it was this long, everyone thought I was some sort of hipster.” 

Shrugging, you focused your eyes back on the cloth in your hand. “I always like how you look, Frankie.” 

Frank’s breath caught in his throat, unable to quite make it to his lungs. Thankfully, he could blame his lack of response on the fact that you were rinsing the injuries on his face, rather than his own lack of emotional intelligence. 

Eventually, you heaved out a breath, looking at him with a raised brow. “Did you want me to look at whatever’s bothering you here?” You asked, gesturing to his hip. 

“If I told ya I have no idea what you mean, would ya call me on it?” He grumbles, not quite sure how he’d feel revealing that much of himself to you. 

You thought for a minute. Nodding once, you answered. “I’d roll my eyes, but respect your desire for privacy.” 

Swallowing thickly, he huffed a nervous laugh. “Fair enough.” With two fingers, he tugged his loose shirt up and over his head, not bothering to disguise his grimace as he rotated his injured shoulder. Pulling the waistband of his pants down an inch, he suddenly felt a surge of fear, not sure how you’d react to seeing his array of scars. 

Inhaling sharply, you traced around his stitches with a finger. “Oh, Frank.” 

“It’s—“

“It’s not nothing.” Taking his hands again, your intensity returned. “You mean something to me. Seeing you hurt…it’s never nothing, ok? Not to me.”

A lump formed in his throat, he nodded as he tried to swallow it down. “Sorry.” 

“No apology necessary,” You squeezed his hands, placing a tender kiss on the raw knuckles of his right hand before grabbing a roll of bandages from your pile of supplies. “I’m not upset that you’re hurt. I just don’t want you to be afraid to lean on someone else for a change.” 

You dressed his larger wounds in contemplative silence, your soft skin a welcome change to the rough contact he was used to. 

“How’d ya learn to patch people up, sunshine? Playin’ nurse for other neighborhood menaces behind my back?” 

You giggled. “You’re my only patient currently. Cross my heart. I’ve just gotten used to first aid after injuring myself my whole life.” 

Bringing a hand up to cup your cheek, Frank’s brow furrowed. “Injurin’ yourself? What do you mean?” 

Eyes widening in realization, you shook your head. “Not intentionally! I’ve just been a klutz for as long as I can remember.” Chuckling sheepishly, you added, “Takes a toll every once in a while.” 

Laughing with relief, he traced a finger along your jaw as he withdrew his hand from your face. “Ah, gotcha. Christ, had me scared there, pretty girl.” 

Your face flushed with heat at the new pet name. You tied off the fresh bandages and stood up. “You should be good to go, unless you’ve got any other areas that need to be looked at?” 

Blushing as his mind traveled to less innocent places, he shook his head. “I’m fine, honey. Thank you. Really.”

“Anytime, sweetheart.” You winked at him, heading to the kitchen to dispose of the dirty water and trash. As you rinsed the last of the grime from the bowl you’d used, Frank moaned behind you. 

“Holy shit.” His words were mumbled around a mouthful of pastry, the other half of a cherry turnover in his hand. Swallowing with another horrifically attractive noise, he lifted the dessert in a gesture. “Did you make these?” 

“Yes, but they were for after dinner!” You scolded, your smile completely betraying your feigned annoyance. “Cherry turnovers. Do you like them?”

“No, they’re awful.” Frank deadpanned, shoving the rest of the pastry into his mouth ungracefully. You giggled, uncovering the lasagna before he could reach for another turnover. 

“Would you like some actual food, you heathen?” You asked through stray laughs. 

“You made me a lasagna?” 

“Thought you might want some comfort food today. So I made two of my favorites.” 

“Thank you,” Frank spoke your name gravely, as if it was a prayer. “God, sunshine, I dunno what to say.” Your heart ached as his voice cracked around the words.

“You don’t need to say anything, handsome. Just eat, so you can rest soon, yah?” 

Frank couldn’t help but let the tension he’d been carrying for days roll off his back like droplets of water, his eyes crinkling with fondness as you puttered around his kitchen as if you had it memorized. You plated two hearty servings of lasagna and took a seat next to him, handing him a fork. 

“I’m glad you made it back safely.” You smiled, your gaze more timid than he’d ever seen it. 

“Me too, sunshine.” After placing a kiss on your forehead, he speared the fork into the food on his plate, taking a massive bite. 

“You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me.” Frank groaned, beaming at you. 

Laughing brightly, you took a bite of your own, overjoyed to have Frank to eat with again. 

Thanks for reading! As always, comments and reblogs are incredibly appreciated.

Taglist: @cheshirecat484@xxdrix@smhnxdiii@mattmurdocksstarlight@danzer8705

[angelsanarchy]

What It Cost: Samuel Lafferty x Y/N Mini Series PRT 10

Tagging: @ithinkitstimetonap @kappasbbgirl @chainsawgvtsfvck @luzclarita57 @miniisunshine @madamemaximoff06 @romanroyapoligist @thirtyratsinasuit @ethical-cain-vinnel @blueberrypancakesworld @dumbbitchdelrey @loljustignoreth4t @tvgirlsbluehair @s0ulfulll @dukesofsp00ks @mommymilkers0526 @vomiting-blood @lustkillers @s-0lar @hisemoslut @ultrakissed

Things had gone completely off the rails. Ron and Dan were excommunicated in the church. Dianna had taken the children and run off with Brenda's help. The rest of the wives were now keeping their distance from Brenda as she was trying to divorce Allen. Everything felt like it was spiraling out of control. Y/n had tried to help as much as she could but Sara still wanted nothing to do with her or have her around the children.

She focused on helping around the house as the men worked to get the word out with more and more pamphlets. She made constant runs to the printing store for supplies and while most of the women didn't want anything to do with her, the men all seemed very grateful for her support. They didn't realize her support was given mostly out of fear and not loyalty.

Y/n kept a bag packed in her closet and wanted to run away almost every night. It was almost like Samuel felt her anxiety and made nightly visits to have dinner with her, tell her about his day and make love to her just so she would be too exhausted to go anywhere.

The day that Samuel showed up, he looked exhausted like he hadn't slept in days. His beard had grown wiry and his hair lay limply instead of bouncing gently like it normally did.

"Samuel! You look awful." Y/n ushered him inside and he let her lead him towards the couch to sit.

"My whole family is falling apart. I can't sleep. I can't eat. My brothers are turning on one another. Sara will hardly speak to me. I feel like I'm losing my mind." Samuel let Y/n hold onto his hands as he spoke and she frowned at him.

"We're packing up the kids in the event we need to leave. I think it would be wise for you to pack a bag as well." Samuel looked at her and she nodded.

"I know about the bag you already have. That should suffice." Samuel looked hurt just saying it and Y/n bit her lip.

"I know I'm a bad man. I know I've hurt you and Sara in the process of trying to follow the words of the prophet. I'm just..." Y/n leaned forward and kissed Samuel softly. The sensation of his beard was new and she held his chin carefully so that he would know she was holding him.

He leaned his forehead against hers and she stroked his face.

"I love you so much. I'd be so lost without you." Samuel looked at her with such sincerity and she smiled.

"I'd ask you if you were too tired to make love to me but I think I can handle it...if you let me." She stood up and looked down at him, holding her hands out for him to take. He took them and followed her back to the bedroom where she slowly took him out of his clothes, kissing the exposed skin and feeling the goosebumps rise on his skin as he lips tasted him. Once he was completely bare, he laid in the middle of the bed and watched her undress.

He looked her up and down licking his lips and swallowing hard as she crawled towards him.

"I've got you baby. Let me make love to you." Y/n threw her leg over his hips and gripped him in her hands. When she took her seat on his cock, he groaned aloud, gripping her hips so tightly that he knew there would be bruises. Y/n put her hand on his chest and started riding him slowly. She didn't want him to over-exert himself. She wanted to be the one in control.

"God I love you so much. I want to fill you with babies. I want to raise a family with you so badly. Please baby. Let me fill you up." Samuel begged as she moved.

"Yes baby. I want that. I want you to give me all of your seed. I want them so badly." Samuel reached up and gripped her breast gently and she covered his hand with her own, sucking on his fingers and moaning at how good it was to have him fucking her so sweetly.

Y/n could feel his hips lifting to rush towards his release and she moved her hips faster trying to bring him to his release. He kept repeating himself as she rode him to completion.

"I love you. I love you so much. I love you." His tone went up as he came inside of her. Y/n reeled her hips until he started petting her stomach and pulling her to lie in front of him. He kept his arms wrapped around her body, spooning her and kissing her shoulders and neck.

They laid silently together in an embrace for almost an hour before he turned onto his back to hold her. She put her hand on his heart and drew circles onto his skin.

"What time do you need to get home?" Y/n asked enjoying having him here with her.

"I can't just stay here with you?" Samuel chuckled.

"You know I would love that but-"

"But nothing. I want to hold you tonight. I want to wake up to you in the morning. Just let me love my wife tonight." Samuel gave her a squeeze and she laughed into his chest. She liked having him here with her.

"My brothers think we should atone Brenda for betraying Allen." Samuel confessed.

"Yeah? Well what do you think?" She asked nervously.

"I think she has definingly betrayed him. What she's doing by going to the church to seek a divorce is reprehensible but to try and take his child and leave the state? It's blasphemy." Samuel explained.

"So...would she go through what I went through? Like that kind of atonement?" Y/n asked with concern.

"No...she would face blood atonement." Samuel said firmly. She had no idea what that meant but she knew it sounded much worse than what she went through.

"Are you scared?" She hadn't realized that she was shaking and she looked up at Samuel.

"If I'm being honest, I'm always scared. Things have gotten blurry since your father passed. Since your brothers were...whose to say I won't suffer the same fate as Brenda?" Y/n's words made Samuel sit up and look down at her.

"Hey, I would never let anyone hurt you again. You've atoned already. You are safe from persecution as long as you're my wife." Y/n listened to his words and wanted to believe him but if Brenda was to suffer an atonement and she was Allen's actual wife, she had no safety whatsoever.

"Do you trust me?" Samuel asked stroking her face. She looked into his eyes and nodded.

"With my life." She said firmly leaning up to capture his lips. Y/n fell asleep that night with Samuel wrapped around her body. She had never felt more safe in her life. She wished that every night could be like this and she kept it in her prayers that someday, this would be the new normal.

[autumntouched]

A Rough Landing

A/N: July has been brutal. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve suddenly found myself crying in the shower or deeply exhausted from a depression I can’t seem to shake or in a spiral of anxiety I don’t know how to talk myself down from. As someone who’s been driven for much of her life, I feel so lost at the moment. I’m surrounded by many wonderful people, so I’ll be okay but being happy again feels a long way off.

Natasha’s first flight after the bird strike.

Natasha removes her mask. The thing that’s supposed to help her breathe feels like it’s suffocating her. Her hands are shaking so hard, she can barely complete her post flight check. It doesn’t matter that it’s taking her longer than it should. If she tries climbing down the ladder, her legs will probably give out.

Her only comfort is that Bob isn’t faring much better. He’d thrown up as soon as their wheels bumped along the landing strip. But at least his legs can hold him enough to get to the ground. Natasha leans her forehead into her hands. How could she have worked so hard and come so far only to blow it at the finish line? If she doesn’t pull herself together, Maverick is going to ground her.

She doesn’t know how long she’s been sitting there before footsteps scrape up the ladder. Natasha struggles to calm her breathing. “Just double checking my work,” she lies, voice cracking and betraying her.

“It’s just me, Phoenix,” says Maverick, and her heart sinks so hard and fast that she’s crying before she can get a grip on herself. Not just soft tears but the kind that sends snot blurting from her nose and stains her gloves dark while her shoulders shake and heave.

Maverick leans on the side of her plane, watching her completely fall apart on the eve of one of the most important missions she could fly. She’s out, and that only punches her gut harder.

“I’m not a girl,” Natasha says stupidly through her fingers, Hangman’s taunts loud in her ear, shame burning her cheeks. Her helmet feels too tight, but it’s the only thing keeping her from completely falling apart.”

Maverick snorts in spite of himself. “I’ve been around long enough to know learning to cry would save a lot of people a lot of time. And anyway, you’re doing better than I thought at this point. I was going to call it a win if you even got in your cockpit today.”

That startles her into looking over at him. Maverick’s normal intensity is softened some, the gleam in his eyes almost fatherly in a strange way. He reaches out a hand and touches her shoulder.

It’s better to face the truth head on than put it off. “We’re out, aren’t we?” She hasn’t just let herself down. She’s let Bob down too.

Maverick studies her. “Is that what you want? I’d understand. Everyone would.”

“You’d trust me on a mission? After what happened? After right now?”

A breeze ruffles his hair, revealing a few strands of gray. Up close, the crows feet at the corner of his eyes are deeper than they seem from farther away. The steady, youthful air with which he carries himself fades in the lines of wisdom carved into his face. “The only question that matters is whether you trust yourself.”

She has too much respect for him to lie, no matter how badly she wants to be picked. “I want to,” she admits.

Maverick squeezes her shoulder. “I can work with that, if you can.” He leans in closer even though they’re the only two this high up. “Being a good pilot is not never ending up in a bad spot, okay? It’s not never failing. It’s not not doubting yourself. It’s what you’re able to do when everything goes to shit and trusting you’ll figure out a way to the other side. And the more you see things go to shit, the more you’ll trust yourself to figure it out. I promise.”

Natasha drags her arm across her still running nose as something he said registers. “You didn’t think I’d fly today?”

A smile tugs at his lips. “I didn’t think you’d fly without an order,” he amends.

She sniffs and takes that in. “You’re a hard person to disappoint, sir.”

Now Maverick fully smiles. “And yet, I’ve been told what a disappointment I am many a time.”

“I talked to Rooster about that.”

He gives her shoulder a shake. “Okay, Lieutenant, this conversation is about you, not me. Let’s keep it that way.” Natasha feels a smile touch her own mouth in response. Knowing how hard he’s fighting to keep them alive, how firmly he believes in them steadies her.

“My legs still feel like jelly,” she confesses.

“I’ll walk you down. We’ll take it one step at a time okay?”

“Okay.”

He talks her through lifting herself out of the cockpit and onto the ladder. He guides her every step of the way down, just as he has been the voice in their ear from the first hop. Her legs shake when her feet finally touch the hard tarmac, but she manages to stay upright.

Rooster and Bob are waiting for her, her WSO still pale and a little green, hair flattened from sweat.

“Fuck,” Phoenix complains, both humiliated and grateful to see them.

“You told me you couldn’t fly this mission without me,” Rooster reminds her. “So here I am.”

“And what about you, Bob?” It sounds more accusing than she means for it to be.

He shrugs, tucking in his chin bashfully. “I like flying with you.”

Natasha takes them in, feels their belief in her despite everything they’ve been through. Or perhaps because of it. Maverick squinting at her in the dusk light, Rooster holding himself a little straighter than he has since he learned Maverick would be their instructor, and Bob waiting to see how she’ll lead.

Maverick taps her helmet. “Go get some rest, Phoenix. Come back again tomorrow.” It’s not a question, but she still gives him an answer as Rooster slings his arm over her shoulders and Bob falls into step beside them.

“I will, sir,” she promises.

[thecascadefox]

The Shadow preview has summoned me

Time to expand on how I want Thunder the obligatory traveling book to pan out. My hopes for Frostpaw and Nightheart are here.

I think it's inevitable now that if Nightheart is the warrior who goes on the quest with Frostpaw, then Sunbeam, Sparkpelt and Finchlight will go after them since they're on the cover together. Their goal will be to get Nightheart back and, I'm sorry, make amends with him. BUT HERE'S HOW THEIR CHARACTERS CAN STILL BE SAVED!!!!!!!

Everything involving Nightheart here will only be interesting to me if Nightheart matures and grows as a character the way I said I wanted him to in the previous post so go read that.

Let's start with Finchlight since so far she's an accessory character to Sparkpelt and Nightheart but I think they could expand what she does have. Have Finchlight be someone who looks at the big picture, the effect the actions of herself and others have on the clans. This makes her very selfless while also causing her to hold others to her standards without thinking of how they'll feel first. This can explain why she brings up work when trying to get Nightheart to come home and brushed off his frustrations with having all the apprentice duties before that.

Imagine Finchlight being selfless to the point where she doesn't want to bother others with her problems, especially her mother who is the only cat who's feelings she is acutely aware of. Nightheart's selfishness and unwillingness to give Sparkpelt a chance frustrates her because it's obvious how much their mother has suffered and she doesn't understand how Nightheart won't make things easier for her the way she has. Finchlight can't really find it in herself to value Firestar's legacy the way Sparkpelt and the rest of Thunderclan do, but she pretends to to make them and her mother feel better. What really hurts her is the more immediate family she's lost. She never knew Larksong and has always felt like something was missing. When Nightheart leaves and that feeling grows, she realizes it's Flickerkit.

But talking about them hurts Sparkpelt, so she doesn't. But at some point during the journey she breaks down and argues with Sparkpelt, admitting everything. This conflict could either be resolved during the fight or sometime later, after they've both cooled off and Sunbeam perhaps mediated for them, and Sparkpelt tells Finchlight about her father.

Speaking of Sparkpelt she's had it pretty rough right? Two of her siblings died as kits, one being old enough for her to remember. Her surviving brother was a bundle of anxiety when they were young and she was most of his emotional support. Her father is awful to her mother and she's been the only cat to ever call him out. Her mate and one of her kits died right after she gave birth. Her PPD made it difficult to connect to her surviving kits. Her dad got his body snatched by her mom's crazy ex who then tried to kill her, successfully getting her mauled by dogs. One of her kits refused to go with her when she was exiled but blames her for her absence and now he's rejected his family completely and run away to another clan.

No wonder she would value Firestar's "legacy". Growing up hearing glorified versions of his life and being constantly favorably compared to him both for her appearance and natural talent may have been both a source of comfort and pressure to live up to him as her living family seems to spiral out of control. When Nightheart rejected Firestar, it felt like he had rejected her twice. She desperately wants to get him back, for things to stop falling apart, even if she doesn't think he will give her the chance. This turns into her blaming herself.

Sparkpelt isn't an apprentice anymore. She knows that Firestar couldn't have been the perfect model of a Thunderclan warrior the elders make him out to be. He was a brave and noble cat who gave his life to save the clans but he was also born a kittypet who felt rejection, fear, pain and loss just like any cat has. The life of a warrior has never been easy but it's a fantasy that kept Sparkpelt going in her younger moons and she hoped it could be a reality for her kits in the wake of Ashfur's defeat. She finally confronts this part of herself in her argument with Finchlight and is ready to look at herself separate from a cat she never met.

She faces the past, her past, by having a quiet conversation with her daughter about Larksong. Even though it's hard at first, and Finchlight tries to tell her they can talk about it later, she continues. She tells Finchlight about the funny time he fumbled catching a pigeon and the wistful look on his face when they'd brainstorm kit names, the same look he had when naming Flickerkit. She tells Finchlight that Flickerkit had the same fur she does. She feels herself begin to heal.

Sparkpelt knows she has tried her best to be there for her kits. That things outside of her control have kept her from always being there for them. She is ready to speak her piece to Nightheart, but whatever choices he makes will be his own.

I didn't forget about Sunbeam! I like this post about Sunbeam's behavior falling into the rule of three and hope it comes to pass. Sunbeam gives Nightheart a chance but his selfish reason for claiming they're mates and how little they actually know each other bubbles over until the end of Shadow where there's a pretty noticeable breakup. Berryheart will be like "I told you so!" and suddenly half of Shadowclan will question Nightheart's loyalty even more. This will lead to Nightheart going on the quest but Sunbeam will blame herself and want to go after him. The key here is that the story doesn't spin this like it actually is her fault.

Sunbeam needs to learn to value and trust herself and she does so by getting better friends. While both her and her mother are apprehensive towards Sunbeam at first, Finchlight bonds with Sunbeam and becomes a better friend to her than Lightleap, Blazefire and even Nightheart ever were. Finchlight cares about Sunbeam. She doesn't find her dull or put her or herself into danger. She doesn't use her for self centered reasons. Through her Sunbeam learns that she is worth more than that and Finchlight learns to be more open with other cats.

Sparkpelt is a slightly different story. She doesn't trust cats outside of Thunderclan. It's not a secret and has been shown in multiple scenes since she became a warrior, including towards her own apprentice Twigbranch. In a way, Sparkpelt reminds Sunbeam of her mother. But unlike Berryheart, Sparkpelt's distrust comes just from being raised in clan culture rather than a traumatic event. Sunbeam is more willing to stand up to her than Berryheart and becomes more confident in what she believes in. I think it would be interesting for Sunbeam, an outsider, to point out to Sparkpelt that the ancestor she admires was a kittypet. Perhaps in a scene where they need the help of one. Unlike Berryheart, Sparkpelt grows willing to listen to her.

As they travel, Sparkpelt starts to like Sunbeam and become supportive of the code changes, accepting the idea that her son might never want to return to Thunderclan. Like her, Sunbeam stops blaming herself for Nightheart's actions. The way he cornered her into a relationship just to get into Shadowclan was wrong and hurt her and she will stand by that when they reunite. Sunbeam gains a better role model in Sparkpelt and returns to the clan with a clearer idea of how to stand up to Berryheart should she bother her, Spireclaw, Fringewhisker or Nightheart ever again and is willing to fight whatever battles that will inevitably break out in the last two books.

This being Warrior Cats, it's likely she and Nightheart will end up making up and getting back together. Even if Nightheart realizes he was wrong and tries to make up for his actions I don't know if I'll like that. I think it would be much more interesting for them to become friends instead as we haven't seen a breakup that hasn't resulted in resentment before in this series.

Anyway that's all the ideas I have for this for now. If Sunbeam feels a little sparse it's because for Finchlight and Sparkpelt I had to build character arcs beyond Nightheart's "wah they mean to me" shtick while I like Sunbeam's arc on it's own so far. If you have your own ideas or want me to think about any of this more feel free to tell me! I'm gonna go make more fanart for a book that isn't out yet.

[some-stories-and-junk]

Chapter 3: The Hunt

Back at the bar, the atmosphere was charged, and a new band took the stage. Kai, Harmony, Noah, and 13 were huddled together in a corner, a private island amidst the sea of patrons.

"That's... a lot," Kai finally said, scratching his head, his wide eyes reflecting the myriad of neon lights. "So, what's the plan? Where will you go?"

Before anyone could answer, an exuberant fan approached, clapping Kai on the back. "Dude, you were incredible!" he exclaimed, his voice barely carrying over the band's guitar riffs. "We're hosting a rooftop party, exclusive wizard territory. You've got to come, and bring your friends."

Kai glanced back at his companions, uncertainty flickering in his eyes. "We could try that, maybe...?"

Noah immediately shook his head. "Sounds risky. Wizards and sorcerers...you know how it goes."

"But it's also crowded, we could blend in," Harmony reasoned, her fingers playing with the hem of her shirt.

13 remained silent, her gaze distant, clearly lost in thought.

Kai shrugged, looking at them. "Your call. We don't exactly have a ton of options. Plus," he added, a half-smile curving his lips, "there might be free food."

"Look," Kai said, standing, "for now, nobody's gonna be looking for us here. Let's just enjoy the music, enjoy the scene, and when it's all over, we either go to the party or we don't."

Without waiting for a reply, he bolted into the crowd, dancing to the rhythm of the music, completely surrendering himself to the moment.

Noah turned to 13, engaging her in a hushed conversation in Arabic, his brows furrowed, clearly worried.

As for Harmony, she felt a growing sense of paranoia. She didn't like not having a plan, not knowing what was next. She excused herself, fading until she was nearly invisible to the untrained eye. Then, she started to move around, scouting the place, her sharp eyes taking in every detail, every face, every exit. As much as she wanted to relax and blend in, she knew they couldn't afford to let their guard down. Not yet.

As Harmony patrolled the exterior of the building, she felt her thoughts spiral, tumbling into confusion and frustration. She'd always been an outsider, always invisible, always falling through the cracks of any system she found herself in.

She was the overlooked one, the unremarkable one, the one nobody ever noticed. Yet, here she was, drawn into something that felt larger than anything she could have imagined. Why had 13 appeared to her? Of all people, why her?

Her heart pounded in her chest, a steady rhythm that echoed her mounting anxiety. A shiver of unease slipped down her spine, and she shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts.

Harmony took a deep breath, forcing her focus back onto her surroundings. She needed to stay alert, to stay vigilant. For now, there were more immediate concerns than her existential questions. She had a job to do, and she would do it to the best of her ability. For 13, for her new team, for herself.

Inside the crowded bar, Noah and Thirteen sat apart, absorbed in their own world. The hum of conversation buzzed around them, but Noah's focus was solely on the enigmatic girl before him.

"Where did you come from, Thirteen?" he asked in Arabic, his eyes searching hers. "What happened before the factory?"

But Thirteen was evasive, her replies vague and restrained. As the conversation continued, a shadow of frustration crept into Noah's eyes. He wasn't asking out of idle curiosity - this was information that could help them all. Yet Thirteen remained as guarded as ever.

In a bid to shift the dynamic, Noah leaned back in his seat and asked, "Would you like to see some magic?"

Thirteen's eyes lit up for the first time in their conversation. Encouraged, Noah reached out, weaving subtle spells into the air between them. The magic was low-key, barely perceptible to anyone else in the bar. Yet to Thirteen, each spell was a dazzling display, a show of mystery and power that sparked interest in her eyes. Despite her previous restraint, she leaned in closer, watching with rapt attention as Noah's magic danced between them.

In the thrumming heart of the crowd, Kai was a beacon of energy. His body moved fluidly to the music, his eyes closed as he lost himself to the rhythm and the warmth of bodies around him. Every beat of the drums was a pulse through his veins, every strum of the guitar a spark that lit up his senses. The world outside the music didn't exist, nothing mattered beyond this euphoria, this connection to the vibrant life around him.

His heart pounded in sync with the bass, laughter echoing in the space between the music. Sweat was starting to dampen his hair, sticking it to his forehead, but it was a testament to the fun he was having, proof of his surrender to the revelry.

Then, without warning, the music stopped. A sharp silence followed, an abrupt cut-off that left a ringing emptiness in the air. Eyes shot open, and heads turned towards the night sky as a new music, ethereal and alluring, filled the void. Two figures danced in the sky, their forms bathed in golden starlight. The sheer beauty of the spectacle was enough to draw gasps from the crowd, the radiance of the figures outshining the city's own illumination.

As Kai looked on, his heart pounded a different tune, one of shock and realization. His gaze darted towards Noah and Thirteen. Their previous low-key display was now a grand spectacle of magic, amplified beyond belief, and it was Thirteen who was the source of it.

The crowd's initial awe was morphing into unease, eyes wide with fear and confusion. Suddenly, everyone in the bar was acutely aware of the presence of potent magic, a force too great to belong to any ordinary wizard. Whispers and gasps of "sorcerer" rippled through the crowd, turning the night's revelry into a brewing storm of fear and awe.

Harmony's boots whispered against the cobblestones as she patrolled the perimeter of the crowded bar, her form nearly invisible against the dimly lit street. Her eyes flicked back and forth, scanning every shadowy alley, every hidden nook. Her heart hammered in her chest - not with fear, but with a heightened awareness of every sound, every motion. It was the pulse of the city, the rhythm of life and danger intertwined.

Suddenly, her gaze was drawn to a pair of figures emerging from the darkness. Nightmarish apparitions, one spindly as a scarecrow, the other bulbous and rotund like an overripe gourd, slithered towards the bustling bar. A cold wave of realization washed over Harmony. The Skinny and the Roundman were closer than she'd expected. Her scouting had become a game of hide and seek that she was dangerously close to losing.

Harmony slipped back into the bar, her heart pounding. With her ability to become almost invisible, she glided through the crowd, unseen, towards Noah and Thirteen. She materialized next to them, her expression taut with panic. "Guys, what are you doing?" she exclaimed, her voice barely a whisper yet sharp with urgency.

At the sound of Harmony's frantic voice, the enchanting music and golden figures abruptly ceased. Thirteen's eyes widened in sudden comprehension. "They're here," Harmony breathed, her gaze darting around the room as she sought to keep her panic from spreading to the patrons around them.

Kai skidded to a halt next to them, having fought his way through the bewildered crowd. "Guys, what is going on?" he asked, his voice echoing Harmony's alarm. He looked from Harmony to Noah, then to Thirteen, who was still glowing slightly from the lingering magic.They could only exchange wary looks, the implications of Harmony's warning slowly sinking in as the shadow of danger crept closer to their temporary refuge.

As the two eerie figures slipped into the bar, an unnatural stillness fell over the once-lively crowd. Laughter, chatter, and music all came to an abrupt halt as if snuffed out by an unseen hand. It was a tableau of fear and confusion, bodies caught mid-motion, expressions frozen in a grotesque parody of joy and camaraderie. The bar patrons were trapped in their own bodies, victims of a nightmarish paralysis that held them captive in their own skins.

The towering Skinny figure and his rotund companion slid through the crowd like specters, unimpeded by the frozen patrons. They made their way to Thirteen, their faces split into unnerving, ghastly grins. The Skinny one spoke, its voice a chilling echo that seemed to come from far away and yet was distinctly audible. "Ah, we finally found you. Our bosses will be so happy."

Then, from Thirteen, came a piercing scream, raw and primal, a sound of desperation and fear that shattered the eerie silence and the magical paralysis that held the crowd captive. The spell was broken, the once-frozen patrons suddenly freed from their invisible shackles, thrown back into the terrifying reality of the situation unfolding before them. The ensuing battle felt more like a nightmare than reality. Kai made the first move, lunging at the nightmarish duo with a barstool swung like a weapon. However, instead of making contact, Kai was suddenly seized in midair, held in an unseen grasp as if time itself had frozen him in place.

Noah was next, his hands moving in the intricate patterns of a casting spell. Beams of energy shot out, aimed at the nightmare figures. But they did nothing. The energy just seemed to dissipate before reaching them, like waves crashing harmlessly against a shoreline.

As the team's fear began to mount, Harmony noticed a strange thing. The monsters were growing stronger, their forms becoming more solid and menacing the more fear radiated off the team. She quickly relayed this to Noah who in turn, shared it with Thirteen.

Noah then changed his tactics. Instead of attacking, he began to cast a spell to soothe their emotions, to push away the fear. As calm settled over them, the nightmare creatures began to shrink, becoming smaller and weaker until they were no bigger than a mouse. Thirteen, seizing the opportunity, scooped them up and tucked them safely in her pocket.

But the momentary triumph was cut short. The sound of shattering glass filled the bar as bullets began to rain in from outside. The bullets didn't kill but seemed to induce a deep sleep in everyone they hit. It was chaos as bar patrons began to collapse left and right.

Reacting quickly, Noah cast a protective spell, shielding them from the onslaught. The bullets struck the shield, their magical energy crackling as they tried and failed to penetrate it. Thirteen, in response, amplified Noah's shield, making it impenetrable.

But as the dust settled, a new threat emerged. Echo Squad, armed and ready, was moving in on their position. It seemed that their fight was far from over. Invisible as ever, Harmony slithered amidst the chaos, deftly picking up a casing from one of the magic-laden bullets. Its tiny surface was inscribed with intricate runes that buzzed with latent energy, a clear sign of its enchantment. She knew Noah, well-versed in ancient magical scripts, would make sense of it.

However, reaching him was a challenge. Noah was engrossed in a delicate dance of spell weaving, his hands carving patterns into the air as he erected shields and sent counterattacks at the invading Echo squad. His focus was absolute, the strain evident in his furrowed brows and the beads of sweat dotting his forehead. Thirteen, nestled behind him, was in a meditative trance, her calmness amplifying the energy she directed at Noah.

Kai, feeling his lack of magical prowess keenly, resorted to more physical means. With a roar, he charged at the closest squad member, sending both of them crashing through a broken window and out of the bar. The unexpected move turned heads, causing several squad members to swivel around and loose a barrage of sleep-inducing bullets at him.

Seizing the moment, Noah thrust his hands forward, casting a spell of his own. A brilliant bolt of pure energy blasted from his fingers, the white-hot light illuminating the dim bar as it hurtled towards the distracted squad members. It crackled and fizzed in the air, twining itself around each member, a serpentine entity brought to life by Noah's sheer determination.

Harmony managed to return behind the protection of Noah's shield and hastily explained the nature of the bullet casing. Noah, his eyes lighting up with understanding, nodded and began to modify his spellcasting. Now fuelled by the energies of both Thirteen and Harmony, he directed his magic at Echo's squad. A wave of blue energy rippled out from him, washing over the squad members. One by one, their eyes drooped, and they crumpled to the floor, enveloped in a deep magical slumber. The dust settled, and Kai sauntered back in through the broken window, now clad in Echo Squad's armor, a triumphant smirk on his face as he brandished one of their guns.

[sataniquepanique]

Desert Song

Summary: Inspired by My Chemical Romance's Desert Song. After the events of '86, you try to move on with your life. Four years later, you're about to finish college and living with your boyfriend Steve. Eddie shows up one night, not alive but not dead either.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. Smut, unprotected PIV sex, angst, drinking, mentions of suicide/self-harm, mentions of depression/trauma

Word Count: 6.2k

A/N: This was supposed to be a short 1k word count bullshit story, but I spiraled. It will now be two parts <3

Part One: I Can See You Awake Anytime in My Head

“Y/N!” 

You hear your boyfriend calling you from the bedroom, followed by a loud crash and multiple dull thumps. Sighing as you lift your face from the textbook it’s buried in, you stare blankly down the hallway leading to the back of your apartment. “Yes, babe?” Your answer is overly sweet, trying to hide your slight irritation.

“Have you seen my sneakers? The white Nike’s with the red uh…swoopy thing?” He jogs out of the bedroom, warm brown eyes slightly frantic as he scans the floor for his missing shoes. 

You cock an eyebrow as he enters the kitchen where you’re stationed on a wooden stool. Papers and books litter the small counter in front of you, along with a now cold mug of coffee that you had long forgotten about. 

“Swoopy thing?” You slowly reiterate back to him.

“I don’t know what it’s called!” He throws his hands up in exasperation, running one through his perfectly askew hair and letting the other settle onto his hip.

“Did you check the shelf in the hall closet?” You suggest cooly, knowing exactly where you had placed them after finding both shoes tossed haphazardly on the kitchen floor yesterday.

Hastily walking to the closet, he throws the door open and crouches down to rifle through the contents . 

“A-HA!” He holds up the sneakers in triumph.

You smirk and roll your eyes, turning your attention back to the open textbook on the counter. “Maybe now you’ll learn that your shoes go in there, and not on the floor, or on the recliner, or—.”

“—yeah, yeah. I get it.” He nods his head sarcastically as he ties his shoes, a few messy pieces of hair falling in front of his eyes.

Straightening up and adjusting his dark green Family Video vest, he strides into the kitchen and wraps his arms around you from the back. Nestling his face into the side of your neck, he starts trailing soft kisses up to your ear.

His hair tickles your cheek, making you giggle as you playfully push him away. “Steve! You’re going to be late for work, and I need to study for this exam.”

He groans into one final kiss below your jaw. “I’ll be home after 11 tonight, I promised Keith the night off.”

“Okay, I’ll leave dinner in the fridge in case you’re hungry. Love you.”

Halfway out the door he pauses and smiles back at you. “I love you too, babe.” 

With Steve gone for the night the apartment falls into complete silence. 

You hate it. You hate the stillness.

What used to be calming and peaceful, now brings on immense anxiety and panic. Your thoughts catch up to you, memories resurface after being pushed down and buried for so many years. Desperate for any sort of auditory distraction, you unlatch the kitchen window, pushing it open to let the sounds of springtime in Hawkins flood the small apartment. The kids shouting in the street, birds chirping in the trees, the soft drone of an airplane overhead. The town has come a long way since the devastating events of 1986. Four years ago Hawkins was nearly decimated by Vecna, with a majority of the oblivious residents choosing to uproot and move away after the “earthquake” ripped the town in half. The gates to the Upside Down were finally closed for good in ’88 all thanks to El, but not without sacrifices from you and the rest of your friends. All of you were different after that, with varying degrees of trauma and grief that still linger to this day. Each of you cope in unique ways, some moving far away to try and forget, others like yourself just keep busy and steel yourself away behind a set of emotional armor. As your thoughts threaten to drift towards him, you quickly shake your head and go back to studying. It’s been years since you talked about him, years since you let yourself even think about him, and you weren’t about to start now. 

Senior year of college is going to be the death of you, you’re sure of it. The death of whatever part of you was even left after ’86, anyway. Only one more month until graduation, but those 30 days are stacked with exams and deadlines to the point where you feel like your brain might actually explode. After high school, you stayed local for college, not wanting to be too far from your support system after the tragedy. The rest of the group was scattered, some living close by and others on opposite coasts. Nancy was in Boston about to graduate from Emerson, still dating Jonathan (albeit long distance) with him staying in California with his mom and Will. Robin was at school in Muncie, a few towns over from Hawkins, enabling you to see her often much to Steve’s annoyance. As much as you still couldn’t wrap your head around it, the younger kids had all graduated high school last year, moving out of Hawkins. Mike and El were both enrolled at Indiana State a few hours away, while Lucas had followed Max back to California and is now on the USC men’s basketball team while she studies social work. Dustin was in his freshman year at Virginia Tech for engineering, calling every week to check in with you and Steve. Erica Sinclair was the lone kid left at Hawkins High, and the youngest DM in Hellfire Club history, taking over after Jeff and Gareth had graduated. You, Steve, and Robin take turns picking her up from the club’s meetings every Friday. Steve had refused to leave Hawkins, not after everything that happened. He was adamant on rebuilding a sense of normalcy, which is why he jumped at the chance to buy Family Video after the owner decided to move with the rest of the herd of Hawkins refugees. Keith was a little pissed that Steve “The Hair” Harrington was now his superior, but he got over it pretty quickly when he saw how lenient of a boss Steve is. 

Running your hands over your face, you decide to start dinner to take a break from studying, afraid that your eyes would start bleeding if you read another sentence about the Bronze Age of Ancient Greece. The sun had started to set, casting a warm golden glow over the apartment. Scooping up some vegetables from the fridge, you dump them onto the counter and start prepping. Reaching over the sink, you turn on the small radio on the windowsill and sing along to Nirvana while chopping up a green pepper.

—I’m standing in your line

I do hope you have the time

I do pick a number too

I do keep a date with you— 

A loud creak from the back of the apartment ceases your singing. The hair on the back of your neck stands up, and you grip the handle of the knife tighter. Your brain tells you that it’s nothing, but your body is screaming otherwise. Every cell is drawing you towards it, begging for investigation. Your heartbeat quickens as you creep down the hallway to the bedroom, carefully padding down the hardwood floor. Lingering in the doorway, your eyes fall to the mess that Steve had left when he was looking for his shoes earlier. “It was just something falling out of the closet” you convince yourself as you exhale. A sudden breeze sails through the room, and you see that the bedroom window is wide open. You can’t remember if you opened it earlier. Maybe Steve? Peering out into the now dark woods behind the apartment, you swear you can see a figure standing just beyond the tree line. You blink, convinced your eyes are playing tricks, and upon a second glance it’s gone. 

———

The anniversary of the Battle of ’86 is always bittersweet. The entire gang gets together each year, and it’s always comforting to be together again. There’s a piece missing though. Not just a piece of the group, but also of your heart, a piece that was left in the Upside Down four years ago. No one talks about him, at least not to you anyway, only the casual mention of his name on the anniversary. This year it was your turn to host, Steve opting to grill on your back porch while the rest of the group could hang out and play yard games behind your ground floor apartment. While Steve busies himself in the kitchen, you clean off the lawn chairs and set up the small copper fire pit. You find yourself glancing into the woods occasionally, still not fully convinced your eyes had deceived you the other night. 

“Robin’s here!” Steve calls out the kitchen window, breaking your thoughts away from the trees. She throws the sliding door open and strides out onto the lawn. “Hi love bug!” She smiles widely as you run to hug her. “I’ve brought the children!” She motions behind her as Dustin, Max, Lucas, and Erica file through the door.

“I’m 19, I’m in college for Christ’s sake.” Dustin grimaces. 

“Hi Dustybuns!” you add fuel to his hate-fire as you pull him into a hug. 

After the Upside Down, Dustin had pulled away from the group, spending his time rotting away in his room building random gadgets to keep his mind busy. Months went by, with each friend trying to break him out of his reclusive state to no avail. Steve finally had enough, he couldn’t stand seeing Dustin wither away, so he begged you to talk to him knowing that the two of you had shared trauma. Dustin didn’t look at you when you showed up to his house, just opened the door and led you into his room silently when you had asked to speak in private. To this day, you hadn’t told Steve or the rest of them what was said in that room. How you both broke down, holding Dustin in your arms on the floor as he cried. How he repeatedly chanted “why did he leave me?” through heaving sobs. It shattered your already broken heart even more, knowing how much he loved him. How he had filled part of the paternal hole that Dustin’s dad had created after abandoning him years prior. You promised Dustin that you would always look out for him, that it’s what he would have wanted, that Dustin was his brother not by blood but by choice. Dustin reluctantly agreed to show up more after that, coming around for dinner with you and Steve every other week or going to the movies with Mike and Lucas. Eventually he seemed to be back to normal, his sarcasm and jabs at Steve more frequent, and when he received his acceptance letter to Virginia Tech you were the first person he called. “He’d be so proud of you.” Is all you said in response, and it’s all Dustin wanted to hear. 

“Henderson! A little help?” Steve appears in the doorway, arms full of food as Dustin moves to grab some plates from his hands. Nancy and Jonathan show up a few minutes later with Mike and El in tow. Nancy shoves a bottle of wine into your hands, going on and on about the great wineries she’s visited in California while on spring break with Jonathan.

“How are you?” Max asks moving to your side away from the rest of the group, who were now mingling and catching up. You have all been through hell and back, but nothing like what she had experienced. Her physical injuries had healed, leaving jagged white scars from the surgeries to reposition her broken joints, but her mental wounds lingered, manifesting in frequent panic attacks and angry outbursts. Moving to California had helped, she picked up surfing and it seemed to calm her. 

“I’m uh, surviving.” You give a half smile, knowing both of you would never be upfront about your struggles. “Today’s hard for all of us.” 

She nods in agreement, and the two of you watch as Steve and Dustin bicker over how long to grill a burger for. 

As the sun sets, Steve builds a fire in the small copper basin on the lawn as the rest of you drag chairs to circle around. The warm glow feels good against your face, and you stare into the flames as Dustin stands across the circle from you. 

Raising his red solo cup he clears his throat nervously. “I just want to say…that I’m really glad we were all able to get together again, even if it’s for a memorial. You guys are my best friends, I’m not sure what I’d do without you.” He looks around at everyone’s faces glowing from the fire, leaving yours for last.

Lifting his cup a little higher, he proposes a toast, his eyes lingering on you. “To Hawkins rebuilding…and to Eddie.”

His name makes you wince. 

You can feel everyone’s eyes dart between Dustin and you. On auto-pilot, you raise the plastic cup in your hands robotically.

“To Eddie.” They all repeat.

You can’t bring yourself to utter his name in return.

Not wanting to end the night on a sad note, Robin takes it upon herself to bring out Steve’s boombox and pull him to his feet for a dance. The other kids laugh along at their terrible coordination, and you let yourself smile a little. As it gets later into the night, the fun starts to wind down and some yawns begin to surface. 

Robin stands by the back door with Erica, jingling her keys as she watches everyone say their goodbyes. Lucas leads Max out, arm around her shoulders protectively as she waves at you. Nancy hugs you, demanding on making plans for you to visit her in Boston, as she wrangles Jonathan, Mike and El out the door. Steve gives Dustin a huge bear hug, followed by their secret handshake that still manages to put a smile on everyone’s face. 

You take your seat again, still gazing into the fire that was now starting to die out. Steve walks over and leans down, kissing your cheek. 

“I’m gonna go to bed, ‘kay?” He smooths your hair down and cups the side of your face.

You nod into his touch, looking up at him with a forced smile. “Okay, I’m going to stay out here a little while and relax.”

You see the hesitation in his eyes, there’s a sadness behind it that he doesn’t ever vocalize. He knows how hard the past four years has been for you, and he wasn’t one to pry. You had both been friends all through high school, even before everything happened with Will and the Upside Down. After everything you’ve been through, he knew you better than anyone. Anyone alive that is. The two of you grew closer after you graduated in ’86, with him being a shoulder to cry on as you mourned the death of your boyfriend Eddie. Steve was there to pick up the pieces, eventually moving in with you to help make rent. Two years ago things turned romantic, though you can’t remember how. Your lives were so entwined that it just seemed right. You love him, not like you had loved Eddie, and in the back of his mind Steve knew that. He was your rock, and you’d always be eternally grateful to him for bringing you back from the brink. 

With everyone gone, a wave of exhaustion crashes over you. Closing your eyes and leaning your head back against the chair, you completely overlook the fact that Steve had shut off the radio on his way inside. A warm breeze breaks through the trees, engulfing you in the soothing scent of cedar and the lingering smoke from the fire. Eddie’s face creeps into your mind as you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to forget. You see his big brown eyes, how they sparkled when he was being mischievous. His unruly hair, and how it felt between your fingers as you made love in the back of his van on warm nights like this. You feel the tears start to well, and don’t even try to stop them. Pulling your knees into your chest, you wrap your arms around your legs and bury your face, trying to muffle the sobs that were bubbling to the surface. 

“Fuck you.” You whisper.

“Fuck you for leaving. Fuck you for being a hero. Fuck. You.” You cry into the night. 

“—Is that a threat, or a promise, princess?” Someone answers.

You nearly fall out of your chair, head whipping towards the direction of the voice. 

Eddie Munson is leaning against a tree at the edge of the woods, a devilish grin plastered onto his pale face.

“Ed-Eddie…?” You whisper incredulously, inching forward off the lawn chair.

“In the flesh.” He holds his arms out and gives a slight bow.

“That’s not possible. I must have drank more than I thought tonight. You’re not really here, I’m imagining it.” You laugh darkly, shaking your head as you turn away to go inside. You’re really off the deep end now, your mind tells you, hallucinating your dead boyfriend? Get a fucking grip.

He reaches out and grabs your wrist, fingers ice cold against your skin. You try and recoil, but he pulls you closer to him, meeting his eyes. They’re not the same eyes you remember. Irises that were once deep brown and full of life, are now completely black and had years of secrets behind them. You study him, taking in every detail of what you’re still trying to convince yourself is a figment of your grief-stricken imagination. He’s leaner than you remember, but also stronger, the muscle definition showing through his old leather jacket and ripped black jeans. Your free hand travels up his arm, he almost feels like he’s made of stone. 

“How—how is this possible…I watched you die.” The phrase barely makes it out of your mouth.

“Yeah, that was real. That happened.” He shifted uncomfortably. “But I uh, I was given a second chance of sorts.”

“…what does that mean exactly?” You step back, looking back towards his face.

Eddie nervously puts his hands in his back pockets and smiles at you, fangs glinting against the moonlight. 

“Jesus Christ.” You hiss, taking another step back from him in shock.

He looks at you and you can see that he’s hurt by your retreat.

“Are you…are you going to kill me?” You ask calmly, a small part of you hoping that’s the case. 

Eddie’s eyes go wide and he quickly shakes his head, familiar wild hair flying around his shoulders. “No! No, absolutely not.” 

“Then why are you here, how are you here? It’s been four years Ed…” You swallow the lump in your throat.

He sighs, kicking at the ground. “After I died, after you left the Upside Down, Vecna found me. He’s the one that changed me into—into this.” He motions a hand down his body. “He wanted me to be his right hand man, and for a while I was, helping him build his army. I bided my time, tried to figure out a way to escape, to find a way back to you. When I noticed the gates starting to close two years ago, I knew it was time, otherwise I’d never get the chance to find you again. So I slipped through one of the gates, right before it shut, before he could follow me. I set up camp in the woods near Skull Rock, but I was pretty drained after leaving the Upside Down, so I took some time to regain my strength and then sought you out.” 

He sat down in one of the lawn chairs and stared into the embers of the bonfire. With his face illuminated, you can see how exhausted he looks. 

“I’ve watched you for almost two years, too afraid to reveal what I’ve become. I’ve seen your good days, I’ve seen your bad ones. I’ve watched as you hid away from everyone, and became a shell of your former self.” 

It stung to hear him say it out loud, but you knew it was true. You died the day you lost Eddie, and no amount of time could heal that. You’ve spent years trying to hide your apathy from the world, but Eddie was always able to see right through you. 

“I’m sorry…” your head hangs as heavy tears begin to roll down your cheeks. In a split second, Eddie is upright and holding you. One arm around your waist, the other pulling your head into his chest. You grip at the back of his jacket, sobbing into his shirt. 

“God, I’ve missed you.” He whispers into your hair, kissing the top of your head. You look up at him, face wet with years of pent up grief. He leans down and you meet him halfway, kissing him softly. The two of you stay in the embrace for a while, unwilling to let the other one go. You stifle a yawn, and Eddie cups your chin to look up at him. 

“Go inside and get some sleep. I’ll come back tomorrow.” His voice is low and soothing as he runs a hand through your hair. You close your eyes and nod your head, bringing your lips to meet his again. 

———

You didn’t sleep at all, instead staring at the back of Steve’s head as he snored softly, trying to bring yourself back down to earth. How is this possible? 

When the sky starts to turn a dusty pink, you give up on sleep and sneak out to the kitchen to start making breakfast. Ever so often you glance out the window towards the woods, trying to catch a glimpse of Eddie. All you can see is trees. Maybe you did make it all up? Maybe you had finally snapped? The more you stared out into the forest, the more you started to believe last night never happened.

Steve wakes up a short time later, shuffling into the kitchen and wrapping his arms around you as you wash the dishes, absentmindedly staring out the small kitchen window.

“Hey…” He whispers as he kisses the side of your neck slowly. You turn around in his arms and run your hands over his naked chest, fingers tracing over his old demobat scars. 

I wonder what Eddie’s scars look like. 

You push the thought out of your mind quickly. “Good Morning,” You finally respond, kissing him softly.

“I’m gonna take a shower before work, wanna come with?” He bites his lip, raising his eyebrows hopefully. You giggle a yes and let him pull you down the hall.

Steve leaves for work a little before 9am, leaving you alone on the couch trying to study for your upcoming final exams. You can’t concentrate, you must have read the same sentence 30 times before you hear a soft knock at the back door. Throwing your textbook onto the couch and leaping up, you rip the door open and see Eddie smiling at you. It was real. It was all real.

You step back but he doesn’t follow inside. Giving him a quizzical look, he has the utmost seriousness written on his pale face. “You have to invite vampires inside, otherwise we can’t cross the threshold.”

Hearing him say the word outright gives you pause. It gives you goosebumps, but not in a bad way, something that surprises you.

“OH! I’m sorry. I didn’t know…uh please come in, Eddie.” You motion towards the living room dramatically. He gives you a shit-eating grin. 

“I’m totally fucking with you, that’s not true.” He pushes through the door and takes a look around your apartment. 

“Are there like…rules or things I should know about though? Like the whole garlic thing?” You feel like a complete idiot right now. 

Eddie shakes his head, meandering around your living room looking around aimlessly. “Not really. A stake in the heart will kill me, but that’s about it.” He waves a hand dismissively. 

You try to remember all the things you’ve read about vampires throughout the years. 

“What about sunlight?” 

“Nah. It doesn’t hurt me, it’s just mildly uncomfortable. Like a sunburn almost.” He shrugs.

You nod thoughtfully, unsure of what to say next.

“There’s perks though. I got really strong after I turned, and I also have supersonic hearing.” He picks up a picture frame on a side table, containing a photo of you and Steve from last Halloween. “In fact…I heard you fucking Harrington in the shower earlier.”

His admission, and also his tone, make your blood pressure rise. Before you have the chance to respond he picks up your discarded textbook and reads the cover. “Art History, hmm?”

“Yeah, I’m about to graduate next month with a BFA. Well, hopefully, if I pass my next few exams.” 

He sets the book down on the coffee table and leans against the arm of the couch. “I’ve seen you staying up late studying, you always have this light on until early morning.” He points at the side table lamp in the corner of the living room.

You wanted to cry. You wanted to crawl up into a ball and fucking die. He had been out there all along, and you had no idea. Life continued, you continued, while he waited in the shadows.

“What do you wanna do with it, with your degree?” He brings you back to reality.

“Uh, teach, actually. I would love to teach art to elementary school kids.” 

“You were always good with them…” he wanders into the kitchen and leans back again the fridge closer to where you stand. 

“…did you ever wonder what our kids would’ve been like?” He asks suddenly, catching you off guard.

“Not since…everything—” You shake your head. The two of you had talked about the future before, about breaking out of Hawkins after graduation and never looking back. Eloping in a little white chapel in Vegas or something, and living out west making music and art together. 

“—I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think about it often back in the day though.” A small laugh escapes your mouth as you think about it. “I think they’d be super cute. Dark curls like yours, freckles, a deep love for music and art from the time they’re babies—“

“—oh absolutely. No kid of mine would grow up without knowing the godfathers of metal at least.” He interrupts, pushing himself off the fridge.

“They’d be a handful.” You raise an eyebrow at him. “They’d take after you, and they would drive me insane.”

Eddie breaks out into the same mega-watt smile you used to love, save the two pointy fang additions. “Yeah, they would.” He chuckles, a hint of sadness breaking through.

“But I’d love them with every fiber of my being. Just like I did their dad.” Your smile falters, and the pit in your stomach returns. Eddie see’s your face fall, and he slowly walks over and pulls you into him. You inhale him as silent tears roll down your cheeks.

Standing in the kitchen, clinging to each other, time slows. You’re not sure how long you stayed like that, taking in each other’s presence like the night before. 

You brush your sleeve against your eyes and look up at him. “Eddie, what are we going to do?”

He rubs his thumb against your cheek, staring into your eyes. “I don’t know. All I know is that I have you and I’m never letting you go again.” 

Kissing you softly, he grabs the back of your neck and pulls you in. Your arms snake around his neck and the kiss deepens, becoming hungrier and more erratic. Feeling the heat starting to pool between your thighs, you peel Eddie’s jacket off his shoulders as he picks you up by your ass. Wrapping your legs around his waist, you can feel how hard he is through his jeans as he carries you back to your room. He throws you backwards onto the unmade bed and pulls his shirt over his head, revealing his lean torso covered in scars. 

“Oh…Eddie…” you reach up and run your fingers across the raised marks littering his sides, your eyes start to water. He puts both hands on each side of your face, forcing you to look at him. 

“Hey, I’m here. I’m okay. Everything’s okay now.” 

You nod as he closes the space between you, pushing you backwards onto the bed as you explore each other’s mouths. Running your tongue along his fangs turns you on in a new, weird way, not to mention his taste. He tastes metallic almost, and in the back of your mind you know exactly why. His calloused hands trace up the side of your body, pushing your t-shirt up and over your head, tossing it in a heap onto your floor. He begins to grind his hips into you, inhaling the soft moans coming from your mouth. The thin flannel shorts you’re wearing create barely any barrier between your throbbing core and his hard cock that is threatening to tear through his jeans. 

“Eddie…I need you. Please, it’s been so long…” you say in-between sloppy kisses.

“I got you, baby. I’ll take of you, don’t worry.” He trails his way down your body, littering your chest with soft bites and a few kisses until he gets to your shorts. He promptly rips them off, discovering you completely had forgone underwear. The blood pumping in your ears was so loud, but you could’ve sworn you heard him growl when he saw your naked body. Kicking his jeans off, he crawls back up to meet your eyes as he lines up with your entrance. A large ringed hand smooths down the side of your face. 

“I’ve missed you so much.” His voice is filled with longing as he nuzzled his nose against yours. 

You kiss him softly. “Show me, Eddie.” 

His initial thrust into you makes you see stars. It feels like the earth had begun to spin again after being off kilter for so many years. Eddie was the missing piece, the two of you fitting perfectly together, and he was finally back where he belongs. His pace is slow but deep, and he begins to nip at your neck, his fangs pricking at your skin.

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to control myself…” Eddie growls between kisses against your jugular. 

“I’m not afraid of you, Eddie.” Your voice is strong and reassuring as he straightens up, the new angle causing him to push deeper into you. He gingerly kisses the inside of your wrist, dragging his fangs across the delicate skin as his dark eyes watch you.

“Maybe you should be.” He winks, showing off his fangs with a wry smile. A soft moan escapes your lips, causing Eddie to quicken his pace, slamming your body into the headboard. The powerful thrusts shake the bed, causing a picture frame on the nightstand to topple over loudly. Eddie looks over at the noise and his eyes meet a photo of you and Steve kissing. 

His hips falter, slowing down as he shakes his head.

“Everything okay?” You reach a hand up to caress his cheek. His face is unreadable, but when he meets your eyes there’s an anger there, something you haven’t seen before. He pulls out and leans back on his knees. 

“Eddie? What’s wrong, are you okay?” You sit up, reaching out to him as he grabs your wrist to stop you.

“I can’t do this with you, not in the bed you fuck him in.” His voice is low, almost a whisper as his eyes narrow. “…Do you know how hard it’s been?” His grip on your wrist tightens.

“Yes Eddie, I do. It’s been awful, I’ve cried myself to sleep more nights than—“

“—I sat and watched as you moved on, with school, with life, with him.” The last word was said with so much venom that it makes you choke.

“Steve?” You’re suddenly filled with a smoldering rage by his tone. You yank your wrist out of his painful grip.

“Yes, fucking Steve. I had to sit and watch you fall in love with that prick!”

“Eddie you died!” You sit up straighter, trying to control the level of your voice. “I didn’t set out to fall in love with anyone else, it just happened, two years after your death, mind you! Steve was there for me, he helped me every single step of the way through all of my breakdowns and days that I just wanted to fucking die—“

“— he left me down there.” He deadpans.

“We all did!” You roar as he avoids your eyes. “You died in my arms, Eddie. I watched the life drain from your eyes as I begged you to stay with me. I tried to bring your body back, but it would’ve slowed us down and killed us all. Steve carried me out of there and saved my life.”

Eddie was silent for a few beats as you steadied your emotions.

“I’m sorry.” He mumbles.

You shake your head sadly. “A lot happened that you didn’t see. We’re all fucked up because of it. Dustin was a ghost for a while. Him, Mike and Lucas don’t even play D&D anymore because it’s too painful.”

He hangs his head, staring at the rings on his hand. 

“…I tried to kill myself Eddie.” You whisper as you grip the sides of your legs for stability.

His face snaps up to look at you, and you watch as the tears start to cloud his dark eyes. 

“Steve found me. It was in this apartment. We were supposed to meet up with Robin that day for lunch, and when I didn’t answer the door he kicked it in and found me. He moved in shortly after that, telling me he wanted to help me afford rent but I know it’s because he wanted to keep an eye on me.”

Tears were falling down both of your faces as he grabs your hand, tracing soothing circles with his thumb. Your heart melts, memories flooding back of the sweet, lovable boy he once was.

Inching closer, he looks up at you as you put your hand out to stroke the side of his face. He closes his eyes and leans into your touch, turning his head to kiss your palm. 

You let out a sob as he pulls you onto his lap. Grabbing a fistful of your hair, he buries his face in your neck. He kisses your temple and pulls your face back to look at you, leaning his forehead against yours. 

“I thought about you every second of every day. You were my reason for living—or surviving I guess, seeing as how I don’t have a pulse.” He lets out a shaky laugh. 

You hiccup and smile at him. “I never stopped thinking about you Eddie, as much as I wanted to forget about the trauma of it all. I’ve missed you more than you can even imagine.”

He closes the gap between you with a kiss, slow at first and then building and becoming deeper again. You grip his hair as his hands move down to your lower back, pressing you into him more. Straddling his waist you reach down and put him back inside of your warmth, beginning to ride him slowly. 

His mouth attaches to your left nipple, sucking it while his hand massages your other breast. The sensation of him makes you quicken your pace. You lean back slightly to let him hit the spot inside that drives you absolutely insane. 

Eddie stares at you in awe as you throw your head back. “Eddie, baby…”

He grips your waist as he starts to meet your thrusts. “Cum for me sweetheart, show me how much you missed me.”

He continues to buck up into you as you ride out your high, and you can tell he’s close by how hard he’s gripping and kneading your ass. You grab both sides of his face and pull him up to kiss you as you felt him explode inside of you, deep groans rumbling through his chest. 

You didn’t remove yourself from his lap, staying exactly where you were with him inside of you, kissing each other lazily as you recovered. 

Your legs began to fall asleep, and you slowly remove him and scoot back on the bed, motioning for him to join you. The previous night’s lack of sleep was catching up to you, and your body felt like it was moving at a glacial pace. Eddie laid down next to you, enveloping you in his arms as you closed your eyes.

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[hydrangeapartridge]

Until death brings us together (Ghost!Shinsouxreader) - Chapter 1: BANSHEE

Title: Until death brings us together

Tags: Shinso x reader, ghost!Shinshou, modern AU, Suicidal Thoughts, Implied/Referenced Character Death, depression, toxic friendship (not with Shinsou), sadness

Summary: It starts slowly, insidiously; the sadness, the restless nights, the tears you silently cry at night alone in your empty apartment. That’s coincidently when you start seeing him: the man with the deep violet eyes, and he's following you.Is he an evil spirit? Is he death? Or is he your depressed mind playing tricks on you?

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Chapter 1 : BANSHEE

It starts slowly, insidiously; the sadness, the restless nights, the tears you silently cry at night alone in your empty apartment. It’s a slow accumulation of many little things: work becoming harder and harder, your group of friends slowly drifting apart, your family living very far away, impossible to visit with your equally impossible hours of work… it progressively sends you spiralling down many dark thoughts, reflection on your life with a lot of negativity. A particularly bad pandemic of flue in the winter have you working so many extra hours and seeing so many dead people, it finishes to put you under, your anxiety and stress levels reaching a peak you’re not sure you will tolerate for long.

That’s coincidently when you start seeing him. The man with the violet eyes.

The first time you see him, he’s standing at the bus stop near your place. You take the bus everyday, to go to work, yet you never saw him before. A new neighbour, you think at first. It’s rare, to see people around your age in this area; it’s mostly old people living nearby. You only eye him from the side, discreetly, not wanting to stare and be too rude. What strikes you first is how pale he is. Sickly so. As a nurse you’re used to see sick people, and frankly he looks very sick. Dark circles are easily visible under his eyes, even from the safe distance at which you’re standing. His hair has an unusual colour, almost purple, probably dyed. His built is rather slim, but with broad shoulders that are clad in a dark jacket, to match his dark jeans. You don’t get to observe him for too long, for the bus quickly arrives. You get in when he doesn’t, and from the departing bus’s window, you see him, immobile still, looking far away, eyes completely lost.

The second time you see him, he’s sitting on a bench in the park just next to your apartment complex. You spot only the distinctive mop of his purple hair from the corner of your eyes while you help an old granny living in the flat next to yours climb the front steps. She’s getting weaker and weaker with each passing week and you sometimes help her with her groceries too. Her children never visit her and neither do her grandchildren. It’s sad really, and you make a promise to yourself that when your parents get older, you will take some time to take care of them. In order to do it you would have to live closer to them. Maybe you could have them live with you?

You’re thinking about it as you escort the old woman until she’s safely back in her apartment. You get inside yours to get ready for work, without knowing you won’t see her again.

Cardiac arrest. That’s how she died. First aid didn’t get there in time. It was a busy night, you know it, you were on call. You see the paramedics carrying the body outside, draped in white when you come back from work. Despite years of practised detachment, your throat tightens and you have to fight back tears of sadness and exhaustion as you get inside your empty apartment. You search desperately for something to occupy your mind, but you just want to lay in bed and do nothing. Your eyes fall onto your TV which is turned off and becoming quite dusty.

When was the last time you watched a series? A movie? Went out to the beach, or the mountain? You can’t remember.

The third time you spot him, he’s sitting in a quiet cat café down-town. You’re taking a break with a colleague named Kagura. You don’t particularly like her, but she’s the only colleague close to your age, so you hang out with her from time to time; as not to be alone. It’s sad, and sometimes even lonelier. In truth she’s a little rotten; a bad influence, always talking behind your other colleague’s back. It doesn’t help raise your spirit; she makes your vision of the world even gloomier.

She guilt trips you into buying her coffee, stating you somehow owe her for covering up for a miss you made. She helped you hide it, and you still feel bad for keeping it a secret instead of being honest with what you did wrong and try to fix it. You sit across from her and she tells you all about the last juicy gossips of the ward; which nurse is supposedly fucking which rich young doctor, about the pharmacist who is cheating on their significant other on a regular basis. You try to listen, really, you do, even if every word lessens your faith in humanity. But you attention span lately has been severely decreasing. Plus you’re distracted. Distracted by the purple haired man who is sitting at the table next to the shop’s window.

He’s wearing the same dark jacket and jeans. His head is propped onto his opened palm, tired eyes lazily set on the barista who’s busy wiping the counter. You notice there’s no drink in front of him. Maybe he’s just waiting for the barista to take her break; he’s probably a friend, or even her boyfriend. You feel slightly jealous. He’s pretty; unusually so but pretty. Plus, couples tend to remind you of how lonely you are, hence your growing envy.

Kagura snaps her fingers in front of your face, drawing your attention back to her while she scolds you for not listening. She’s bossy, and she makes you feel like a child who got caught doing something bad. You feel bad about that too.

Later, when you leave the café, your eyes linger on the pretty boy with the unusual hair colour. He keeps waiting, like he did for hours, patient, almost immobile. His eyes never meet yours despite your obvious staring, and you’re almost disappointed he doesn’t notice you.

“Really” Kagura whines once you’re out of the café. “Why are you so distracted today? You never listen to what I have to say. Can’t you be a good friend for once?”

Her reproaches make you feel ashamed.

“Sorry, I was watching the guy siting by the window. He was kind of cute” You scratch the back of your head, a small blush creeping up your cheeks.

Kagura stops and turns to you, her brows drawn together in confusion.

“What guy? There was no-one but the barista and us in there” She affirms and you start describing the man you saw: the purple hair, the dark eyes; she was probably too absorbed in talking about herself to notice him.

“That table was empty” She says, and now the look she gives you is worried. She eyes you up and down, warily. “Maybe you should take something to help you sleep at night, there’s plenty available at the hospital. You’re so exhausted you’re starting to hallucinate things”

The following day you see a small article in the newspaper. The barista working at the café got ran over by a truck when she exited her shift. She didn’t survive.

That’s when you start to freak out.

Stories from your childhood resurface. Old mythology mixes with dark fairytales and you’re sure, despite your usually straightforward thinking, that this purple-haired apparition is a bad omen. You think of a Banshee, announcing death with a scream, but this time in a male body and silently. Of a cursed spirit who would lure people to their end. Even of death itself. You can only speculate about what he is, but it’s undoubtedly supernatural. And he must have some link with the deaths of both your neighbour and the barista. You saw him watch them so intently; it’s too big a similarity to be a simple coincidence.

You’re still lost in thoughts as you go home that evening and when you stop at a crossroad, beside the red pedestrian light, you see him, watching you from across the street.

Your blood turns cold into your veins His amethyst gaze is on you, you’re sure, unfaltering. He’s standing completely still while numerous passer-bys move around him without seeing him. Your heart thunders in your chest, panic taking a hold of you.

He’s here for you now. You’re next on his list.

You can’t bring yourself to look away from him, afraid if you do you will loose all control you have  over the situation. Did the barista see him too just before she got hit by that truck?

A large car obstructs your vision for a second, and the next one he’s gone.

You gulp when the pedestrian light turns green and force your legs to carry you forward. In your stress you’re hyper alert, aware of every sound, every movement in the periphery of your vision. You keep looking around like a prey on the run. Except your predator is inescapable.

You’re extra careful, avoiding every potential danger on the road, and when you finally get home safely, you let out a deep sight of relief and flop onto your couch, exhausted.

But then it occurs to you, in a nauseating wave of paranoia, how dangerous your place is. Electric appliances, flammable surfaces… your eyes roam over everything, trying to assess how you’ll find your end. You don’t eat or shower before you go to bed, your mind racing, barely feeling safe under the illusory protection your blanket offers. You’re eight again, afraid of the monsters lurking in the dark; of vampires with dark eyes and pale white skin. Your usual insomnia feels ten times worse and only after seeing at least five hours unfold on your alarm clock does it occur to you that if you are to die, leaving in your sleep would probably be the less painful way.

The next morning, your alarm has you jump and scream as you wake up. You’re still alive.

You’re two digits away from composing the full number of your chief on your phone when you decide against calling in sick. Your patients need you, and if imminent death really is upon you, you decide you want to help them until the end.

Your neurosis gets worse when you see him again, near the hospital entrance, waiting for you. You try to avoid his intense gaze, hurrying your steps and clutching your bag tightly against you for protection. He doesn’t say a word, nor moves towards you. But his gaze follows you.

Work is shit. Horrible. You’re cruelly understaffed and you have to hurry so damn much that you feel like you’re mistreating the patient more than you are helping them. So many stretchers are obstructing the ER that the unit’s conditions are violating the bare minimum of human dignity.

It’s a mess. You’re covered in a pool of blood a woman vomited on you and barely have time to change before you’re called for CPR again.

At one point when preparing the medicines and treatments prescribed for the night, you think of Kagura, who took the day off to go to the beach. Your eyes stop on the label of one particular bottle of pills: pain killers that you know if taken at a higher dose can induce a sleep-like coma. And at and even higher dose, lower your breathing rate until its stops altogether. A painless death, like falling asleep.

You contemplate the white bottle, and pocket it.

Your life is miserable. Even more so now that you are followed by the strange spirit of death (or now that you have gone completely mad….). In whichever case, madness or imminent death, ending things yourself, the way you choose, seems appealing.

When your shift ends, the weight of the bottle of pills in your bag comforts you on your way home.

Climbing the stairs to your apartment (not trusting the lift), you turn the bottle of pills in your hand, doubt seizing you. They feel like some strange lucky charm; give you a sense of control over the situation. But are you truly ready to take them? To go all the way and leave this world for another that’s unknown. You’re scared of what lies after.

You look up once you arrive at your floor, and startle when you see him leaning against the wall next to your doorstep. Your eyes widen in fear as he turns to you. There’s something different in his cool gaze when it falls onto your face; like recognition, or surprise even. His lips part as if to speak, but you don’t let him; too afraid of what he might say to you, what spell he could cast upon you.

“Don’t bother. I’ll end things myself. Tonight.” You bravely declare, looking him straight in the eyes while holding the bottle of pills in front of you like a holy relic made solely to repel him.

You’re shaking as you take a step forward towards your door.

With a somewhat delayed reaction, the spirit’s expression turns flabbergasted.

“You really can see me?” He asks, bewildered. His low voice is much softer than you imagined it would be, far from what you expected from an evil creature.

You hesitate for a second before taking another step forwards, eyeing him suspiciously.

“Don’t try to trick me. I know why you’re here. I will be the one to decide how I’ll go” You voice trembles even if you do your best to keep a proud stance.

The spirit seems genuinely lost upon hearing your words, but then, something clicks in his mind and he frowns. “You think I’m death?” He states more than asks.

“Maybe not exactly that. But something like that”

He considers your answer as you reach your door and then he looks down, eyeing himself, bringing his hands palms up just in front of him to inspect them.

“I don’t think I’m anything like that” He mutters but seems unsure.

You place you back against your wooden door, to protect yourself from any sneak attack and ask, pills still in hand. “Whatever you are, why are you following me?”

“I’m not following you” He replies immediately, almost upset.

“Then my do you keep showing up wherever I go?” You insist and his frown deepens. It’s almost like you can see the gears turning in his mind to find an answer to that question.

“I… don’t know” He finally admits, defeated. “The places where I end up finding myself… they just feel familiar. That’s all I can say for sure” His shoulders are slouched and from up close, he doesn’t look that dangerous to you. He seems lost. Maybe he doesn’t have as much control over his apparitions as you assumed. His dejected expression almost make you feel a certain empathy towards him.

“What’s your name?” You ask, not really knowing why and he looks up at you, surprise clear in his eyes. He’s pensive then, searching his memory for the answer.

“Hitoshi” He tells you after an abnormally long silence. You can’t tell if he made it up or if he just couldn’t remember.

You give him your own name before it occurs to you that maybe it isn’t wise to give it so easily to a supernatural being.  He repeats it in his soft voice, the melody of it sending a pleasant chill down your spine.

“I don’t know why I am here but I am glad someone noticed me. It was… lonely, being surrounded by all those people who couldn’t see me”

A pang of understanding seizes your heart. You know lonely, and how bad it can get. Now that you know his name, you feel slightly closer to this apparition. He’s not a stranger anymore.

“So, what is it you were trying to use to repel me?” He asks curiously, pointing to the bottle in your hand.

“Oh” You quickly puy it back into your bag, ashamed of stealing it and ashamed of what you planned to use it for. “Nothing really, it was all bluff” You force a smile and Hitoshi’s stare is hard on your face; intense like he can going to see through you. For one second you’re afraid he can read minds.

“You look troubled. I’ve been observing you and you always look troubled… troubled and sad”

You flush, feeling like he’s intruding. How dare he know? How dare he read you, a stranger, like you are an open book? How dare he notice how bad you feel when your friends don’t see it?

“So you did follow me!” You loudly accuse him, crossing your arms over your chest protectively.

He shakes his head in denial, his amethyst gaze on you unfaltering. “You often went by the place where I found myself.” He argues “But I admit my attention was drawn to you” He pauses, considering something before he continues. “It pained me to see someone so pretty look so down”

You mind goes blank for a short time before you grasp the meaning of his words. Your first thought is that you’re going mad and hallucinating him because you’re too desperate for attention.

“I’m what??” You almost choke on the words, and before he can answer, a door violently opens on your right, revealing a very angry neighbour.

“You done talking alone missy? Some of us are trying to sleep!”

Your face burns hot with embarrassment and you apologize profusely while he threatens to call the police or the psychiatric ward to have you taken care of. He asks if you’ve been drinking (which you deny) and when he finally closes the door in a curse that makes you wince, you turn back to Hitoshi so you can scold him for putting you in this situation.

However you only find an empty wall.

Link to chapter 2

[justthehiddleswrites]

Homesick | Tom Hiddleston & OFC (Lyla Brooks) | Platonic

A/N: This was for this lovely anon request:  I have separation anxiety and have recently gone from living with a dog and three family members and seeing people every day to living alone and not seeing my family and it’s really not easy 🥺 it’s not practical for me to get a pet and I’m an hour away from home. How would Tom help the reader through a situation like this? He seems very wise and as if he would know what to do! Maybe include lots of cuddling and watching things that Tom has starred in? It didn’t quite come out this way, but hopefully you still enjoy it.  

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston & Lyla Brooks (Platonic)

Summary: Lyla Brooks accepted a prestigious apprenticeship with the Royal Shakespeare Company in the costuming department.  Which unfortunately meant leaving behind her mom, dad, and beloved cat, Snickers.  Three months into her move and Lyla is not doing well. She misses home and she worries about her dad. But she is not the only worrying.  

Trigger Warnings: very vague mentions of Alzheimer’s, some light angst, some light fluff.

MY TAGLISTS ARE OPEN, PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF YOU WISH TO ADDED! THANK YOU FOR SUPPORTING MY WRITING!

-

“Okay, Mom.” Lyla sniffled into the phone, doing her best to hide her sadness. “I miss you too. Give my love to Dad. And Snickers. And Lulu.” Her chin dropped towards her chest as her mind wander. “No, I’m fine, Mom. Just allergies. Yes, I’m taking my — I got to go. Talk to you soon.” She hung up the phone before she completely broke down.

In the colder air of London, Lyla’s tear wet her cheeks and chin, chilling the skin. She pulled her thin sweater around her body, protecting from the cooler weather. Having moved three months ago from the West Coast, Lyla struggled with a proper fall and winter wardrobe for London. 

When she entered her tiny apartment, Lyla sunk into her secondhand sofa and listened to nothing while staring at her boxes of books stacked against the wall next to the unassembled bookcases she purchased. Unpacking was not her priority. Surviving was. 

Lyla never expected to move this far away from home. But when a golden opportunity to apprentice with the Royal Shakespeare Company Costuming Department came up, her mother practically put her on the plane herself.

“This is your dream, Lyla.” Marjorie Brooks said to her daughter as she read the letter. “If you weren’t going to accept, then why apply?”

“I never thought I would get an offer.” Lyla stared down at the letter on Royal Shakespeare Company letterhead. “I can’t you and Dad—”

“—will do just fine.” Marjorie interrupted. “I will make sure he goes to his appointments and takes his meds.”

Lyla sighed. Her mother still worked full time at the textile factory in town. When her father started acting “distracted”, she turned her focus on making sure he took his medication and made all his appointments. In doing so, she turned down an internship with a prestigious clothing company in New York, without even telling her parents. 

“But Snickers..” She pulled the orange tabby cat onto her lap. “He needs me.” 

Marjorie frowned at Lyla. “Lyla Marie Brooks, this is not going to be New York all over again. You’re going and that is the end of it.”

Lyla sat there, slack-jawed, as her mother headed to the kitchen.

A sharp knock on her door rudely interrupted Lyla’s spiral of self-pity and loathing. She groaned and figured if she waited long enough, the person on the other side of the door would leave.

“Lyla, I’m not leaving.” Tom called out from the hallway outside her apartment. “So get off the sofa and answer the door.” 

She grumbled the entire way to the door and opened it up to see Tom smiling sheepishly at her. “How are so fucking cheerful at 5 in the evening?”

“Hello to you too.” Tom shoved his hands into the pockets of faded black jeans. He stared at her for a moment. “Did you forget?”

Lyla’s brow furrowed at Tom. “Forget what?” She combed her fingers through her hair, tangling her light brown locks. 

“Our date.” Tom smiled, running his fingers through his recently shorned ginger curls, now even more curly than when Lyla first met him. 

“Daaaattteeee….” she drew out the word as if she drawled it her memory would come back.

Tom chuckled a bit. “Your bookshelves. That you bought last weekend. And I dragged up three flights of stairs. That you promised to put…” He stepped into Lyla’s apartment and spied the unopened boxes and smirked. “…together. What happened?”

“I forgot.” A hint of redness tinted her cheeks. More like a complete lack of wanting to do anything except hop on the next plane out of here and back home to hug my cat, my dog and my parents, she thought.

“Clearly.” Tom clapped his hands together. “Well then, let’s get to work.”

It took you ten minutes to find the tools and within 15 minutes, Tom put together both bookshelves together and installed on either side of your TV.

“See? That didn’t take long at all.” He moved beside her, smiling. “Thank you for the help.”

Lyla snorted. “I handed you a screwdriver and held a board.” 

“Exactly. Help.” Tom gave her a side hug. “Ready to load them up?” He already moved towards the boxes. 

“Um… sure.” She pulled open one of the boxes. “I unpack and you put them on the shelves?”

“Sounds like the best plan.” He reached out his hand for the books. 

Twenty minutes later, the shelves were full and the boxes empty. Lyla’s eyes teared up a bit, feeling slightly more at home. She wiped at her face. 

“Are you alright?” Tom’s brow furrowed as he looked at her. 

“I’m fine. Just the dust.” She sniffled and pulled herself together. She glanced outside. “Oh look, it’s dark. You should be on your way.”

Tom glanced out where dusk was barely setting in. He looked at Lyla and then at her apartment. He had come over a handful of times in the past two months and not much change except for the takeaway containers in the trash. He worried, but didn’t feel comfortable pushing the issue. 

“You’re right. Don’t want to say out too.” He headed to the door. “Some of us are getting together on Friday for pints. Would you like to join us?”

“I’ll think about it.” She smiled at him. 

“Good. I’ll remind you. And send you the information.” Tom opened the door but leaned in for a one last hug. “Please come out.” He whispered before taking his leave. 

Lyla sighed as the door clicked shut. Her heart and head a mix of emotions as she headed in to shower and then settle onto the couch with a book, cup of tea, and leftover Indian food.

-

The rest of the week had been a blur of fittings, fabric shopping, and costume repairs. Lyla had little time to think about home. She took her lunch break to Facetime her mom back home. 

“Hey, mom.” She smiled into her phone. 

“Hey, sweetie. How is life in glamorous London?”

“Great!” she lied. “I’ve made lots of friends. Going out. Hardly a dull moment! How’s Snickers?”

Marjorie chuckled. “Still moping. He misses you. Your bed is going to be covered in his hair by the time you come home for the holidays.”

Lyla’s lip trembled for a moment. “That silly cat. You tell him his mom is disappointed in him. “

There was a small meow in the background. 

“I think he heard you.” 

“Is that Bubby?” Lyla overheard her dad in the background.

“Dad?” She watched as her dad shouldered his way into frame.

“Bubby!” He smiled a warm smile. “Have you seen my camera? I can’t find it anywhere.”

“You are not asking her that! She doesn’t know. She’s been away for three months.” Marjorie argued.

“But she knows everything.” He turned back towards the phone. “Don’t you, Bubby?”

Lyla had to fight back tears. “Try the pocket of your coat, Dad. The green one you wore to the zoo.” 

She watched as her dad toddled off and then heard him screaming. He came running back. “YOU FOUND IT!” He gave Marjorie a shove with his shoulder. “I told you she would know.”

“Yes, dear. Can I finish my conversation?” 

“I’m not even here.” He walked away. 

“I can come home.” Lyla blurted out.

“He’s fine, sweetie. You are not coming home.” 

“I can book a fli—”

“You are staying put, and that’s all there is to say about it.” Marjorie said sternly. Lyla knew when her mom said “that’s all there is to say about it.” There was no more discussion.

“Yes, Mom. I got to get back to work. Talk to you tomorrow.” 

She hung up the phone. It took the entire walk back to the theater to stop crying. Everyone else in the costuming department noticed but didn’t say a word. Alice, the other apprentice, set a cup of tea near Lyla. 

“Homesick?”

Lyla glanced up at Alice’s bright green eyes and concerned face. She nodded.

“And my dad has these memory problems. I was the one who helped and my mom works full time. And my cat, Snickers, misses me.” Lyla sobbed softly. “I never lived away from home before.”

Alice sat down next to Lyla and placed a hand on her shoulder. “I remember when I left for university. I cried every day for two weeks. And every time I come home and left again.”

“Really?” 

Alice nodded. “I used to wear sunglasses everywhere. Not the most fashionable look indoors.” She giggled. “But then I found things made university home. A sandwich shop like the one I used to eat at. A new pub to go to with friends. It just takes time.” 

Lyla grabbed the cup of tea and sipped. “There was this pork schnitzel sandwich at this local diner. My dad would take me there on Sundays. They put this gravy on it.” She sighed. “I think I’m going to head home, if you don’t mind.”

Alice nodded. “I’ll let Anders know. See you on Monday.” she hesitated before giving Lyla a quick hug. “You have my number. Call my anytime.”

Lyla nodded, gathered her things, and headed home. She grabbed a pint of ice cream and headed to her bedroom, crying.

Tom whistled as he headed into the costuming department. He had a sneaking suspicion Lyla would duck out on his invitation. 

“Oh, Mr. Hiddleston!” Alice perked up as he walked in. “Your fitting isn’t until next Tuesday.” 

Tom’s brow quirked. “I’m not… I was looking for Lyla Brooks.”

Alice smirked. “She left early today.” She shrugged her shoulders. “She wasn’t feeling well.”

“Oh dear. I hope she feels better.” Tom sheepishly tucked his hands into his pockets. He turned to head out.

“Wait!” Alice grabbed his arm. “I think there is something you could do to help.” 

-

Lyla woke up from her late afternoon nap to continuous knocking on her door.

“For fuck sakes, go away!” She yelled as she peeked through the hole to see Tom standing there. Lyla fumbled with the lock. “Tom, what are you doing… SHIT! The pub. I f—”

“Forgot?” He smiled at her. “I am sensing a pattern. I heard you weren’t feeling well and left early.”

She grew self-conscious. “It’s just a cold. I’ll be right as rain by Monday. No need to worry.” She coughed for effect.

“But I do worry.” He raised his shoulders. “I can’t help it.” Tom held up a greasy paper bag. “Pork schnitzel sandwich. With gravy.” He pointed to the bag. “For two.”

“Alice, I’m going to—”

“Take it easy on her. She worries too.” He cautiously stepped into her apartment. “I remember missing home.”

Lyla nodded, fighting back. “How old were you?” She went to the kitchen and grabbed some plates for the sandwiches. 

Tom set the bag on her small table. “Seven.” Lyla’s mouth dropped open. “Boarding school is pretty common over here.” 

“Did you cry?”

Tom nodded. “But it got better. I made friends. Created a home away from home.”

She inhaled the scent of the sandwich and broke down. “I miss it so much. I miss them.” 

Tom wrapped his arms around her and pulled Lyla against his chest. “I know. It hurts.”

She sobbed for she didn’t know how long, leaving two wet spots on Tom’s sweater. “I’ve ruined your sweater.” She mumbled, pulling back. 

“I have seven more at home just like it, don’t worry.” Tom grinned down at her. “Feel better getting all that out?”

She nodded, wiping her face with the back of her sleeve. “Sorry for the outburst.”

“Nonsense, what are friends for?” Tom commented. “Let’s eat and why don’t you tell me all about home and your family. I have found talking about it makes it easier to deal with.”

Lyla sighed and sat down as Tom handed her a sandwich. She took a bite and moaned. “It tastes like home.” 

Tom took a big bite of his own sandwich. “Oh, that is fantastic.” He took another big bite and his eyes rolled back into his head. 

Lyla giggled for the first time in a long time. “I told Alice it was the best.” She settled back into her chair. “So you want to hear about my family.” 

“I want to hear everything.” Tom grinned.

-

Several hours later, Tom and Lyla were still chatting over empty plates and full cups of coffee. Tom glanced at his phone. 

“If I stay much longer, I might turn into a pumpkin.” Tom wiped his hands and stood.

Lyla caught the time. “Oh my god, I took your whole evening. The pub, your friends.”

“I’ll catch them next time. Besides, I spent time with a friend who needed me more.” 

Lyla walked him to the door and hugged Tom tightly. “Thank you. I needed this.” 

He squeezed her hard. “I am here if you ever need to cry or talk or just stare at the wall.” Tom chuckled. “Do you feel better?”

“Much.”

“Then mission accomplished. And next time, I fully expect you to come out with me. To an actual place. That serves food. I only make house calls for emergencies.”

Lyla grinned and giggled. “Deal. Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome.” Tom opened the door. “Goodnight, Lyla.”

“Goodnight, Tom.” 

He gave a little wave before heading down the hallway and down the stairs. Lyla watched from her window as Tom stepped out onto the sidewalk. He turned and gave her a small smile and waved before heading down the street towards the Tube station.

Lyla grabbed her phone and sent a text to her mom. 

Mom, I made a new friend today. And you will never guess who it is. 

[drabbles-mc]

Starting Over

Juice Ortiz x F!Reader

Combining two Anonymous requests for this: reader is Jax's younger sister, and with Juicey boi. Stuck fiercely with him through Potter. Douchebag! Anyway, so. It's just after Tara, and Juice has gone MIA. As soon as reader hears Jax wants Juice, she goes to find him - obviously get's pointed to him by Wendy (not Gem because she knows what she'll do). When she goes to Juice, he tries to scare her off, but she gives him some lip, then maybe some smut - then she takes him far away, never to return! & can I get a Juice x Female reader where she finds out that Jax wants Juice after he goes MIA, and she's been with Juice for ages without the boys knowing - and she realises that Juice is in danger, so she manages to find out where he is, and she goes there, has some fluffy/angst time with Juice, before pulling him into her car and driving off to take him away and completely leave Charming and the sons behind. Maybe a fluffy pregnancy reveal too? Ultimately, must save Juice and protecc

Warnings: language, angst, slight steam

Word Count: 2.3k

A/N: Figured that these two requests ran pretty parallel to each other so I combined them! Only thing I didn’t do was full-on smut because it didn’t really fit with the whole mood of everything. But we gettin’ Juice outta his mess for sure. Enjoy! xo

SOA Taglist: @garbinge​ @masterlistforimagines​ @mayans-sauce​ @adela-topaz-caelon​ @i-just-read-stuff​ @chibsytelford​ @mijop​ @shadow-of-wonder​ @xladymacbethx​ @kkim120​ @multiyfandomgirl40​ @toni9​ @unicornucopia-fuckers​ (If you want to be added to the taglist just let me know!)

Things had been falling apart for the club for a while. Growing up in the middle of it had exposed you to a lot, but even so this was the most chaotic it had been in your lifetime. You couldn’t blame it all on Jax, knowing that things started crumbling long before your brother took his seat at the head of the table. But there was a lot more frustration there between the two of you than there used to be.

That rising tension was the original reason that you never told Jax, or anyone in the club for that matter, that you had gotten involved with Juice. It had sort of just fallen together. There was something about him that you couldn’t pull yourself away from, no matter how far he seemed to spiral. His life was just as messy as yours, if not messier, which was another reason the two of you decided to keep things quiet—it was supposed to cut down on the mess.

However, once you noticed that Jax’s feelings about Juice took a turn, you got nervous. Ever since Tara was murdered, he was on a warpath. You couldn’t necessarily blame him, but Juice was on thin ice as it was and you weren’t going to let him become another casualty if you could help it. You didn’t lose him in the depths of things with Potter, you weren’t going to lose him now.

You had looked everywhere for him. You scoured all of Charming but he was nowhere to be found. You stopped by his place, and immediately noticed that certain things were missing. His place wasn’t cleaned out, but you could tell that he packed the essentials to make a quick getaway. Your heart sunk inside your chest as you tried to strategize how to find out where he was. There was a short list of people you felt like you could trust to ask who wouldn’t blow up your spot to the rest of the club.

You found yourself on Gemma’s doorstep. For as much as you loved your mother, she was the last person that you wanted to talk to about this. You did, however, know that she and Wendy were close these days, and that anything Gemma knew about Juice, she might’ve pipelined to Wendy. It was a long-shot but she was the only person you had left that you felt like you could talk to without exposing yourself, or Juice.

Gemma opened the door, “Hey, sweetheart, everything alright?” she hugged you once you stepped inside.

You nodded, “Yea, all good. I just, uh, is Wendy here?”

You could see the gears turning in Gemma’s mind, “Yea, why?”

You shook your head, “Nothin’ I just wanted to talk to her about some counseling stuff,” you tried to play it off, “One of Lyla’s girls is a little,” you shook your hand slightly, “Rocky right now. Just wanted to get her opinion on some stuff. That’s all.”

You’d gotten good at lying to Gemma—it was the only way to have any semblance of privacy. She nodded, convinced for the time being, “She’s in the guest room with the boys. Send them out before you start talking about that shit though, alright?”

You nodded, “Of course.”

You made your way back to the room, politely sending your nephews on their way before shutting the door, allowing you and Wendy your privacy. Confusion was written all over her face as you sat on the bed with her. You took a deep breath as you tried to get your thoughts together, praying that this wouldn’t backfire on you.

“You know where Juice is?” there was no point in beating around the bush.

“Why would I know that?” she couldn’t meet your eyes, and you knew that she was trying to hide something.

“I know the club wants him dead,” you paused, correcting yourself, “I know Jax wants him dead. I just…I just wanna help him.”

“You wanna help Juice?” she clearly didn’t buy it.

You ran your hands down your face, not able to fault her for being skeptical, “Jax might be my brother but that doesn’t mean that I blindly support everything he does. I’m not my mother,” you shook your head, “Juice can’t survive this on his own. He needs someone.”

“You?”

You took a deep breath, knowing you’d already put yourself in a pretty deep hole. What was the harm in digging yourself a little deeper? You met Wendy’s eyes, “I’ve been with Juice for a while now. Way before all this other shit started. I can’t…I can’t let Jax get to him.”

Wendy pressed her lips together into a thin line. She knew as well as anyone what your family was like. It was a wonder that you turned out the way you did. She took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of her nose, “He’s at my place. That’s…that’s why I’m still here.”

You raised your eyebrows in surprise, “Y-your place?”

She nodded, “Gemma was banking on me staying in rehab way longer. Figured it was a free, empty place for him to stay. I wasn’t gonna kick him to the streets when the club wants his head on a goddamn stake. So…he’s still there.”

You leaned in a hugged her, for the first time in a long time. It felt a little foreign at first but she leaned into you for a moment and accepted it. You pulled away, trying to fight back the tears that were stinging at the edges of your eyes, “Thank you. Seriously.”

She nodded, “Don’t mention it. Seriously.”

You both got a quiet laugh out of that. Taking a deep breath to steady yourself, you stood up. Before opening the door, you turned back to Wendy, “If Gemma asks, I asked you about some rehab counseling shit for one of Lyla’s girls.”

She nodded, “Got it,” there was a brief pause, “Take care of him. He needs it.”

You nodded but didn’t say anything more as you left the room. You made your way back through the house, giving your nephews hugs and kisses goodbye before saying goodbye to Gemma as well. You tried not to let your anxiety shine through as you tried to put together some semblance of a plan.

You raced back to your place and packed a few bags. You grabbed the few things that Juice had left at your apartment over the last few months, not wanting to leave any trace of that behind once you were gone. You packed the essentials, grabbed your emergency stash of cash, and then hit the road to get to Wendy’s place.

You knocked relentlessly on the door. When there was no answer, you finally spoke up, “It’s me, Juice.”

Seconds later Juice opened the door, gun in his hand by his side. You could see it written all over his face that he was spinning out. You took a deep breath as you stepped into the apartment, shutting the door behind you. You immediately stepped in and wrapped him in a hug, your heart breaking at the way he practically fell into your embrace like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth.

After a few moments, you pulled away from him. You could see it in his eyes how lost he was. You reached out, gently cupping his face, “We gotta go.”

“What?” he looked confused.

“We gotta go. We gotta get out of here. You can’t stay here.”

“Yea but…but you can’t go with me.”

It felt like a punch to the gut to hear him say it so definitively. “Why not?”

“Because you’re Jax Teller’s fucking sister,” he snapped, “You can’t just…leave Charming. You can’t just leave. Especially not with someone the club wants dead. They, they won’t stop until they find you. Or me.”

“They’re not going to find us.”

“You’re an escape artist now?”

You scoffed, “I don’t think that you’re in a position to be criticizing. It took me one day to find you.”

He gnawed at the inside of his lip, “You can’t do this. You’re going to get yourself killed.”

“That’s a risk that I’m willing to take.”

“Well I’m not,” he shook his head, “You’re not putting yourself out on the line like that for me. I won’t let you.”

“You won’t let me?” your laugh was hollow, “Let me? You don’t get to tell me what I can and can’t do. I grew up under Gemma’s fucking thumb—I’m done getting bossed around by other people. You don’t get to tell me that I can’t come with you.”

“Yes, Y/N, I do. You’re not throwing your whole life away for me.”

“I’m not throwing it away! I don’t want a life here in Charming if you’re not in it.”

“They will never forgive you for leaving.”

“Fuck ‘em.”

“Y/N,” he sounded angry but you could see the tears in his eyes. He turned away love every chance he could, not wanting to deal with the heartbreak that followed, “You can’t leave. Not with me. Not for me. I’m…I’m not worth the fallout.”

“Yes you are,” you stepped in and cupped his face once more, “You are worth whatever it takes. I love you.”

He closed his eyes, tears escaping down onto his cheeks, “I love you too.”

You pulled his lips to yours, catching them in a rough, needy kiss. He wrapped his arms tightly around you, like it was the last time he was ever going to be able to touch you. His tongue ran along the inside of your lip before meeting yours. You moaned, fingers pressing into the back of his neck. His hands slid underneath your shirt, nails raking lightly along the soft skin of your back.

You pulled away, breathless as you rested your forehead against his. He gave you a light squeeze, “I love you.”

You smiled despite the heaviness of the situation that you were in, “I love you too.”

“We can finish this when we get to wherever we’re going,” he chuckled, and it was nice to see him smile.

You nodded, pulling away from him a little bit, “Right, right,” you took a deep breath as you looked around Wendy’s place, “You got a bag packed?”

He turned and walked towards the closet, digging around before resurfacing with a duffle bag that was bursting at the seams. You looked at the kutte that was draped across the top of it and your heart broke. Leaving Samcro behind was going to be a big shift for the both of you—it was all you’d ever known, and it was all the family Juice had anymore.

He saw the look in your eyes and the tears returned to his. You shook your head slightly, “You gotta leave it, baby. Nothing good is gonna come from you keeping that.”

He nodded even though he didn’t want to admit it, “I know.”

He gripped the leather tight in his hand for a few moments before laying it on the end of Wendy’s couch. You nodded in approval, pulling him towards you and kissing him softly on the lips to let him know that it was going to be okay.

“You sure you wanna do this?” his voice wavered a little, “There’s…there’s no coming back from this.”

You nodded, “I’m sure,” you tangled your fingers with his, “Let’s go.”

The two of you packed what little you had into the trunk of your car. You situated yourself in the driver’s seat before turning to look at Juice. Worry was still present in his features but you could tell that even despite that, he was glad that you were there with him  

You reached over, taking his hand in your own, “We're gonna be alright. We're going to figure all of this out. We'll be safe,” you paused, “Do you trust me?”

He nodded, no hesitation in his response, “With my life,” he paused for s few moments, “You’re really willing to leave behind your family for me?”

“You’re my family,” you waited for him to meet your eyes, “Juice?”

“Yea?” his eyes searched yours, trying to guess what you were going to say next.

“I mean it, you know. You’re my guy. My family.”

His smile as soft, sincere, “You’re my family too.”

“I know now might not be the best time,” you chuckled nervously, “But really when do we ever have a right time for anything, right?”

“What’s going on?”

“I’m…I’m not going to be your only family for much longer,” you couldn’t hold back your nervous laughter as you took his hand and rested it on your stomach, “A fresh start is going to be good for all of us.”

His eyes widened as he realized what you were telling him. A smile broke out across his face as he leaned over and kissed you hard on the lips. He’d never been more ready to run off with you than he was in that moment.

“Alright,” he chuckled, unable to believe the situation he was in, “let’s get the fuck out of here, then.”

You smiled, kissing him once more softly on the lips, “Let’s go.”

You threw the car in drive and pulled out onto the road. As you took off, Juice's hand came to rest on your thigh, “I love you.”

You smiled, glancing over at him for a moment, “I love you too.”

Your eyes made their way back to the road in front of you. Letting out a deep sigh, you let yourself soak up the fact that you were on your way to somewhere new, with the only person who really mattered, the only person who ever really tried to look out for you these days. Charming faded out of your rearview mirror and you had never felt more relieved, despite the uncertainty that laid ahead. All of the anxiety though., faded away when you felt Juice's thumb tracing back and forth on your leg. You had faith that the next chapter was really going to be the start of a whole new book, just for the three of you.

[rainbowbutterfrosting]

Okay, but ‘Erase Me’ hits different after the newest episode (lyrics in bold, discussion/analysis in normal text)

What was our home

“Home” it’s an odd word for the sides. Especially with the recent episodes. With tension flowing between all of them with ease, it’s hard to question if they can truly find comfort in on another. Easily represented by none of the sides (other than Logan and Remus) being there throughout Thomas’ day. This isn’t like the other episodes where they’re all having a discussion together about Thomas getting overwhelmed. 

Instead, Thomas feels isolated for most of it, fighting a battle with his mind (mind referring to his intrusive thoughts, his sides, and Logan’s agenda for the day)

Paper not stone

Everything seemed to... change so quickly. They went from Embarrassing Phases with cute Halloween costumes and friendly jokes about cringe and vine directly into SvS and DWIT where Thomas questions if he’s a good person while his mental health quickly declines.

In a similar way, paper is fragile and flimsy, easily ripped apart.

‘Paper not stone’ could also be a way to reference Logan’s agenda for the day. All of it can be discarded and saved for Future Thomas™ since none of it is really set in stone.

A lean-to at most

Logan is nothing to Thomas- or at least he feels that way. He’s only someone who can calm Thomas down. Thomas can ‘lean’ on him, but that’s the most he is.

And when you pulled your half away

I’d like to think half has a few different meanings here. The one I like the most is where “half” represents Thomas’ attention. He’s pulled to Nico, he’s pulled to Remus, he’s pulled to anxiety. 

Logan recognizes this and calms him down. He lets him have breaks and gently guides Thomas back to their schedule once he’s a bit better.

Half could also represent for when he pulls away from Logan and listens to the other sides more. In this episode, he practically listens to everyone but Logan, despite him being the most physically there. He’s listening to his spiraling intrusive thoughts (Virgil’s fear and Remus’ role). He’s listening to his worry about Nico’s feelings for him (Virgil’s fear and Roman’s passion). He’s taking breaks and indulging in what he loves (Janus’ role and Patton’s enjoyment in child-like activities such as disney princess puzzles and dancing to up-beat music)

He might be the side the camera follows around, but he certainly isn’t the main character by far.

Gravity won Like it always does

Logan isn’t winning this battle. Of course he isn’t. He never does. Thomas is pulled down by the figurative gravity of all the other sides, while Logan is left there alone. 

In theory, he grounds Thomas the most, but Thomas also naturally drifts away from him. Using his role as logic for quick comfort before listening to someone else for an actual discussion.

Did I weigh a ton?

Is he weighing Thomas down? Is he making him unhappy? He thought he was good at one point, helping Thomas earn a degree in college and organizing a schedule for him so he could live life comfortably.

Yet the degree is tilted on the wall. The schedule would have been torn up if Thomas was given a paper. 

Would it be easier to just delete Our pages and the plans we made?

Would it be easier for Logan to give up? He certainly isn’t needed, Thomas didn’t listen to Logan the whole day and he was still fine. He made pages of things Thomas needed to do along with the plans that Thomas agreed to. Only for them to be pushed to the side since something grabbed his attention. 

And perhaps Logan saves these plans. He keeps them to help Thomas. Maybe to even create more realistic ones. But perhaps Thomas just won’t listen to him. He should just delete the plans he has. Thomas has always been great at improv. Maybe someone like Roman should take control- he’s been listening to him more than Logan anyway. (Represented through the whole Nico situation)

Erase me So you don't have to face me

Thomas turns away from Logan at the end, leaving him alone in the living room. He’s erasing Logan from his mind, finding an opportunity he wants because he doesn’t need Logan. 

Put me in the ground and mow the daisies

Was mowing the lawn on the list of things Thomas needed to do? Nope. Is Thomas mowing over his ideas for something more exciting anyway? Yep.

Ah, the memory, see how it goes When you

Erase me Erase me

“The memory” is Logan. It represents how he was aware of his own outburst at Remus, he knows he lost control. But maybe he’ll also ‘see how it goes’ when Thomas starts ignoring him even more. Perhaps his eyes will stay orange. Perhaps Orange will just take his place entirely. 

So what will you do With no me for you?

Thomas needs him- right? I mean, there’s no one else to create the schedules and plans... that Thomas doesn’t use. He helped earn Thomas’ degree! The... the degree he doesn’t use. 

Maybe Logan is useless. Maybe Thomas can’t function without him. Logan doesn’t even want to know at this point.

I know what we said

Logan knows he technically agreed to Thomas leaving and going to Nico, but he can’t help but feel bitter about it.

This bitterness rises when he’s with the other sides. Roman disregards him, “You’ll be fine, Rome didn’t fall in a day.” Logan hasn’t been ignored for more than one day. He isn’t fine. He’s more than what he’s acknowledged as, he quickly responds with emotion filling his mind, “Well, that’s a misquote so-”

Only to get fucking cut off. Again. He isn’t fine. He’s getting ignored and cut off whenever he tries to input something. Then Patton takes control of the conversation. Directing it at Thomas instead of Logan. Taking Roman’s side. Not listening to logic.

But what if I left a thing or two

Logan just needs to stop. He needs to stop talking, leave a plan or two in Thomas’ mind while a side or two keeps him busy for the day. 

We know that you don't seem To think about what you need 'Til you reach to find that you've

Erased me

Imagine telling someone that you really want to do something with them. You both clear out the whole day at an agreed time. Then they want to do something else. You- you suppose it’s fine? You both go there and then you get side-tracked again, and again, and- the day is over. 

They don’t care about what they were supposed to do. Thomas didn’t care about what he was supposed to do. Most of the things he was supposed to do didn’t even directly benefit Logan. They were things he needed to function, things to keep his place nice, not reading a non-fiction book or watching a documentary. They were things Thomas needed. But apparently that wasn’t a good enough reason to listen to logic. 

What the fuck is this? You're crazy, turned around  

Logan is fed up with how Thomas keeps ignoring him. Keeps getting distracted. “Turned around” turned around from the task at hand. 

“What the fuck is this?” could be to Remus. Constantly bothering Thomas, getting him distracted over and over. Going the complete opposite direction of where they should be going. And not listening to him when talked to about it. 

In two weeks time replaced me

Thomas doesn’t need Logan. It’s clear from his daily routine. All he needs is someone to offer the idea of dancing or a puzzle to him and he’s fine again. 

Ah, the memory everybody knows How it goes you just

Erase me

Logan is well-known throughout the mindscape. He’s known as a nerd, a geek, a nobody. Most of the names he could wear with pride, but he’s nobody. Nobody to Thomas and nobody in the grand scheme of things. Perhaps the other sides would be fine with Logan getting “erased.” They seem to regard his name with distaste anyway.

Did me like a bro and tazed me

Logan makes little flashcards for slang and tries to use them. Almost like a child proudly showing a high test score to their parent. He wants so badly to be acknowledged, to be heard, to be cool. 

Fireworks - poof - it's gone, amazing

Thomas is gone. The fireworks went off in his heart and he’s gone. Logan- Logan should be happy for him. It’s amazing as some would call it. He holds the to-do list to his chest as he sinks out. 

New bio, you've gone solo Drawing mustaches on our wedding photo

Nothing is important, not really. It can all be quickly discarded. “New bio” could be talking to Nico and changing a social media bio to dating or something like that.

“You’ve gone solo.” Haha that’s funny. Thomas is practically anything but solo with Logan. The line is said with such anger and bitterness that it’s no wonder why he thinks he means nothing to Thomas.

“Drawing mustaches on our wedding photo” What else is Remus going to ruin for Logan? Drawing on Thomas’ degree with mustaches?

Erase me Erase me Erase me...

Erase me This is us shouting, baby Erase me

Logan is begging, screaming, shouting for someone to acknowledge that he’s being ignored. But he’s being ignored, so they don’t hear him. Of course they don’t hear him.

Do we call the cops now, baby?

Cops is Orange. Take this as you will.

Ah, the memory everybody knows About the brand new home

There’s no distress in this line. Everyone is fine about the idea of Logan leaving to go into a new ‘home.’ He wasn’t important, so why would they worry? Thomas clearly didn’t seem to worry as he ran out of the house, searching for Nico. Thomas didn’t need him in the slightest.

Erase me And you'll never have to face me

Erase something off the to-do list. Erase the signature on the degree. Erase him.

Erase me Option-Command-Escape me And if you feel nothing Guess what I'll wanna be

Huh, I wonder what he wants to be :)

[soupsword]

Dream SMP - Fear/trauma response headcanons

Trigger warnings for discussions of trauma, abuse, depersonalization/dissociation

Tommy: we all know how Tommy acts when he’s scared. He gets defensive and angry and violent. It starts out just being rude, and it devolves into attacking people over the littlest things. He either does so to stop people from ever getting a chance to hurt him, or because he is so blinded by his fear and anger that he believes they deserve his anger. He’s been raised to know that if he shows weakness, it will be taken advantage of. And, with his time being vulnerable towards Dream during exile, he’s only become acutely more aware of this.

Post prison Tommy: he’s given up on most of that anger. He will tell people, straight up, that they are scaring or hurting him, without a care. He’s been shown that being angry does nothing but get him killed, and he is trying to be more submissive now, condense himself into someone people will want to kill less. We still see his anger and his violent nature, but it’s been toned down, because he has been traumatized beyond anything he has EVER experienced.

Tubbo: people don’t seem to realize, but Tubbo has a past linear to Tommy’s. He’s been taught the same lessons, he’s just got different teachers, different abusers. He will be as angry and as violent as he needs to be, he’s just quieter. He thinks about his actions and their impact more than Tommy. But, that thinking about his actions can lead to overthinking. At times, he panics, still as angry or cold as ever, but his thoughts are racing. Is he doing the right thing? Is he failing his country? His friends? His family? He pushes past these worries, though, and makes split-second decisions at times. He is also more defense geared than Tommy, preferring to present his weapons and make his intentions to fight known before he has to strike.

Ranboo: he is the freeze and the flight. Ranboo has been taught that anger and violence lead to exile and death and destruction. He tries to be passive and to care for both sides of a fight, but it often backfires. He can be angry, yes, but he usually leaps immediately to overthinking and anxiety. This often sends him into a spiral of self hatred and anxiety. He wonders, parallel to Tubbo: is this what I should be doing? Am I even doing this? Am I here? Is this me, are these my actions?

Techno: Techno is so much more careful than most. He doesn’t start with anger. In fact, he often pushes himself into depersonalization or brain-fog in an effort to become colder, to force himself to understand situations like an outside force, not himself. This can lead to him seeming like he doesn’t care. This can also lead to him spiraling into dissociation episodes, where instead of being detached, he feels completely unreal. But, if pushed, he will get angry. He’s not the good man to run away from when he goes to war. He IS the war, cold and calculated and roaring with a thousand voices. He plans his attacks on the fly and he wins.

Phil: Phil is old. He’s grieved thousands of people, his loved ones, his friends, his families. Phil is so chock full of things that would traumatize normal mortals that it almost becomes a game to him. Fly a little closer to the sun, Icarus. Let the blade fall a little slower, Angel. He’s not reckless, but he toys with the idea. He often dissociates the same as Techno, spending days in silence after something has triggered some long past trauma. But oh, if you get him angry? You’d better kill yourself before he reaches you. In the moments he gets mad, he’s like Tommy, like Techno, like Tubbo. He’s steely and cold and violent, and his reputation has been forged from blood.

Wilbur: Mania. He is everything at once - sad, fearful, cold, angry. He switches from being terrified of something to being angry at it an instant later, manipulating the people around him into doing what he wants as soon as he realizes how to change himself for them. But he also suffers horribly from depersonalization. His actions have no meaning, right? He’s not even alive! He’s not even real! It doesn’t matter. He is self destructive and violent in general, not caring for anyone it affects until his rare moments of lucidity. When that fog clears, though, and he recognizes what he’s done? He falls apart. There’s no energy left for anger or manipulation or hate. Just awful, pervasive, desperate misery and guilt.

Feel free to add on or argue with me! Just wanted to ramble a bit.

[varanest]

one thing i’ve left to do, discover me, discovering you

a/n: this is a ‘whoever you want to read it with’ piece i have posted and deleted twice but i decided i will post everything that’s on my drafts so - any feedback is appreciated. 

As soon as they were in their Uber, he was all over her. His hand slipped between her thighs, slowly working his way up. His face was buried in her neck, his tongue and teeth mapping out the column of her throat. She fisted his hair as he assaulted her neck, keeping her lips firmly together so that her moans didn’t reach the ears of their driver while she dragged his hand up to her cunt.

“Impatient little thing… can’t even wait ‘til we’re home to have my hands on that pretty cunt,” he growled into her skin as his fingers traced the damp circle soaking through her panties. The heat rose to her cheeks, though she wasn’t sure if it was from the filthy words dripping off his lips or from the way their driver’s jaw clenched in annoyance. Didn’t really matter which, though. Maia still grinded against his hand while he murmured cheesy praises into her neck.

Once inside his building, Maia barely got a chance to catch her breath. He had her caged between him and the wall during the elevator ride, letting his hands trail over her sides as he pressed his full weight into her. His thumbs reached just below the underwire of her bra when the elevator doors slid open.

She whined quietly as he pulled off her, already missing the feeling of him practically engulfing her. He was taller than her, maybe six feet tall if she were to guess. When she was pressed up against him, she almost felt small. Little. Like a fragile thing surrounded by him.

It was a foreign feeling. She had never really felt small.

And as his large hand engulfed hers as he pulled her toward his apartment, this giddy, warm feeling pooled in her stomach. Just his hand covering hers made her feel little. That feeling only grew as he tugged her into his apartment before pushing her up against his door. “Fucking finally,” he grumbled before his mouth took hers.

As greedy and hard as his lips on her neck had been, his first kiss to her lips was surprisingly gentle. And warm. His entire body was pressed hard against her, squeezing her body tight between him and the door, but his lips remained soft. And the way his tongue dipped into her mouth… she’d call it filthy if it were more urgent, but the slow pace made it feel reverent.

It was so easy to respond to him, to just shut her mind off and only think about reacting to the tongue exploring her mouth and swallowing his quiet grunts. It wasn’t until minutes later when he pulled away and they were both breathless that she realized how urgent it had become. His hand was now fisting her hair, her hands were gripping his collar, and the two of them were gasping for air.

“Bedroom.” She meant for it to come out like a command. After all, Maia was a little bossy in all aspects of her life, but especially when it came to getting laid. But her voice sounded smaller than it usually does, a little breathless and pleading. And it wasn’t without an effect on him, whose lips smirked and eyes darkened as he took a step back. She almost whined at the loss of contact, but he kept both his hands on her as he walked her toward his bedroom.

This time, he had her up a dresser. He flicked the lights on before slamming his lips back onto her neck, this time on the other side… perhaps his way of making sure there was an even distribution of his marks when Maia woke up in the morning.

She tried to get back into it, but she was itching to turn the light back off. Its presence transformed her excitement into fear. Fear of him seeing her naked. Fear that he wouldn’t like what he saw. Fear that every dimple on her thighs and roll on her stomach would repulse him.

Before her thoughts took the dark turn into a full-on body-loathing spiral, she asked, “Could we keep the lights off?”

He blinked several times, his brows furrowed as he processed her question. He was going to ask her why. They always asked why. And then Maia would try to downplay it, but he wouldn’t buy it. And next thing she knows she’s spilling all her body image problems onto a stranger instead of having sex. Fuck, she should have just kept her mouth shut and suffered through having the light on.

After a beat, his face faltered. “Yeah, okay,” he murmured before flicking it back off. Relief should have washed over her once the lights were out. No longer did she have to fear him seeing her naked in a well-lit room. It meant that Maia could fuck him however she wanted without her anxieties about her body ruining it.

But something lurched in her chest at this visible disappointment in his eyes. As he leaned forward to kiss her, she stopped him. “Is that okay?”

“Of course, whatever you want, baby,” he shrugged it off, but Maia stopped him again when he leaned forward. “Okay, I just…”

“You just what?”

“I just wanna see you.” There was no smugness in his voice. No teasing tone that came with all his pick-up lines. No endearment or praise. Just him, with a hint of sadness in his voice, admitting that he wants to see her.

Maia bit down on her lip and stared back at him. The lamppost outside his building illuminated his face in the dark, meaning she could see the sincerity in his eyes.

So, even though her stomach lurched at the thought, she leaned over to flick the light back on, and the change in his demeanor was immediate.

“There you are,” he grinned as he pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. She tilted her head up in time for his lips to glide against hers again, and the contented moan that escaped his throat sent a chill down her body.

He kissed her like he did before, his mouth demanding her full attention. She felt her mind go blank again, only vaguely aware of him tugging off his own jacket. She kicked off her heels next, giggling a bit into his mouth when she realized just how much shorter than him this made her.

She tugged at his shirt next, whining until he helped her get it off. Maia wanted to run her fingers all over the warm, newly exposed skin, but he had other ideas. His fingers worked the zipper of her dress, and Maia felt a familiar panic set in.

Maia tucked her face into his neck, pressing kisses to distract herself from the fact that her dress was about to fall to the ground, exposing every stretch mark to him. “Baby,” he murmured right into her ear. The zipper was completely undone, meaning he was just waiting for Maia to pull her arms out of it and let it fall.

He tilted her chin up with his finger, and Maia locked eyes with him. His were warmer than they had been, not the dark, smug eyes that had watched her for most of the night. She relaxed under his gaze, letting her dress fall to the floor with an easy exhale.

His body snapped back into focus. His hands gripped her waist as he walked her back to his bed. “Fuck, look at you,” he growled right into her ear, his breath hot on her earlobe. “Gorgeous.” She was about to roll her eyes again when the back of her legs hit his mattress. She fell back onto the comforter with a thud. A giggle escaped her lips. There was no way that was hot or graceful.

When she looked up at him, his eyes were raking over her… staring at her uncovered body for the first time. God, she should have kept the lights off. His soft eyes lingered on her chest, which wasn’t surprising. One silver lining for Maia’s weight gain had been the massive breasts that came with it. But when his gaze drifted lower, her arms automatically came up to cover her stomach.

”Maia.” His voice broke on that one syllable. It was low, gravelly, and forlorn. “Will you let me look at you some more?”

She kept her eyes trained on his face as she removed her arms, and there was a small twitch at his lips, curving the corners of his mouth up. His eyes didn’t leave her body as his hands slid up and down her bare thighs. And just when she got her heart rate down again and relaxed into his touch, he whispered one quiet, earnest word that sent a shudder through her entire body.

“Beautiful.”

a/n: who did you picture this with? let me know.

 ✿masterlist.

[mochegato]

Capturing a Dream

Chapter 1 - Meeting the Team

This was it.  She was excited.  No excited wasn’t the word.  Terrified? Yeah, that was closer.  Marinette was about to step into the Young Justice base for the first time and meet her new teammates.  What if they don’t like her?  What if they don’t let her join the team?  What if they let her join the team but they exclude her?  What if they get mad at her because she won’t expose her identity and they think she doesn’t trust them?  What if she messes up and she ends up getting someone killed?  What if she gets one of her teammates killed? What if she gets someone else killed? What if… No!  

She wasn’t going to do that.  She wasn’t the same 14 year old girl who spiraled into anxiety-induced, worst-case-scenario, death spirals.  She was 17 now.  She was in her final year of school before college, nearly an adult, legally, she was an adult.  She was the Guardian.  She was a hero.  She was already in a prestigious internship with one of the biggest names in fashion.  She was working with the Justice League, well Young Justice, but that was better because there wasn’t as much of a time commitment, which was really good because she didn’t have much to spare… where was she going with this? Right!  She was smart.  She was competent.  She was confident(ish).  She was… standing outside the zeta tube opening staring at it like an idiot, and she was going to be late.  

She took a deep breath and ran her free hand over the costume she wasn’t quite used to yet, trying to find comfort in the feeling and focus her mind.  She could do this.  She may no longer be able to be Ladybug for secrecy reasons, but Ladybug wasn’t her only option.  She was Chimera now and Chimera was not linked back to the miraculous.  So this new and completely un-miraculous affiliated hero definitely wasn’t unifying the fox and horse miraculous.  Chimera was a separate and unmiraculous hero.  She was a new heroic entity; a powerful amalgamation of divergent parts; an illusion, who uses illusions; a dream that can never be captured.   Chimera was just another magical hero working in the background.

Gone was the flashy, bright suit of a central hero.  She was a shadow now and her suit reflected her new role.  The base of the suit was a brown so dark, it almost looked black.  Her knee-high boots and gloves that reached to midway up her bicep were both black, meeting with the brown core of the suit with a strip of deep orange.  Her mask was the same dark brown color with deep orange at the corners.    She no longer had her yoyo, but in its place was a rope that responded to her like her yoyo did.  Her flute across her back completed her weaponry.

She was still a hero, just not a miraculous one, as far as anyone else knew. She was still protecting people for now, she just wasn’t on the front lines anymore.  She was still protecting the miraculous and would for the rest of her life.  And she was still… standing outside the Zeta tube opening, staring.

She closed her eyes, and walked through the portal.  Before she let out her breath, she could feel a difference in the air around her.  She heard a digital voice say “Recognize Chimera B12.”  She opened one eye tentatively and jumped back with a quiet squeak when she saw Batman standing on the other side giving her an amused smile next to Black Canary and a red figure.  

Black Canary stepped forward, “Welcome to Mount Justice, Chimera.  You’ve already met Batman.  This is Red Tornado.  He supervises the cave here.” Chimera nodded to him but before she could say anything Black Canary continued speaking.  “We are very excited to have you here.  While you are training and on missions, this will be your home.  I know you have an apartment near your internship, but if you ever want to get away, you are always welcome to stay here whenever and however long you want to.” Her voice was warm and welcoming.  She leaned over and lowered her voice, “lead lined walls and no bugs or cameras allowed in the personal rooms in case you want to drop your transformation while you are here.”  She gave her a nod and started walking, motioning to Chimera to follow her.

“As discussed before, your team knows nothing about you.  What you choose to disclose is your decision.  Only Batman and I know anything more.  The team is used to people hiding their identities so there is no pressure to give your personal identity.  I mean, there might be teasing, but you are under absolutely no obligation to divulge and they will respect that.  Especially since Robin is under the same requirement.”  

They entered into a small sitting area that appeared to be their common room. The first thing she noticed was a kitchen that was almost as nice as her parents’ kitchen in the bakery and significantly bigger.  She let out a quiet “Wow” without even noticing she had done it.  She would have to try that out as soon as she was able to get back to it.

“Pretty nice, huh?” She heard from behind her.  She whirled around and finally noticed the other half of the room were a few couches and chairs were clustered in front of a television.  More significantly, there was a red headed boy talking to her, standing in front of four other teens.  They were looking at her with uncertainty and a slight bit of curiosity except the red headed boy who looked excited to meet her, and the larger black haired boy who looked a bit hostile.

“Uh, yeah.  It’s… um, a really nice kitchen.  It looks… really professional.”  She stammered, trying to keep the nerves out of her voice.

The red head smiled brightly at her.  “Only the best for the Justice League.”

“Alright team, it’s nice to see your smiling faces.” Black Canary started with more than a hint of sarcasm.  “I would like to introduce you to your new team member.  This is Chimera.”  Chimera gave an awkward wave to the Young Justice members.  “She was recruited by the Justice League.  Her identity is secret and will stay that way, am I clear?” She stared at each of the team members one at a time.  “Good. She is here under an outside deal so she may not always be available for missions, but she will be here whenever she can be.”

The red head raised his hand. “Wally, you don’t have to raise your hand.” Batman said tiredly.

“What is the outside deal?  What does that even mean?”

“It means something else brought her to our vicinity and she is only available to us because of that.  The details of the deal are not important.  Only that she is a hero on your team and every bit as dedicated to the team as the rest of you.”

“How is she as dedicated if she can’t commit to being here?” Artemis snarked quietly to Superboy.

“We all have outside lives that demand our attention.  There are times I can’t go out with the Justice League.  One of the others cover for me.  Are you suggesting I am not committed to the Justice League?” Batman stared harshly at her.

“No, sir.” Artemis shrunk back.

“I’m sorry, I have school and… other obligations, but I promise I will give you as much time and attention as I can spare without going insane.  Learned that the hard way.” She looked down as she muttered the last part under her breath.  She quickly looked back up hoping nobody heard her.  Everyone seemed to have the same expressions on their faces except Superboy who was giving her a quizzical look.  “I am committed to the team.  I want to be here, I promise.  Um… here, I brought macarons!”  She said with forced cheeriness, attempting to placate their suspicions and hostility. She opened the lid to the box of macarons she had brought with her.

Chimera’s hair blew back as Wally rushed forward.  He had already grabbed three macarons before she even saw him move. “These are delicious!  Where did you get them?”

“Thank you.  I made them. I like to bake.”  She smiled broadly at him.

Wally stared at her with his jaw open, the macaron close to falling out of his mouth. “Marry me.” He said dreamily.

Chimera giggled at him.  “How about I use the only-the-best kitchen to make something else for you a bit later instead?”

Wally gave her a bright grin.  “That will work.”  He looked at the rest of the macarons longingly then back at his teammates.  “Uh…. These are absolutely terrible and you shouldn’t have to be subjected to them.  I’ll just finish these off so you don’t have to.”  He reached back toward the box but Chimera closed the lid and raised an amused brow at him.

“Move over,” Robin pushed Wally to the side.  “Thank you Chimera.  That was sweet of you.”  He took a bite and looked back up at her with a smile.  “Hey, Wally was right.  These are delicious.  Artemis, Kaldur, Superboy, get over here and try these.”

Kaldur and Artemis came over, Artemis shoving Wally again for no apparent reason. Superboy stayed where he had been and continued to eye her suspiciously.  Wally looked at them with a pout.  “Hey!  Leave some for me.”

“You’ve already had a bunch.  The rest of us get some too.” Artemis rolled her eyes.

“Hey, I have a fast metabolism.  I need to eat.” Wally whined.

“Thank you… I’m sorry, I didn’t get any of your names.” Chimera said apologetically.

“Tall, blonde, and hostile is Artemis.  Tall, blonde, and aloof is Kaldur.  Tall, dark, and broody back there is Superboy.  You already met Wally, aka Kid Flash.  And I’m Robin.”  Robin gave her a charming smile and shook her hand.

She gave them all a brilliant smile.  “It is nice to meet you all.  I’m really excited to work with you.”  Wally smiled broadly at her and gave a lovesick sigh.  Artemis groaned and turned away.

Kaldur moved forward and extended his hand to her, “Welcome to the team.”

She shook his hand and gave him a warm smile.  “Thank you.”

“Okay, now that everyone has introduced themselves, let’s get to the training area.  I’m interested to see how Chimera’s powers work with the rest of yours.”  Black Canary announced.

“The training area is just this way,” Robin said with a suave smile, sweeping his arm out toward the direction they were supposed to move.

“Thanks,” Chimera smiled anxiously at him.

Wally came up on the other side of her and bumped his shoulder gently into hers.  “Don’t worry, we’ll take it easy on you.” He said with a wink.

Chimera looked at him blank faced for a few seconds before throwing him a sassy grin.  “It’s not me I’m worried about, speedy.”

“Oh no, Speedy was someone else.” Artemis threw in, moving past the group.

“You’re kidding.” Chimera stared at her.

“Nope.” Artemis responded popping the p.  “A whole different hero.  Not even fast either.  Makes no sense.”

“Good to know.” Chimera nodded absentmindedly.

“Oh, she can never meet Speedy.” Wally looked at the other heroes with wide eyes.

“Is he that bad?” Chimera asked, concern seeping into her eyes.

Artemis turned back to her and grinned wickedly, “No, he’s afraid you’ll start dating him.”

“Ahh.  I don’t date teammates so, don’t worry.”  Chimera reassured Wally with a clap on his back.  Artemis barely contained the chuckles that were fighting to spill out.

Wally gave her a distressed look, “But, teammates are great.  They are supportive and understand you… They’re… They’re the ideal dating material.”

“You make some interesting points.” She nodded as though contemplating his words.  “Luckily, you have very pretty and interesting teammates, four at least from what I can see.  So you have a wealth of dating material at your disposal.”  Chimera gave him a wink and walked ahead of him.  Artemis cackled loudly and threw her arm over Chimera’s shoulders, walking along with her.  “I think I’m going to like having you here.”

Chimera smiled at her.  “Good.  I hope so.”

Black Canary gave them a serious look and stood in the middle of the sparring area as the team lined up around the edges.  “Let’s get started.  This is an exhibition sparring match.  We want to see what you can do and what your teammates can do and see how you can mesh.”

“You don’t know what she can do?” Kaldur asked.

“I know. It’s you I’m concerned about.  You’re going to be working with her and leading her. You need to know what she can do. So, Chimera?  Go full force.  We want to know what to plan for in the field.”  Black Canary commanded.

Chimera looked at her unsure.  “Full force?  Are you sure? I don’t want to… That can be really dangerous.”

Black Canary nodded in understanding.  “I get that, but I assure you it will be fine.  We just need to see where you are in your skills, so we need you to give it your all.”

Chimera eyes got even bigger, “I’m not going to kill someone to prove a point.  I can do a demonstration instead.”

The rest of the team looked at her insulted.  Robin finally spoke up to scoff at her.  “We can take it.  We’ve dealt with worse.  Don’t worry.”

Ladybug looked back at him with wide eyes.  “It isn’t… I don’t think I’m a better fighter than you.  I’m positive you all have better training than I do, especially since I don’t have any, it’s just… I’ve brought down the Eiffel Tower with one hit before.  Thank god for miraculous ladybugs.  But you all look a bit more…” she struggled for an appropriate word to finish her thought, “…vulnerable.  I really don’t want to hurt any of you.”  She shot him a pleading look.

Superboy stepped forward with a determined look on his face. “Then try me.  I’m less…” he paused as if thinking, “what was that word you used… Vulnerable.”

She looked at him uncertain then looked over to Black Canary, taking note of her stern expression.  She nodded and stepped onto the mat.  “I’ll make it work.” Chimera offered uncertainly.

They faced each other for a few moments before settling into a fighting stance.  When she was ready, Chimera nodded to Superboy.  He rushed at her and extended his arm at the last second to deliver a haymaker punch.  Chimera bent backwards and twirled in a semi-circle so she was standing behind him and kicked him in the butt, sending him sprawling on the floor.  He got up and glared at her.  He rushed her again, this time aiming for her waist so she couldn’t duck under him.  She stared at him coming at her like a deer in headlights.  Superboy got a smug glint in his eye as he closed in on her.  At the last second, Chimera jumped up and rolled down his back, landing on her feet behind him, the wide eyed expression long gone.

“We need you to try, Chimera.  We need you to actually fight, not just dodge.”  Batman stated sternly.

Chimera looked over to him to nod at the instruction. The momentary distraction was enough for Superboy to land a hard hit to her stomach.  The force of the impact sent her flying across the mat.  The team winced and groaned in sympathy as she hit a wall with a hard thump.  Superboy moved over to her to check on her but stopped half way to her.   Chimera stood up and cocked her head to the side, examining Superboy.  She raised her brow and asked calmly, “So… super strength.  Invulnerability?”

He nodded at her.  “Okay then.”  She smirked at him, walking back to the central area of the room.  “Let’s do this.”  He smiled slightly and nodded.  She immediately launched herself at him, catching him by surprise.  She punched him hard enough to send him across the room in the opposite direction.  He slid toward the wall but was able to regain enough control to use the wall as a springboard to launch himself back at her.  She saw him coming and twisted at the last second, using his momentum against him to push him off balance.  He recovered quicker than she expected and swept her legs out from under her. She used her momentum to turn the fall into a flip, leading to a series of flips and twists taking her away from him, giving her some space to think.

They circled around each other trying to plan their next move.  Suddenly Chimera stopped and looked like she just realized something.  “Oh I forgot.  I’m supposed to be showing my skills…” she started innocently.  Superboy took advantage of her apparent distraction to jump at her again but that was the moment she had been waiting for.  “Voyage” she whispered and created a portal behind her. She stepped out of the way at the last possible second, sending Superboy through the portal at full speed.  The portal ended close to the rock wall on the other side of the room.  Superboy almost slammed into the wall with his full force but she had left him enough room to bounce back off the wall and launch himself back through the portal and back in front of her, throwing a punch toward her sternum that she was just barely able to twist away from, rolling along his arm until she was in the perfect position to elbow him in the back of his head.  He grunted and turned back toward her, circling around her again.

“Full force, Chimera,” Black Canary chastised her.

“Not going to make him bleed on purpose for a game, Ms. Canary.” Chimera responded, still focused on Superboy.  “Besides, we’re not done yet.”  She turned to Superboy, “Right?”  He nodded at her, an amused glint in his eyes.  “I haven’t even showed off all my skills yet.”

“Well, let’s see those skills you keep talking about.” Superboy taunted her.

“If you say so Superboy.” She smirked at him then frowned.  “I don’t appreciate that your actual name is the name I would have called you to taunt you.  You’re making my job harder.”

He frowned at her, the amused look that had been in his eyes dropping.  “So sorry my name is an inconvenience.  You can call me The Weapon like my makers did if you prefer.”

Chimera stood up straight, fidgeting and frowning at him.  “That’s… really?” She looked around to the other heroes.  They all nodded solemnly.

She looked back at him with softer eyes.  “What do you want to be called?” She asked in a kind tone.

“I… Superboy.”  He said stiffly, not exactly sure how to respond to the shift in atmosphere.

Chimera nodded and gave him a warm smile.  “Superboy it is.  No nicknames unless you approve of them.”

“As heartwarming as this is, you are supposed to be sparring.” Black Canary reminded them.

“Right,” Chimera said shook her head to refocus herself. “Sorry.”  She whispered “Mirage,” bringing her flute up to her lips.  As soon as the notes were heard, a dozen replicas of her appeared and began running around the circle.  Superboy tried to scan them but they all looked identical even with his infrared vision.  He stilled to listen for a heartbeat or breathing, but he couldn’t detect it in any of them.  He looked around wildly.  It was a sea of dark brown and bright orange.  He nodded to himself calculating the possibilities.  Most likely she managed to split herself.  So either they are all fully sentient or there is a central figure controlling them.  He’d have to hope for the latter.

His eyes flicked to one of the figures running at him.  The figure jumped into a flying kick.  He dodged out of the way and rolled to his feet, looking around again for the next attack. He didn’t wait long.  Another figure ducked low to sweep his feet.  He jumped over her but felt a sharp pain in his side as one of the replicas body checked him with enough force to knock him into the far wall.  

Superboy shook his head to clear it.  When he took more than a few seconds to recover, the replicas looked at him concerned.  One of them finally moved forward and asked “Are you okay to continue?”  

He stared at the replica for a few moments before nodding.  “We’re not done yet.”  All the replicas smiled at him and moved into new positions, waiting for him to indicate he was ready.  As soon as he nodded two replicas moved to attack him, one went high, one went for his legs.  He lunged for the one going high, jumping over the one going for his legs.  As soon as he reached her, she disappeared.  Not meeting the resistance he had expected, the force of the lunge caused him to lay out flat on the floor.  He grunted and jumped up before any of the replicas could attack again.  

As soon as he was up he looked around with a grin. “Mirage,” he repeated.  They were all an illusion.  He just had to find the real one.  Two attacked him again.  He hit one causing it to disappear but the other one hit him with her flute, knocking him to the side.  He shook his head again and turned back to them and backed away, giving himself space. He just had to find the one. There had to be an indication of which one was the real one.  He couldn’t use his infrared vision or hearing.  Maybe there was something about them.  He stared at them as they circled around each other.  There!  There was one with a different shade of orange, the shade Chimera had before the match. All the replicas had bright orange but the real Chimera had deep orange accents.  

He kept his eyes moving so she wouldn’t know he’d made her.  He moved forward toward one of the replicas moving to punch her.  Chimera attacked from the side again, coming at him before he could touch the replica and make it disappear.  He grinned to himself.  At the last second, he changed his trajectory and sent another haymaker toward her.  He jerked back in pain as the replica he had been moving toward originally made contact, knocking the air out of his lungs. He grunted in anger and confusion as a rope was tied around him, pinning down his arms.  His legs were swept out from under him causing him to land hard. He trashed with all his strength as he felt her tying his legs too.  He kept thrashing against the rope, but no matter how hard he pushed and pulled, the rope showed no indication of weakening.  

After a few moments of him pointlessly struggling, Black Canary walked over and declared Chimera the winner.  She smiled excitedly at Chimera.  “Now we know what we’re working with and we can plan how to incorporate your skills into missions and approaches to your training.”

Chimera nodded in understanding and looked over to the team who were still watching her in various degrees of surprise.  Kaldur nodded in approval.  Wally and Artemis stared at her in shock.  Robin was pointing and laughing at Superboy.  Chimera glowered at him and turned back to Superboy, releasing the rope so he could get up.  

As soon as he was freed, Superboy jumped up and rubbed his arms, glaring at the floor.  Chimera smiled nervously in his direction, but he refused to look at her and had turned his body away from her.  She sighed and looked down too, shifting nervously.  After a few moments, she started gathering up the rope to tie it back around her waist.  She furrowed her brows at the sound of Robin still laughing, which seemed to upset Superboy even more.  She narrowed her eyes at him and whipped the rope out in his direction.  It snapped a few inches away from his face with a crack so loud it reverberated throughout the cave.  Robin jumped away awkwardly and fell backwards, landing on his butt.

Superboy looked from Robin to her.  He let out a small laugh and gave her a smile. Chimera took it as a good sign and smiled back at him.  “That was a lot of fun.  You are really good at picking up on details, otherwise that color trick wouldn’t have worked.” Her voice was soft, like she was addressing a scared child.

He nodded at her and quietly said, “Thanks. It was fun.”

“Does that mean we can do it again sometime?  I need practice sparring and I’m usually afraid I’ll hurt someone when I’m in the suit and when I’m not, it isn’t as effective. I mean, helpful still, but not as effective.”  He stared at her for a few seconds but finally nodded at her.

“That was a pretty good introduction but it’s getting late now.  I think it’s time to call it a night.  Red Tornado, can you take Chimera to the room she will be using so she can recharge?” Black Canary asked.

When Chimera returned a few minutes later, the group smiled at her and gave their goodbyes.  They made plans for everyone to return the next day for more training.  One by one, they all left through the Zeta tubes except for Superboy.  Chimera looked at him confused.  “Are you not leaving too?”

“No.” He stated coldly.

“Why not?  I mean… if you don’t mind me asking.” She stammered out.

“Because I live here.” He grumbled back at her.

“Alone?” She gasped.

“With Red Tornado.” He corrected defiantly.

“But no other… people? In this big, empty, cold place?” She looked out over the cave, the empty, cold, inhospitable place he was going to call home.

“I like being alone.”  He stated in an annoyed voice.

Something that looked like anger flashed across her face transforming into a determined look before she smoothed it out and gave him a cheeky grin.  “That’s a shame.”  

He narrowed his eyes looking at her suspiciously, “Why is that?”

“I’m moving in.”  Her smile grew bigger.

He furrowed his brow and frowned, “What?”

“I’m moving in.  I have school and, uh… stuff during the day, but I’ll be here in the mornings and at night, most weekends.” She nodded at him.  “It will be like a sleepover every night… except we’ll be sleeping in separate rooms.”

He stared at her for a few seconds, unsure how to react. “Whatever,” he grunted walking back toward the residence area.  “Dinner is usually in like 30 minutes.” He called over his shoulder.  She smiled in his direction.  It wasn’t a warm welcome but it was better than nothing.  

“Are you sure about this?  It isn’t required for you to live here.  Most of the members don’t.” Black Canary reassured her.

“That’s why I’m doing it.  I’ve already had one teammate who had to live essentially alone and isolated in a big, empty space.  He hated it.  It messes with your self-worth and your ability to interact with other people, no matter how badly you want to.  It scrapes away at your humanity.  I couldn’t really do anything for his living situation, but I can do something for Superboy.”

“It will make keeping your identity more difficult.” Batman warned her softly.

“I know, but he’s my teammate.  I won’t abandon him.  And I need a friend here too.  I’ll be all alone otherwise, so… it will be mutually beneficial… I hope.”  She added tentatively.

Batman and Black Canary shared an approving look with each other and turned back to her.  “Okay.  Let us or Red Tornado know if you need anything.  We really think you are going to fit in amazingly with this team.”

Chimera smiled at them and shifted slightly to look out over the rest of the cave.  “I think so, too.”

Chapter 2

[kakashiswilloffire]

Orange Sherbet

ao3 link

tw: suicide attempt, overdose, painkillers, mentions of self harm

words: 3.5k

He was a drain on Gai.

His students didn’t need him—they’d surpass him soon enough.

There were still villagers who called him Friend-Killer Kakashi.

He still saw faces every time he laid down to sleep.

He felt Rin’s blood splash onto his chest every time he used the Chidori.

He couldn’t help Itachi.

He couldn’t help anyone.

Sometimes he understood what must’ve gone through his father’s head.

Sometimes, the corner store doesn’t have orange sherbet.

Kakashi is suicidal and we hope Gai can help.

If there was orange sherbet at the convenience store on the way home, he’d stay alive. They always had pints of ice creams and other frozen treats—it was something he had promised to treat himself to when he felt this way. They had made him write down all these promises during his last few mental health sessions with various Yamanakas, listing three people he could talk to when he felt lonely, three distractions he could use to keep himself sane for a few minutes longer, three reasons to stay alive. When he felt like he couldn’t stand to live another day, he had to summon Pakkun, read Icha Icha, and eat something special and different. Pakkun was still recovering from their last rough battle together. He had read each volume of Icha Icha so many times they risked falling apart upon his next touch. So orange sherbet it was.

He’d never cared much for sweets, of course. But there was something nostalgic about orange sherbet, it wasn’t quite as punch-in-the-face sugary as ice cream, but still gave a slight buzz and coated his tongue. In the back of his mind, he remembered his father—or was it Minato?—buying a pint for each of them and snagging two disposable spoons so they could enjoy them as they walked back from the training grounds. Or was it three pints with Rin and Obito after difficult missions? Something Gai or Tenzou insisted on buying for his birthday one year? Everything blurred in his mind, unable to clearly break each memory apart to see it again.

He pushed open the door, hearing the dull chime of bells as it swung forward to let him into the packed corner shop. He made his way to the freezer without taking in any of the other colors, sights, or smells around him. He remembered his goal. One pint of orange sherbet. Buy one, eat it, and try life again tomorrow.

The freezer door was coated in a light fog, but he was in no hurry to see through it. It was just him and the shopkeep cashing out an older civilian woman. He skimmed his eyes across the rows, looking for the familiar orange carton.

Where was it?

He tried again, looking more carefully at each row, all the way across, then moving down to the next systematically. His heart rate jumped roughly 15 more beats per minute.

They always have it.

He opened the door, searching furiously with his eyes now that there was no frost in his way. He knelt to the ground, checking the bottom rows thoroughly.

It has to be here.

He glanced at the shopkeep, bagging the woman’s groceries as she talked animatedly about something he didn’t care enough to make out. He slid his headband up a couple of inches, barely exposing the crimson eye hidden beneath. With as much chakra as he dared use given his current state, he searched the frozen rack again.

Every flavor of ice cream he could think of, and a least a dozen more he would never consider. And toward the bottom, there was lime, lemon, and raspberry,

No orange sherbet.

He wasn’t sure how long he remained squatted down with the freezer door open, focused on the empty slot where it should be. The shopkeep, now with no other customers, cleared his throat loudly and gestured for Kakashi to shut the door. He blinked twice, then rose, hearing the door seal as he returned to his feet.

“Anything I can help you with?”

Kakashi blinked, again. There was all this noise roaring in his head, and he felt flushed. After a beat too long, he understood what had been asked and shook his head.

“No, ah… Thank you.”

He nodded and quickly ducked out of the store.

That was it. He had to write down three reasons. Reason one was currently out of commission because of him. Reason two had been violently abused so that he had something to do with his hands when he was so full of fire and anxiety that if he wasn’t holding something he’d— well, whatever came easiest or first. Digging his nails into his arms, forming tiny red divots. Scratching until the skin was raw and angry. Slamming fists into his thighs. Step one was always untying his kunai pouch and letting it fall. He’d learned that early on.

Reason number three to stay alive, and the agreement he’d made with himself today, was the convenience of dropping by the store for a small treat. Without that, he wasn’t sure how to proceed.

Walking back to his apartment, he thought about the previous weeks. Those promises had all begun the same way, but ended in a different direction. The format was simple: if blank, then I won’t kill myself today. He used to use a similar format: I can’t kill myself until blank. The problem with that was dreaming far enough ahead to find a goal worth the pain, effort, and time, and also, what to do when the goal was met. You can’t kill yourself until you make chunin. You can’t kill yourself until you complete an A rank mission. You can’t kill yourself until you make jonin. You can’t kill yourself until… what? Until I come back from a mission with no casualties? Until I can become close to someone without them dying in front of me? It spiraled too quickly to come back from.

The simpler way to go about it was short-term goals. Can’t kill yourself till after dinner. Then you’ve gotta brush your teeth. Then read a chapter of a book, or two. Then you’re tired, and you can sleep until the alarm wakes you far earlier than the sun would, and you live until you feel like you can’t again. But even that had its downfalls—if you can’t be bothered to brush your teeth tonight, you’ve gotta find something to keep going.

It had been Gai who suggested rephrasing the prompt to its latest version. On a day I challenge you, Rival, you can’t end the passion of youth! The challenges had been almost daily for a couple of months after that, until Gai had left for an extended mission and Kakashi had been thoroughly encouraged to stay a similar amount of time in the Yamanaka’s care. He’d begrudgingly admitted later that both of those developments had helped, and it had been a few years since his last bout with depression like this.

But it had been like this for a few months now, and the clouds fuzzing over his mind didn’t seem to be letting up. So he revisited some old advice. If it doesn’t rain on the way home, he’d stay alive. The sky remained cloudless. If Naruto pulled something stupid during training, he’d stay alive. It only took fifteen minutes before Sakura started yelling at him. If there was orange sherbet in the corner store—But there wasn’t.

Somehow, he made it inside his apartment, not quite recalling the rest of the walk through the dull ache behind his eyes. He slipped his unzipped vest off his shoulders, not noticing it hit the floor. Routine dictated that next was the kunai pouch, then the bandages, then—

He was sitting on the floor and wasn’t sure how he got there. Sitting was a generous term, he supposed, as his legs were fully outstretched and he was propped on one forearm with his head against the wall. His eyes slowly screwed tight as the dull ache sharpened briefly, then the static between his ears picked up in volume. He shook his head, trying to clear it, and gradually got back to his feet, stumbling into the living room.

He slumped across the couch, staring at the ceiling. He remembered the routine, drilling itself into his head. His vest was off, he needed to remove the kunai pouch, then the bandages, then the shoes, and put all of that away before removing the rest of his clothing to take a shower. After that was dinner, then two hours of free time to fill with whatever he was capable of, then bed. Lately the free time had been compromised of staring at the pile of clean laundry on the chair opposite him that had needed to be put away since Wednesday. He knew the routine. He decided to get a jump start on free time anyway.

He began counting all of the socks he could see sticking out of the collection of clothes. Organization and listing had always helped situate his mind and get him back on track. After ten or so minutes, he was finally able to unstrap the kunai pouch, tossing it across the room, taking care to not pay attention where it landed. There had been a week where Kakashi didn’t even carry the bag because Gai had taken it and every sharp object he could find in the apartment under the pretense of helping him hone his taijutsu by not relying on weapons. He had been content to let Gai keep the explanation at that. That might be something to revisit soon.

No. Gai had already done more than enough for him.

Kakashi found himself standing in his small bathroom. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed since he’d been in the living room, but he was now free of his bandages and shoes. He shrugged, reaching behind his head to untie his headband. Somehow, it had gotten knotted worse than usual and a section of his hair was caught in it. He yanked viciously at it, breathing in through gritted teeth at the sting then feeling himself relax ever so slightly. Forgoing undoing the knot, he slid it along the trapped segment of hair until the headband came free. That made it on to the counter. That never saw the floor, unlike every other part of his wardrobe had

.Next to the headband on the counter was a scattered collection of varying sizes of orange plastic bottles with thick white caps. The clinical labels all had his name, and the names of various antidepressants and antianxiety medications, as well as several painkillers and muscle relaxants and some antibiotic from the mission a couple years back where everyone returned miserably ill. Most of the bottles were empty, and he had held on to them meaning to get them refilled. He always had good intentions, but there was so many things to do in a day, and he ran out of energy usually three or four items into his list.

The one thing he could always count of having around, though, was some kind of pain relief.

Missions were hard, somehow harder now than ever with him as a jonin leader. He still had teammates, but they relied fully on him to take the brunt of every attack and to protect them at all costs. He couldn’t blame them, of course. They were children. He wanted nothing more than for them to be children and not suffer the same losses he had.

Still, he was sure to return from every mission above a D rank with at least a few nasty bruises. And any time Gai could rope him into a training session, he knew he’d come home needing ice packs and the heating pad and whatever else he could get to be able to train with his team the next morning.

And that was how he found himself glaring into the mirror, the bottle of white tablets shaking in his fist.

He was certainly in pain, that couldn’t be argued.

But how many to take?

No orange sherbet.

He shook his head vigorously again, walking back into the living room and falling onto the couch. He focused on a mark on the ceiling, breathing faster than he understood why while his vision started swimming.

There wasn’t orange sherbet.

He was a drain on Gai.

His students didn’t need him—they’d surpass him soon enough.

There were still villagers who called him Friend-Killer Kakashi,

He still saw faces every time he laid down to sleep.

He felt Rin’s blood splash onto his chest every time he used the Chidori,

Sometimes he understood what must’ve gone through his father’s head.

He couldn’t help Itachi

He couldn’t help anyone,

Sometimes, the corner store doesn’t have orange sherbet.

Sometimes, the little orange bottle that rattles doesn’t rattle any more.

He was in the kitchen, water dripping off his face and hands as he panted over the sink. How did he get here? He swallowed hard, his mouth somehow still dry, and turned the water off. The prescription bottle was laying on the floor. Then so was he. Against the cold tile, he was able to relax just a bit again.

It’d be over soon. He wouldn’t hurt anyone else ever again.

His thoughts became harder to string along, but that didn’t bother him. The thoughts he could connect didn’t sting as much as they usually did. It might be nice to put away that laundry, actually.

Every muscle was heavy. There was so much weight on him, and he couldn’t move. How much time had passed? He thought his heart was starting to race, and wondered if he was having second thoughts. But he couldn’t feel the ground beneath him any longer. He struggled for hours, days, to move his index finger to trace the hem of his shirt over and over. Could he feel it? Was he moving?

He rolled to his side, slowly bringing his knees up to prepare to stand. But his body didn’t move. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed. He couldn’t? His… It was his body. But? Was he? Could move? …Him?

Several centuries had passed before he heard the key in the door, and the door had already been sealed shut before he understood what the noise was.

“Ka-KASHI! In celebration of your return home from your latest mission, I made sure to grab a treat. Do you remember when you left the ANBU and we went to the corner store together? What a celebration to end all celebrations that day was! I was sure to grab the finest, most youthful of every snack—orange sherbet!”

***

Gai held the thin plastic bag up triumphantly, two pints rolling against each other. Normally he would have also grabbed spoons, but assuming Kakashi would be home, he was sure he could find two spoons somewhere in the apartment, even if he had to wash every dish himself.

It hadn’t gone unnoticed to him that Kakashi was on a downswing lately, but he’d always been the counter to balance his own exuberance, and he had complete confidence that they would move past this, too.

He nudged the flak vest that was crumpled on the ground at his feet. Kakashi must’ve been itching to take it off to have removed it the second he got inside. But why wouldn’t he have hung it up, or placed it at least near the hamper? This wasn’t part of the routine. Had he been badly injured on this last mission?

That must be it. He would have come home, shed his clothing, and jumped in the shower to clean his wounds and begin loosening his muscles. Much to Gai’s dismay, Kakashi seemed to be magnetically repelled from hospitals, preferring to treat his wounds himself as long as he could walk. So he must have some sort of torso injury, maybe bruised ribs or a minor stab wound, and he was surely tending to it quietly deeper inside the apartment.

The laundry he had helped Kakashi wash last week was still in the soft, cushioned chair in the dim living room. That wasn’t too surprising, he knew that was the first thing Kakashi would let fall by the wayside if something wasn’t going to get done. As long as the clothes were clean, he could wear them, even if they hadn’t been neatly hung, and that was something Gai could live with.

What he did not appreciate the sight of, however, was the kunai pouch halfway under the end table near the entry way. With such an inconvenient location, Kakashi surely must have made an effort to lose the bag and the knives it contained. He felt his heart swell with pride that Kakashi had the forethought to disregard the bag, but his heart deflated just as quickly with the knowledge that Kakashi felt it necessary to do so.

As he continued into the apartment, he called out his rival’s name once or twice. He must be home. The barrier seals hadn’t been placed over the front door, which means he either was here, or kidnapped from here, and the building still existed, so he must not have been kidnapped. So where was he?

Conscious of the rapidly melting sherbet in his hand, he turned down the hallway to the kitchen to leave the bad in the freezer while he helped Kakashi, presumably in the bedroom, bandage his wounds.

As he rounded the corner, flipping on the lights as he went, he heard a small groan. Nothing at eye level. Cautiously stepping forward, his foot sent a small orange plastic bottle skittering across the tiles.

Gai was barely aware of the sherbet hitting the ground.

Kakashi looked terrible. It was not particularly strange to find him lying on the ground, but there was absolutely no color in his face. Both of his eyes were lazily opened, and neither focused on Gai’s as he kneeled down to check his vitals. His breathing was shallow and his heart rate garbage.

“What did you DO?”

Gai yanked Kakashi up into a sitting position, grabbing for the prescription bottle. Depending on what it said, maybe this wasn’t as bad as it seemed. Maybe he’d been poisoned. Maybe even food poisoning. But the signs of an opiate overdose matched the label printed in cruelly clinical terms and he crushed the plastic in his fist. Kakashi needed to get to a hospital, and he needed to get there immediately.

He gathered his rival in his arms, not noticing his weight nearly as much as he noticed how limp he was, making no effort to not be ragdolled around. As he stood up, he took stock again of Kakashi’s breathing—shallower than a moment ago. After a second’s hesitation, he reached for the edge of his mask and yanked it down under his chin, hoping the direct access of air to his lips and nose might help. His lips had some color in them still, and he looked away, trying to respect the privacy of the man who he would kill as soon as he was saved.

***

Some time in the next twenty-four hours, Kakashi’s eyes opened. When they did, blinded by the light and surrounded by medical whites, he was shocked to find himself actually in heaven. What brought him back to earth was Gai, unceremoniously slapping his shoulder.

“What, my dear, dear rival, were you thinking?” he said, thankfully not as loudly as he could have.

Kakashi was at a loss. There were dozens, hundreds of thoughts racing through his head, but they all seemed password-protected and he didn’t have administrative access. He could barely open his mouth, covered by a thin towel, let alone form an explanation that would have made any sense to Gai.

Instead, he surprised himself by feeling the towel suddenly go cold and cling to his skin.

Gai panicked for a moment at the sight of Kakashi’s tears, then took a deep breath and slid forward to the edge of his chair. He brushed a warm, calloused thumb across his rival’s face.

“I know you’re in pain. I do. I don’t understand it, but I believe that you’re in pain and we’re going to help you get better.” He took a shuddering breath, noting that it was thicker with emotion than he had anticipated. “I don’t know what the future is going to hold for us, but the passion of our youth, and especially of your youth, Kakashi, is not close to over. So, whatever it takes, whatever the Yamanakas advise and whatever you need, we’ll make it happen. I love you, and you’re not going anywhere.”

Kakashi’s eyes widened, and Gai became aware that he had opened his Sharingan at some point to record this moment in his memory. He swallowed, feeling his throat begin to ache.

“I love you.”

Kakashi’s tears began falling in a steady stream, and Gai remained exactly where he was, brushing soft, silver hair off of his rival’s forehead. After a moment, he leaned further forward and pressed his forehead against the space he had just cleared.

In a small, scratchy voice he had not heard from the man laying before him ever in the past, he heard a whisper that nearly broke his heart.

“I love you too.”