#you can actually hear my faint scream of agony every time I listen to How Long

[fantastic-nonsense]

so I was stupid and listened to "How Long" and now I'm having Hadestown feels again

[bitterbutblue]

in the morning, you would be gone ☆ tingyun x reader

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~ announcement of tingyun 5 star form had me so excited seriously i was liek squealing giggling kicking my feet EVERYTHING ohmy god its so insane im goingso insane rn

song: lovesick - laufey ~

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"Hey, it's Tingyun! If you're listening to this, I'm probably busy right now. Please leave me a voice message, I'll get back to it as soon as I can, promise! See you later!"

Exhaling shakily, you press the replay button and listen to the voice message again.

"Hey, it's Tingyun! If you're listening to this, I'm probably busy right now. Please leave me a voice message, I'll get back to it as soon as I can, promise! See you later!"

Your worst fear was forgetting what she sounds like. The voice that promised you a life forever together on the altar may be a voice you'll never hear again. The voice that soothed you on nights you needed her most is now just a recording on a phone, playing back the same repeated message. But it is still her voice, it's still her.

You couldn't bear to watch the day they performed the foxian funeral rituals, the idea of losing her to the vast space ahead of you was too much for you to even comprehend. How does one cope with loss? How does one move on from loving someone to the point where you don't even know where you start and where she ends? You can only sit in the corner of your bedroom, taking in pieces of her life and knowing she would never step foot in the room again. Head in your hands, gaping hole in what used to be your chest, and tears that leave a path down your cheek. It was like a statue frozen in time, the state of barely being able to function without every fibre in your being screaming in agony, begging for it to stop. You never realised how the human body was capable of making emotional pain so physical until the moment you found yourself on the ground, Yukong banging on the doors and begging you to let her in.

You spend hours curled on the floor because you can't get in the bed without smelling the scent of her shampoo lingering in the bedsheets. You can't even bring yourself to eat in the kitchen without remembering how she should be standing there with you, arms around your waist and chest pressed against your back. Chin resting on your shoulders as she mumbles sleepily, asking for you to make her favourite for breakfast.

The cards that they dealt you were unfair, there was not much you could truly do about it though. You can really only just nod along, aimlessly going on with your day and learning to live by yourself again after almost 100 years with the same person. 100 years with the same person, and now you have to relearn what it means to be yourself. Each time you hear a small sound inside your house you can't help but momentarily think that she's home, that that was her waking up from her nap or her coming home from work- only for it to be a sound from the neighbours or the cars outside.

But the worst of it all was thinking about what she had to go through or what she may be going through. When Yukong told you there was no body actually found, a part of you was hopeful- perhaps she was alive. Perhaps somewhere she was out there and you could find her again. Another part of you felt sick, because what if she was alive, but still being used? To think about what may have happened to her or what might be happening to her scares to you an extent you can't even comprehend yourself. At the end of each day, you can really only make the same prayer to Lan so that you can feel at peace about the whole situation.

If she's gone, please have her be resting in peace.

When the foxian stepped onto the Luofu, Yukong felt her heart come to a stop. Her face paled, whiter than a sheet of paper and she felt faint. The foxian looks around with a dazed look in her eyes, as if she's completely unfocused on her surroundings. When her eyes met Yukong's a brief flicker of consciousness, as if struggling to fight whatever wave had been drowning her, passes through her eyes until it is replaced by the same dazed look as before. She scans the crowd that only watches in horror as the girl who presumed missing then dead now walks towards Yukong. Dressed like a goddess, nine elegant tails flowing behind her as she mumbles in a dazed voice.

"Do I know you?"

Yukong breaks down in her room that evening.

She doesn't know how to tell you.

She didn't have to. The foxian found herself drawn to this house down the road, this door that she feels the urge to open. Instead, she stands outside, a hand placed on the wooden door, tracing each individual groove as if memorising a complex pattern. Something about this door has her frozen, only able to think about what lays behind the door. Without really thinking about her movements, the foxian knocks on the door, her heart racing for reasons she doesn't understand.

"Yukong, if you want to come in, just open the door. There's no need to-"

A hand flies to your mouth when you notice the green eyes, the brown hair, the sharp fox ears. You feel your vision grow blurry as your breathing grows shallow, stepping back and catching yourself by leaning against the wall. There stood in front of you was your wife who was presumed dead. There stood in front of you was a shadow of your wife because those eyes were so empty and hollow it scared you. You had never seen Tingyun with such soulless eyes. She always had a glint, some sort of flicker of mischief or humour. Now her eyes just stare into yours as if she has no actual consciousness, as if she's just going through the motions of the day again.

"Tingyun?"

It scares you, the way she stares. You want to walk up to her, you want to reach out and cup her cheek and ask her if she's okay and maybe share some of the pain that she's been holding in but you can't. You can only watch as she stays outside the house, not moving in. Her eyes dart around the interior of the house and you notice her nose crinkle slightly as her eyes land on a photo on the wall- a move she does when she's confused and you feel sick to your stomach.

"Baby?"

Your voice sounds too hoarse for your own liking as you step forward shakily. Her eyes slowly land back onto you, hollowly taking in your form and her nose crinkles again.

"Who are you?"

It's only three words. Three words really cannot have that big of an impact on someone, or so you think. Words drive so much of the pain that you can feel- 'I love you' and 'I'm sorry' are both such simple phrases that you hear time and time again but when spoken by a certain person at a certain time it can make you feel like warmth that's been spread inside out or it can make you feel colder than a harsh winter night.

Who are you?

It stings more than an open wound and at this point you would rather have preferred it if they had just found her body and confirmed her dead that evening because to see your lover back as nothing but a shell of herself is horrifying. To see your lover stand in front of you with her sense of self replaced with nothing but the ability to breath and speak breaks you from the inside out more than you would ever realise. She's alive, but she's nothing like who she once was. She's back, but at the same time she never truly would be.

"Why... Why did I come here?"

Her voice wavers slightly, and you take a smaller step closer to her. It's freezing outside, she's wearing nothing but a short dress and you want to pull her into the house so that maybe she can feel some of the warmth and remember at least a fraction of you. But you just stand where you were.

"Do you know me?"

It was a struggle to speak, with words clogging up in your throat and choking you from the inside. Your heart races, unable to stop yourself from trembling as you await her response. She looks at you with her eyebrows furrowed, her chest heaving slightly as if she's trying to calm herself down.

"No."

You release a shuddering breath, closing your eyes as the tears fall. You grip onto the door handle to steady yourself, because you are about to pass out any minute now.

"That's okay." You look back at her finally, after a long minute of silence. The look in her eyes has changed, a hint of sorrow hidden behind the mist of confusion and hazy memories.

"Why does it hurt?"

She sounds so confused, and you can hear the slight twinge of pain in her voice and it hurts you more than you could have ever imagined. Losing someone was hard enough, losing someone who was physically still here but would never fully be back was somehow worse.

"Why does it hurt to... see you upset?"

Your hand moves instinctively, moving to cup her cheek as a tear falls from her eyes, a tear that she hadn't even realised had fallen until she feels your thumb gently wipe it away. She leans into your touch, tilting her head slightly and your heart just crumbles into dust.

"Don't worry too much about it now, baby." You whisper softly, and she blinks. She just stares at you with this look of regret that she doesn't understand why she's feeling.

"I'm sorry."

She apologises for a reason she doesn't know yet, but she knows one thing. Seeing you cry hurt her for a reason she can't understand, and she doesn't want to see you upset either. Perhaps you are upset because of her, and perhaps she never should've come over. She just puts her hand over yours, and she can't understand why your touch feels so familiar when you are nothing but a blank face in her mind. You feel the world fading beneath your feet because you feel the cold metal against your skin, the cold metal band that still sits around her ring finger.

"You've done nothing wrong."

The silence that follows is haunting, watching as Tingyun slowly steps back.

"I'm sorry."

You can only watch as she steps back into the darkness, and you can't even call after her until she fades into the unknown behind you. You wonder if that's truly the last time you'll ever see her and a part of you hates the world for that. Your wife's last words were once 'I love you, I'll see you later', filled with love and care. Now they would be 'I'm sorry', filled with a sense of emptiness and regret, coming from someone who didn't even know your name.

The photo that hangs on the wall next to the door is her and you, hand in hand and both in white- the same metal band on her finger on yours.

Tingyun thinks of that photo every night now and she can't understand why it hurts so much.

[sinisterlyhan]

05 ; 08. chanjin / 2503 words

threesome, female!reader, roayl!chanjin, unprotected sex, oral (male and female receiving), faint size kink, bounding with ropes, creampie, overstimulation, mentioned of edging, light degradation 

cw: mentions of body image (reader is small)

a/n: nothing but hyunjin and chan on my mind after the mama performance :) so i wrote a little something to self-indulge.

hyunjin learned a few things on his trip to visit chan.

one—chan has a secret chamber in his castle, with a giant bed in the middle, with contraptions and ropes and whips hung spaciously on the stone wall.

it was intentionally unguarded, but nobody was allowed inside unless invited in by him. chan wave the guards and servants off whenever he goes inside with someone, someone who hyunjin came to learn to be you, a castle staff he only saw once in the hallway and did a double-take because your tousled hair, blushed cheeks, and urgent steps seemed suspicious.

two—he was right to be suspicious because as it turned out, chan has been fucking his castle staff in the chamber. or more specifically, he has been fucking you in the chamber.

he supposed he understand why chan needed to wave people away. he barely stumbled upon the room and he could already hear your filthy noises echoing through the haunted corners of the old castle halls. it would be awkward to have to stand by the big doors and wait until the king finishes in his woman of choice every day.

but he waltzed in anyway because he did not think chan would be upset that he, a close friend, walked in without permission. besides, he politely knocked before entering. it wasn't his fault that neither you nor chan could hear the soft sounds of his knuckles because you were screaming so loud.

three—he loves sex.

or, more specifically, he loves being in control. as much as he could be with you when chan was in the same room, at least, but he would say he has gained a few pieces of your heart ever since chan graciously invited him to join in on ruining you for the afternoon.

your hands were tied behind your back, the thick ropes wrestling around your tiny wrists while chan pressed your clenched fist against the small of your naked back.

your knees were grounded weakly against the mattress of the king-sized bed, ankles bound to the two bedposts with a long rope, legs that barely supported your weight spread open so chan could have access to your sticky cunt from behind. he thrusted into you, one arm going over your waist so you wouldn't fall onto the bed in complete exhaustion from the last three orgasms he gave you—first with a glass toy, then his tongue, and then his finger.

and now chan was riding it out. he was stretching the time thinner and thinner, edging you with every hard thrust until you began to cry in agony from having your high chased down every time.

your tears that once rolled down to the mattress began to drip down with your messy drool when hyunjin came along to lodge his thick cock in your mouth.

he has your head held up by the top of your head, his grip tight on your hair and the other rubbing along at front of your neck where he could feel the bulge of his tip whenever he pushes himself into your throat.

this felt wrong. he was reluctant at first, unsure if chan was joking, but all the clouds in his head got thrown away as soon as chan pushed your pretty mouth open and told him to do whatever he wanted. the next second, he just placed himself between the skin of your lips, and as soon as you automatically began to suck on his tip, he was gone.

come to think, he hasn't asked if you actually wanted this yet—not that has to, though, because only agreement could come out of your lips in the face of someone with more authority.

much more authority.

but still, it might have been better if he had asked whether you wanted him here. perhaps you were only comfortable with chan.

"ah, fuck! she feels so good!" hyunjin groaned out once his string of tolerance began quivering, threatening to snap with a release.

he doubled over, unconsciously pushing his hips toward your face so his cock stops at the back of your throat. his stomach touched the top of your head, his chest heaving as pleasure took over his body upon your chokes and moans around his shaft.

you could not breathe, and neither could you move, as well as think. you just felt lost, and stuffed, and unsatisfied that chan wouldn't let you cum after each time he pushed you near the edge just for good fun. the only thing keeping your sane was the fact that hyunjin was about to release over your mouth, and you could finally get a taste of something, as bitter as cum could be.

chan arched a brow from above you, watching as hyunjin threw his head back with a sweaty moan, moving in and out of your mouth to chase his high. he furrowed his brows then, his eyes casting down to your naked back and distinguishing the sound of your muffled moans. a realization hit him, and he laughed to himself—you wanted this. you wanted hyunjin's cum.

it could just be from him hitting your sweet spot, but for certain you also wanted hyunjin's essence over you, you cum slut.

"oh, hold on now," he whispered as he abruptly reached his hand out to shove hyunjin backward.

exhausted and unprepared, hyunjin slipped out of your mouth, the cold air hitting his skin, and he dropped onto the mattress with a huff of breath. his pleasure bar decreased slowly, bringing him down from his almost-orgasm, and he glared up at chan for some sort of reason behind his action.

but his eyes could not find chan. he could hear chan's sinister chuckle, but his eyes were only trained on you. your disappointed brows, your opened mouth and stuck-out tongue, your longing eyes—you moved forward, your knees rubbing against the mattress as you tried to move toward his still erect cock, glistening prettily in the air and waiting to be engulfed again.

it wasn't long before your voice came into his ears, paired with the slapping of skin and chan's occasional groan.

"cum... cum... your majesty..." you slurred out, eyes lost in red lust and body impatiently lurching forward only to be restricted by the ropes scraping against your skin. "please, your majesty... cum... your cum... i want..."

hyunjin watched you with wide eyes, his heart pounding angrily and sending blood to his arousal.

what the fuck was that—oh lord, what the fuck, were you just begging for his cum? so shamelessly? oh lord, you were so lost, you cock slut. your mind was truly fucked out. all you could think about was to be stuffed full and drowned in white filth.

that was hot. very, very hot. he has never laid with a woman like you, or maybe he just never wrecked one far enough that they begin acting as you did. he should try someday, or if chan allows it, he would continue doing it to you as he was quite fond of you now.

your hasty moans, your strangled noises, the warmth of your cheeks, the curve of your smooth back, your tears, the squelch of your wet cunt—oh, he could only imagine how your holes would feel. just think about it makes his insides burn with needs and wants.

"pl–please... i want... i want more..." you slurred between whimpers, chan hitting you just right from behind and your orgasm building again. "please let me... give me your cum... please..."

"aww, does my baby girl want to suck hyunjin's cock? hmm?" chan leaned down to your ears, whispering with malice and startling you. "it's right there for you. you can get there on your own, right? or are you that useless, you need my help to find a dick you could suck on?"

"i–i can't reach, your majesty," you replied timidly, looking at him by turning your head slightly.

you couldn't tell him he was restraining you and keeping your body up. if you did, you'd get punished for talking back, and you've already received enough of those today. you just wanted to cum again.

"hmm, but i think you can."

chan pushed you forward by the back of your neck. he hummed when your face landed on the mattress, only inches away from hyunjin's dripping length. he pulled you up by your hair then, pushing you forward and lowering your back until you came face to face with hyunjin's cock.

your tongue quickly darted out, barely swiping your tip against his vein and his tip before you pulled your knees a little closer to him, moving your head forward so you could take him in your mouth again. you moaned with an eye-roll, feeling a rush of delight upon your first suck, and all you could do was keep going.

you bobbed your head against hyunjin's length, matching with the rhythm of chan as he pounded into you from behind, quickly building your release and not stopping until he gets you to release all over him this time.

hyunjin sighed out in relief and pleasure. he closed his eyes, one arm raised above his head and the other shifted through your messy hair. he guided you along his length slowly, feeling each suction of your mouth sting his skin like a charming beat.

you kept moaning around his length, especially strongly when chan ram into you with an extra hard thrust. and he listened, storing your sweet noises in his head and envisioning the taste of your dripping cunt, the feeling of your warm hole. how sweet your essence would feel on the tip of his tongue, how perfectly your walls would wrap around him, how pretty you would be when your small frame crumbles beneath his body.

he quirked his lips, his tongue swiping across his lower lip upon the feeling of yours rubbing against him. it felt so sensational and so hot that he could feel his arousal threatening to pop again.

your high was approaching, and so was chan's. you could tell by the stuttering of his hips. he was pounding in you without care now, slipping out of your hole occasionally only to quickly shove himself back in because he couldn't stand not feeling the euphoric friction.

you clenched around him with a moan when he hit your g-spot again, and he let out a low whine. leaning down so his chest touched your back, his hand found your clit to abuse you even further, while his free hand pushed at your head so you were forced to take hyunjin's further.

you let out a surprise choke, stimulating his tip and cashing hyunjin's eyes to snap open. his legs jolted with pleasure, a loud and shameless moan pushed out of his lip as you deep-throated him.

"oh fuck, fuck, fuck!" he cursed thought gritted teeth, his hip jutting up when the feeling finally washed over him and he released in your mouth.

you stayed still, tears rolling down your suffocated face and cum splattered over your tongue. you couldn't feel off him for a while because chan still had his hand pushed against the back of your head, so you simply waited with hyunjin's dick in your mouth, yearning for a release.

the drool was rolling out your mouth, hyunjin panted as he observed the two figures before him, trying not to feel the way your lips were still around his shaft.

chan growled under his breath, his sight beginning to shake the more he pulled in and out of you. he was getting close, very close. it was when you started to clench around him because you found it extremely hard to breathe with a dick in your mouth when he sighed, his hand leaving your head to your hip where he held you still and sped into you quickly to chase his high.

you popped off hyunjin, an exhausted groan slipping off your lips, as well as some of his cum and your saliva. hyunjin furrowed his brows, feeling jittery at the sight of your opened mouth, and he reached a hand over to his length to wrap around himself. he pumped it a few times, gathering the slickness on his skin, and he sat up slowly until he could put his fingers in your mouth.

"you said you wanted my cum, so here you go," he said, his finger moving around your tongue as you moaned at the movement. "you left some on my cock, baby."

"so–sorry, your majesty," you mumbled, your voice ringing in his ears as you licked his fingers clean.

"don't be, just keep sucking my fingers," he said. "does it taste good to you, hmm?"

you tried to reply with your words, but the knot in your abdomen was about to snap, so all you could do was nod clumsily until the one sudden shove from chan that finally finished you off. you screamed, your eyes rolling skyward and your jaw hung open at the orgasm. you released around chan, giving him a tight clench around his cock and a rush of a hot liquid wave that made him curse.

"fuck, gonna fucking... fill you up real good, baby girl,” he gritted his teeth,”you're gonna take my cum, aren't you, you filthy little bitch?" 

snapping his hips into yours. with one last stroke of your wall, he pushed to bottom out in you as cum sprouted from his tip, tainting you with whiteness.

he pulled out of you then, slumping onto the bed as you did. hyunjin let his jaw hang open when you finally laid on your side, your legs trembling and cum leaking past your inner-thighs. as chan moved to unbound you from the bedpost, hynujin’s eyes glimmered at the sight of your pressed tighs, and even though he knew you were sensitive already, he just needed to learn one last thing.

you yelped when you felt your legs being spread open. your bound hands struggled uncomfortably at your back, your weight leaning against your numb arms. looking up, you found hyunjin staring back at you with hooded eyes, his tongue poked out between his teeth as he eyed your weak, tiny figure and knelt before your dripping core.

oh, he could imagine hovering over you, his big hands fully covering the parts of your body, you pretty little thing. 

you whimpered loudly, a scream mixing in between when you felt his fingers spread your hole open and his tongue licked along your slit. he scooped up the cum in your hole, taking them in his mouth before he licked you again.

you shook, your back arching off the bed as you mumbled begs and moans off your lips. it was painful, but so good, so fucking good. you wanted him to stop and keep going, you wanted to feel him suck on your clit again, you wanted his tongue inside you—you're gone, you're so gone and so pretty.

it was when you uncontrollably released on his mouth when hyunjin learned his last thing for the day.

four—holy hell, you taste good.

(and he wondered, for once: can you take more?)

[starilicious]

der lagi lekin (hunter x force-user!gn! reader + ep. 8 fix-it)

》 summary: tbb episode 8 fix-it featuring a force-user reader who used to be a jedi. reader is a part of tbb and in a relationship with hunter, but the squad–nor hunter–knows that reader is a force-user. (disclaimer: all of this was written before episode 9 was released! see a/n for an explanation ^_^) (another disclaimer: if you want just the hunter x reader comfort, please let me know and i'll finish it up and post it!)

》 word count: ~8k (yeah, it's a lot LOL)

click here to read on AO3

》 warnings: in-universe swearing, mental breakdown, some slight sensory overloads, pretty mild panic attack, light canon-typical violence, angst + some comfort, survivor's guilt from surviving order 66, no use of y/n, slightly plot heavy because i got way too carried away in writing (whoops?) [if i should add more warnings, please let me know!]

》 spoilers: major ones for tbb episode 8 "reunion"

》 a/n: okay look, i gotta confess: this wasn’t supposed to be an episode 8 fix-it. really. i’m actually glad cad bane won because we get to see that the clones don’t always win every fight... i think it makes for a better and more complex story. anyway, i started out writing just reader and hunter comfort after episode 8 ended. but i’m weak for omega because she reminds me so much of my younger siblings and i ended up writing a wholeass fix-it to save her (even tho cad bane is a downright badass). i kind of liked what i did with building up the plot so much that i might continue this story of force-user!reader with tbb. but that’s a tangent we can deal with later. if you would like a part two with the hunter x reader comfort this was originally intended to be, let me know!

as i said in the summary, i wrote all of this before episode 9 came out–just be aware of that. because it’s so long, it took me a while to edit, which is why i’m posting after ep. 9 was released. but without further ado, i hope you like it! <33

》 misc. notes:

• title of the fic is from the hindi song "der lagi lekin" from the film zindagi na milegi dobara. i linked the song in blue and linked the english translations in green in case you're curious! it's not necessary to listen or understand the song, but i thought it went well with the fic :)

“Everybody get down!” Wrecker yells. You and the squad immediately do as he instructs, diving towards the ground and covering your head. Stars, I hope this works.

The charges the six of you placed around the gigantic cone that surrounds the core cylinder explodes in a deafening blast. You curl into the tightest ball you can manage, breathing so hard that the HUD inside your helmet temporarily fogs up. Metal shards of the explosion rain down on you hard.

For a moment, it seems like nothing happened. But then you hear the telltale, ear-grinding creak of the durasteel and the squad is roughly catapulted forward from the force of the cone beginning to fall down.

You struggle to stand up as you lurch this way and that, trying to regain your balance and stabilize as Tech calls out, “Hold on!”

You quickly glance at the rest of the Bad Batch, trying to see if any of them were hurt. Other than the absolutely terrified look on Omega’s face, all is well considering the circumstances. The metal groans and begins its descent, taking your feeling of being grounded with it. The weightlessness is uncomfortably familiar to say the least, but you ignore it as the six of you scramble to hold on to the side of the cone. You certainly did your fair share of acrobatics back in the war, but feeling it hum around you...it’s too much. It’s too much. You elect to push it back into the depths of your brain. But it doesn’t leave.

It never really does.

Omega’s anxious whimpers come in faintly through your thick helmet and you whip around, frantically trying to find where she is. But before you can find her, the cone lands vertically on its head and the force is so violent that your stable hold on the durasteel is broken. Panicked, you quickly fire a grappling hook towards the ledge where you were previously hanging on. The hook catches and you stop abruptly, the jerky movement almost wrenching your arm out of its socket.

You look down to see Omega falling from someone’s grip and into Hunter’s arms. You can barely tell where anyone is thanks to the lack of light and the incessant motion.

The cone begins to topple onto its side and suddenly, your wire snaps from the tension. You let out a scream of surprise as you plummet downwards, wind rushing past your helmet. ForceIdon’twanttodieohmyMakerohno–

But you never hit the ground, instead being flung sideways as the cone tears into two. On trained instinct, you tuck yourself into a ball to try and roll in order to break your fall instead of using it. That time is long gone.

You land with a sickening thud and hiss in pain as your back hits the metal hard. You hear something crack, but whether it is your armor or something internal, you have absolutely no idea, and don’t have time to check before you black out.

✧✦✧

You jolt awake, a sound making its way into your consciousness. Finally, the damn place stopped moving. You take a few minutes to try and relieve the painful pressure in your chest, reaching up to rip your helmet off because you can’t breathe, you can’t breathe.

You tilt your head back as you struggle to take in air and let the adrenaline subside. You hear voices in the distance and you strain your ears to pick up on the sound as you quickly check yourself over. As far as you can tell, nothing major is broken, and at this point, that is all that matters. Though, your head is pounding, and for more reasons than one

“–nter.. port side... what… status?”

You can’t tell who is speaking, the message too far away for you to hear. But the bits and pieces are enough for you to know that it’s someone from the Bad Batch and that you weren’t unconscious for long. You stand up and dust yourself off before slowly walking to where you believe the origin of the sound is.

“–engine… got company.” A blaster sound and then an explosion rings through the quiet.

Your eyes widen and you quickly pick up the pace, getting your blaster ready as you pick your way through the sharp metal that is jutting out from the ground.

You click on your wrist comm. “Echo, you there?” A faint crackle before his voice comes through, but the signal is scratchy. You frown in frustration.

“–are you? Hunter is... port side,” Echo says and you smack your commlink to try and get the electronics to work, but it’s no use. The device is broken, most likely from the fall, you deduce.

“Meet… Marauder.”

You don’t bother to answer, knowing Echo would probably not even be able to hear what you had to say anyway. Without a signal booster or repeater, there’s no way you can get your transmission across the channel frequency.

It takes a few minutes, but you eventually find the night sky of Bracca blinking down at you at the end of the ripped off cone. You run out to find that you’re in the middle of where the cone broke in half. Okay, new plan. I need to find Hunter. Hunter will know what to do.

You scan your surroundings. The HUD isn’t picking up on any lifeforms near you, and you realize with sinking dread that you have no more options. Whichever piece you climbed through to get to your squadmates, it would take too long for you to search for them since you don’t know their coordinates and your comm isn’t working. Frankly, the Empire–Crosshair–would find you first. You have to use it.

You have to use the Force.

A wave of nausea overcomes you at the mere thought of it and you sway. In an attempt to ground yourself, you tear off your helmet to breathe some fresh air and end up keeling over as the bile rises in your throat. Nothing comes out. You can’t tell if that’s a positive or not.

You could have saved them. Someone. Anyone.

It itches at you in the back of your head, wishing to be let out of its cage. But you can’t. You can’t do it. What’s the use anyway? All you would be doing is saving yourself. The choice of surviving it all has haunted you ever since. Your head pounds in agony.

You saw it happen. You could have helped them. And you ran like a coward. Only ever concerned about yourself.

You inhale sharply as the scene flashes before your eyes, clones shooting at you and the other Jedi. The blaster fire. The confusion. The screams.

How pathetic.

The last statement, an echo of Crosshair’s words, bounces around in your brain. You clutch your head as you let out a heartbroken sob, knee deep in the dirt and metal and grief. Tears create clean tracks down your face as you finally break down, the flood of emotions bursting the dam open. At this point, you don’t know if the emotions are yours or the ones you previously felt through the Force, all of them swirling and blending into one. The bottled up anguish merged together when you attempted to cut yourself off from the Force after the clones–your friends–attacked.

The pain of their death is perhaps the worst of all. Horror courses through you as you finally process your friends and mentors dying around the galaxy, their deaths, their distress, their fear reverberating heavily throughout the Force. Each one cripples you further as you once again struggle to breathe.

It feels like light years pass when you finally calm down to a practically numb state of being. The scenes stop replaying behind your closed eyelids and the echoing shrieks die down to a faint, hollow whisper. You’re suddenly exhausted, limbs heavy and energy sapped. It was almost relieving to finally let the Force once again flow through your body, your nerves lightly tingling with potential despite how tired you feel. You collapse onto the ground and try to recenter yourself.

But despite finally acknowledging the loss, it doesn’t feel right. You didn’t get to say goodbye. You hadn’t been able to even think about them, much less honor them, too focused on going on the run to concentrate on anything beyond the next day’s survival. Even once you joined the Bad Batch, you were paranoid about their chips, about your friends turning on you at any moment. You were always extremely reluctant to engage in the Force, even at the worst of times.

With a start, you realize that you don’t need to worry about your squadmates. Their inhibitor chips are now gone. You… you are safe.

You let out a shocked laugh as it sinks in. A glimmer of hope, of peace. I’m safe.

You sit up then, criss-crossing your legs as you survey the broken landscape of Bracca. Despite the planet being a graveyard, you feel lucidly alive. Perhaps something died in you, that wretched day. But something else, slowly but surely, began growing in its place. It’s meek, but it’s there.

You let out a breath and close your eyes, reaching for the Force like it’s an old friend. It accepts your invitation with hesitation, joining hands with you as if you did not try beating it to death for days on end. You sink into the gentle lapping waves of the Force, extending into it and widening your scope.

There’s something that lurks beneath the surface, in the deep. Dark and sinister and so utterly painful. It calls to you, quiet and low. Enticing. Tempting. And something in you knows that it’s the reason for your previous life’s demise.

But you can feel Hunter’s–and Omega’s, you realize–presence near you in the Force. Even with your relatively damaged connection to the Force after Order 66, the Bad Batch’s Force auras were something you could always hone in on. You let yourself direct your focus to the duo, letting their emotions be your beacon to the acceptance of the Light side of the Force.

In a split second, you decide to not dive deeper into the Force. This isn’t the place nor the time to discover what is prowling in the endless yawning of the Force, to discover why everything happened. So you direct your concentration to the beings on the planet, feeling and breathing your way through the Life Force.

You freeze. There’s something here. No… someone. Your eyebrows furrow as you divert your attention away from your friends and other organisms to the peculiar source. Something about this person strikes you as familiar.

Your eyes snap open and you gasp. I’m not alone. A Force-sensitive. Someone survived. Giddy beyond belief, you snatch up your helmet and begin trekking your way across the wreckage in the opposite direction of Hunter and Omega before pausing. Whoever this person is doesn’t know about your presence on the planet.

And despite the fear you felt emanating off of them in the Force, you somehow knew they were safe, at least for now. And they would remain so if you have anything to say about it. Maker forbid anything that jeopardizes this person’s fragile safety. After all, you know best what it’s like to constantly flee scene after scene.

Staying away is the best thing to do. I’ll come back for you, whoever you are.

You double back and make quick work of getting across the debris as you focus your concentration on Hunter’s and Omega’s Force signatures. As you get closer to the port side, you hear Omega’s high voice. Through your HUD, you can see her small form. You grin. She disappears then, and on closer inspection, you figure she jumped through some broken cargo doors.

The entrance she and Hunter took is too high for you to jump up to, even with the aid of the Force. Combined with your wariness of probe droids, you decide to take a different route from the right side, climbing up the broken ship. The slick oil mixed with the water still present on the metal makes for a difficult trek, and you slip more times than you would like to admit.

Hunter’s gruff voice floats up towards you and you scramble the last few meters to the edge of a hole in the ceiling before pausing. The Force is itching at the back of your head. Something’s wrong.

You peek over the edge of the giant slab of durasteel that created the hole to see bodies in white armor littered everywhere–clones, you realize. Your heart pangs in sadness at the sight.

Slightly to your right, a blue figure and a techno-service droid stand in front of a ship and a frightened Omega stands behind a defensive Hunter. Your mouth drops open. Kriff.

Cad Bane.

A memory from near the beginning of the war hits you in full force. You and Anakin had taken some time on Coruscant to catch up with each other after you passed your trials and were promoted to Jedi Knight. He told you about a mission where he had to stop a bounty hunter who successfully stole a Jedi holocron. You remember how surprised you were when you heard the bitter disgust in Anakin’s voice. The ruthlessly cunning bounty hunter not only threatened to kill Ahsoka, but he murdered Master Ropal.

Judging by the looks of it, Hunter doesn’t know who he is. If the Anakin Skywalker had a difficult time with Cad Bane, there is no way in sithhell Hunter can take him on, even with his enhanced senses. Frankly, you seriously doubt you can either, especially with how rusty your Force skills are now. And that means this isn’t going to end well.

You watch carefully as you tune into the conversation.

“Ain’t you smart?” Bane smirks. “The kid’s got it all figured it out.”

“You’re in trouble now!” the droid exclaims, pointing at Hunter and Omega. You grit your teeth in annoyance.

“Who hired you?” Hunter asks. Stalling. Not a bad move, Hunter.

“Son,” Bane sighs, already done with the brief conversation. “That’s confidential information. Now hand her over.”

Omega stays behind Hunter, taking a knee as Hunter walks forward protectively. You bristle. How am I supposed to help from up here?

“She’s not going anywhere.”

Your eyes drift over the scene in a panic and you take in the fallen clones again. An idea pops into your head. It is desperate, but at this point, you don’t have much of a choice.

Bane mimics Hunter’s movement, walking forward and putting a hand near his belt. The tension is as thick as duracrete.

“That’s unfortunate… for you.”

You grab the long barrel piece from your belt, fitting it over your blaster hurriedly as the showdown begins. Out of the corner of your eye, you see them staring each other down and you can’t help but roll your eyes. Men.

During the war, Crosshair helped you re-engineer your weapon so you could put together various pieces in the field to make a blaster gun that loosely resembled his own sniper. Seeing the clones reminded you of him. A wave of sadness washes over you, but you shake your head. Now is not the time.

You screw on the telescopic sight and set up your makeshift sniper. You peer through the viewfinder and find Bane’s chest. Your finger tenses over the trigger.

You let yourself sink deep into the Force, let it guide your actions. Inhale. Exhale. I can do this. As you relax, the mellow warmth you missed so dearly washes over you, gently eroding the torment in your mind and heart, guiding your focus to the here and now. Trust in the Force.

Wait.

Wait.

Now.

You fire two bolts straight into your target the same exact moment Bane and Hunter shoot each other. Hunter’s shot hits the droid, breaking off its leg. Bane’s shot hits directly in Hunter’s chest, as yours did Bane. Both men immediately fall backwards and slam into the ground.

“My booster!” Oh. So not a leg. Got it.

“Hunter!”

Kriff kriff kriff. You jump down nimbly from your hiding spot in the ceiling and immediately sprint towards the duo. Is he dead? You would unapologetically release sithhell on Bane if he killed the man you love.

Omega panics as she tries to wake Hunter up, continuously calling his name before taking a glimpse of her surroundings. Before you can react, she grabs her bow and pulls it taut, aiming at you. She looks petrified.

“Whoa! Omega, it’s me!” you exclaim, holding your hands up in surrender. She takes a moment to actually look at you before sagging in relief. Suddenly, the droid comes speeding out of nowhere and Omega shoots, the energy bolt whizzing past your waist and straight into the droid before it can attack you from behind.

The shot rings true and the grumpy robot falls. You turn around to grab at its exposed parts under its head and yank them out to make sure it can’t power on again.

“Thanks, Omega. I owe you one,” you say and Omega gives you a proud smile.

You place a comforting hand on her shoulder before kneeling down to shake Hunter awake, but it doesn’t work. You take a moment to analyse Hunter’s Life Force. It’s a bit dimmer, but it’s constant, meaning he’s out cold and doesn’t have the life draining out of him. You let out a sigh of relief. He’s alive. You glance back to see Bane still not moving. Good.

“What’re we gonna do?” Omega whispers as you both peer down at Hunter. His armor is smoking from Bane’s blaster shot and you exhale through your teeth, trying to come up with a plan. You slip off a glove to check Hunter’s pulse–it’s strong. You don’t want to leave Omega alone, even if Bane is unconscious, but you aren’t sure you have a choice.

“Well we can’t carry him to safety, neither of us are strong enough for that,” you think aloud, gears churning in your head. You would have to wait for help, even if you were sitting ducks.

Briefly, you entertain the thought of taking Bane’s ship. The only problem is you don’t know what trackers or other gadgets are in there–it’s too costly of a risk and a price you weren’t willing to pay. You sigh, resigned.

“Omega, you try to comm the others and see if you can wake Hunter up. I’m going to go inside this guy’s ship and see if I can find something that can help us. We have to get out of here before the bounty hunter wakes up,” you instruct and Omega nods, youthful determination flooding back into her eyes.

You leave her to it, walking cautiously towards Bane’s ship. You look down at him. His armor is smoking in two places from the shots you fired. Based on what you see, he’s still unconscious, and his Life Force reflects the same conclusion. How long that would remain, you don’t know. Which means you need to work fast.

You board the ship while you remove the sniper attachments from your blaster and clip them back onto your belt. You keep your guard up as you look around. No droids. Guess that techno-service droid is his one and only.

In an effort to slowly re-familiarize yourself with the Force, you send out a quick pulse through it to see if there are any lifeforms aboard the ship, relaxing when you find none. You rummage through all the cabinets that you discover, looking high and low as you try to locate something of use. The secret compartment in the cockpit proves to be the fruitful reward to your search. With a wave of your hand, you unlock it with ease. Bingo.

Credits. Bags of them. And they’re unmarked creds, which make your score even better. Hopefully, it would be enough to pay off your debt to Cid and give the Havoc Marauder some much-needed upgrades.

Usually, you would feel bad about stealing from someone, but considering this was a bounty hunter – Cad Bane, no less – you figure you can risk treading the grey area of your moral code.

You grab as many bags as you’re able, stuffing them inside your backpack and clipping the rest onto your belt. At this moment, you’re incredibly grateful to Tech and Echo for designing a sturdy utility belt that fits you well. The standard ones were for clones and you definitely were not a clone.

You exit the cockpit and head to the second level of the ship to see if there’s anything else you can find. A stack of crates sits in the corner across from what you assume to be a prison. You scrunch your nose in disgust as you open one to find medical supplies. Bacta patches and gel, vitapaste, rations, water, gloves, sanitary napkins–it was all there. Delighted, you close the crate and click the repulsor to make it levitate. Oh how you love technology.

You turn around and walk back up the stairs to leave the ship. You freeze at the exit ramp. You have got to be karking kidding me.

“Sorry lil’ lady.”

Cad Bane stuns Omega in front of your eyes before rounding on you and immediately fires. In a desperate attempt to save yourself, you throw your hands up and the honeyed power of the Force rushes through every fibre of your being. The blaster bolts slow down to a snail-like crawl and your eyes widen. How did I…?

Never mind how you argue with yourself. Time to get out of here!

You tiptoe around each bolt, the effort of keeping them in stasis becoming more difficult with each passing moment. You grit your teeth as your arms shake, but you keep going until you are finally off the ramp. You lower your arms and the energy hits the inside of the ship, spazzing out the blinking controls inside.

Bane turns to you in surprise, astonished at how you’re suddenly in front of him. You don’t give him the luxury of processing the event and immediately punch him in the face with as much strength as you can muster. Bane pitches backwards and collapses onto the ground, just as he did the first time. You grab your stun blaster and shoot him as extra assurance. You really did not want this to repeat again. Hopefully he never wakes up with a memory of what I just did...

“Now stay down,” you mutter to a knocked out Bane, cradling your now injured hand. You have no idea how Wrecker ever does this because wow your hand is killing you.

You have to say, you’re pretty proud of yourself for being able to render him unconscious not once, but two times. You wish you could tell Anakin–the thought saddens you. He’s probably dead too.

With that vividly cheery thought, you stagger back from the ramp in exhaustion, weary from the sudden surge of the Force still ebbing and coursing through your body.

None of the Bad Batch knew you used to be a Jedi–not even Hunter. It was something only a few of your closest Jedi friends and the Jedi Council knew about.

But after what happened today, with Rex helping your squadmates get their inhibitor chips out, with you finally letting the Force in… maybe it is time to tell them. The secrecy wouldn’t be needed anymore now that you were sure you were safe around your friends. But clearly, the universe wanted to throw a nasty vibroblade in your plans by knocking Hunter and Omega unconscious and having the best kriffing bounty hunter in the galaxy be hot on your heels.

You take a few seconds to get your breath back and regain your mental energy. You aren’t out of the woods yet. You run inside Bane’s ship to grab the crate of medical supplies before sprinting back out towards Hunter and Omega.

You lean down and pat Omega’s cheek gently, trying to wake her up, but she’s out cold. Why is everyone around me unconscious? Frankly, you’re equally amused and terrified by the situation laid out in front of you.

You sigh, looking around to see if you can find some cover. There’s a giant sheet of durasteel to your left, big enough to act as a barrier in case trouble comes knocking. You bend down and pick Omega up before placing her down cautiously, leaning her small body against the metal. You repeat the action with the crate you found.

The third time proves to be much more difficult. Hunter certainly isn’t as muscular as Wrecker, but he sure as sithhell isn’t as light as Omega. You tap your foot nervously, trying to figure out a way for you to lift him. Yes, you could use the Force, but you don’t want to alert the other Force-sensitive on the planet. If they knew about your existence, it could put them in danger, and that was the last thing you wanted.

Giving up, you place your hands underneath Hunter’s armpits and effectively drag him all the way over, propping him up as you did Omega. You cringe at the sound of his armor grating the floor. There are sure to be dirty scuff marks on it now. Sorry Hunter.

Just as you’re about to sit down next to him, heaving deep breaths from the exertion, you pause. A warning is practically blaring in the Force and you tense, urgently trying to figure out the cause.

“Not again,” you mumble under your breath. You can’t handle any more action today. With Hunter and Omega both down, and your extreme fatigue from engaging in the Force, you don’t know how much of a fight you can put up. Not to mention you never trained as a soldier. There was a reason why you left the military planning strategies to the Bad Batch.

You hold your blaster close to your chest as you scan the environment. Bane is immobile and so is the dismantled techno-service droid. So what’s wrong?

Ten nerve-wracking seconds pass before you get your answer. Clone voices waft up to your hiding spot and you bite your cheek in frustration as your head continues to pound. Your headache still hasn’t stopped.

There is no way you can fight them all off, especially if Crosshair is with them. They are too far away for you to get a read on how many there are, and frankly, you’re much too scared to even peek around the durasteel to count.

One of Tech’s previous statements floats through your mind. About three attack shuttles worth.

You can feel your heart thumping wildly in your chest, blood rushing through your ears as anxiety ties your stomach into knots. I can’t do this, I can’t do this, Ican’tdothis.

You take deep breaths, doing your best to clear your mind and focus. You had to do this. There is no other option other than surrendering or dying. No, damnit, you would go down fighting until the Life Force left you.

You peer just past the edge of the metal to see at least twenty clones heading your way. Certainly not ideal, but you bide your time. If you started shooting now, you couldn’t use the element of surprise to your advantage and they would easily overwhelm you. But once they’re close enough, you hope you can at least take a couple out before having to resort to using the Force. It isn’t ideal, but it’s all you have.

Honestly, you don’t know if you could get out of this one alive, much less protect Hunter and Omega too. Maker help me.

It throws you off when they finally come into sight–you see how plain the clones’ armor looked without paint. You never really noticed it before since you were always running for your life in those circumstances. But now that you think about it, you are so used to seeing bright blue or green or yellow that the alabaster white just seems so… odd.

“Looks like a big fight happened here.”

“Yeah, tell me about it. All these men are dead.”

Now.

You whip your body around the metal and immediately begin shooting as fast as you can pull the trigger, trying to make every shot count. The troopers hesitate for just a moment, most likely due to their surprise of you being there. But that second is all you need.

You take out the three men closest to you before jumping back behind the metal as their barrage of fire rains down on you. You do your best to shoot back and manage to take out one more clone, but they’re beginning to gain too much ground too fast. I can do this. I have to do this.

As far as you can tell, Crosshair isn’t with the clones attacking you, but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t set up shop somewhere nearby, waiting to shoot you.

You shudder. It’s a chilling thought.

You grab one of your last detonators from your belt and hurl it as far as you can. The rapid beeping rises quickly in pitch before the charge explodes. Anguished cries reverberate throughout the area, and you briefly feel sorry for having to take such drastic measures as you feel their Force signatures dim swiftly. But you don’t have a choice.

Peeking around the corner, you count around eight to ten clones down. Not bad considering the circumstances.

You continue shooting as much as you can but now the troopers are much too close for comfort and you’re feeling overwhelmed. The durasteel you are using for cover isn’t meant to take this kind of damage, and the integrity of your shield is quickly waning as told by the constant creaks and groans. You don’t know what to do. Will we make it?

In your haste of shooting first and panicking later, you don’t notice Hunter groaning, finally waking up. And before you have time to even glance at him, the familiar hum of the Havoc Marauder and its lights shine down on you. Your sag in relief. Looks like Omega was able to comm them after all. Never before have you been so glad to see the beat-up hunk of junk. (You would never say that to Tech though–the Marauder is his baby, his pride and joy.)

Echo, Wrecker, and Tech all race off the ship, guns ablazing. Wrecker and Tech stand guard, serving as cover fire while Echo bends down to help you out.

“Hunter, wake up!” Echo hisses and smacks his helmet lightly. Hunter mumbles in pain as he starts to move, trying to look around as his HUD boots back up. Seriously? Now you wake up? you think sarcastically. But you’re much more relieved at the fact that he has actually woken up.

“What happened? Where’s Omega?” Wrecker bellows, worried.

“She’s right here, I’ve got her!” you shout back at the same time Echo says, “He was shot in the chest plate.”

You pocket your blaster and gather the young girl in your arms with every last bit of strength you have left. You aren’t strong enough to hold her in one arm and shoot with the other. That is much more up Wrecker’s alley.

“We have to get him on board!” Tech exclaims as he helps Echo support Hunter. You pick Omega up in both arms and bolt for the ship as fast as you can while yelling at Tech to grab the crate of supplies.

“Incoming!” Wrecker calls out as a fresh wave of troopers advance towards the six of you. You grunt as you deposit Omega in a chair near the controls before pulling out your blaster and helping Wrecker shoot down the men racing towards you.

“Got him. Tech, fly us out of here!” Echo commands while Wrecker makes a gesture for them to get on the ship faster. Hunter stumbles as he does his best to upright himself.

“Go go go!” Wrecker exclaims. Tech shoves the crate next to Omega’s seat and makes a beeline for the cockpit as you continue shooting, moving to the side to make space for Echo and Hunter to come on board. Wrecker quickly climbs in right after them and the ramp closes shut.

Tech immediately pilots the Havoc Marauder up and away from the scene. You vaguely hear the sound of blaster fire hitting the bottom of the ship while you drop your blaster on the ground and wrench Hunter’s helmet off in a panic. You take his face in your hands as you scan him quickly, trying to figure out if he’s hurt or not.

Hunter bats your hands away. “He... he took Omega,” he says and you shake your head. Wrecker pipes up from behind you to respond.

“Who? Crosshair?”

“The bounty hunter,” Hunter mutters as he rubs a hand over his face. Before Wrecker can answer again, you step in.

“No, he didn’t. I took him down. And no, he’s not dead,” you tack on quickly when you see Echo open his mouth. Echo shakes his head fondly and you just grin at him.

“She’s right here,” Echo says instead, pointing to Omega’s sleeping figure. Hunter turns in surprise to see that his brother is indeed telling the truth.

“How...?” Hunter’s voice trails off. Echo and Wrecker look at you expectantly, and Hunter follows suit. You sigh and take off your helmet, setting it down on the ledge next to the controls. You don’t look at them.

“It’s a long story.”

You don’t have a chance to elaborate any further because Tech walks in, interrupting the conversation.

“I’ve made the jump to hyperspace. There was a cruiser in the atmosphere, but I was able to quietly go past them by disguising our ship as a bounty hunter’s. They didn’t interfere. I put in the coordinates for Ord Mantell. I estimate our time of arrival to be five hours and thirty two minutes,” Tech reports and Hunter nods while you voice your thanks.

“Looks like we got time!” Wrecker says cheerily, pulling out an extra chair. Tech looks to you in confusion.

“Did I miss something significant?” Tech asks, concerned about the information he did not receive as he adjusts his goggles. You shake your head but now, all eyes are back on you.

“She was just about to tell us how she saved Omega,” Hunter supplies helpfully and Tech nods in understanding. He grabs a chair as well and sits down, interested in hearing what you have to say.

You look around the room, realizing you can’t get out of it. You are exhausted and just want to sleep but based on the looks you are getting from the boys, there is no way you can leave without giving a sufficient answer.

You sit down on a chair in between Omega and Echo and begin explaining.

“When the cone fell, it separated. I got knocked out when I hit the ground, but I don’t think I broke anything,” you quickly reassure as Tech grabs a datapad to scan your vitals.

“After I came to, I tried comming Echo, but my commlink was broken – I could only hear bits and pieces of what he said. There were some voices near me so I just followed them and–” you pause, not sure if you should tell them what happened. What you experienced, what you found out. “–I saw Hunter and Omega. The ledge I found was way too high for me to jump to, so I climbed up the side of the wreckage to see them and the bounty hunter facing off,” you say, choosing to leave the detail out. It was too personal. You still needed time.

All of them are listening intently, hanging on to every word you’re saying. Hunter’s gaze on you is heavy and loaded with questions. Tech is still tapping away on the datapad, but you know you have his full attention. Multitasking may not be possible for regular humans, but it definitely was for Tech.

“When I saw the bounty hunter, I knew Hunter wasn’t going to win,” you mumble sheepishly, rubbing the back of your neck. Hunter winces at your statement and you rush to explain why.

“Hunter, you have to trust that I genuinely don’t doubt your abilities. You are much more of a soldier than I will ever be. But this bounty hunter is one of the best, if not the best in the entire galaxy. He’s gone against the Jedi, and won. Based on what Anakin told me at the beginning of the war, Cad Bane is ruthless. He tortured Master Ropal and killed him. Believe it or not, I think he tried to abduct Chancellor Palpatine. Even Anakin had a difficult time fighting him.”

A tense quiet settles over you all as you mentally revisit your conversation with Anakin, and later with Ahsoka. She told you how it was one of the first times she was genuinely afraid that she was going to die, or at least get hurt very severely.

Echo’s rough voice shakes you out of your reverie. “How do–did you know General Skywalker?” he asks, clearly confused at how you referred to him on a first-name basis. You mentally facepalm yourself. How did I forget he served as part of the 501st? You feel incredibly stupid.

You could make up a lie, of course, but it wouldn’t be worth it. Hunter’s enhanced senses and Tech’s vitals scan could probably pick up on your biological signs, not to mention you would feel terribly guilty about not being honest. I promised myself I would tell them…

You blow out a nervous breath, deciding to at least give them something. They deserved that much.

“I’m–well, I was a Jedi,” you admit, staring down at your feet. You can’t bring yourself to look at them, feeling almost… ashamed.

The boys are shocked into silence and you cringe. There was probably a much better way for you to say that, but now it was out there. Yet the pressure that had been weighing down on you since you let the Force back in didn’t lessen.

“What?” Wrecker questions, thrown completely for a loop. “You’re a Jedi?”

Before you can answer, Tech pipes up. “When I reviewed your medical data, there was no note about an elevated midi-chlorian count or any sort of connection to the Force. Additionally, there is no documentation of you serving as a General or a Commander during the war in the Republic military records. How were you a Jedi? And why aren’t you one now? You used past tense in your sentence,” Tech adjusts his goggles as he attempts to register this new information that conflicted with his previous knowledge.

You sigh, drumming your fingers on your thigh. “I left the Jedi Order before the war ended. I promise I’ll explain everything in detail later, but for now, you have to understand that I’m just a Force-user. I trained as a Jedi, but I’m not a Jedi, not anymore,” you clarify, lifting your head up to make eye contact with each of them.

“Aw man, that’s so cool. You have to show us your cool mind tricks sometime!” Wrecker smiles and you agree to his request. It warms your heart to see him so excited.

“It makes sense. You must have seen the regs turn on the Jedi but didn’t know why. When you started traveling with us, you didn’t know if we would turn on you too, even though we’re not regs,” Hunter realizes, and you nod in affirmation. You’re secretly relieved by the fact that he doesn’t seem angry, just… just thoughtful.

“And then when I saw what happened to Crosshair, I knew I couldn’t risk ever telling any of you. But when Rex told us about the chips…” you trail off.

Echo picks up your sentence quickly. “You figured out you would be safe with us if we got our chips removed. No wonder you were so insistent on following what Rex said.”

You smile at the last part, a bit embarrassed. He wasn’t wrong. You were probably even more insistent than Rex was on telling them to get their inhibitor chips out. Better to be safe than sorry you told them. Though at the time, you hadn’t even thought about how removing their chips would impact you and your abilities. You were too focused on keeping the Force out of your body to entertain that thought.

Wrecker suddenly gets up and gathers you in a bone-crushing hug. “Well you don’t have to worry now! We got those stupid chips out of our heads, which means I promise we won’t kill you!” he says cheerfully and you can’t help but laugh as you hug him back, the knot in your chest beginning to unravel. You could always count on Wrecker’s wonderfully big heart to raise your spirits.

“You’re right, big guy. It’s honestly a relief. One less thing I have to worry about.”

Wrecker lets go of you and you pick up where you left off. “As I was saying, Cad Bane isn’t a bounty hunter we can take lightly. Crosshair helped me re-engineer my blaster to turn it into a pseudo sniper with attachable parts during the war. Because I was so high up, I could get a clear shot of Bane. From that vantage point, I shot him at the same time Hunter and Bane shot each other.”

Echo’s mouth drops open. “Damn.”

“What I didn’t expect was for Hunter to be rendered completely unconscious. So I told Omega to try to comm you guys while I went on Bane’s ship to see if I could find anything. And I did.” You pull off your backpack and dump out the contents. Bags of credits come tumbling out. You unhook the few bags on your belt and toss them into the pile.

“Bane had a secret compartment with a lot of credits. So I took them and that crate I yelled at Tech to get,” you explain as you reach into the bag to show off the Imperial credits.

Tech’s eyes widen as he lifts up a bag to inspect it. “I will have to calculate how much you took and mark it in the inventory, but based on my initial deduction, this may be enough for us to upgrade the Marauder and provide sustenance for at least a few months.”

“Nice one!” Wrecker compliments and you grin in response. “What’s in the crate?” he asks, walking over to lift up the top.

“Medical supplies. We barely had any left so I figured I might as well take that too,” you shrug as Hunter gets up to join Wrecker to peer at the contents.

“What happened after that? You said you told Omega to comm the others, which means she was awake. Did she get hurt while I was out? Is that why you look so exhausted?” Hunter inquires, astute as ever.

You bite your lower lip. “When I was getting off his ship with the goods, he had woken up again. Before I could do anything, he stunned Omega and then immediately shot at me,” you pause, wondering if you should elaborate on how you got out of the situation. You decide to come clean on this part.

“I… I don’t know how, but I was able to stop the blaster bolts and keep them – and Bane – in stasis with the Force. The problem was that it took a lot out of me. After not really using the Force for so long, my energy reserves were pretty much gone,” you sigh, absentmindedly rubbing your arms. Your muscles are still sore from the event.

“After that, I punched him and knocked him out again. I dragged you and Omega away from the ship so that I could protect you, and I ended up using that giant piece of durasteel as cover to fight off those clones. Then you guys came and rescued us and that’s that,” you finish, suddenly fatigued from the conversation. You slump back into your chair, perfect posture be damned.

“Wow,” is all Echo says, surprised by your strength. It took some serious stamina to be able to withstand so much for so long. Echo remembered seeing Commander Tano and General Skywalker be exhausted after some especially intense missions where they constantly had to use the Force.

“Yeah,” you mutter, massaging your dominant hand. It is still throbbing from the mean hook you threw at Bane. You don’t have any regrets. You glance at Omega’s sleeping figure and soften. The things I would do for this girl.

“Looks like I taught you well!” Wrecker laughs and you smile. When you first met the Bad Batch, Wrecker took it upon himself to teach you basic self-defense and how to overtake an opponent intelligently. Even though you already learned how to fight as part of your Jedi and military training, you couldn’t say no to him when he looked so excited. But it paid off because he’s right. Wrecker did teach you well.

“You did. You basically saved my ass out there with your amazing teaching skills,” you chuckle, glancing down at your hand. You think you’ll probably have to cover it in bacta gel to speed up the healing process before having yet another realization. (You seem to be having a lot of those today.)

I can just Force-heal. Before, you couldn’t Force-heal because it would look suspicious if something healed too fast. But now that they know, you don’t have to solely depend on medical supplies anymore.

Tech, as always, is right on cue. “Is your hand alright? For you to render Bane unconscious must have been no easy feat. Not to mention that according to the medscan I just took, you have a mild concussion, most likely due to your fall. I can run a medical diagnostic test to start and then run more specific tests to combat your pain...” Tech mutters the last part to himself, brain running light years faster than his mouth as his fingers fly over the datapad.

You debate it for a moment before nodding. “That would be great, Tech–thanks. But right now, I’m exhausted, so I’m going to go and crash in my bunk. Wake me up if I need to punch someone again,” you joke before shuffling away from your squadmates. You ruffle Omega’s hair affectionately as you pass by her and pick up your blaster from the ground before climbing down the ladder. You don’t notice Hunter’s troubled gaze or how his Force signature sours a bit as you leave.

You quickly clean up and throw on some bacta patches on a few nasty bruises. You sit down on your bed and pull the privacy curtain before deciding to open up your secret compartment next to your mattress. You stare down at the objects, the only things you have left as a reminder of the past. You reach down for one of them, about to touch it when you stop.

You shake your head and shut the drawer. Deciding to finally, finally hit the hay, you’re out like a light as soon as your head hits the pillow. Dealing with the Force and healing yourself could be done later. Not even your constant pain and crippling worry about your family friends could keep you up any longer.

please consider reblogging! it really helps me and is super encouraging ^_^

[literaila]

this little secret of mine

spencer reid x reader

request: Can I request a fic Reid x Reader where the reader has a chronic illness (Im having a flare up an I'm emotional, and having surgery Friday lol) and just kinda anything you feel around that, that the first conversation about it, insecurity whatever you feel, I love angst as well so feel free to load it with that x 

a/n: i’m so sorry if there is any incorrect information. i tried to do my very best with research, but i will admit it might not be as accurate as it seems. if theres anything that needs to be changed just let me know.

warning: mentions of blood, needles, fainting, chronic pain, drugs, shit writing, a little angsty, and fighting

It was supposed to be a secret. 

She hadn't mentioned anything during her interview. 

And she still hadn't. 

Because it was meant to be a secret, one that none of them had to find out about. It was just supposed to be a secret. 

But when everything in your body was aching with every breath, with every blink you made, when you felt like you were on fire at just the thought of standing up, of just getting up, when that was happening, secrets were hard to keep. 

That didn't mean Y/N said anything. 

She felt extremely exhausted. Like fatigue was a stalker following her, refusing to leave her side at any given moment. 

There was no prison you could lock fatigue in. 

Sometimes, she could barely keep her eyes open, could barely think enough to remember to breathe. Sometimes, it was too much. 

She never said anything. 

But there were signs, little things she always did when it was worse when the pain was so unbelievably intense, there were little things she just couldn't keep hidden. 

Like the headaches, the constant medication she was taking for them, the moments where she felt like her head was going to break open because of the stabbing pain hidden behind her eyes. There was the slow way she always got up, the wince on her face when she moved, the slow and deliberate movements she couldn't go without. There was the pain that seemed to last for hours after she simply knocked her knee against her desk. 

And those were just the things she couldn't keep a secret. The signs that didn't go unnoticed. 

Everyone else always seemed to notice. 

There were constant questions of “are you okay?” that came her way and made her wonder if one of them knew if one of them had finally found out, the constant questions that always turned out to be false alarms. 

Sometimes one of them looked at her weird, sometimes she noticed the extra confusion in their gazes when they watched her stand up, or noticed her taking pain medication for the third time that day. 

She was very fortunate all of them seemed to understand that she didn't want to talk about it. She was very lucky that she had such great friends. 

She was very lucky no one knew. 

No one knew. 

It was only getting harder. 

As Y/N felt her joints getting stiffer, felt her headaches become longer, felt the fatigue weighing her down, as she felt her body start to collapse under itself, she knew that the secret would have to end. 

But she didn't want it to. It wasn't fair that she couldn't have this one thing, that she had to deal with this every day. 

It wasn't fair. 

It wasn't fair that she had to hide behind a brave face. 

It wasn't fair that she had to cancel. 

She had to cancel. 

It had been two years. Two insane years of no one knowing, of no one saying anything about the pain that rattled her body, it had been two years with the team, two years getting to know them, two years and she had gotten so close to all of them. 

It had been two years with Spencer. 

They were having their first date. 

They were having their first date.

He had asked her out on a date. 

After two years. Two years of looking across the room for him, of wrapping her arms around his neck when he was sitting at his desk, two years of being surprised by every magic trick he’d pulled out to impress her, two years of getting him coffee and a sweet, two years of sitting next to him on the plane so she could stare at him longer, two years of staring at him hopelessly. 

She’d been in love with him, and his caring way of looking at things, and the knowledge he kept stored up in his brain. She’d been in love with him so for long it felt like a lifetime. But never had she expected him to ask her out on a date, she figured if ever, she would break and ask him. 

But she hadn't. 

And he had.

It had been two years. 

And he’d asked her out on a date. 

“According to relationship experts, you should wait two months before asking someone out,” Spencer said. 

They were sitting in a tiny cafe, both enjoying a cup of coffee. It was their day off, and like most days off, they were spending it together. They’d developed a habit of driving around and going to new places together. 

Y/N was sipping on her coffee thinking about where to go next when Spencer suddenly spoke up. She looked up at him confused. “What?” she asked, her eyes wide, her cup of coffee stilled her in her hand as she waited for him to continue, as he usually did. 

“No- I mean- It's socially acceptable to broach the subject of dating after two months, but actually in most cases, it happens sooner… it really depends on how much time you spend with that person and-” he stopped, pausing his hands that had been gesturing in front of him as he stared at Y/N. 

“What?” she repeated. Spencer stayed silent, his eyes were darting around the room, and he seemed to be lost in thought. After a few moments, Y/N tried again. “Spencer? Why’d you bring this up?” 

Spencer shook his head and looked back into her eyes, seeming to be pulled out of his gaze at her words. 

“I think I waited too long,” he said. 

“Too long for what?” Y/N asked, still not getting the point. 

“To ask you out.” Y/N’s heart jumped at the words, her body exploding at the surprise she felt surge through her. “We spend almost every day together. And it's been two years.” Spencer continued a small smile on his face at the memory. 

Y/N sat there, her coffee still in her hand, staring at him. 

“I’m hoping it's not too late?” Spencer asked, still looking at her with now bright eyes. 

Y/N just stared at him. 

He frowned. 

And she laughed. 

She laughed at him and nodded her head, bringing her coffee up to her lips. 

And he smiled. 

“You’ll go out with me?” he asked, his eyes bright again, dimples popping up on his cheeks. 

And she nodded again. 

And now she was stuck in a daze. Her pain was chipping at her, keeping her from getting off the couch, she barely had the energy to breathe, barely had the energy to do anything except stare at her ceiling. 

She wished it would go away. 

She didn't want to tell him. She didn't want him to know, she didn't want his pity, didn't want to have the conversation, she didn't want any of it. 

She was going to have to cancel. 

She couldn't force herself to get up, which meant it would be impossible for her to get ready, impossible to sit in a restaurant and pretend to smile and pretend that just picking up her fork didn't make her want to scream out in agony. 

She hated this. She hated all of it. 

She felt like crying, like curling up and sobbing until she couldn't hear anything else except for the silence in her mind. She felt like spilling some tears for the miserable state she was in, but she didn't think she could move, she didn't think she had the energy to even close her eyes. 

She had to call him. 

She had to call and tell him, tell him that she couldn't go, that she was sick, that she thought it was the flu, that she had to cancel on their first date, that she couldn't go. 

She wanted to scream. 

It took multiple moments of deep breaths, of reminding herself she could do this, it took extra motivation to grab her phone on the coffee table next to her. She felt useless, felt like she was some fragile thing that wasn't to be bothered with. 

She wanted to text him. Wanted to avoid the sound of his voice, the disappointment she could already hear, she wanted to just get the words out and not have to talk to him. 

She didn't think she could move her fingers enough to text him. 

Her phone rang, and she waited for him to answer. 

The phone clicked and she heard a quiet “Helloo?”

If she didn't feel like she was going to pass out she would’ve laughed. 

“Spencer?” she said, quiet and slow. She felt already out of breath at just the one word. 

“Y/N? Is there something wrong?” 

And at that moment she wanted to tell him, she wanted him to come over and hold her close and cuddle her until she could finally fall asleep. She wanted him to be with her, and she wanted to listen to his voice, and she just wanted to feel better. 

She swallowed and then began to explain. “I don't think I can come… tonight.” Her jaw felt tight at the words, and no matter how hard she was trying she couldn't relax her face. 

“Oh.” 

Just one word. Just enough to make her feel horrible. 

She took a deep breath and urged herself to continue. “I.. don't feel... So good.” 

Just speaking was exhausting her, just breathing was causing her chest to tighten up, she hoped she would fall asleep soon. 

“Are you alright? What's going on?” he asked urgently, and Y/N could hear him stop whatever he was doing in the background. 

What was going on? What could she say to him? 

“I…” she gasped in the air that was pushing on her chest “caught something.” 

Spencer didn't say anything so she continued, “I’m sorry… Spencer.” 

And that was all she could say. Exhaustion took over, and she didn't hear anything else before she closed her eyes. 

At least asleep she wouldn't feel guilty. 

She was still sleeping when Spencer walked into her apartment. 

She hadn't heard him knocking on the door, too deep in her exhaustion to notice anything. 

And Spencer was worried. He was always worried about her, worried she would get hurt, get herself hurt, was always worried that something would happen to her, to the girl he loved. But it was different this time, she hadn't even stayed on the phone long enough to tell him what had happened. 

He couldn't just leave it at that. 

He had to make sure that she was alright, that nothing bad had happened in the time between the silence over the phone and Spencer showing up at her apartment. 

He had knocked, knocked, and called her name, but when she hadn't answered he felt himself become more worried, even sick Y/N could’ve called out to him. So he used the key she’d given him, telling him that someday he might need it, and he walked into her apartment. 

What he hadn't expected was to see her sleeping on the couch, find, but pale with dark circles under her eyes. 

She looked especially drained. 

A tiny part of him was glad that she wasn't just trying to get out of their date, that she didn't just not want to go, but the other part of him was still immensely worried, and his brain immediately started racking up the things that she could be sick with. 

He let her sleep some more. Listening to her labored breathing, watching her chest rise and fall as he thought of which viruses were going around. 

She had sounded terrible on the phone. 

He walked around her small apartment for a little while, thinking about her, worrying about her, just waiting for her to wake up. 

Eventually, he got impatient. She seemed to be getting more restless with every minute that went by, and Spencer couldn't stand the frown on her face, so he gently shook her awake. 

She opened her eyes and immediately closed in on herself. 

Her body was fighting, attacking itself, the different nerves were running all around reminding her of all the pain she was feeling, she was in so much pain. She curled into herself, the pain enclosing on her chest and her back. She was frozen trying to hold herself together. 

Spencer moved away, worried that he had hurt her. 

She was gasping, out of breath now, and Spencer was standing there watching her. She hadn't even noticed him. 

Sleep hadn't helped her, the fatigue still hadn't left her alone, and now her body was on fire as if it was fighting a war against itself. She didn't have anything she could do, there was no medication she had that was strong enough to fight against pain like this. Emotions were clouding her head, and she begged them to go away, she didn't have the energy to fight them off. She could barely move. 

And Spencer was standing next to her shocked, worried, and very confused at the girl in front of him. This seemed way more intense than a virus. 

“Y/N?” he asked softly, bending down on his knees so he was closer to her face. 

And she noticed him. And the pain was collapsing her. 

What would she say what would she say- 

She just wanted to keep her secret. 

She wanted the one secret she had. 

She gasped out. 

Why couldn't she just control this?

“Y/N? What's wrong? What hurts?” Spencer asked, quietly as not to disturb her, but she could hear the concern in his voice, could feel the questions he wanted to ask, could feel buckets of worry pouring out of him. 

The pain was insistent. 

She tried to breathe again, reminded herself of her grounding techniques, of the coping skills she had learned after years of pain. She took deep breaths and tried to remind herself that she was in control of how she reacted. 

It was working. 

Just a little bit. 

She finally had the energy to move from her position, tilting her head so she could look at Spencer, so she could beg for another minute, just one more minute to get herself together. 

She hoped he understood. 

She kept breathing. 

And finally, she could listen. 

“Are you okay?” Spencer asked, his eyes were less worried now, but Y/N knew he wouldn't leave without an answer, a complete answer. 

The secret was out. 

Y/N shook her head. She just shook her head, and she felt so tired, and she could still feel her body stinging as if it was being pricked at, and her head was aching, and her eyes were drooping, and she was so tired. 

All she wanted was to feel good. 

Why couldn't she feel good? 

“What's going on Y/N? This isn't a virus.” He said patiently as he could see the pain on her face. He didn't want to rush her, he didn't want her to be anymore strained than she already looked. But she seemed so sick. He had to do something. 

She just shook her head, squeezing her eyes tight at the pain that came with it. Spencer looked at her and frowned, she clenched her fists together in an effort to try to keep the pain at bay. 

“Okay...okay…” Spencer said, and he went to lift her so that she wouldn't have to move, he picked her up and sat down on the couch with her, he sat down with Y/N who looked so much like glass at that moment Spencer was afraid to hurt her. 

Luckily enough, him moving her hadn't sent another rage-induced war over her body, and she felt herself relax into his shoulder, felt comforted by the warm feel of his body, by the hand rubbing her back, by the smell that was so familiar. 

“Are you ready to talk yet?” Spencer asked. 

Y/N kept her eyes shut, trying to avoid making her headache any worse, but she could still tell that Spencer was frowning again, and while all she wanted to do was relax, she knew that she owed him some sort of explanation. 

“I-” she gasped at the pain that was stuck in her chest, she hadn't expected talking to make her heart start burning. Spencer quickly brought his hand to her cheek, moving her head so she would look at him, so he could make sure she was still okay. She opened her eyes to look at him and the words got caught in her throat. How much more pain could she endure before it was too much? 

“I’m just-” this time it wasn't the pain that stopped her, it was the confession she was about to make. The secret she was going to tell him. “I can't-” 

Spencer rubbed his thumb over her cheek, waiting for her to continue, but when he saw her eyes again he could tell that she couldn't go on, he could see the wall stopping her from saying what she had to say. 

“Y/N. It's okay. It’ll be alright.” he reassured, hoping they were the right words to say. 

“I can't,” she said again, desperate this time. 

“I can tell you in pain…I can see it in your eyes. Nothing bad is going to happen. I only want to help. It's okay Y/N.” 

And then she took a deep breath. 

And she told him. 

***

It was worse this time. 

And better. 

And worse. 

This time, at least Spencer knew what was going on, at least he understood to the extent he could, at least he knew her breaking points. 

But it was worse. It was so much worse. 

She’d been working, working a lot, working a lot more than she ever had before, she’d been working and working hard. It was too much. 

The pain was too much. 

She’d been overdoing it. It was something she’d always tried to avoid, always tried to keep away from her. She’d been warned about it when the pain had started, warned that while some working was okay, even good for her, that too much working could cause more pain, even more, intense pain. 

She’d been warned. 

She hadn't listened though. 

She seemed to be wrapped up in her job, in the hours that she spent saving other people's lives, she seemed to be wrapped up in it all. 

And she was always with Spencer when she wasn't working. She was always enjoying her time with her boyfriend, she was never sleeping when she was with him. 

She’d been over-doing it. 

But she couldn't stop, she couldn't just give it up now, she couldn't just avoid the work because she didn't feel good. She was going to have to deal with the repercussions that came with the decisions she had made. 

She didn't have a choice. 

She never had a choice. 

This was so much worse. 

And it was technically still a secret. 

Even though Spencer had found out two months ago when she’d had a bad flare up and had no other way to explain to him but the truth, the rest of the team hadn't. Y/N had made Spencer promise that he wouldn't say anything to anyone. She didn't want Hotch to find out, she didn't want him to make changes to her job, to keep her behind because of the illness holding her back. She didn't want that. And she didn't want the pity, and the babying that would happen if the others knew. 

It was bad enough that her boyfriend knew. 

He was especially protective of her now. 

No one else knew. 

And that was good, it kept her from worrying too much about it, helped her keep up the distraction of work without one of her teammates asking if she was okay, it helped her stay on topic rather than focusing on the pain. It was a good secret. It was one she wanted to keep as long as she possibly could. 

But it was getting worse. 

It was almost too much. 

Needles were pricking at her joints, pulling at her joints, keeping her tied down wherever she was sitting, they were keeping her still at any given moment. Her back was burning and sore, and she could do anything about it because if she moved every bone in her body would sting with the burn of needles. Her headache had become a constant in her day, and the pain medication she always kept with her had been getting emptier with every day that passed. 

She’d noticed the looks Spencer had been giving her, noticed the furrow in his brows every time she offered to do anything that didn't involve sitting. She ignored them, focused on the job she had committed to.

Every once and a while, Spencer tried to pull her away, tried to get her to settle down, and just talk to him, and every time he tried to do it, every time he looked like he was about to say something to her, she was busy. 

She managed to be busy. 

And now she had to go save a life. 

James Thomas was murdering couples, he was murdering people and the team had to stop him. There was no time for pain. 

Emily had to go in as bait, it was clear from the moment they got there and James was sitting silently at the bar. Emily needed to be a distraction, to lure him away from all those innocent people around him. 

Y/N was covering her. 

She watched with her gun in her pocket on the other side of the bar as Emily approached him, she noticed the slight change in her body language, the flirty smile she had put on, she wasn't worried about Emily. Her friend was smart enough to know what she was doing. 

And Y/N was smart enough to ignore the pain in her hands and her back, she was smart enough to pretend it wasn't there. 

She watched as James looked over at Emily curiously, as he looked her up and down, she watched as Emily moved closer to him, leaning in so close Y/N wondered if she was going to kiss him. She watched as James got more interested in the conversation. 

She looked over to Hotch and saw him nod at her. It was fine, everything was fine, they just had to wait a little bit longer. 

Just a little bit longer. 

Y/N kept her eyes on Emily as James turned completely toward her, she kept her hand on her gun and her other on the drink she didn't care about. She watched as Emily suddenly lost her smile, as she shrunk back only a little, she looked over to Hotch and he gave her the okay. 

It was time to get him out of there. 

She saw him reach into his jacket for something. 

She saw Emily tense her hand. 

And there was a gunshot. 

It surprised Y/N at first, but when she opened her eyes she saw Emily standing up straight staring at James, and she saw James down on the floor, covered in blood. 

She rushed over to them, she quickly patted down James, grabbing the gun from his coat pocket and giving it to the police officer behind her. She patted down the rest of his body, making her he didn't have any more weapons, and she helped him stand up, taking most of his weight in her arms as he couldn't stand with the bullet wound in his chest. 

She looked up at Emily to make sure she was okay. Emily nodded at her, and she walked out with James. 

And then it was silent. And then she could feel the seconds passing by, could feel the messages her nerves were sending to her brain, could feel everything happening inside her body, she could feel everything. 

There was so much pain, there was so much pain, there was so so so so much pain. 

She was being stabbed, over and over, relentlessly, everywhere on her body, she was being stabbed over and over and over, and she couldn't breathe, couldn't understand what was happening because it wasn't supposed to hurt this much, it was never supposed to hurt this much. 

It had never hurt this much. 

She could feel her body freeze and could feel herself take one more step, one more step out the door, just barely out of the building, before she collapsed, dropping James with her and swaying toward the ground. 

She was supposed to have control, it was never supposed to hurt this much, it was never ever supposed to be like this- 

And she could feel herself moan as she hit the ground, could feel her joints scream at the pain of being moved so much, she could feel the blood rushing to her head, and could feel her back still on fire like it had been for the past week. 

She still didn't know why it hurt so much. 

She’d never had a flare-up this bad. 

She wasn't supposed to fall because of the pain. 

It was supposed to be manageable. 

She didn't realize she had screamed until she felt hands on her until someone was shaking her and trying to get her to stand up, she didn't understand. 

She felt someone pick her up. 

And then it was too much, it was finally too much, too much for her mind, for her body, too much everything. 

It was too much. 

And she fainted. 

She woke up in an office. 

It was void of people and smelled distinctly like men's cologne. 

She tried to move her head but the pain was blinding. 

She heard a voice next to her. 

“You’re up,” Spencer said as he closed the door to the office, holding a bottle of water and a bottle of pain meds. 

She looked at him thankfully. 

And then she stretched her jaw so it wasn't as stiff, and asked him why she was there. 

He explained how she had passed out at the scene. He told her how he’d made sure to take her back somewhere she could rest, instead of taking her to the hospital as the rest of the team was insisting. He told her that he hadn't told them anything, just that he needed to make sure she was okay.

He handed her the bottle of water with a frown on his face, while she sipped the water, he opened the bottle of meds and pulled out two pills and handed them to her. 

She smiled at him with her mouth closed, as he watched her take them. 

It was silent for a moment after that before either of them spoke. 

“Spencer-” 

“I don't want you doing that again,” he said firmly. His voice was like stone and his face was unwavering. 

Y/N looked at him shocked. He’d never looked so harsh before, at least not with her, she was surprised by his reaction, but she was even more surprised that when she looked over to the clock it said she had slept for six hours. 

Six hours. 

That explained the bad taste in her mouth. 

“Spencer I don't think that's fair-” she started to say before Spencer interrupted. 

“No Y/N. I won't let you do that to yourself, I don't want you in pain every day.” 

Something about his tone was making her angry. 

“Spencer it was just a flare-up, they happen sometimes. I can't control them,” she said, and now her eyes were hard and staring at him. 

He didn't understand. He could research it for hours, could learn every piece of information there was out there. But he would never know. He would never understand the pain, the strength it took to deal with pain like that every day. He wouldn't understand the sacrifices she had to make sometimes. He just didn't understand. 

“Y/N, this wasn't random. You’ve been working yourself down to the bone. You haven't stopped working in weeks. And it's wearing you down, I can practically see you deteriorating.” His voice got louder with every word that he spoke. 

“Spencer this is my job. I’m not going to stop just because of a little pain.” She said shaking her head, staring at her, her face not breaking. 

Spencer sighed and moved away from the couch she had slept on. He just wanted her to understand, wanted her to see that if the positions were switched she would be insisting he took it easy too. It hurt him to see her in pain, to see her falling apart every time she moved. Why couldn't she understand that? 

“Y/N, it's not a little pain,” he said pacing around the room, no longer looking at her. “I can tell how much it hurts you. I can't imagine how hard it was for you to be out on the scene today.” 

Y/N could feel the concern, the worry, radiating from his body. She could see that he was fighting with himself, trying to figure out something to say. But she wasn't going to budge on this. 

“Spencer, this is my job. This is who I am.” She said every word clearly, but her body was shaking, and her head was aching. 

“Even right now! You’re still in pain. You were asleep for six hours and you’re still in pain! Can't you see that this isn't okay?” he was whispering, yelling, but he was upset with her now. He was upset with her not caring about her own well-being, upset that she thought her job was worth more than her health. 

She closed her eyes tightly, willing the pain to go away before she spoke again. “Spencer, I can't just sit and live around and have nothing and be in pain all day. This job is good for me. I can't just be a brick that never moves because I don't want to feel bad. I refuse to live like that.” she was getting more and more worked up with every word, and she could feel the tears stinging at her eyes, reminding her that she could still cry. She moved her hand in front of her face, not wanting Spencer to look at her. 

Spencer went over to her and sat down next to her. He just stared at her for a moment. Watched as she tried to blink the tears away, as she tried to will them away with just her thoughts. He could tell how much she was fighting, trying not to be vulnerable around him. He could see how much it hurt, how much energy it took just to do that. 

“Y/N,” he said, moving her hand away from her face so that he could see her again. He gently intertwined their fingers, reminding her that he was still there. “You can cry. It's okay to cry,” he said softly, more caring than he had been since she’d woken up. 

And the glass in her eyes broke. It broke open, shattering the windows in her eyes, letting the tears pour from the broken pieces. She couldn't remember the last time she had cried, couldn't remember the last time she’d had enough energy to cry. 

She didn't want Spencer to see. 

But he was sliding on the couch next to her, laying down and pulling her into his chest, he was rocking her back and forth slowly, remembering that she was still in pain, that too much movement would make her joints attack again. He was holding her, letting her cry. 

She felt like a child, but Spencer holding her was helping, it was keeping the pain a distance away from her, too far away from her to hurt her as much as it had been. 

She hadn't cried in so long. 

Spencer rocked with her, as she mumbled words against his chest, as his hands ran through her hair. 

The pain medication seemed to be helping. 

“Y/N… I just want you to give yourself some room to breathe,” he whispered after a couple of minutes after the cracks in her eyes had started to mend themselves. 

She looked up at him and frowned. She didn't want to take a break, she didn't want anyone to know that she needed a break. She didn't need a break. She didn't. 

“I don't want to,” she mumbled childishly, as she looked away from him. She was pouting now, and she knew that she wasn't going to win this battle. 

“It's okay to need a break Y/N. Everyone does. You have an unfair disadvantage. You deserve a break sometimes.” 

She shook her head. 

“It's not fair, “ she said quieter than before. The cracks were breaking again, and she was crying against his chest. He held her tighter. “It's just not fair,” she said again desperately. 

“I know,” he said as he kissed her head, as he made her aware that he was there, that he understood. “I know.” 

And they were curled up together. If anyone had looked in the window they would’ve seen a boy and a girl, both sad, both angry, but together and so desperately connected. They would have seen a boy and a girl, together, and in love. 

Spencer was quiet again, and he listened to Y/N’s stuttered breathing, listened as she took deep breaths, and felt as her chest stopped going up and down frantically. She was finally starting to calm down, to breathe with Spencer, to calm down against his chest. 

She sniffled and looked up at him, her neck hurting, not because of the pain this time. 

“I’ll try to take it easy,” she said, memorizing the way his eyes lit up. 

“You will?” he said excitedly, as she imagined a little kid would. She laughed at him, as he pecked her lips and held her tighter once again. 

“Yes.” she murmured, breathing in his scent, finally relaxed in his arms. 

It was strange that he could make her feel so peaceful in just a couple of minutes. Strange that although she had been crying only a short time ago, that she felt safe with him. 

“I love you.” she finally said. 

And he pulled away from her just a little bit, just so he could look at her face, into her eyes. 

Neither of them had said it before. Both of them had thought it, thought it over and over in the two years they had known each other. Both of them had felt it, pounding in their chest, breaking them down. They’d both thought it, both felt it, but neither of them had said it. 

Spencer was saving it for something special. 

But she’d just said it. 

She loved him. 

She looked up at him, hoping that the look on his face would be good. 

And it was. 

He was smiling, his eyes were lit up in hope and wonder, and the smile lines on his face were breathtaking. He was smiling so wide. 

She blushed and moved her head back down to his chest. He laughed at her, and Spencer wondered if he would ever be able to stop smiling after hearing that. 

“Are you sure that isn't just the drugs?” he asked, hoping he could look back in her eyes. 

And she giggled against him, and then looked up shaking her head. 

He smiled even more, and she copied him. 

“In that case,” he said, kissing her forehead “I love you.” 

“You do?” she asked, still smiling at him, forgetting about the pain, about everything, when she looked in his eyes.  

“I do,” he confirmed, moving his hand to her cheek, stroking her face with his thumb. “I really do.” 

She smiled and forgot everything. She smiled at him, and she sat in the warmth of his words, in the happiness of his smile. 

Maybe Spencer was her pain medication. 

my masterlist here

[renegadeontherunn]

hi fiona!! can't wait to see all the prompts you'll write! how about 21 for rex and ahsoka?

!!! kt!!! thank you so much for the ask!!! asjkdlkas someone tell me how to write less please AKJSDSAKK

21. "Why are you always so reckless, huh? Do you ever think about what would happen if something happened to you?" // from these prompts! // read it on ao3!

They limped—or at least, Ahsoka limped—up through the forest and eventually emerged at the edge of the hill where peach-orange grass gave way to a navy cliffside. There was a jagged path carved out, wide enough for them to get across in 2, maybe 3 lines. She could make out dark blotches a few miles away—Anakin’s ships. So they had been able to land. That made one of them.

“We should go around,” Rex’s gruff voice said as he came up behind her. Ahsoka looked over her shoulder at him. He eyed the dropoff warily. “There are rockslides this time of year and I don’t trust this cliff.”

Ahsoka turned back, head craning up to examine it. “That’ll take too long.” She nodded toward the other ships in the distance. “Anakin needs our help and this is the fastest way to the landing zone.” She stepped onto the path, one hand on the cliffside to steady herself.

Rex moved forward. “Commander—”

“It’s fine, Rex. We have to help Anakin.” She tried to ignore the scorching pain shooting up her leg. Her shoulders moved with a breath. “Trust me on this one.”

She was stopped by a warm hand on her arm. “It’s not safe. Especially with our wounded.” Ahsoka could feel his eyes on her leg. “We can’t help General Skywalker if we’re dead.”

“Rex—”

“All due respect, Commander, trust me on this one.”

Ahsoka gritted her teeth, shifting once again to face him. Her mind briefly raced through alternatives, outcomes, a headcount, and with one more twinge in her ankle, she sighed and relented. “You’re right.”

Rex gave her a nod and turned to direct the troops back around.

Her eyes found the horizon once more and Anakin’s ships that rested there. She had a bad feeling about this battle. Something was going to go—

“Commander?” came Rex’s voice at her shoulder. Ahsoka didn’t look at him, instead closing her eyes, brow furrowed as she listened, as she felt. The ground shook lightly under her feet, the faint screech of metal against metal, metal against stone. “What is it?”

Ahsoka came up from beneath the waves of the Force, eyes opening as she unhooked her lightsabers. “We’ve got company.” As soon as the words left her mouth, a battalion of black-plated droids materialized around the curve of the cliff. They stopped in what seemed like surprise, and there was a shout from Rex. Her side shot first, quick as they’ve always been, and in a breath, Ahsoka was deflecting bolts from every direction.

It was a pretty typical battle, as far as strategy goes, and Ahsoka found herself getting lost as the droids approached and withdrew in turn, her spinning lightsabers loops of light in clouding dust.

Rex appeared at her side. “What’s the plan?”

“You said there are rockslides here?” She sliced through another two droids.

He stopped shooting, incredulous gaze boring into her even through his helmet. “No.”

Ahsoka twisted in front of him, habitually falling back into their familiar sword-and-shield technique. Rex’s pistols were in the air once more, his aim deadly even as he kept his focus on their conversation.

“We wanted to go around anyway. Why not block them here?”

A shot skimmed off Rex’s shoulder. “You’re not serious. That’ll get us all killed.”

“No, it won’t,” Ahsoka insisted. “Just get all the men off the path and onto the hill. I’ll bring the cliff down in front of us.”

She risked a glance behind her and, seeing that everyone was off the cliffside already, Ahsoka pushed Rex back. She steadied herself in the Force and pulled.

The ground rumbled, there was the sound of crunching metal, and then Rex’s hand was on her arm, trying to tug her away. There was a shrill gasp in the Force and Ahsoka saw a massive column of rock headed straight for them.

“Rex!” she shouted, throwing herself into him and sending him to the ground a few feet away. She scrambled forward, and the rock collided with the spot where they had just been standing.

But Ahsoka hadn’t moved far enough.

The column had completely smashed through the path and the rest was crumbling away. She tried to run, but her broken ankle clipped the edge, her stomach dropped, and then she was falling.

She blindly reached out, scrabbling for purchase on the cliff, but gravity’s grip was not so easily curbed.

“Ahsoka!”

Rex was leaning over the side, hand out; Ahsoka’s hand brushed his, fingers slipping past each other, just too far to reach, and she plummeted. Wind rushed past, rocks cascading down alongside her. She saw Rex’s well-worn helmet grow smaller and smaller, and then something slammed into her and the world cut to black.

--

Someone was screaming. There was a ringing cutting through Ahsoka’s brain and everything was muffled as she blinked squinting eyes open, but she knew she could hear screaming. It got louder as she tried to move her legs—tried, because she couldn’t even feel her legs, couldn’t feel anything but searing, scalding pain up her spine, down every nerve—and when she gasped in a breath of dust, the screaming paused and turned to coughing. Ahsoka’s chest shuddered, her throat scraped so raw she thought she might vomit.

Then she opened her eyes fully, saw the blood pooling beneath herself, and did vomit. Pounding head, pounding heart, Ahsoka weakly tilted her gaze up. Far above her was blurred movement, a wave of white dotted with blue swirled down and around and back up again. Her neck ached so much it tingled, turning numb. Her wrist vibrated and beeped.

Wait, that wasn’t right. Wrists don’t normally do that. She slowly moved her arm up onto her stomach, saw the faint blink of green that was, she realized after a few stuttering breaths, her comm. Another second in agony and she clicked the call through, surprised it was still working at all.

“Ahsoka!”

Rex.

It was Rex. Some of the fear swelling in her throat eased at the confirmation of his presence. Rex was there. He’d know what to do.

“Ahsoka? Can you hear me?”

She licked cracking lips. “Yeah.” She hoped her broken voice would carry. Wondered if her broken body would need to be carried too. “Yeah, I’m here.”

A sigh of relief made static on the other side. “Are you alright?”

Ahsoka took stock of herself. Broken leg, obviously, maybe both. A concussion if the pain-filled sleep tugging at her was any indication. And she was pinned—half her body nearly crushed under the immense pieces of cliffside that’d fallen with her. Jagged stone cut into her shoulder.

“Ahsoka?”

She hesitated. “I could use some help.”

A muffled swear, a shouted order, the sound of a hundred quick, urgent footfalls. His voice was tight when he spoke again. “We’re coming to you now. Can you walk?”

Ahsoka shook her head before she realized that was a bad idea—her vision whited out at the corners—and that he couldn’t even see her anyway. “No.” Her head swam. When had it gotten so cold outside? “I’m pinned. I think my leg’s broken.”

“What about the Force?”

Oh. Ahsoka had forgotten about that. But when she dipped into its familiar depths, sleep, the dangerous kind, pulled at her—down, down, down—until Ahsoka gasped and ripped herself away. Adrenaline hammered her heart. “No. Don’t wanna risk it.”

Rex didn’t bother asking for further information. The footsteps got faster.

“Are you okay?” Ahsoka asked softly.

“Yes, sir,” came the rough reply.

She nodded, forgetting again that he couldn’t see. “Good.”

“Good?”

Ahsoka blinked. “Yeah. That’s kind of what I was going for.” Her chest tightened, ribs shifting; she should probably stop talking.

“You can’t just—” Static crackled over the comm. They must’ve hit a deadzone.

Ahsoka drifted her eyes along the crimson sky, sinking in and out of unconsciousness as she waited.

“—mander? Commander?”

“Here,” she said belatedly, her brain coming back to the surface. “‘m here. ‘m fine.” Trees rustled in the wind. Ahsoka thought she could hear them coming, not just over the comm, but actually hear them, in the distance. She suddenly remembered where she was. “Gonna try to get out.”

Rex’s voice bit through the air immediately. “No, don’t. You’ll hurt yourself more. Just stay awake.”

She shifted, readying herself to try pulling her leg out. “’s fine, I got it.”

“Commander, stay exactly where you are.” His voice was clipped. “Don’t try to move.”

Ahsoka groaned, lightning zipping up her leg. “I got it.” She was starting to sweat, despite the cold. It had been cold, right?

“Ahsoka, stop!”

And she did, blinking in shock.

Rex’s tinny voice continued, wired anger cutting through the comm. “Why are you always so reckless? Do you ever even think about what would happen if something—” Ahsoka couldn’t tell if he’d cut himself off or if they’d hit another deadzone, but either way her head throbbed with pain and guilt.

“Sorry,” she mumbled back. She was completely spent of energy, spent of strength, and her body ached with agony.

“—and on the cliff—” Rex’s voice suddenly cut back in.

“Wasn’t trying to be reckless,” she interrupted, voice breathy. There was a crucial piece of information he was leaving out. “Trying to save your life.” Ahsoka dropped her head onto her arm.

There was the sound of shuffling, static rocks shifting beneath far-away feet. “What about saving your own life?” Past the haze slowly encroaching on the world, Ahsoka wondered why he was so angry with her. She didn’t think she’d ever heard him so emphatic. He’d scolded her plenty of times—follow orders this, don’t run off looking for trouble that—Ahsoka should’ve been used to it. But still.

Cynicism seeped out of her exhausted mind. “Can’t save everyone.” It was something Anakin had told her, back when she’d first become a Padawan, back when she was determined to get everyone out of this alive. When she’d thought that was even an option.

“You can try.”

There was a pause, and in it, Ahsoka breathed, her eyes slipping closed.

“Ahsoka!”

Rex was shaking her shoulders, his face, bare of its helmet, twisted in worry above hers. Ahsoka’s heart shuddered, stumbled, like it’d just remembered that it had to beat. Her hand instinctively clutched his arm.

“You’re alright.” People were moving, pushing the rock off her, and Rex’s voice broke through the onslaught of pain. “We got you.” His hand was on her shoulder. “I got you.”

[geraltofriviasleftbuttcheek]

beauty and the beast geraskier au but with banshee jaskier cursed to scream horrifically for the rest of his life because he was Too Cocky about his singing in front of the wrong person

he's got a gash in his throat that's in a permanent state of oozing blood and he's a little pale these days but other than that he's fine minus the fact every time he tries to sing it comes out as an ear-shattering death-summoning wail and the taste of rot and decay clogs the back of his throat

but it's cool it's fine he just plays his lute and wanders the halls of oxenfurt scaring the newbies and giving the professors ulcers and silently wondering if he could get away with screaming at that cunt valdo marx and killing him with his new banshee powers

but then the school hires a witcher to come get rid of him (rUDE) and its the butcher of blaviken himself (dOUBLE rude) except geralt of rivia is...nice? he says he won't kill jaskier because jaskier isn't evil, just a nuisance, and he doesn't deserve to die just because he's bored and stuck there

it turns out, however, that jaskier is not stuck like he thought, he just hadn't tried to leave before, and when geralt leaves he follows because there's nothing for him at oxenfurt anymore

jaskier tells him about the curse and geralt makes fun of him (he actually just grunts but jaskier can tell it's a judgmental grunt) before grudgingly telling him he'll help him break the curse as best he can, he knows a sorceress who might have a cure

she doesn't and jaskier dislikes yennefer of vengerberg immediately when all she does is laugh at him and his plight (r U D E) but she does tell him it can be broken, because all curses can be broken, but it's up to him to figure out how to do so—curses tailor themselves to the person cursed for full lesson teaching effects—and jaskier is on his own again

jaskier has no idea where to even begin looking for the way to break his curse so he resigns himself to being a banshee for the rest of his life, walking the edge between living and dead and unable to sing ever again. geralt gives him a sympathetic hum (another grunt really but jaskier is learning to read him) and doesn't tell jaskier to go away when he keeps following him so jaskier figures he could keep worse company than a witcher

falling in love with geralt seems like the natural progression of things and now jaskier is pining on top of everything which is just spectacular, really, and he can't even sing a ballad about it to get the feelings out because when he sings death follows and geralt keeps close company with death as it is, he doesn't need jaskier bringing it closer, so he pines and he longs and he yearns and it's fine, it's swell, he'll live (not live? is he dead? he doesn't feel dead, but he's not really a good judge of it these days)

since he can't sing, he talks—about his life, his career, his parents, anything that comes to mind, always chattering away, never quiet for long. geralt listens, or at least doesn't tell him to shut up, and it's good, it's really good being heard when for most of his life people would tell him to be quiet and bite his tongue and speak only when spoken to and just sing, julian, your singing is your best feature

it all comes to a head when geralt goes on a hunt that's supposed to be just one drowner and turns into a whole pack that nearly overwhelms him

jaskier panics, watching geralt go down, and he doesn't stop to think—he screams, the sound piercing through the air sharp and high, and the taste of rot and decay and death creeps up the back of his throat, coats his tongue and nearly chokes him, but the drowners are backing away in agony, some dropping dead on the spot, and jaskier doesn't stop until he sees geralt on the ground, looking at jaskier with wide gold eyes

he's alive and jaskier is so relieved he drops to his knees and envelops his witcher in a crushing hug and nearly sobs when geralt returns it hesitantly

"i thought i lost you," he says and buries his face in geralt's neck

"you almost did," geralt says, soft and tender, and jaskier holds him tighter, "but you saved me. i'm okay, jask."

"how?" jaskier demands. "my scream should have killed you, how—"

"takes more than a banshee scream to take me out," geralt jokes. "and you're almost...musical, when you scream. it's not the worst thing i've heard."

something clenches in jaskier's chest then—geralt accepts him, screams and all, and it doesn't push him away, doesn't make him hate jaskier

if that isn't love, jaskier doesn't know what is

he chokes, then, and there's an awful pain in his throat. his hand goes to it, and he coughs up blood, the taste so bad he gags, and he barely hears geralt calling his name in panic—

and then it's gone, and jaskier breathes easier than he has in years, decades probably, and when he pulls his hand from his throat, his fingers caress smooth skin and and come away with old, completely dried flakes of blood, and he looks up at geralt with wide eyes and a smile beginning to split his lips

"you did it," he says in awe, and there's no underlying gurgle to his words, faint as it had always been anyway, but now it's gone, "you broke the curse."

"how?" geralt asks, confused, but he holds jaskier close anyway

"you accepted me as i am," jaskier says, knowing this is right, "you don't want me just for my voice, you want me for me."

"of course i do," geralt says, simple, easy, "you've grown on me."

jaskier beams, and he feels like singing.

[sableflynn]

Felivy - Midnight Tea

Another piece from the felivy au with @whumpopology​ my love! April, thank you so so much for trusting me to write James, and thank you for your help and encouragement in finishing this 🥺

This is the Felicia timeline. She’s trying to gather all the information she remembers to help rescue Ivy, but she needs to talk it out with someone. James is there to listen. Contains vague references to past torture/captivity. Ao3 link here.

---

Felicia jolted awake with a burst of panicked energy, the terror of the nightmare still pounding in her heart. Already the details were slipping away like sand through her fingers, leaving trace memories of ropes digging into her skin, Ivy’s screams, Volkan’s eyes. She loosened fingers that gripped the bedsheets and tried to steady her breathing, eyelids fluttering.

Next to her in bed, Elyse stirred. Felicia rolled over to plant a gentle kiss on her forehead, answering her mumbled question with a soft I’m fine. Untangling herself from the mass of blankets, she rose from the bed and padded from the room, wrapping a thin robe around her as she went.

The house was still in the night, soft moonlight filtering through the window and casting the kitchen in a weak glow. Her bare feet were silent on the hardwood floors as she made herself some tea, settling in to study the mass of papers she had left spread over the table. Scribbled notes, half-illegible, and newspaper clippings, and a map marked and marked again, and she was no closer to figuring out where Volkan was keeping Ivy, where he’d kept the two of them. Felicia had been home almost a week, and every minute she sat here was another minute for Volkan to decide to slit Ivy’s throat and be done with her. They needed to find her now, but all the information and memories were swirling in a jumble in Felicia’s mind, and she couldn’t focus them long enough to write down, she couldn’t do this alone—

Rubbing at her face, she left her mug at the table, and made her way through the house. She hesitated a bare moment outside the spare bedroom before raising her fist and knocking.

The door swung open and James stood there, hair still scruffy from sleep but eyes alert as they met hers. She studied him, tracing the faint freckles on his cheeks, the slight furrow of his dark brows. He had always seemed larger than life whenever Ivy described him, a hero, an inspiration. Looking at him now, Felicia saw a person, exhausted and doing his best. She thought—she hoped—he saw the same when he looked at her.

“Can I talk to you?” She forced a casual lilt to her voice despite the tension twisting through her.

If he was bothered by being woken in the middle of the night, he didn’t show it. She wondered if he was sleeping at all. “Of course,” he said, and followed her back to the table.

He sat across from her, and as she picked up her mug of tea, regret pulled at her. “I’m sorry, I didn’t make enough for you. Do you want—?”

“I’m fine.” James cast an eye over the spread of papers before turning his gaze back on her. “What did you wanna talk about?”

She pushed a blank sheet of paper and a pen across the table at him. “I just need to...talk some things out.” The clinical nature of the pen and paper, the physical barrier of the table between them, they all paradoxically relaxed Felicia. She wasn’t baring her soul to a near-stranger. She was providing important information to someone who needed it.

“It’s things we need to know. Things I learned,” she explained, haltingly, stopping herself from rambling. “I just can’t talk to Elyse about it, because—” It was too much. Too fresh, too painful, too personal. “Because I can’t.”

James nodded. “I understand.” He blew out a shaky breath, but when he spoke again, his voice was steady. “Tell me whatever you need to.”

Felicia looked down at her hands, folded on the tabletop. Whatever I need to. One thumb rubbed against the other, the sensation grounding her. Tell him floorplans and landmarks. Tell him names and locations. Don’t tell him how small Ivy looked, bleeding out from a bullet wound. Don’t tell him how the agony of the healing tore us both apart.

“I might start crying.” The words fell from her mouth before she could catch them, and her fingers fretted the edge of a stray sheet of paper, folding and unfolding. “That’s just a thing that happens. Just ignore it.”

She didn’t look up to see how he felt about that. She pushed on before he could say anything, before her thoughts could catch up with her. “I think he’s somewhere up north.” She pulled the worn map between them, and it gave her something to focus on besides her own nervous energy. “The trees...they’re different than they are here. And any time he had his friends over, they’d always be complaining about the cold.”

“He had friends over?”

She glanced up to find him looking at her, the pen clutched tight in his hand, something that might have been horrified comprehension dawning in his eyes. Her breath froze in her chest. One comment like that shouldn’t have revealed so much—but James wasn’t an idiot, and he could read between those lines to guess at why those friends had come over.

He’s quiet, Ivy had said about James one night, while they were sharing stories, but he knows his shit. I would trust him with anything.

Looking at the man before her—young, she realized, not much older than she, why had she pictured James as so much older?—Felicia searched beneath the exhaustion and growing horror to find something of the leader Ivy described. Someone she could trust.

She just saw a man. But if Ivy trusted him, maybe that could be enough for her, too.

“He had friends over,” she repeated with more force. She clutched her now-cold mug of tea like a lifeline, breathed in the chamomile to remind herself that it wasn’t a mug of coffee, she wasn’t in his lounge, they weren’t about to touch her. She had lost count of the number of hands that touched her.

She blinked, and a few tears slid down her cheeks. James tilted his gaze back towards the paper, granting her the smallest privacy, and she couldn’t remember the last time her tears had belonged to her, hadn’t been driven from her by cruel hands and words, jeered and crooned over by Volkan and his fucking friends.

“Some of them are in the city.” James flicked a glance up at her as she spoke. This is important, she told herself. Concrete information. Facts. Something they could use. Something that could bring Ivy home.

So she spoke, and James listened, and he wrote. She was hesitant, detached, drawing from memories without truly touching them, because if she had to acknowledge what had happened she would shatter. She listed anything she could remember, names and appearances and occupations, and James took them all down in messy, haphazard print. He rarely looked directly at her, and that made it easier, somehow. She didn’t have to school her expressions, worry about how her anguish affected him. She gave information, and he received.

She allowed herself to look at him, eventually. He was diligent and thorough in his notes, briefly meeting her eyes here and there to ask a gentle guiding question, never letting his gaze linger too long. She could see the tension in him—the way his jaw worked, his grip on the pen, the hard press of his writing into the paper—yet every time he spoke to her, his voice didn’t waver, and it wasn’t cold. She watched him, and she could almost hear Ivy’s choked voice as she talked about him, and then the question left her lips before she could stop herself.

“Why did you choose me?”

James looked up at her, paling, his lips pressed tight before he finally spoke. “It—it was the hardest choice we’d ever had to make.” His eyes were on hers now, dark and conflicted, and she forced herself to hold his gaze. “It wasn’t about who was better. You’re both important. It was just...it was about who made the most sense. We—”

“Actually, I don’t need to know.” Her voice shook slightly as she cut him off. Maybe she’d hoped he’d have some pithy answer ready, some straightforward explanation that put all her doubts to rest. But she couldn’t bear to listen to him justify and explain like he was still half-trying to convince himself. She wasn’t ready to know what that conversation had looked like.

All at once, exhaustion crashed over her. How long had they sat here talking? How many hours? And how could she allow herself to feel exhausted when Ivy was still there, still with him, still in danger?

“She told me you always make the right call.” They had been talking about their teams, finding what solace they could in each other. Sometimes I hate it, Ivy had said, but he’s always right. He’s never led us wrong. And yet Felicia was here, and Ivy wasn’t. “I’m not so sure.”

James’s expression stayed steady, but a flush crept up his neck and across his cheeks. “I—” He swallowed, and a muscle twitched in his jaw. “Excuse me.” He pushed back from the table, and Felicia was silent as he grabbed his coat, stepped out the door to the front stoop. The metal spoon scraped against the ceramic of the mug as she stirred her cold tea, and she stared through the papers scattered across the table, and said nothing.

[mylovehes]

Bad Call

Masterlist

Summary: Reader doesn’t wait for backup and gets kidnapped and tortured.

A/N: REQUESTS ARE OPEN!! Any feedback is also appreciated!

Pairing: Spencer x Reader, mentions of the team

Angst with a little fluff (warning mentions of torture and abuse)

I knew it was a bad call. I knew I should have called and waited for backup before chasing the unsub into a big abandoned building. However, everyone makes bad judgment calls eventually in this job. I couldn’t let this guy get away and kill more women just because I was waiting for help. I thought I could take him on my own. I mean I had my gun with me. Unfortunately the universe wasn’t on my side and moments after creeping into the abandoned warehouse after the killer I felt a sharp pain in the back of my head as I hit the ground, gun sliding across the floor as my vision went black.

I woke up in a log cabin house with hands and feet chained to the floor allowing little access to move. I tried pulling on the chains with no luck. Soon after waking up I heard heavy foot steps coming down the stairs to my left. 

“Look who’s awake,” the unsub named Larry Peterson said smirking down at me. He is currently wanted for the murder of 15 women and as fate would have it I fit his victimology to a T. I glared up at the man from where I was sitting on the floor. “I think it’s time to get the party started. What do you think? I hope your friends like movies.” He grabbed a hold of the chains attached to my wrists. As he pulled I noticed they were attached to a pulley that hoisted my body off the ground to where my feet were barely touching the ground now.

“What are you talking about,” I said struggling against the cuffs that were now digging into my skin. He placed a laptop and video camera up directly in front of me. I noticed the red light turn on realizing he was sending a live feed to the BAU. At least this way Garcia can try to trace it back to my location and everyone will know for sure what happened to me. However, I didn’t want them to have to witness what was about to happen, especially not Spencer. He’s been through so much, he doesn’t need to possibly witness another girlfriend being murdered at the hands of an unsub. 

“Say hello to the BAU Y/N,” he said said grabbing my face and aiming it at the camera so they could clearly tell it was me. “Now normally I don’t like an audience,” Larry said while picking up a sharp knife, “but I think the an FBI agent warrants an exception.” He slid the knife across my skin as I groaned in pain trying not to give him what he wanted which were my screams.

-

Meanwhile at the BAU everyone was frantically trying to figure out where Peterson would have possibly taken Y/N. Garcia was unable to locate where the feed was coming from and everyone else was at a complete loss. The furthest they got was narrowing down that she was in a cabin isolated in the forest. Unfortunately for the team there were hundreds of cabins in the woods and it would be impossible to try every single one.

Spencer was slowly losing his mind mad at himself for not going with her to check out the abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of town. He was the first to notice his girlfriend was missing, everyone quickly rushing to her last known whereabouts and finding nothing but blood and a note from the unsub saying he had Y/N in his possession.

No matter how hard everyone tried they could not get Spencer away from the computer screen that displayed Y/N being beaten and tortured. Spencer felt sick listening to her screams of agony but he couldn't bring himself to walk away in fear he'd miss even the smallest clue. If she had given him a clue so far, he had not caught it. 

-

My whole body was on fire. I had been cut, hit, and tased repeatedly for what felt like hours upon hours which in reality was only one hour since he began the torture. I didn’t have the strength to fight back and there was no way I was getting out of these chains without help so I figured the only thing I could do that might help my team catch Peterson was to get him talking.

“Wow mommy really did a number on you huh?” I said spitting blood out of my mouth towards him. 

“What did you just say to me?” He said stepping closer to me threatening me with his glare. 

“What are you deaf? I said, your mommy really did a number on you didn't she? I mean you obviously enjoy hurting women for a reason,” I said hoping to strike some kind of nerve and get him to slip up. 

“Shut the hell up!” He screamed stepping away from me.

“Oh struck a nerve have I? Let me guess. She used to abuse you didn't she, physically and mentally 24/7? I bet you felt real powerless.”

“I said shut the hell up bitch!” He yelled again slamming his fist on the table and grabbing the pitcher on the edge of the table. 

“Are you the one who killed her? This is her place from her mother right? I bet that's how you got this nice cabin because a deadbeat like you obviously wouldn’t have the financials to cover a place this nice and big,” I emphasized hoping maybe the size of the cabin could help narrow down their search somewhat. 

“Maybe this will teach up to keep your mouth shut,” he said roughly grabbing my chin and pouring the contents of the pitcher down my mouth and nose basically water boarding me. The liquid in the pitcher was salt water and it made my whole body hiss in pain from the various cuts scattered everywhere causing me to scream in agony. I begin laughing in a hazy way, about to faint from the pain my body is experiencing. Hopefully the team could track down who the cabin actually belonged too. Before I could think about it too long I glanced at the camera one last time before passing out again.

-

Spencer gasped as he realized what Y/N was hinting at and flew to Garcia’s lair. “Garcia I need you to look up Larry Peterson’s grandmother and find out if she owned any property. I think that might be where he is keeping her.” Garcia quickly typed in the information finding an address that was in the middle of the woods.

“That looks like a nice big cabin in the middle of woods just like what we’re looking for doesn’t it,” Garcia said smiling hopefully at Reid.

“Yes, send us all the address. She has to be there,” Spencer said running out to tell the rest of the team. 

Everyone quickly headed to the address Garcia sent them hopping out of the SUVs and putting on their vests. Spencer and JJ took the back with Hotch and Emily taking the front. Morgan and Rossi entered through the side door. 

-

I awoke to the painful shocking of the taser and a hand over my mouth. As I came to I could hear the sounds of foot steps above me. I tried to scream to let the team know I was downstairs through the trapdoor that Peterson had revealed to me was there but securely hidden. 

“They’ll never find you down here so stop screaming,” He said whispering into my ear. Tears began to pour down my face knowing my team was so close but not being able to find me. I took what little bit of strength I had left and with all my force I bit Peterson’s hand and swung my legs back hitting him just hard enough to get his hand off of my mouth.

“Spencer!” I screamed as loud as I could before the hand once again found my mouth and the taser found its way back into my side. Screams of pain left my lips, muffled from the ears upstairs. 

“Did you guys hear that,” Spencer said causing everyone to freeze.

“Yeah it sounded like it was coming from below us,” Emily said.

“Hey guys check this out,” Morgan said. I could hear the familiar sound of the carpet being dragged back and then the trap door to the stairs being opened up. 

Peterson’s hand left my mouth and I heard the sound of a gun being cocked beside my head. He pointed the gun towards the stairs, taser still pressed into my side. As I heard the steps begin to descend the stairs I realized he was probably going to shoot whoever came down.

“Wait he has a gun!” I screamed in warning. That distracted Peterson as he once again tased me causing me to cry out. The foot steps descended faster and soon everyone came into view. Tears sprung to my eyes as I saw Spencer. I could tell by the look on his face that he did not handle me being kidnapped well at all. 

“Put the gun down Peterson,” Spencer said aiming the gun at him. However, no one had a clear shot because he was using my body as a shield. 

“Take one more step and I’ll shoot her!” He yelled back aiming the gun at my head that hung down, me no longer having the strength to hold it up myself. 

“You shoot her and we shoot you,” Hotch said beside Spencer, gun aimed and ready. 

“There’s no way out of this Peterson you killed 15 women and kidnapped and tortured an FBI agent,” JJ said coming around to Spencer’s other side.

Peterson let out a spine chilling chuckle. He quickly pressed the button on the taser one last time causing me to scream in pain as he had turned the voltage as high as it would go before shocking me one last time. He then pulled the trigger of the gun, a loud bang going off. The taser fell from my side as Peterson hit the ground. He had shot himself. 

“Hotch, JJ, unhook the cuffs. I got her,” Spencer said wrapping his arms around my body.

“I knew you’d figure it out,” I smiled lazily at him, vision beginning to fade into the darkness. 

“Come on Y/N stay with me,” He said carrying me up the stairs. “I love you baby I just got you back stay with me now.”

“I love you too Spence,” I said and that's the last thing I remember besides being loaded into an ambulance.

-

As I woke up the first thing I noticed was the unbearably bright light. The next thing I noticed was the pain all over my body but more specifically my side. Oh yeah that’s right I was repeatedly tased. I groaned shifting and opening my eyes. The small moment caused the curly haired man asleep in the chair beside my bed to stir.

“Y/N you're awake,” Spencer said smiling at you. His smile quickly turned to a frown. “ What the hell were you thinking!” He yelled at me.

“I’m sorry Spence I made a bad call,” I whispered looking down.

“I was so worried about you. I thought I lost you,” He said tears falling from both of our eyes. He pushed his forehead against mine wiping my tears.

“You didn’t lose me. I’m right here,” I said reaching up and brushing his tears away as well.

“I love you so much. I’m so glad you’re okay,” He said pressing his lips to mine in a sweet kiss. 

“I love you too. I’m sorry,” I said again kissing him back. When he pulled back there was a knock on the door and in came the rest of the team giving me hugs and telling me to get better soon.

“The doctor said you’re going to be fine, but you have to take it easy for a little while until your injuries heal,” Hotch said being the last one, besides Spencer, in the room. 

“Really Hotch I’m fine I don't need time off,” I said trying to sit up more and groaning from the sharp pain in my side.

“You’re taking time off until you’re better Y/N and that's an order. Get well soon,” he said giving me a half smile before closing the door on his way out.

“They want to keep you overnight for observation,” Spencer said smiling at me.

“Will you stay with me,” I said giving him puppy dog eyes that I knew he wouldn’t be able to resist. 

“Of course anything for you,” he said. I scooted over in the bed to make room for Spencer and he climbed onto the bed and wrapped me in his arms as we both drifted off to sleep. Spencer leaving a light kiss to my head.

[mazzy-moon]

A Lone Butterfly - Chapter 1

Title: Chapter 1 ~ Captive

Word Count: 1650

Warnings: Mentions of kidnapping and brief descriptions of violence. Allusions to rape. Overall this story has some pretty heavy subject matter. 

Pairing: Javier Peña (Narcos) x Isabel Cotrille (OFC)

Summary: Isabel is captured by the cartel and seeks to find a way out.

Notes: This chapter is not explicit, but things may get spicy in later chapters. Go to my blog for more chapters. I will post chapters every few days as I finish writing them. If you take the time to read this, thank you so much! Would love feedback if you are so inclined.

I wake up to my hands tied above my head. The thin cord of rope gnaws against the tender skin of my wrist, immobilizing me. A numbing ache runs through my head as I tilt my eyes back to find the binding. The skin of my wrists are rubbed practically raw and every tiny movement of my hand is torture. I force movement anyway, pushing through the pain. My numb arms start to wake up also, and with it comes stinging soreness. I've been trapped like this for quite a while. I start to panic. Where am I? How will I get out of here? I have to get out. I have to. I wriggle my wrists against the binding desperately, immediately regretting it. The pain travels down from arms into my shoulders. I groan, not being able to keep quiet. I wish for the oblivion of sleep to relieve me once again.

Through tears, I look down at my scantily clad body. Bruises. I'm covered in them. A canvas of blueish purple splotches appear on my chest, and my upper thighs. One larger area, darker than the others covers the skin underneath my breasts. I take a sharp breath in and muffle a scream at the pain. I'd broken a rib, at least one anyway. I do my best to shove the pain away to a place at the far reach of my mind. I can't let it distract me. I have to get out of here. For a few minutes I just sit, taking soft breaths, willing myself to be strong. My memory slowly but surely comes back into focus.

I remember fighting. Kicking, screaming, punching until I was completely devoid of the energy to do anything at all.  I remember rough hands shoving me onto the threadbare mattress, pinning my arms down. The same mattress I am on now in this dark, cement walled room. I try to remember the time before this black hole of a room. How the hell did I get here? Pieces of my memory come to me as images flash through my head like a scrapbook.

I'm driving along an empty country road. Where was I going? Two men in workers uniforms stand before me. A rusted vehicle. An accident. Did they hit me or did I hit them? Squirming between two sets of iron hands forcing me in the back of the van. Pushing. Shoving. Both from me and him. Hands. Hands on me while I'm in a half daze. Waking up in a room similar to this one, only there's no mattress just a cold concrete floor. I can still feel it chilling my exposed skin. A man is there above me. Forcing myself to stand, to fight. Blinding pain as he throws me back on the ground. A punch to the temple. Darkness.

I will myself to focus on something else, anything else. I can't force the unrelenting memories away, but if I don't forget them for now I won't be able to figure out how to get out of this nightmare that has become my reality. I survey the small space as my eyes start to adjust to the dim lighting. A small wooden desk placed near the pallet I'm on holds a lamp. There's concrete floors here, too. No windows though, and I realize the faint light illuminating the room comes from a crack beneath the door.

I freeze. Noises come from somewhere outside. I make out a hoarse male voice, speaking harshly in Spanish to someone. I try to decipher what's being said but my Spanish is limited to a few a phrases. A few seconds pass and loud grunting noises intensify as I realize what must be taking place somewhere not far from me. Is a there a room beside me? Is there another girl here? How long before someone comes in my room?  I'm terrified to find out. I hear feminine cries and lose some of my hope.

What if I die here? I will never see my mother again. She can't lose me and my father. I won't let it happen. She must be worried sick. How long has it been that she hasn't known where I am? With no siblings, and no other family left we are all each other has. I left my apartment in the states after my father was killed to stay with her here in Columbia. Now she will be all alone.

I continue to breathe slowly in and out to keep from trembling.

"Focus, Isabel," I whisper to myself.

I attempt to inch up into a sitting position. It's tortuous. Everything hurts. It seems as if every muscle in my body has been pulled, and I catch an achy feeling between my legs that I choose to ignore. My shoulders introduce me to a new kind of agony as I shift them and the rest of my torso upright. My sense of time is nonexistent, but from the suffocating ache spreading from my shoulders, down my arms, and through my back I realize I must have been contorted like this for many hours. Once my rear is almost flush with the wall, I allow myself a break. Tears cascade down my face at the pain from my ribs. Determined, I peer over at my bound wrists. They're tied to a metal rod protruding from the wall on my right side. Immediately, I start rubbing my hands back and forth against the rod, hoping the friction will disintegrate the cord. I keep at it for what seems like an eternity, but must have only been around five minutes. The rope doesn't budge.

I search for an alternative solution. My eyes hunt for something  sharp enough to cut through the ties. That's when I spot something purple lying on the ground. Flung a few feet from the desk is a pair of underwear I recognize as my own. A wave of nausea cascades through me, and I almost throw up. The realization of what's been done to me sinks me into a fury of grief and anger. A silent sob escapes me and I can't breathe. My throat threatens to close up, and the air in the room feels sticky against my skin. I brace myself for some violent memory, but it doesn't come. Maybe I was knocked into unconsciousness. Maybe that's why I can't remember. I suddenly feel the urge to escape my body, to be somewhere else. I want to scrub layers off of my skin until I'm clean again. I float off for a second and force myself back into reality. I have to stop. There's no time to process what I'm feeling right now, and I have to get out of here. The new wave of anger makes me even more determined and I take advantage of it. There's nothing sharp that I can tell, nothing to cut through the rope that is nearly cutting off my circulation. I'll have to be more creative. I glance at the desk lamp to my right. There's no lampshade, just an exposed bulb. My right wrist is within inches from it. I lift my feet from the mattress and onto the cold floor. I stand up, hands still bound to the wall.

I mutter a curse as my ribs scream at me again from the movement. I position my arm in order to attempt to use the force of my elbow to crack the glass bulb against the brick wall. It doesn't work. I try again, and again, and again. The fourth time I gather strength from a place I can't comprehend, and manage to crush the glass bulb. Now there's nothing protecting the exposed filament from it's surroundings. I hunch myself over so that the base of the lamp is between my shoulder and the side of my face. The position of my body is awkward and painful, but I'm able to angle the lamp so that the lit filament comes in contact with the rope. It's working. The rope is turning to ash against the heat. I cry in relief as the scorching wire sizzles at my skin and the rope breaks free.

The victory gives me a rush of adrenaline, but I still have to figure out how to get out of this hell hole. I look down and see that I'm still in the outfit from the day the van hit me. My pale orange sundress is filthy and ripped nearly to my hip. I remember having my denim jacket on that day, but it is nowhere to be found. I look around for shoes to cover my bare feet, those are missing also. Okay, so I was going to have to do this barefoot and barely clothed.

Male voices approach outside my door and I scoot to the small space behind the door. There's no place to hide in here, and I don't know what I'll do if one of them comes in.

The footsteps grow louder and then fainter as they pass by my room. I wait until I can't hear them anymore, then let go of a nervous breath. Carefully, I try at the door knob. It twists underneath my hand. The idiots actually left it unlocked. I let go of the knob and scan the room once more, this time looking for some kind of protection to take with me. I know my options are limited, but I can't go out there with nothing. Who knows who or what I'll run into. I run over to the desk and quickly open the small drawer. Nothing. I swallow hard. My eyes fall to the ground and settle on the shattered glass from the lightbulb. One jagged piece is larger than the others. I pick it up and head back to the door. I listen for voices or footsteps once more. Nothing. I ease the door open and step outside.

[the-darklings]

yooo!!!! that 2nd part to the vampire au was soooo good, i think you should at least make one more, just saying. also, loved how you included more of john in this one!

𝙑𝘼𝙈𝙋𝙄𝙍𝙀!𝘼𝙐: 【01】| 【02】| 【2.5】| 【03】| 【3.5】|

wc: 4.1k 🤡

.

“The situation in the East keeps escalating,” the man beside you speaks and you listen silently, not letting any emotion show at his reproachful tone. “Camorra’s power keeps growing. The more treaties they establish, the more creatures they recruit into their ranks, the more their power peaks. You and Johnathan must stay focused. The High Priest says that this war is just beginning.”

“We are focused, Winston,” you say and wince when a jolt rushes through your body. Walking is painful and even with the mild warmth of the sun and gentle breeze brushing against your skin, a bead of sweat still trails down the back of your neck. Your back feels raw and inflamed but you fight not to let your discomfort show. “John has been away for two weeks dealing with the werewolves and—”

“And your little incident was deemed as a failure,” the older man cuts you off, glancing your way as his hands fold in front of him. “The Camorra Devil…honestly. What were you thinking? You’ve been told not to use the Holy Text. You’re lucky it was Charon that found you and not one of the many foul things prowling those streets.”

You huff a breath, clenching your jaw. “I'm aware. What was I supposed to do? Let the Devil drain that girl?”

“One human life is not worth your life,” Winston says sharply, his eyes narrowing. “You and Johnathan are the only Holy Hunters of your generation. You fail to realise your own importance.”

Hardly.  

Stronger, faster, smarter, and with prolonged lifespans. You are not supernatural but you are hardly human either. 

You are neither. You are both. 

Your and Jardani’s names are known wide and far and being considered a legend before your death comes with a certain amount of scrutiny. Expectation. 

Something the High Priest, The Adjudicator, nor Winston ever fail to remind you of. 

“I thought the Holy Church protects all. Cares for all life equally.”

Winston’s head slants, the look in those old eyes knowing. “The Holy Church cares for the bigger picture. Which, at this time, is winning this war.”

He steps ahead of you and you watch his dark robes in the sunlight as his fingers brush over the rose petals. 

The Prayer Garden is in full bloom. It’s a site of reflection, of prayer, of hope and atonement. 

But the sickly sweet scent of flowers makes you dizzy so you try to slow your breaths, focusing on the man before you instead. 

“You will track down the necromancer again and remove him,” Winston states after few minutes of tranquil silence between you. “And once that is done you will return to the church for your Remaking.”

“Why?“ 

It slips out before you can stop it and your mouth snaps shut, a sting of regret following right after. Winston twists to face you, his eyes narrowed, and he pointedly glances around the garden, making sure that no one heard your slip up. 

At the church, there are no questions, only obedience. The will of the twelve priests and especially the High Priest himself is to be followed without questions or doubts. 

And their will is that you are not ready to use the Holy Text. That you need to undergo Remaking often—at least twice a year, if not more—and do so without question. Despite the agony of having to lay down on that cold slab of stone and feel the Holy Text being recarved into your skin anew. 

You’ve learned long ago how to stop the tears and the screaming. Not when you know that the High Priest’s hands will not be gentler for it. If anything, the blades always cut harder, more intently, and whether it’s to encourage or quell the anguish has always been beyond you. But the way the man always traces his work as if in reverence after never fails to leave you feeling dirty and used. 

It’s unfair that you have to go through it over and over again when Jardani hasn’t visited the catacombs in years. 

They say it’s because your power is less stable than his. That the Remaking simply keeps that potent holy power in your veins flowing freely so it never fails you. 

Yet it always makes you feel the opposite. Usually, you’re left feeling heavy and aching with pain for days after. Muffled somehow. 

Winston gazes at you for a long moment before nodding his head. “Come with me.”

You, as always, follow him without question and the priest is mute as you approach a more secluded area of the garden. Few wander here, and if they do it’s for reflection only.

“You have a fierce heart,” Winston begins and you blink, trying to focus on his words. “It burns right out of you. And while it makes you special, it’s also your greatest enemy. You feel too much. Want too much.”

His brief glance at you is telling enough. 

Jardani. 

Winston has never spoken his suspicions out loud but you know he’s always suspected that the nature of your relationship has long since changed.

“I—”

“Don’t bother. The less I know the better.”

His words are hard as the look in his eyes and your gaze lowers. 

He knows that if anyone found out the punishment that would befall you would be terrible. Brutal. So he doesn’t ask. He won’t risk it. 

Silence follows again and you swallow heavily, blinking at the heat of sun against your face. Gods above, even with your lightest clothes, you can’t help but feel like you’re cooking in your skin. 

Your back is twinging with dull pain and you silently curse the vampire prince for the thousandth time. 

Every since your encounter with the Camorra’s Devil, the prince has been appearing in your sleep every night. 

It’s been two weeks of him haunting every second of your slumber. 

Every night you escape by breaking out of his grip and every night he makes it harder to do so. He’s testing you, you know that. Seeing just how far that power in your veins can be pushed. 

He drives you near insane with his silky whispers and promises of joy and pleasure and power. With every sly suggestion and accidental caress. He never oversteps and that, perhaps, makes it even worse. You want to hate those green eyes. 

But he’s found a way to burrow himself deep under your skin. He marvels at your abilities, always eager to see more—as infuriatingly alluring as he is arrogant.  

Every night you awaken from your feverish dreams with your skin slick with sweat and your back aching. The Holy Text seems to itch for hours after, and the only way to suppress the raging fire in your veins is to submerge yourself in a tub of freezing water for at least half an hour. 

It’s gotten so bad that you see him in every dark corner now. Catch glimpses of his green eyes everywhere you look and hear a whisper of his voice in your ear wherever you go. However hard you look, however, he’s never actually there and you know that he can’t be. He is breathtakingly powerful but even he would never risk coming into the beating heart that is the Holy Church itself.

“Are you listening to me?”

“What?”

You blink, snapping out of your thoughts and find Winston frowning at you, his lips twisted into a dismayed line.  

“What’s gotten into you lately?” he questions briskly, the heavy furrow of his brows telling a tale of his subtle worry. “You haven’t been the same since—”

“Your Holiness.”

Your address interrupts Winston’s shrewd words and you bow to your waist, gritting your teeth at the flare of agony through your back muscles. The High Priest, or The Elder as some still refer to him, expects nothing less. As one of his Holy Hunter’s you only have to bow your head, others have to get on their knees before the man. 

Something deep down in your chest scratches and snarls as you stare at the ground, your head ringing.

Do not bow to him—

A hand touches your chin, raising your head and effectively banishing the distant voice that sounds too much like the green-eyed prince from your head. 

“My child,” the man utters, his voice soft. You keep your eyes lowered respectfully but he raises your chin higher and you focus on him only, overlooking the familiar raven-haired man behind him. Even if your heart yearns to look at him. It’s been two long weeks without him after all. “It pleases me to see you out and about once again.”

“I apologise for any worry caused.”

The High Priest brushes his thumb against your jaw and something in your gut twists. 

Winston and your Jardani are quiet and you don’t dare to look away from the man before you. His white robes billow in the faint breeze, adding to the sounds of nature and trees.  

The man inspects you for a long, solemn moment, unblinking.

“I hope this can be a valuable lesson to you, my child,” he says, and there is just enough ice lacing his voice that it feels like one of your blades scraping against your throat. “My words are to be heeded. Always.”

Your heart hammering in your chest, you only manage to dip your head in small a nod. “Yes, Your Holiness.“ 

The man finally releases your face and you try to mask you relief. 

“Good,” he mutters, his dark eyes piercing. “I assume Winston has informed you of your next course of action?”

He doesn’t wait for your reply, his voice stern but tempered, “You will hurry with your task and then return for your Remaking,” he continues, pausing on the last word and something shifts in those dark depths just for a second as he scrutinises you. “I need my Holy Hunters strong and pure. This war will get worse before it will get better.”

Pure. 

A manic laugh almost bubbled out of you there and then. 

Pure. What a joke. If only he knew about the wicked, sinful things you and Jardani do in the folds of the shadows. If only he knew how your bodies tangle together till you can’t separate your edges from his as you drive each other to ecstasy. Smothering every whimper and moan and sigh, stealing and hoarding every moment between you out of fear that it might be your last. 

There is nothing holy about what you two do in the dark. Or perhaps you’re wrong. Perhaps the holiest thing about either of you is how you share each other. 

Because there is divinity to be found in the feeling of his mouth on you.

“Come, Winston,” the High Priest calls out, his gaze finally moving away from you and towards the older man. “Johnathan has returned with some interesting information regarding the werewolves. The Table must hold council.”

Winston dips his head graciously and the High Priest glances at you again before looking behind him where your Jardani stands clad in black. He’s like a storm could, an ink stain, marring a perfectly happy scene. 

“Do not disappoint me, my children.”

A warning if you’ve ever heard one, even if his voice remains amiable. 

You know better than to doubt its sincerity though. 

You both bow as one, and force yourself to speak the monotonous oath out loud, “I have served. I will be of service.“ 

.

.

You don’t look at each other the entire way back to the Northern Building. 

The Holy Church has massive, sprawling grounds with several buildings all blessed to withstand attacks from the darkest creatures lurking throughout the land. You doubt even Giovanni D'Antonio with all his endless, monstrous power could break through the wards etched into the very air here.  

You and Jardani keep easy, meaningless conversation as you pass other members of the Holy Church. Nuns and priests and healers. Forgers of weapons. Other hunters. Just human. Ordinary apart from being trained. 

You and Jardani are a different breed. Standing apart from everyone else here. 

You’ve managed to keep your relationship a secret by never giving anyone any room for suspicion. Except for Winston, clearly, but that man always had a gift of reading you both like an open book.

The Northern Building is special for one reason. That reason being that the entire structure belongs to the Holy Hunters and no one else. 

Of which there are only two in this generation.

You keep several feet distance between you, partake in dull, meaningless conversation that won’t catch anyone’s attention the entire way there.

But the moment the doors close you slam into each other eagerly, your hands greedy and desperate as you tangle in each other. 

Your back hits the door and you hold back a wince of pain as he kisses you with enough passion to stall your breathing. His warm sigh tickles your lips and you moan into his kiss, tangling your fingers in his raven strands. The heat between you, the tingle of pleasure that comes from simply kissing him, manages to dull the pain a little and you melt into his embrace. 

Your dark shadow. 

Gods above you’ve missed him. So very much. 

“I heard about what happened,” he whispers against your mouth when you part for breath and his thumb strokes down your cheek. There is a brief second in which his touch gets replaced by a man with cold eyes and eerily calm voice but you shake it immediately. “I worried. Are you injured?”

His other hand rests against your lower back and you ignore the pain that touch brings, focusing only on him. You lean forward, pressing a kiss against the corner of his mouth. 

“I’m fine,” you reassure him and tug on his hair, delighting in the familiar gleam in those dark pools. A desire for you. A flame that never stops burning no matter how much he insists that you shouldn’t do this—shouldn’t touch or kiss or fuck like the world is seconds away from ending. But he can’t deny you. He can never deny you. “Missed you,” you add because it’s true. 

His expression softens, the impassive man fading for your eyes alone. “I missed you more,” he tells you softly and lays a careful peck against your lips; fleeting and tender.

But you don’t want fleeting and tender. 

Your nails drag against his neck and his expression strains under your deliberate coaxing. 

“Jardani,” you hum quietly and kiss his jaw, pressing into him. “My Jardani. My umbra mortis.“ 

“You’re upset.”

You still. “I’m not.”

“The Remaking—”

“Don’t.”

Your voice is an icy, shaky exhale. Jardani just looks sad but a shadow lingers across his expression, too. He hates seeing you suffering. But this isn’t the outside world, he can’t kill those that would harm you. All he can do is wait for when you are brought back from the ceremony, swaying and delirious, and too weak and drained to do anything for the next three days. All he can do is hold you as you sob into his chest after, begging him to never let them touch you again even though you both know that there is no other choice. He doesn’t bother making you promises he can’t keep.

He touches your face then, your foreheads almost touching. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s agony, Jardani. I can’t—”

His fingers smooth over your hair, his expression dark, distant. “If there was another way…”

Your smile is bitter. “But there isn’t. I must obey or they will force me. And if they ever find out about us they will kill me or banish me—”

“No,” he cuts you off and this time his voice is lower, harsher; practically a growl that rumbles from deep within. “I would never let them hurt you. I would kill them all.”

You cup his face, desperate to have him closer. “I hate it here, Jardani,” you confess in a wet whisper. “This place is a prison. I feel like I'm suffocating here. Have been for years.”

He kisses your cheek and then again, trailing up. Your brow, forehead, nose; a handful of caresses at the time. Lastly, he kisses your lips, dragging you to him carefully and you hold onto him. Your shadow and sanctuary and home. 

“I will find a way,” he vows quietly against your quivering mouth, his voice a deep rumble. “I will find a way, moy svet.”

My light.

His mother tongue rolls off his tongue effortlessly and you shudder at the dark, reassuring blanket those words wrap around you. 

You kiss him again—all teeth and hunger and fingertips seeking his heat—and with his strength he picks you up easily, your legs wrapping around him soundlessly. 

You don’t make it to the bedroom.

.

.

You awaken in silk. 

You’re so used to it by now that for a handful of seconds you don’t stir, simply lying there. 

He isn’t beside you. 

A surprise.

He seems to delight in watching your expression when you wake up with him hovering near or trailing his fingertips down your arm. Once you woke up with his arm partially curled around you, holding you close, practically against his chest. 

You punched him right in his smug face. 

A downside of this being the dream world is that no real damage could be done. It still didn’t stop the swell of satisfaction you felt at the way his head snapped to the side, clearly haven’t had expected an attack even with his finely honed predator instincts. 

Or perhaps he simply didn’t see you as a threat. 

Or trusted you enough to lower his guard which was a thought you had banished the second it came because it was absurd. 

You had felt self-satisfied until he laughed, grinning widely, his cheeks dimpling. 

“You’re a delight,” he had purred and his lack of wrath had been as surprising as realising how appealing his smile is. “Now imagine what you could do with an immortal’s strength, hm?”

But he is not beside you this time. 

Your head slants and you find him sitting a little further away from the bed, bathed in the beam of light coming from a window overhead. 

It takes you a moment to realise what he’s doing. 

He's painting. 

A brush between those long, graceful fingers moves lovingly like he’s taking all the care in the world to make sure that whatever he’s trying to capture is done so to perfection. As if not one mistake could be afforded. 

At least this time he’s not naked. 

It took you a few visits to realise that you come to the dream world dressed in whatever you had fallen asleep in. 

Though the realisation that the vampire prince sleeps naked between his silken sheets had warmed something in your blood. 

“My mother was a great lover of art,” he begins conversationally, still focusing on his work. You sit up deliberately, watching the ripple of his back muscles as he shifts in his seat, facing away from you. “Personally, I never saw much appeal in it. Just a bit of paint on canvas, you understand? That changed after she met Eternal Death. There is indeed something, hm, extraordinary about creation in such a form.”

Your bare feet touch the floor and your fingers grip the edges of the bed as you observe him silently. 

From this angle, you finally get a glimpse of what he’s working on. 

It's you. 

But not.

The woman depicted on canvas has your features. Your lips and nose and hair and colouring but—

But your eyes are something else. They look like they’re raging from within even though your expression is captured as calm and composed—almost empyreal. Your gaze is strong, consuming, sensual and fierce. It demands to be looked at. Respected. Admired. 

He’s painted you as you could be, you realise numbly, an immortal like him. 

His head turns towards you when you stand shakily on your feet, your fingers gripping the side of your nightgown tightly between your fingers. 

The vampire prince eyes you with a slight twitch of his lips as light plays across his tanned skin and wild curls. 

He’s dangerous.  

For the first time, you feel that understanding settle deep in your bones but—

“Do you not like it, amore?”

“I want to leave.”

If you didn’t know any better you would say that he looks disappointed at that. But it’s gone in a blink, whatever it is, so you can’t be sure. 

“You are free to leave whenever you please, bella,” he tells you dismissively, raising the brush back between his fingers. “Don’t let me stop you.”

Brushing past him, you let your fingers clench, trying to pull on the power in your veins. 

“I don’t want to come here anymore,” you bite out, glancing at him over your shoulder before turning to face him fully. “I'm done playing your games.”

Santino’s head tilts, humming in consideration, and it’s hard to think of him as a vampire—the enemy—when he looks so breathtaking in this blinding, warm light. When he looks so approachable, almost normal. 

“Hm. You are exceedingly attractive when angry,” he notes with a sliver of a smirk, peering at you curiously and the green of his eyes is piercing. “What other angry words are you going to bestow upon me, hm? I do so admire a sharp tongue.“ 

His attention transfers to your mouth and you scowl at him. 

”Enough, Santino.“

Shit. 

It slipped out. 

You’ve always addressed him as “D'Antonio�� or “vampire” but never by his given name. 

His smirk disappears instantly, something stuttering across his expression; a flicker of emotion you don’t quite understand passing over his features. 

“Say it again.”

You don’t think you have seen him sound or look quite so serious.

“What?”

“My name,” he utters, his gaze burning. “Say it again.”

Forcing oxygen into your lungs, you breathe a deliberate, vicious, “Santino.”

He’s in front of you in a blink and fear is not the reason why you step away. He stalks closer, his lips parted and you see his fingers form loose fists. 

“Again.”

It’s an order and your lips press together when your back kisses the cold stone of his room. 

This isn’t real, you try to remind yourself, it’s just a dream. But one’s mind has the power to make things real. The Dream Realm is just as powerful as any other reality. 

His hand braces next to your head and you stare at each other for a halted breath. 

His body is tense, coiled, his attention focused solely on you. With the light falling from behind him, it looks like a halo is caressing the crown of his head. He resembles an angel even if you know the devil lurks beneath.  

“San-ti-no.”

He leans closer and you exhale forcefully, your lips parting. 

“You,” he murmurs softly and you feel his fingertips brush up your bare arm, making goosebumps explode across your skin. “Are more dangerous than sunlight." 

You force your suddenly dry tongue to work. "I thought… that the sun doesn’t affect a pureblooded vampire like you?”

He’s close enough that you can feel his breath against your lips. 

Not real. Not real. Not real—

“No, it doesn’t,” he agrees lightly under his breath, the velvety promise of his lips brushing against the edge of your jaw. “Ah, but it’s very good at something else, bella. Can you guess what that is, hm?”

His lips part against the curve of your jaw, a puff of air tickling your skin, and your head tips to the side, his large hand coming to grip your hip. You’re not sure which one of you he’s trying to steady. 

“No.”

His nose slips down, dragging against your skin and he freezes, inhaling deeply. A low snarl erupts from deep in his chest and he nuzzles against your neck intently. 

Through the dizzying haze, there blooms confusion, but then you remember the fact he can no doubt smell Jardani on you. Maybe even scent you earlier lovemaking. You would be surprised if the intensity of it didn’t leave a mark.

“It’s very good,” he hisses against your ear, his breath prickling against your skin and his fingers flex against your hip. “At making us weak.”

Choking down a gasp, you try to pull back but he ducks his head against your neck again, his lips pressing a featherlight kiss against your fluttering pulse. 

“They’re lying to you,” he reveals in a hoarse whisper when his head lifts and your eyes clash. He looks ravenous, wild. His eyes are more black than green. “You are so much more than they’re trying to convince you, amore. Let me show you. Let me." 

His grip on you constricts. 

You blink; once, twice, and bare your teeth at him before promptly snapping the tether between you in half.

There is a glimpse of fury before you are dragged back to wakefulness. 

You fly up into a sitting position, your skin damp and throat dry. 

Every inch of you tingles made only worse by an acute ache between you thighs. 

”Fuck.“ 

…

an: hahaha…….i’m in trouble :) also apologies for any mistakes. one edit only and done at 2:30am ayyyy. hope you enjoyed jfghfdg please don’t try and ask me why i’m actually trying to build a world/lore/plot because “i’m stupid” will always be the answer jhdfg. also I just really dig the feral/dark vibe of this AU so *shrugs*

[bakugou-tm]

fate’s design; bakugou

Okay so this was one of the few ideas I had going on but this one I had after I heard about the live action Tangled being made (literally wanted to be cast for that so bad). But anyways the reader has a healing quirk from her hair just like Rapunzel’s when she sings the song, and you can find out the rest as you read ;)

word count: 3000+

warnings: kidnapping, mad angst but a happy ending :-)

Emotion was a long lost friend of yours.

When you were younger, your life was filled with emotion.

The joy you felt when your family came over for summer cookouts and you got to play in the pool with your cousins while the sweet smell of meat burned on the grill. The sadness you felt when you had to reveal to your parents that you flunked your first math test. The anger you felt when your father ate the last cookie you had made with your mother that weekend, though it was quickly resolved when he returned to the store with a fresh batch.

All of these emotions, no matter good nor bad, you were at bay with. Content with even. Because at that time it was just so nice to.. feel something. Anything.

How you wished you could feel again, have a family again, a life.

That was all ripped from your grasp when you felt your very last emotion: pain.

The day was just like any other, you were walking home from school on sixth year in primary school. Your classes were beginning to grow harder, but thanks to your helpful friends and wise parents you had no troubles. After all, you and your peers were preparing for high school.

You remembered how excited you were for high school. Getting to meet new friends, join new clubs, play new sports. Perhaps you watched too many cliché high school movies, or maybe you had been too naive.

Probably the ladder.

You took the same path you always took, crossing through pretty neighborhoods with large historic trees and cracked sidewalks that brought back memories to your youthful days.

Just as you turned the corner you felt that feeling of comfort in your chest upon seeing the rustic color of your home, the smell cherry blossom tree overwhelming your senses as it did every afternoon.

You allowed the faint breeze to flow through your long soft locks, the occasional blossom falling far from the tree and into your hair.

You would always think... silly flower, you don’t belong in my hair. You belong in the tree with your family.

Walking peacefully down the street you made sure to skip over each crack, the knacking fear of the old children’s tale still in the back of your head.

To you it was just like any other weekday, the same old routine, same old walk, same old emotions.

But that day was far from normal, it was the last day you had the luxury of feeling.

You remembered the way a shiver ran up your spine when you felt someone entwining their fingers in your long locks. You remembered the way your parents ran outside at the sound of your shrill screams. You remembered being held back as you were dragged into a rundown van, your poor excuse of trying to escape proving to be useless. You remember having to watch your parents get engulfed in flames, their screams of agony filling your ears which over-rid the sound of tape being slapped across your mouth and body.

But the one thing that really swam in your mind like poison was the torn blossom that laid much to peacefully on the palm of your hand as tears of pure fear danced down your cheeks.

Silly flower, you don’t belong here.

Things have never been the same since that day. Sometimes you tried to think back on that day, those memories, just to try feel something again. But it never worked, nothing worked.

You followed the same routine everyday. Wake up, eat whatever scraps you could get, sit in the corner silently with no thought in mind, wait for one of the injured villains to come in, sing your song, heal them, hope they didn’t ask for much more from you, sleep, repeat.

You used to hate it so much, helping the people that took your life away against your will. Knowing you were the power of the sick people that ruined other people’s lives everyday. But at this point, you didn’t even know what it felt like to hate.

All you knew how to do was sing that sickening song and sleep. Nothing sounded the same anymore, nothing felt the same, nothing tasted the same. The bottom line was, nothing was the same.

And for six years that was your mindset, nothing would ever be the same. This would be your life til the day you die. That is, if you were lucky enough to see death’s doors.

But one day that mindset changed, your life changed forever. Thanks to the boy with crimson eyes.

-

You sat in the corner of your room, your bottom growing numb against the hardwood floors but you couldn’t care less.

Admittedly your room had gotten some upgrades since you first arrived here. From 11 to 18 you had finally been able to see a bed again, but it mattered not. The bed felt the same as the floor at this point.

Your (e/c) orbs were glued to the floor, your eyelids forcing themselves open pitifully as you traced the outlines of the hardwood as you did everyday.

With your room being below ground, probably in the middle of some rundown city, you weren’t able to hear much of what was going on in the outside world. Sometimes you would imagine what was happening, what holidays were going on and what families were spending time together.

It probably felt nice.

When a loud bang arose from upstairs, your eyes merely flicked to the door with uninterested. Probably one of the villains getting in a fight. Their hideout was in a rundown bar of sorts, this leading to the buffoons always being a drunk mess.

All you could do was hope that they would be sober enough when they had their daily visit with you.

The banging only proceded to get louder, shouts filling the air but you simply ignored it. Letting your head lower to the ground again as your (h/c) locks showered along your face.

Through everything you’ve been through, one thing that never changed was your hair. No matter how much you tugged and pulled at it, wishing it would fall out and end this misery you called a life: it remained.

Soft and gentle as ever, the strands never bothering to move out of place as the cascaded down your smooth shoulders.

It made you absolutely sick.

As the banging grew closer to your door you swore you almost felt a bit of curiosity fill your mind. But who were you kidding, you knew it was only your mind playing tricks on you.

Even as new voices filled the air and quirks seem to go off every which way, you failed to believe it was anything of your concern. You had been tricked long enough, you wouldn’t dare fall for hope again.

Curling your scratched up knees to your chin you let more of your hair cascade around your face, hoping to drown out the sounds and maybe even fall asleep.

The vibrations along the walls were surprisingly lulling to you, your head leaning against the cold concrete as you let your (e/c) irises see the last of this damp room for today. 

But apparently your luck was runnign short today. Just before you could doze off into what freedom you had, the door slammed open.

Your eyes blinked open slowly, your (e/c) orbs peaking up to see which villain you had to heal today, only to see a figure you didn’t recognize.

He was dressed in a uniform, perhaps a villain you’ve never met? But he had no serious injuries, what else could he be here for?

One thing that stuck out to you was the slight confusion and horror that was washed over his expression as he looked you up and down.

If you had any bit of feeling left in your body you would almost be intimidated by the handsome man, his crimson iris’ slicing through you as his lips formed into a snarl showing off his near perfect teeth.

“You’re the flower they’ve been talking about?”

The sound of the word flower made you grimace, the word making you sick to the stomach as a quick flashback of the broken blossom in your hand so many years ago came to mind.

When arriving this the dungeon you now called home, the villains took note of the many blossoms in your hair from your tree at home, deciding to give you the nickname “flower”.

The word you once loved now made you sick.

Your flinching didn’t go un-noticed by the man before you, his eyes narrowing into mere slits as he clenched his fists.

“Sick bastards.”

Before you knew it he was walking over to you, extending out a palm to you awaiting you to take it.

He stood there, his eyes glancing back at the door to make sure no other shitty villain was coming before he glanced back at you only to see your body shoved even further into the corner.

His eyebrow rose in confusion as he shook his hand in an annoyed manor. What the hell were you doing?

“I’ve already done my job for today, please let me rest until tomorrow.” You spoke with quivering lips, only leading the ash blond to click his tongue.

“I’m not here to use you I’m here to get you the hell out of here, I’m a damn hero.”

In that moment you had never felt so overwhelmed in your life. So confused and unsure what to do. Hero? There was such a thing? How could this be real? You were sure your doomed life had been planned out, what was going on? Could life not let you chip away in peace?

The so called “hero” before you was growing impatient. He quickly crouched down on his toes, letting his arms lay across his knees as he looked at you with stern eyes, mumbling something about this being shitty Deku’s job.

“Listen I’m a fucking pro-hero okay? We’ve been chasing this case for months, hearing that the League of Villains had a secret weapon called their “Flower” that’s been the source of all their success these past few years,” The man explained with a sigh as he grit his teeth, “We expected you to be an actual flower, not a damn human, but it turns out these assholes are more disturbing than we expected.”

Your eyes felt glazed over as he offered his hand out once more.

“Now I need you to fucking trust me so I can get you out of here got it?”

For once in these past long years... you felt something. You felt the warm salty water dance across your cheek. You felt the rough rubber of this man’s glove as your slender fingers slid across his own. You felt... damn you say it.. hope.

Swallowing what saliva you had formulated in your mouth, you gave a quick nod before completely taking his hand and allowing him to lift you up from the floor.

One moment you were in the room you had lived in for six years, now you were running down the hallway. Nothing was in your way, it felt so surreal.

This had to be happening for a reason, maybe this was a test. Were they going to kill you if you betrayed them? Who were you kidding, killing you would be the easy way out. They needed you.

When the sight of stairs came into sight your eyes widened, you remembered those from your first day here. Upstairs, outside those doors was the real world.

For a quick second you almost felt like smiling, like screaming from pure joy. But you should’ve known what that would lead to. As a bullet sunk through the chest of the hero before you a scream did end up releasing from your chest.

But not from pure joy.

The hero sunk to his knees, his free gloved hand grasping his now bloodied chest before falling to the ground.

“Now now look what you’ve done flower, you know we have strict rules to keep you safe here.” The villain spoke before you, his gun flicking around his finger as if it were a toy as he began to walk towards you.

So the universe was still playing tricks on you, it wanted to make sure that you knew life still could be worse. And it was, it just kept getting worse and worse.

At least before you didn’t have to see the lifeless bodies that you had caused, but now as you saw the hero before you losing any sign of life in his crimson orbs you felt as if your body was being torn up from the inside. Just like when you saw your parents.

“Come on now flower, let’s get you back to your roo-”

A loud explosion from upstairs was heard causing you and the villain to stumble to your feet. Glancing up you noticed that heavy amounts of dust and ash from the cement walls were clouded around the villain before you.

In that moment you saw two choices. Two choices that life had bestowed upon you. You could either wait for those five seconds and allow the villain to take you back to that prisoned hole.

Or you could safe this hero and possibly have another chance at life. But why would you even try. Had you not learned after six years that life was not in your favor? What was even the point?

As your (e/c) eyes flicked down to the lifeless hero you wanted so badly just to lay beside him and give up, accept the cursed fate stowed upon you.

But as you looked into his crimson eyes, the only thing you could see were the eye’s of your parents. The lifeless look across their expressions as they screamed in pain from the intense flames engulfing them.

Back then you were too weak to do anything about it. You had to watch that happen and allow your life to become what it was. You... You couldn’t do that again.

No.

Gritting your teeth you dragged the hero through one of the now broken down doors, hastily wrapping your locks of hair around his chest as he coughed most likely from pain, holding at his wound.

You narrowed your eyes intensely and focused on making sure you hair wrapped around every inch of his wound.

The ash blond hero narrowed his own eyes up to you weakly, fighting to speak as he watched you maneuver around his corpse.

“W..What the hell are y..you doing?” The hero rasped, his hand trying to grasp around your wrist in an attempt to stop you, “Get the fuck out of here, save... save yourself!”

You simply ignored his pleads, tightening your locks of hair before inhaling deeply.

“Flower, gleam and glow, let your power shine..” You spoke softly, your eyes closing in focus as the hero before you gave you a crazed expression, “Make the clock reverse, bring back what once was mine.”

Initially the hero was disturbed by your soft singing, wondering if this was some sort of song of lost hope. How could you accept your fate like this? He couldn’t seem to plug anything together until he noticed your roots of your long (h/c) locks glow a bright golden color, the bright effect slowly cascading down your locks like a waterfall.

“Heal what has been hurt, change the fates’ design,” You sang peacefully, channeling your quirk’s energy to the man’s injury, “Save what has been lost, bring back what once was mine...”

Upon those words of the song your gentle (e/c) eyes opened slowly to glance down to the hero beneath you, his eyes growing wider as a mix of shock from your quirk’s magic and his sudden energy being brought back to him.

“What once was mine.”

The ash blond failed to notice his steady breathing once again, rather focusing on your hair’s golden shine fading away as your locks began to loosen from around his chest. His eyes followed down to his once bloody chest to now see the hole from the wound completely gone.

Suddenly it all made sense.

You were their healing flower, the source of their power. None of the members of the League of Villains were being taken down because they had unlimited lives. That’s why they had no fear running into battles, they knew they had no risk. Because they had you.

The young hero wasn’t sure if it was from the purely radiant song you sang, or maybe it was the action that had become of the song, or maybe now he was realizing just how truly beautiful you were inside and out. As if he had known you for years. But there was one thing he knew for sure.

Sitting up from his laid down position, the hero gently held both of your palms into his own as he gave you a gentle yet stern look.

“Flower, I will protect you at all costs, from this day on. You will never see the likes of these sick bastards again. We’re going to survive this and I’m going to be your damn hero.”

What was that feeling? The overwhelmingly warm surge through your chest. It felt as if he you had been stabbed in the heart, but it wasn’t pain you were feeling at all. In fact the warmth was spreading through your entire body, as if something inside you had been reawakened.

Part of you wanted to feel concerned about it but you just couldn’t with the other thought swarming in your head.

The hero just called you by the name you swore you would hate for the rest of your life, and yet you felt nothing but trust in the man. The word you swore would always make you feel sick... made you feel hope. 

And for once in six years you allowed the corners of your lips to rise as you took his hand and spoke the first words of your new life with this crimson eyed man.

“I trust you hero.”

[talkfastromance4]

Running Back to You-- Luke Hemmings (wwii au)

Not quite sure what this is, but I felt it within me and I had to write it out. After watching 1917 and Dunkirk, plus Memorial Day and listening to “I am a Poor Wayfaring Stranger” this sprung to life. I’ve been in a writing funk and this helped me out of it, I guess so yeah, might not be good. 

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: graphic violence, mentions of blood and injury, indicated smut(very slight), bombings, gunshots, war mentions, WWII references

Masterlist

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. *copyright is listed below*

• • • •

He awakes with a jolt. In a manner of seconds his mind plays back a reel of his dream that he’s desperate to cling onto. It’s of you. 

In this dream you’re walking along the boardwalk, a pretty pink dress with a pretty pink cloud of candy floss between your fingers. The sky is a clear robin’s egg blue, no cloud in sight. Shrieks of laughter from children still echoes in his ears but he’s chasing after you. He was about to spin you around so you’d smack into his chest, your eyes alight with giddiness as he would lower his lips to yours, tasting the sweetness of the candy floss. 

The bomb that went off from the German aircraft disrupted his dream and his space of peace. Peace is hard to come by in this war, any moment of solace is treasured. Luke has been robbed of his.

The aftereffects of the bombs are always the same; frightened shouts from other men, rapid gunfire blasting into the night sky as if they created the holes for the stars and yells of agony from the wounded. Wrong place at the right time.

They’re all in the wrong place right now. Luke hugs his rifle closer to his chest, it knocks his dog tags together. He clutches them with his other hand desperately, he can feel the flying rate of his heart beneath his dirt covered fingers. Sweat tickles his upper lip, his nose is running and the safety of his dream--and his girl--are well gone now. 

He looks to his left, Michael, a friend he’s made in the last seven months reflects the same face of terror and alertness back at him. His helmet is askew and there’s dirt on his face mixed with his sweat. Their eyes ask a silent question, how long will this last?

“How long was I out?” Luke croaks. His throat is dry as sand, voice cracking from lack of water.  Clearing it won’t help, will only burn more.

“Two hours, maybe,” Michael rasps back. He licks his lips then winces, the salt from his sweat and copper taste from his blood taints his tongue. “You seemed out. What were you seeing?”

“My girl from back home,” Luke’s response is quick. He could talk about you all day; he thinks of you every minute. You’re the only thing keeping him sane during this horrific war. 

“She a pretty bird?”

“The prettiest,” Luke smiles then shifts his gun against a large rock. He digs into his many pockets, but the photo of you is always over his heart. He holds it up for Michael to inspect, the edges are a little worn, but your smile is radiant. 

“She is a looker,” Michael nods then flips it over to read your little note. “‘Come back to me my love.’ She sure loves ya, huh?”

“Yeah, I got lucky,” Luke grins taking the photo back. “Fancied her all through school and I finally plucked up the courage to ask her to the dance. Been together ever since.”

“I didn’t see a rock on those pretty fingers of hers.”

“I’m going to give her one when I go back home,” Luke nods affirmatively. “And we’ll live on the seaside by the boardwalk.”

“My girl’s—”

“GET DOWN!”

Michael and Luke scramble into position, fetal position with hands locked behind their heads just as another bomb fell. This one was closer, dirt, rocks and other debris scattered over their backs. Luke is aware of all the yelling, wails of pain and orders shouted in roll call of their troops, but he’s also fixated on you.

**

Luke’s boots squelch through the mud as he and Michael near the small town they’re set to liberate, to search for survivors and to take down any enemy. A nice family on the outskirts of town on a farm were very hospitable to them as soon as they saw the patches on their shoulders.

They aren’t the enemy.

Luke sang with them, the first time he’s had a guitar in his hands since he was with you on the eve of his departure. It was a bittersweet moment, enjoying the young children dancing and frolicking on the wooden floor while images of you and him dancing that night flashed across his mind.

With it being his last night, the sense of urgency was heightened and soon Luke was undoing the white buttons of your dress while your nimble fingers worked on his belt. It was the first time the two of you did anything like that, bodies trembling, breathing ragged. Your love was sealed with heated kisses.

“You never finished telling me about your girl,” Luke says, averting his eyes from the broken windows of shops. Blackened paint from the swastika’s drip down on the red bricks, papers scatter along the cobblestone road.

“Not to offend but my girl is a bombshell,” Michael grins, and Luke smiles back. Their friendship continues to grow the more they go through, Michael is always cracking jokes even in this dark time.

“What’s she like?”

Luke listens to Michael rattle off everything about his girl. How her hair is the softest thing he’s ever felt, her cheeks are always pink, and she smells of lilac all the time. They always share a milkshake at their favorite diner that has the best burger and fries.

“You and your girl should come with us when we’re back,” Michael adds nudging Luke in the shoulder.

“She’d like that,” Luke nods. “In her last letter, she told me she’s been wanting nothing to eat but fries and a strawberry shake.”

“What do you—”

Luke and Michael are blasted apart. Luke goes flying backwards, his back hitting the rough brick of a building, some of it tumbles onto his chest and knocks his helmet. Shouts from his other men are faint, the sound of the blast must have damaged his hearing slightly.

Through the smoke and floating papers, he searches for Michael who is flat on the ground. A small pool of blood forming by his head that is now bare of his helmet, his arms splayed on either side of him.

“Michael!” Luke screams and crawls his way off the sidewalk to his injured friend. Shots are going on all around him, the attacker has been taken down.

Luke is coughing through the smoke, his eyes watering and as he looks down at his friend, he sees the source of the blood. Michael’s left eye was hit with shrapnel or part of the grenade, rendering him unconscious as the wound bled.

Luke’s own hands are bloody and dirty as he searches for a pulse and finds a faint one, then he tries to find something to wrap his head in. The small knapsack the farm family filled with bread and cheese was made from a large handkerchief.

The bread and cheese tumbles to the soot covered ground as Luke rips the fabric into longer pieces. Michael groans when Luke dresses his head with the fabric, the blood blooms on the white cloth instantly, as if a poppy bursting free.

“Mike! Can you hear me? Talk to me,” Luke spits urgently and tightens the makeshift bandage over his friend’s eye. “Come on, tell me about your girl and the milkshakes. What’s her favorite?”

“V-vanilla,” Michael chokes out, he tries to open his other eye.

“Vanilla? Can’t believe your bird likes plain flavors,” Luke tries to joke with his friend, and it works. Michael’s lips curve slightly.

“Says it . . . reminds . . . of me.”

“Because of your hair? She’s funny, I can’t wait to meet her. Can you sit and stand?” Luke helps lift Michael up just as another soldier comes to their aid. He helps hobble Michael to shelter where the other troops have assembled.

“I’ll get the medic over, he can clean the wound,” the young man who helped with Michael says.

Luke holds Michael’s hand as his face continues to redden from the blast and his own blood. The medic, Calum Hood, gets to work immediately when he comes by.

“Keep him talking, he may go into shock, but he seems strong,” Hood instructs popping open his first aid kit.

“What else can you tell me about her?” Luke asks hastily. Michael’s bright green eye zeroes in on Luke, which makes Luke suck in a breath. Such a bright color while his face is dirty and bloody.

“I can smell her lilacs, Luke,” Michael sighs. “So pretty.”

“I bet they are,” Luke nods.

Calum hood glances at Luke when he removes the handkerchief. There’s a big gouge where Michael’s left eye should be. Michael squeezes Luke’s hand.

“It’s gone, isn’t it?” Michael licks his chapped lips.

“Mich—”

“It’s fine. Rather my eye than my life, eh? Reckon I’m still better lookin’ than you,” he jokes then flinches when Hood pours alcohol on the wound.

“You’re right about that,” Luke smiles. “I better watch out, you might steal my girl from me.”

“That’s just the beast in me.”

**

Luke and Michael are silent on their trip back home.

The medical officer Hood recommended that Michael stay behind while the rest of the troop liberated a small encampment of a Gestapo Officer that was in high ranks. Michael refused and persisted that he won’t stay behind. He signed on to help and defend and he will do it with one eye.

As soon as their troop marched onto the land of the officer, they heard a series of gunshots. Luke and Michael reached the house first, so they witnessed the horror first. In the study, the Officer and his family lay sprawled on their now stained wooden floor; the gun in the Officer’s hand as he drowned in a river of his family’s blood.

There were about fifty prisoners kept in the basement and in makeshift barracks in the backyard. All of them were ghosts, malnourished, dirty and filled with terror. One of them cried into Luke’s chest while the other soldiers coaxed the others out of hiding. One of their men spoke fluent German, his name is Ashton Irwin and he assured the prisoners that they will be safe now. They won’t be hurt.

The horrific sights hang dauntingly between Luke and Michael as they rode back to the Army hospital in France. The pair were never apart except when Michael was in surgery to repair the damage around his eye. Michael was asked if he’d like a glass eye, but the thought was mortifying so he opted for an eye patch.

Both clung to each other on the boat ride home and woke each other up on the train as they had the same nightmares. Nightmares of what they went through, of what they saw. Luke clutched your picture tightly against his chest, he stared at your face in the moonlight as the train rattled on.

Luke is tired. His feet are tired yet he’s aching to be near you again. He pulls his dog tags from his pocket that now has a diamond ring looped on the chain. Michael helped him pick it out while they were in France. He can’t wait to come home to you.

“She’s going to say yes, stop over thinking,” Michael tells him while the train pulls into the station. They both jump when a man bangs on the window, a gleeful smile on his face as he congratulated them for being home. “I wish it was just us on the platform.”

“Me too,” Luke replies grimly.

While they were at the hospital in France, one of your letters was forwarded to him. You wrote of your fear and worry for him, that you haven’t heard from him in weeks. You confessed your love every other line and Luke wished he could hold you, assure you that he’s almost home.

It’s been almost a year that he’s been gone. Each step of his boots was away from you, but they were also running back to you. Luke notices the tremble in Michael’s hands, an after effect from his accident but it’s been heightened from nerves.

“She’ll be happy you’re alive,” Luke assures him. Michael nods robotically. He’s nervous what his girl will say about his eye.

The two get off the train together, both searching for their loves. Being taller than nearly everyone helps, and Luke finally spots you near a pillar next to a bench. Without a second thought, he abandons Michael (for now) and pushes through the crowd of families being reunited, forcing his feet to move faster to you.

You’re already crying by the time he reaches you, his arms encasing you tightly as he breathes you in. You’re both grasping each other securely, whispering ‘I love you’ in each other’s ears. All his woes seem to disappear the longer he’s in your arms and he pulls away to plant a kiss on your lips.

“I have something for you,” he rushes out and reaches for his dog tags.

“I have something for you, too. I—Luke!” you gasp when he dangles the ring in front of you. You kiss him quickly in response, hoping he’ll understand that you mean yes. He slips it on your finger while it’s still looped on his necklace.

“What’s your—”

A small baby’s cry makes him freeze, then he finally takes in your surroundings. There’s a black baby carriage to the left of you, a pink blanket peeking out. Luke’s eyes widen as he looks between you and the carriage.

“There’s someone who’s been waiting to meet you,” you tell him. You slip your hand in his leading him to the carriage.

Luke collapses onto the bench, staring at the most beautiful baby he’s ever seen in his life. He grasps the edge of the carriage as the baby girl stares up at him, she has your eyes. You lift her from the carriage, carefully placing her in Luke’s awaiting arms. Tears fill his eyes as he kisses his daughter’s head, then you sit next to him and he holds his whole world in his arms.

“I’ve been running back to you,” he whispers to his girls.

• • • •

Copyright talkfastromance4 © All works is intellectual property of the author. All rights reserved. Any redistribution or reproduction or any part or all contents in any form is prohibited. You may not, without written expression and consent from the author, distribute works amongst other social media platforms

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[greensaplinggrace]

ok another clack fic cuz cloud whump is the best and there’s never enough, so “please don’t cry” and “don’t ever do that again” from prompt list where cloud is still emotionally inept but zack is always there to help him feel and comfort him🥰🥰

Soooo...this took a very dramatic turn and I’m sorry! I actually have another version of this fic more along the lines of what you asked for in the works, so if you want me to tag you when I post it I can totally do that XD. I’m sorry it took me so long to complete this prompt! Life has been a bitch and I didn’t want to force it, you know?

“Please don’t cry” / “Don’t ever do that again.” (From This Here Prompt List)

*TW for violence and minor emetophobia

-If you want to send in a prompt, the guidelines are HERE and HERE!

---

Dusk has settled well over the city when the register rings shut for the final time that night. Sealing away the money he’d just counted should not be as satisfying as it is, but Cloud’s more than eager to end his shift. Eight hours is a misery but ten is exhausting, and every muscle in his body aches with the need for plush sheets and the warmth of his heating pad.

Today is Zack’s day off, which means he’s going to want to take the scenic route as he walks Cloud home, but there’s no way in hell Cloud is walking three miles today. He wants his binder off and his packing out. He doesn’t know why he’d thought packing on a busy Saturday was a good idea, but he’s starting to regret it.

Kicking the cup-holders into place, Cloud checks over the fridge and the oven before finally flicking off the last of the lights. There are some dishes still in the sink, but it’s only a couple of plates and a mug. Not enough to bother with, and hopefully not enough to piss Barret off come morning, though Cloud can never be too sure when it comes to the man.

Sometimes, he feels like Barret is warming up to him. Other times it’s like the man has an “I hate Cloud Strife” tattoo painted across his face. Cloud’s long since stopped trying to impress the guy in favor of actually being himself, and the recent response has been a whole bag of mixed signals. The only consolation is that he seems to hate Zack more. Which is why Zack has been permanently banned from visiting Cloud on morning shifts and instead been delegated to walking him home after closing. An entirely useless endeavor, considering Cloud can take care of himself, but Zack mostly does it to keep him company than out of some strange sense of duty, so he lets it slide.

A loud pounding on the door signals Zack’s arrival, and Cloud only makes another cursory sweep over the kiosk before hanging up his apron and grabbing his things from the back. As soon as he heads for the front door he sees Zack, face pressed to the glass and waving wildly, an eager smile splitting his face in two.

Warmth wells in Cloud's chest at the sight, along with a faint of tinge of exasperation at the other man's antics. He sighs and rolls his eyes enough for Zack to see it through the smudged windows, pushing the door open so hard it has him bouncing off the glass.

“Ow! Hey!” Zack huffs, rubbing at his nose with a pout, and Cloud casts him an unimpressed look.

“Tifa’s going to have your head for messing up her window.” The door shuts behind him with a bang, rattling against a gust of heavy wind, and Cloud burrows into his scarf with a shiver. He fumbles for the key with gloved fingers and uses his other hand to pull the scarf tighter, scowling into the soft fabric when Zack only grins.

“Don’t worry! She won’t ever know it was me.”

“Yes, she will.”

“Wh- how?! Nobody saw me.”

Cloud raises a brow at him before turning to the door, fighting with the lock for a good three seconds before it budges and clicks into place, and when he turns back around it’s to see an expression and complete and utter betrayal on Zack's face.

“You would tell her? About me, your own boyfriend? What happened to bros before hoes?”

“Tifa is my bro.”

“What, so does that mean I’m your hoe?”

Cloud’s lips twitch into a smile, and he hides his blush in the folds of his scarf as he grabs Zack’s hand and powers down the sidewalk. “Let’s go.”

“Yeesh! Calm the death grip, piña colada.”

“Absolutely not, Zack.”

“It’s a cute pet name.”

“It’s not a pet name at all.”

“Well, you’ve vetoed literally every real one in existence. I have to get creative.”

“There’s not a creative bone in your body, soldier.”

Zack tuts, tone suddenly serious in a way that has Cloud feeling guilty for snapping, and slows his walk drastically. He tugs at Cloud’s hand as he does so, and Cloud’s forced to either drop behind or risk losing him. Reluctantly, Cloud falls back. When he reaches Zack’s side, the other man is quick to give him a sideways look of concern. “You’re in a mood. Bad day at work?”

“It’s not a mood,” Cloud hisses, because the tension just won’t leave, heart pounding and ears ringing. Zack’s hand tightens around his for a while, thumb pressing into his palm until he’s gentling.

“I know,” Zack eventually says, “those were the wrong words. I’m sorry.”

Cloud glances away. “‘S fine.”

“Did something happen at work?”

“Just-” Cloud exhales loudly, pulling Zack closer as they turn a corner, “-long day. And a Saturday, so…”

“Your chest hurt?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay, then how about we talk about the awesome day I had at my work!” Cloud hums his assent, leaning into Zack all the way as he relaxes into the sound of Zack’s voice. “A vet came in for Collie today, and they were the perfect match. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a dog and a woman fall in love faster in my life. I mean, I’ll be sad to see her go, but she’s still got regular checkups for a bit, so I can spend some time with her for a little while longer. Not to mention Cissnei is an amazing person. I mean, she’s rough around the edges - sure - but who isn’t?”

“I have no idea who that is.”

“Oh! She’s the vet. Just came back from a real bad tour and she needed a trainer with good ethics - that’s me - so she dropped by and almost instantly bonded with Collie. It was so heartwarming. Wait, I’ve got a picture here…She wouldn’t let me take a video but...”

Zack trails off as he searches for his phone, and as much as Cloud loves hearing about Zack’s passions, he takes a relieved breath of fresh air at the break. 

It’s quiet out. Cold and biting beneath a clear sky, and Cloud peers up to blink at the lack of stars and natural lighting. A thick glow isolates the moon above him, created by the ever present lights and sounds of the city, and he feels a longing pang for home. He tugs at Zack’s hand and leans even further into him, pressing his face against the warmth of Zack’s coat, and listens to the rising curses with a contented curl of amusement.

Maybe he won’t go straight to bed, after all.

Steps echoing down the abandoned inner roads, they turn another corner and start towards their apartments. He glances up at the other man through his lashes, reluctant to part completely and abandon Zack’s heat. Snuggling would be nice, he decides. Cradled in his boyfriend’s arms as they warm up beneath the covers. Maybe he could even convince Zack to give him a massage. 

Cloud hums, opening his mouth to ask if Zack would like to stay the night, but before he can so much as get a word out a bruising grip wraps around his wrist. All thoughts of home are wiped clean from his mind as he’s ripped from Zack’s arm with a startled yelp. He twists and drives his head viciously backwards into his attacker’s nose, only managing to feel a brief sense of satisfaction at the ensuing snap and scream before hard metal collides with his head in an excruciating explosion of pain. He gasps and chokes out a cry, legs buckling as his mind splinters in agony.

“Cloud!” Zack’s voice rings painfully in his ears as his hand is wrenched to the other side of his chest, an arm encircling him and pulling him back into another body.

He flinches at the feeling of a cool metal circle coming to rest against the side of his head, whimpering as he’s shaken violently, head flaring enough to make his stomach lurch. “Zack.” His voice cracks on the word as he blinks stars from his eyes, Zack’s wide blue eyes coming into view before the pure, unadulterated horror of his expression does. Cloud’s stomach lurches again and he heaves, struggling weakly against his captor’s grip.

“Hey!” The gun digs painfully into his skin as the man shakes him again. “Quit your damn struggling before I decide you ain’t worth my time.”

“No! No- don’t-” Zack sounds on the edge of panic, and something somewhere in Cloud’s hazy mind tells him he should comfort the man, but no words can find his lips. “Don’t hurt him, please. What do you want? I’ll give- I’ll give you anything, just-”

“No…”

“I said shut the hell up! You think I’m joking?”

“He’s- he’s out of it, man. Come on. Just tell me what you want. Don’t- don’t shoot him, please. Is it money? I’ve- I don’t have a lot, but- but it’s all yours. All of it.”

Cloud whines out a protest, awareness trickling back slowly. Zack is strapped for cash right now. He wouldn’t survive dumping all of his money. 

“Tell your bitch to shut the fuck up!”

“Hey, calm down man, okay? Here- here’s all of it just...” There’s a thump on the ground in front of them, and what ensues in the most excruciating and awkward bend in the history of Cloud’s life as the guy reaches for it, never once taking the gun from his head. Then there's a scoff, and Cloud knows - knows - what he’s going to say before the words even fall from his lips.

“You think this is enough? The hell do you take me for? Give me all of it!”

“That’s all I-”

“Does your boy have anything on him?” The man’s shaking now, voice wavering on the edge of hysteria, and the tremor of his gun has Cloud swallowing tears of fear. “‘Cause if he’s hiding nothin’-!”

“No, he’s fucking broke, just-”

“I saw you walkin’ along all comfortable! Give me your fucking phone and...and that necklace.”

Cloud’s stomach drops with the words, panic rising high and heedy in the back of his throat. The necklace - Angeal’s necklace. No way. No fucking way.

“Um...the- the necklace, right.” It’s weak and strained, Zack biting his lip to hold back tears, and something in Cloud’s heart breaks. 

“Don’t. Zack, don’t-” his words are cut off in a cry of pain as the gun comes back down on his head again, and there’s piercing, splitting noise like gunfire that has Cloud jumping, bucking against his captor in pure terror as Zack yells.

“Holy shit. What the hell is wrong with you?!”

“I told him to stay fucking quiet! The next one goes through his head.” The grip tightens around Cloud until he can hardly move anymore, gasping for breath as the tears shake from his eyes. “Now give me the damn necklace. Now!”

“Okay..okay, I’m giving you the necklace.” Zack’s sounding really agitated now. In a different, very dangerous way that says he’s about to do something stupid, and the thump of Cloud's heart against his ribs is more deafening than the gunshot ever could be. 

Zack is going to endanger himself. Zack is going to do something. Cloud’s mouth feels gummy but he can’t move and he can’t speak and his head feels like it’s on fire. Through the blur of his tears he sees Zack shift, hand coming up to his neck, and he feels his captor freeze against him.

“What are those?”

“They’re my tags, man. They’re...completely worthless.”

“You were in the army?”

“Special forces.” The hard edge to his tone is enough to chill even Cloud, who’s known Zack for years and who’s seen him smile like the very heart of the universe itself. For his captor, it seems to have an even worse effect. One of high, panicked breaths and the uneasy waiver of his gun. 

Cloud sees Zack’s face harden before he charges. Sees him tense and move in the split second the gun is away from his head and it’s like the world comes crashing down around him. “Zack! Don’t-”

His voice breaks as he’s pushed aside, the breath forced from his lungs when he collides with the ground, head searing. A gunshot cracks through the air and there’s a shout, fists against flesh and another shot, this time with a scream, and Cloud tries desperately to push himself up and see what’s happening but the world spins sickeningly and he vomits onto the dirty concrete with a gut wrenching sob.

Then there’s silence. A loud thud that makes Cloud’s veins run cold and his stomach quiver again.

“Cloud.” A hand pushes through his hair, soft and gentle and Zack, and Cloud lets out a sob of relief. He collapses into Zack’s hold, shaking against his knees and encased in his arms, and claws desperately at the fabric of his pants. Burrowing his head into Zack’s thigh, Cloud sucks in a deep breath and exhales with the force of every line of tension wringing his energy dry.

“Zack,” he breathes, “Zack, you’re alive.”

“Yeah. Yeah. I’m so sorry, Cloud. I should never have let you get hurt like that, I- I- Hey…hey, please don’t cry.”

Cloud shakes his head and chokes out another sob, because God - God - he’d almost lost him. Almost lost Zack. And the tears won’t stop spilling from his eyes even as Zack runs a hand through his hair, up and down his back soothingly. Even as Zack curls around him like he’d never let Cloud go.

“You almost died- you almost-” and then there’s anger, stark and hot as he raises his wet face to glare at his stupid fucking boyfriend, “-don’t ever do that again.”

Zack smiles weakly, wiping at his own eyes with his shoulder, and the glint of his tags - the glint of Angeal’s necklace - makes Cloud’s shoulders seize again as a fresh wave of tears comes. He clenches his eyes to fight it and ducks his head down again, Zack’s words vibrating against his cheek as he speaks.

“I could say the same about you. Fuck, Cloud, I don’t think I’ve ever been so scared in my life.”

“I doubt it.”

“No, it’s true. It’s- It’s really, really true.”

Cloud lets that sink in for a second. “Oh.”

Zack cracks out a laugh, forced and loose and relieved all at once, and exhales as his shoulders droop with exhaustion. “Yeah, oh. Never again, Cloud.”

Cloud sighs and closes his eyes, letting the world take him.

“What about damsel in distress?”

Cloud opens his eyes again with the single minded purpose of burning a hole into Zack’s waist. “What do you think?”

“Eh…” Zack smiles nervously and scratches the back of his head. “Too feminine?”

“Too ridiculous.”

“I did just save your life.”

Cloud scoffs and doesn’t say anything for a while. Then, “you’re giving me a massage when we get back home.”

“Sweet Apple Pie, I’ll give you a thousand massages once we get back home. But we aren’t getting home until you’ve been to a hospital.”

“Ugh.” Cloud pulls a face, though for the pet name or the idea of a hospital, he doesn’t know.

Zack takes his response with the usual amount of grace. “You’re going to the hospital if I have to haul your ass there by the seat of your pants,” he huffs, “and I’ll call Tifa to make sure you don’t struggle.”

“We should probably call Tifa anyway.”

Zack sighs lengthily, petting a hand through Cloud’s hair as he tilts his head back to look at the sky, and Cloud relaxes into the touch with a pleased hum. There’s the occasional zing of pain when Zack skirts around the lumps on his head, but the pain fades into a dull background noise over time, as they sit and drift into the quiet of the night.

The ambulance arrives not two minutes later.

[ehzradoesthething]

When the Truth Gets Out~ Finikk Stryder

“No- you had hundreds of opportunities to tell me the truth after Dad died, Nik- but you just fucking lied.”

The scathing words from his younger brother still rang loudly in Finikk’s head- too loud to concentrate on reading, let alone sleep. Quill was right, he should have been told the truth a long time ago, and keeping it hidden for the better part of nine years was the furthest thing from fair. Maybe when he ten it was justifiable, but now he was nineteen, and of course it didn’t take him long to figure it out on his own.

~~~~~

Finikk still remembered a lot of the details from that night, it was hard to forget, considering how much it had changed his life. He was fifteen, a brand new recruit to the Night Watch, off on his first watch with his father to safeguard his home. It had been an ordinary night for Duskwood, though his father did make mention it was unusually quiet as they walked the path between Darkshire and Raven Hill, lighting their way with torches that offered a fraction of extra warmth if you held it the right way. That was exactly what Finikk had been focused on when the sound of heavy hoofbeats disturbed the still night. It was Lorelle- his mother, who had ridden out on Finikk’s Clydesdale, Horizon in nothing but his lead halter. Finikk could still hear the desperation in her voice.

“’He’s gone- the bloody idiot’s run off in the night into who knows what. I told you Elryn, what would happen if you left Quillan out of Nikki’s life like this-”

She was distraught, having found Quill’s bed empty and his window left open. Finikk remembered his Father throwing him onto Horizon’s back behind his mother, ordering them both to return home before he went in search of Quill himself, knowing already he’d be searching for a body.

The ride back to Darkshire was made quick thanks to his horse, and that was when Finikk did something stupid himself. A very quick scan of the bedroom he shared with Quill told him all he needed to- Quill had taken his brother’s bow and quiver, climbed out the window to avoid their mother, and followed after his Father and brother. So, without hesitation, Finikk headed back outside, ignoring the panicked pleas of his mother. His Father might have given up on finding Quill alive, but Finikk never would.

It was unlikely Quill would have got far carrying Finikk’s bow- it was way too big for an already-small-for-his-age ten-year-old. But even then, Quill was smart enough to know to stay off the paths if you wanted to avoid the Watchmen. Going outside after dark was far from recommended in Duskwood- even the daylit hours were unsafe. But Finikk knew all their hiding spots, new and old, and he knew Quill’s head. 

The early signs of Quill’s journey were something only Finikk would see- the disturbed dirt on the embankment leading straight to Brightwood Grove, right in the easiest area for a kid to climb if he wanted to avoid the watchmen patrolling the paths. It was difficult in the dark, even with the torch, and Finikk started letting his worry get the better of him. Brightwood Grove was usually infested with Venomous Spiders that averaged about half the size of a horse, but word among the watch was the knowledge of a new threat- a pack of feral Worgen known as the Nightbane had moved into the area, and proved very difficult to keep under control. Finikk wanted to think that Quill, even at ten, couldn’t be so stupid as to wander into the area on purpose, but something told Finikk his brother had more on his mind than simply following him and their father that night. 

Finikk was careful, and surprised at the lack of giant spiders he had to slay along the way as he carefully travelled through the Grove by torchlight, following the smallest traces of broken twigs and flattened grass as he went. But, when the dim glow of the torch revealed the mangled corpse of a Direwolf, Finikk started to panic, and against his better judgement, started using his voice.

“Quill?”

He waited a few seconds, to no response, returning to his slow process of tracking, listening to the sounds around him for any seconds head-start on the next spider, or worse. 

“Quillan!”

He knew he should shut up, and all he was doing was drawing attention to himself, but this time, his call went answered- and it was only a whisper- but so close he almost screamed himself. 

“I'm over here-”

Quill was sitting against the stump of an old tree, hiding, by the looks of it- not six feet from him. His torch was dimming quickly, but even in the poor light, he knew Quill was terrified of something. 

“What the fuck were you think-”

Finikk didn’t know what hit him, and he wouldn’t until it was well beyond too late. The Worgen came out of nowhere, and all Finikk remembered was his skin being torn apart, white-hot pain in his shoulder combined with the sickly feeling of his own blood escaping every wound- but, just as quickly as it had happened, the attack stopped, leaving only the agony and Finikk only just made out a familiar voice before he fainted.

“You’re fine, You’re going to be fine, we have to go-”

The biggest surprise that followed was when Finikk awoke in his bed the following evening with all his injuries wrapped in bloodstained linen- he knew just by looking it was his mother’s work. Lorelle sat nearby, right at Finikk’s bedside, patching clothes that seemed to be Quill’s. Her blonde hair was still a mess from the disastrous evening, but really, it just made the resemblance between her and her second son all the more apparent.

“... Is Quill okay?”

It was the first thing he wanted to know, and the sound of his voice clearly startled his mother- and she wasn’t very easy to scare. She recovered quickly, dropping her needlework and moving to sit at the edge of the bed instead, fussing with the bedsheets as she spoke. 

“He’s fine- He woke up earlier today too-”

“What do you mean woke-up? Is he alright?”

“He wasn’t conscious when your father found you, Nik. He’s alright though- Spider bite is all, but... easy enough to treat. He’ll be fine.”

Finikk closed his eyes, relieved.

“So... what attacked me?”

His mother shook her head, lightly fixing his hair out of his eyes.

“A Dire Wolf, by the looks of it- a big one.”

“I’ll kill him- If I ever walk again I’ll kill him.”

~~~~~

Finikk snapped back to reality, still sitting by the dying embers of the fire where Virgil had left him. Finikk knew the rest of that story- He just didn’t want to be reminded. But now- Quill knew it too. And the biggest question was weather or not Quill could forgive Finikk for slaughtering their mother when he turned within minutes of waking up.

A soft creak of the floorboards behind him alerted him to- he assumed- Virgil coming back downstairs- who knew why. But Finikk rubbed at his eyes quickly- he didn’t need the ex-paladin to think he was weak.

“I’m ok, Virgil- I wont be much longer-”

“It’s me, actually”

The sound of Quill’s voice made Finikk jump, and he automatically stood up to face him. 

“I... didn’t think you’d be back so soon...”

“Neither did I. But it is late. And... I’m not ready to be around you yet, but you deserve to at least know I don’t blame you for Mother. And... I’m sorry my actions ended up with you... getting hurt.”

It was the last thing Finikk had expected, or so he thought- Until Quillan stepped forward close enough to reach up and pull back Finikk’s hood- to see the scarring that marred Finikk’s face and neck as what it actually was for the first time. Finikk did his best to stay still, and let him look, even at his violet eyes that gave off a faint glow.

“You know you’re still my brother, Nik. And... I’m mad. At you and at Dad... But I know that wont last. You were trying to protect me and I get that. But I can handle the truth. I’m not ten anymore.”

Finikk only nodded, forcing a smile. He didn’t trust himself to use his voice, especially not when Quill was acting so serious. 

“Maybe it made sense when I was younger... But if you went through that at fifteen, I could have too. I just... I want to talk about this more, another time. I really just wanted you to know I’ll stay in the City for now, so... I don't know. Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Okay... I am sorry, Quill. I just-”

“Tomorrow, Nik, seriously. I really cant right now. Besides- your boyfriend is probably wondering where you are.”

There was a smile then, from both brothers.

“He’s not my boyfriend, Quill.”

“Does he know that? Shit, someone better tell him before you leave it nine years too late and end up married but not really because ‘he’s not your husband’.”

Quill grinned, it was probably too soon to make jokes of the situation, but... he wouldn't be Quillan Stryder if he didn't. With a last smile, and a light touch to his brother’s unscarred shoulder, Quill left, quietly closing the door behind him to return to Stormwind.

Finikk stood where he was, processing what just happened  until the embers in the hearth died completely, Then, with a relieved sigh, he unpinned his cloak, leaving it draped over the back of the lounge with the one he had given to Virgil, and headed upstairs.

He hesitated on the landing above, debating his next move less carefully than he should have- before he just turned away from his own room and went into the one that was once his Parents’, now Virgil’s, collapsing on the free side of the bed without a word. He didn’t even bother waking him, or climbing under blankets, he just fell asleep right there, for once, thankful that his improved hearing could even pick up Virgil’s faint heartbeat- it was probably a lot easier without the hood too, but regardless, It was a comfort, and soon sent Finikk to sleep.

[chickensarentcheap]

Best Part of Me- Chapter 85

Warnings:  profanity, violence, mentions of blood, mild torture, very minor references to rape 

Tagging: @innerpaperexpertcloud, @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @alievans007, @tragiclyhip​

He briefly loses consciousness,  succumbing to shock and blood loss. When he comes to he’s disoriented. Head swimming and vision blurred; vaguely aware of combined smells of sweat,  urine,  and pure filth. A lone voice to his right;  volume muted and its words garbled, making him feel as if he’s attempting to listen and decipher while being submerged underwater. He feels groggy and weak; head swaying back and forth and from side to side, eyes repeatedly blinking in an attempt to acknowledge and recognize his surroundings. At first he thinks he’s back on the Sultana Kamal Bridge, leaning back against the side of an abandoned and bullet ridden sedan. Right leg rendered useless and the strong metallic taste of blood in his mouth; crimson rivers escaping his lips and trickling down his chin. Chest feeling as if it’s on fire; sheer agony created by a sniper’s bullet that ripped through his back and plunged into his chest. The tightness in his left lung; the distinct rattling and wheezing noise he makes every time he attempts to draw a breath.

It’s seven years ago and he’s back on that bridge. Exhausted and in pain; feeling all semblance of strength and hope...of LIFE...seeping out of him. But there’s no visions this time; no delirious moment where he sees the blurry yet unmistakable image of his dead son. He can hear   laughter though. Faint yet musical; a beautiful sound that somehow cuts through the grogginess and the thick fog of pain and manages to bring a weak smile to his face. And their voices; happy and excited as they call to him. His oldest daughter and his twin boys; giggling as they encourage him to follow them. To run and play and throw them over his head; that blind faith and trust that he’ll always be there to catch them.

Another voice now. Older and deeper. And he tightly squeezes his eyes shut and tries to identify it. Rich in tone and possessing a slow, Southern drawl; a discernible twang that evokes the smell of leather and cheap whisky. A chuckle accompanies it; one that’s both menacing and amused. It’s followed by the shuffle of boots along dirty and cracked cement; a sound that grows as it slowly approaches him.  He opens his eyes when senses their presence; a hazy figure briefly standing at his side before  crouching  down to his level. And as the grogginess begins to lift and his consciousness begins to return, he expects to see fourteen year old Ovi next to him; clad in a dirty t-shirt that is monstrous on his tall, slender frame and jeans a few sizes too big. The words are on the tip of his tongue -“You see that helicopter? I need you to run as fast as you can for it”- but they never leave his lips; forming in his brain yet no sound emerging. But it isn’t a kind, comforting hand that reaches for his now. It's one that is rough and callused and violently yanks his head up by his hair.

“Wake up!” Nathan snarls, and tosses a cup of dirty water in his face. “I’m nowhere near through with you.”

The pain is intense. Beginning at the small of his back and travelling the entire length of spine. Some of the feeling has returned to his legs; extremely limited mobility, but he’s able to move his feet ever so slightly and weakly wiggle his toes. He can smell the blood; sharp and metallic. It soaks his left shoulder and stretches from one hip to the other;  aware that it drips down his arm and off his fingers and trickles down his legs. And as he becomes more lucid, the reality of the situation and his environment returns. Able to recall the moments before he passed out. The phone call from his wife and the concern and panic in her voice as she told him about the letter -the REAL letter- from the Marine Corps; her pleading for him to just walk away and let them handle the situation. It was too late by then. By the time hung up, Nathan was already on the move; free of the restraints around his wrists, a revolver in his hand. And something wicked in his eyes and something even more sinister that dripped from his words; a smirk tugging at his lips as he wasted no time in pulling the trigger.

Tyler struggles against the hand firmly gripping his hair; thrashing his head from side to side, his  legs feebly attempting to push himself away from the dirty surface his stomach is pressed against. It’s futile; he can barely feel anything from the waist down and his arms are out of commission; tightly restrained behind back, the plastic of the zip ties cutting into his skin. He tries to call out for help, but all words are held back; stopped by the soiled rag that has been crudely stuffed into his mouth.  A mixture of blood and sweat drips into his eyes. A large, vicious gash across the top of his right eyebrow; the  result of catching his face on the door frame when the gunshot had pitched his body forward.  

He’s able to register his surroundings. Captive in the locker that previously held Neysa and Aarev; face down on the soiled mattress. The odour hits him at full strength now; a combination of old sweat, stale piss, feces, and puke. His stomach lurches; chest heaving and retching, eyes watering and this throat burning when he’s forced to swallow his own vomit; unable to properly expel it with the makeshift gag shoved in his mouth.

“You’re just a mess, aren’t ya,” Nathan chuckles, then releases the grip from Tyler’s hair; shoving his face into the mattress and holding it there until he’s struggling to breathe and squirming against both the bonds around his wrists and the hand pressing down on the back of his head. “Not so tough now, are ya? So much for the big, bad Tyler Rake. You’re losing your touch; nothing thinking as quick as you used to. Turning your back like that? Maybe your brain is more fucked up than everyone thinks.”

“Fuck you, you fucking piece of shit!” The words are muffled against the fabric in his mouth, and Nathan gives a smirk of both annoyance and amusement.  Then uses his index and middle fingers to shove the rag even further; until it touches the back of Tyler’s throat, making him gag and retch once more.

“Used to be a time where people were afraid of you or admired you,” Nathan muses. “I don't think they’ll feel either of those now; kind of hard to be afraid of someone that’s been reduced to such a pathetic piece of shit. How does it feel? To be knocked off that pedestal of yours?”

He once more struggles against the restraints. Curling his hands into tight fists and tightening his forearms; attempting to yank his wrists apart with enough force to break the heavy plastic. Relegated to dropping  his forehead against the mattress and groaning into it with a mix of frustration, rage, and pain.

“You don’t give up, I’ll give you that much. Apparently it takes a lot more than shooting you in the back to take you out of the game. Guess you’ve got a bit of fight left in you after all.”

Tyler feels the mattress sink and sway underneath him as Nathan looms over him; one knee alongside of him as the other hovers over the small of his back and a hand once more grips his hair. And he screams into both the gag and the mattress when the younger man presses his knee against the fresh bullet wound; his entire body weight coming down on the injured area. The pain is intense; sharp and agonizing, causing his entire body to lock up as a defence mechanism. His vision blurs and his head swims; the numbness in his feet increasing and mobility worsening in his legs. Yet he manages to fight back; thrashing wildly against the mattress as he attempts to shake the former Marine off of him.

“You got some balls, Rake, I’ll give you that,” Nathan smirks, and finally removes his knee from Tyler’s back. “Guess you haven’t learned your lesson, huh? You fuck with the wrong people, this is what happens. It catches up to you; sooner or later. Now do me a favour...look up…” he yanks Tyler’s head back by the hair. “...you see that?” he nods at the cell phone perched on a chair at the foot of the mattress. “See what I’m doing there? We’re gonna save this little moment of ours. For prosperity. So I can look back on this moment fondly. WHILE I’m pissing on your grave. And fucking that cute little wife of yours.”

“Fuck you!”

“What was that?” Nathan yanks the rag from Tyler’s mouth. “Did you just say ‘fuck you’? Is that what you said? I think you’ve got this all wrong. I’m going fuck HER. Whether she wants me to or not. And there’s not a goddamn thing you can do about it.”

“I will fucking kill you!” Tyler rages “With my bare fucking hands! If you go anywhere near my wife, I will fucking bury you!”

“You’re not exactly in the position to be making threats. I seem to be the one in control here. And trust me, when she sees this little video of you? When she sees what a pathetic little bitch she’s married to? She’s going to ask me for it; beg for it from a real man.”

“I swear to God, if you go anywhere near her…”

“You know, now that I think of it, that little girl of yours is quite the looker. Blond hair, blue eyes, cute little smile. She’s actually more my type. I prefer them a bit older, but I’d be willing to make an exception.”

“You motherfucker! You touch her...you go anywhere near her…and I will kill you and everyone you love! I will hunt them down one by one and put a bullet in their heads! You stay away from my daughter, you stay away from my wife, or…”

“Or? Or what? You won’t be around to protect them. And it’s not just me you have to worry about. There’s more of us out there. Mahajan’s been more than generous with the money. Everyone has a price, Rake. Except for holier than thou, self righteous you, of course. You had the chance; to be rich. All you had to do was give up the kid and the girl. But you didn’t take it. All because you had to be a hero.”

“I’m no hero. I’m just not a psychotic piece of shit. Who am I talking to right now? Which one of your personalities?  Which one of your imaginary friends?”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about. Or WHO you’re talking to.”

“I’m talking to a fucking psycho. A little bitch who couldn’t beat me in a fair fight so he shot me from behind. That’s a change for you, yeah? Seeing as you spent the last week and a half taking it from behind.”

Nathan scowls, then shoves two fingers deep into the bullet hole at the small of Tyler’s back.

He bites back the scream that threatens to erupt, but can’t control the tears of agony that stream down his face.

“Pathetic piece of shit,” Nathan laughs, then rummages through the pockets on the back of Tyler’s vest; searching until he finds the knife. “You’ve always been pretty popular with the ladies, I heard. The muscles, the pretty blue eyes, the voice. Even Nik was quite smitten with you at one point from what she told me. She’s a nice girl; that Nik. Smart, beautiful, wicked body. Not that great in bed, but…” he shrugs. “...you can teach ‘em and train ‘em, right? Did you know she was in love with you? That she was willing to slum for you? That she would have been more than happy to spend the rest of her life completely devoted to you, waiting on you hand and foot, giving you babies. That must have been a hard decision; Nik or Esme. I don’t envy you for having to make it.”

“There was no decision to make. It was always Esme. It always WILL be her.”

“You broke Nik’s heart you know; picking her friend over her. I don’t think you ever quite appreciated just how she felt about you. Everything she was willing to give up for you. And I get it, I do. You had to make a choice. Believe me, I think you made the right one. The little ones are the freaks in bed, am I right?”

“Fuck you,” Tyler retorts. “Don’t talk about my wife like that. Don’t even say her name. Get your name out of your fucking mouth.”

“Defending your woman at all costs. I like that. I admire it, actually. But…” Nathan moves up the makeshift bed, straddling Tyler’s body and then sitting down on his upper back, pinning him to the mattress. “...I still think you need to be taught a lesson. Nik deserves that.”

He sees the flint that comes off the blade of the knife as Nathan brings it into view. Hand moving towards his face and bringing the tip to rest under his right eye; pressed against the middle of his orbital bone. When  he feels it puncture the skin, he attempts to fight back; summoning the will to dig the toes of his boots into the mattress, hips raising slightly and then giving out. Not enough power or mobility; the blood loss and the bullet lodged somewhere in his lower spine robbing him of any semblance of strength.   And as the knife presses even further  and the tip touches bone, he vows not to scream; biting down on his tongue instead as a brutally deep and slow slice is made from the middle of his eye to his temple.

Once the damage is inflicted, Nathan calmly cleans the bloody blade on the back of Tyler’s shirt, then returns the knife to the pocket on his vest.  “You know,  I did like you at first,” he says, as climbs off the mattress, momentarily abandoning his prey. “I liked you a lot, actually.”

The lightheadedness returns; that groggy sensation that comes from blood loss and when your system starts to go into shock. And despite the pain coursing through him and the weakness that envelopes him, Tyler manages to roll himself onto his back. His vision is blurred; a combination of the haziness that comes before passing out, sweat, and the blood that now covers his face.  It coats his lips; the metallic taste strong on his tongue. And he lies there in the middle of the soiled and filthy mattress; eyes closed as he draws in rapid, ragged breaths. Arms still struggling to free his wrists from the plastic ties that hold them together.

“Don’t pass out on me now,” Nathan says, as he once more kneels on the mattress, a crowbar in his hand. “I’m not done having fun with you yet. I want to make sure Mahajan gets his money’s worth. “

“He’s dead. Mahajan. He died about half an hour ago.”

“Bullshit.”

“Anil killed him. We planned it; he’d kill Mahajan while we made our way in here.”

“You’re lying.”

“He put two in the old man’s head. In the shower room at the prison. It’s over. And if you haven’t gotten paid yet, you never will. There’s not going to be any money.”

“You’re fucking lying!” Nathan snarls, and with an end of the crowbar in each hand, leans over Tyler and attempts to press it into his throat.  

Tyler immediately reacts.  Smashing his forehead into the younger man’s face; immediately shattering his nose and knocking out his top front teeth. Then he draws both knees into his body and slams them into Nathan’s chest, breaking several ribs and sending him sprawling onto the floor.   He seizes the opportunity as the former Marine curls into a fetal position and bellows in pain; using the last of his strength to  push himself up into a sit. His legs are operating at half power -if not less- and his feet are almost completely numb, but he manages to push himself off the mattress and onto the cement below; forcing himself up onto his knees and then shuffling on them towards the door.

“You stupid prick!” Nathan rages, and lands a kick to the back of Tyler’s head.

His vision momentarily goes black and his forehead and nose collide with the cement; a sickening crunch echoing through the room. And he’s unable to control the scream that erupts from his mouth when the crowbar connects with the back of his right thigh, fracturing the femur. He has nothing left; sight blinded by the impending loss of consciousness and a blanket of blood. His entire body is useless now; sheer agony ripping through every inch of him, all feeling now absent in both legs.  And he's gasping and panting for breath when Nathan once more leans over him; the cell phone directly in front of his face and the muzzle of his own gun pressed against the back of his head.

“Do you have anything to say?” Nathan asks. “To your wife? To your kids? Look at the camera. Let them see you alive for one last time.”

“Kiss my ass.”

“Look at them!” the younger man orders, and slams his heel down onto the bullet wound in Tyler’s back. “I said fucking look at them! Say something!”

“No. I won’t.  I won’t do it. I have nothing to say. She knows. She already knows. She’s always known.”

“At least say goodbye. They deserve that, don’t you think? A goodbye?”

“I don’t say that word. WE don’t say it. We never say it.”

“I wouldn’t worry too much anyway. You’ll get to see your wife and kids soon. That’s if you all end up in the same place. And not before me and the other guys have some with your wife and your little girls.”

“You fucking prick! You’ll pay for this. I promise you that. You’ll fucking pay.”

“You first,” Nathan says, and moves the gun to Tyler’s temple. “Fitting, huh? How it all begins and ends in Dhaka?”

Through his blurred and weakening vision he sees it. Mere inches from his face. Toes and soles of dirty combat boots in the doorway and the tattered and weathered fabric of cargo pants.  The gunshot is deafening within the locker, and when the full weight of Nathan’s body falls onto his, the pain and the darkness finally take over. Eyes closing and cheek colliding with the floor.

*****

When Tyler comes to he’s once more in the back of the panel van; lying on his left side with a bucket -half full of expelled stomach contents- tipped towards his face. He can feel the telltale stickiness; the blood on his face and lips quickly drying.  It’s worse than before; both the pain and the all over weakness. His vision blurry and his head swimming; no feeling or movement in either of his legs. If he had the energy he’d be terrified; panicking at the inability to even wiggle his toes or move his feet within his boots. But he has nothing left; no strength, no will, no hope. All his limbs and his head feel impossibly heavy; eyes and brain unable to focus on what is going on around him.  

Voices. Koen and Rata. They’ve abandoned their usual banter and their off hand and cutting remarks; both serious as they talk in low, even tones that do little to hide the fear and worry. And he can hear the rumble of the engine and the crunch of tires on gravel; each light bump or hard brake feeling as if he’s being rocked to his very core.

“What the fuck…” he manages, and attempts to sit up; his surroundings spinning out of control around him.

“Whoa...whoa…” Koen lays a hand on his shoulder, forcing him to lie down. “...easy now, mate. Easy. Don’t move too much. Don’t want to make things worse. We got ya.”

“My legs…I can’t feel my legs...” he raises his head and looks down at the limbs in question; eyes narrowing in confusion at the sight of an unknown object sticking out his thigh; thick and jagged, tearing straight through the fabric of his pants. And his head pounds and spins when the horror sets in; the realization that he’s staring down at a piece of his shattered femur protruding from his body. “What the fuck is that? What….?”

Rata gives a grim, almost apologetic smile and then yanks his shirt over his head; using it to cover Tyler’s thigh.

“Why can’t I feel my legs? Why the fuck is there a bone sticking out of them? What the hell…?”

“You took one to the back,” Koen explains. “Pretty low down. And your right leg is  broken up pretty good. Probably just the shock; the reason you can’t feel anything.”

“What the fuck is going on? What happened? What…?”

“Just try and relax,” Rata says, and shuffles closer to him; using a makeshift towel made from a torn up t-shirt to stem the flow of blood that comes from the cut across Tyler’s face. “We’re almost there. Just hang in there, mate. Won’t be much longer.”

“Chopper?” he asks.

“Hospital.”

“I can’t go to the fucking hospital! Not here. Not Dhaka. Mumbai.”

“There’s no time to get to Mumbai,” Koen informs him, and presses a rag to the gunshot wound in Tyler’s lower back. “You’ll be dead before we get there. You’ll bleed out.”

“Bleed out?” The confusion and disorientation make his head throb. “What happened? Did we get them? Neysa and Aarev?”

“They’re safe,” Rata assures him. “You got them out. They’re safe now.”

“I can’t stop it,” Koen anxiously frets. “There’s just  too fucking much of it! It just keeps coming and I can’t stop it!”

“Is it bad?” Tyler weakly inquires. “How bad is it? My back.”

“Don’t you even worry about it. We’ll get you to the hospital and get you taken care of.”

“I asked how bad it was!” His hands begin patting his stomach and sides down, searching for an exit wound. “Is it my liver? Did it hit my liver?”

“Could have nicked it,” Koen says. “No way of telling for sure. Just lie still and let us take care of you. Let us get you to the hospital.”

“My phone. I need my phone. Where’s my phone?”

“You don’t need your goddamn phone!” Koen snarls. “What the hell would you need that for?”

“You need to get it. My phone. There’s a video. He took it. Nathan. He was going to send it to her. I need you to get it. My phone.”

Koen reaches into the side pocket of his own cargo pants, pulling out the item in question.

“Check it,” Tyler tells him. “Check the last message sent. And the email. Check if he sent it.”

Koen does what he’s told, then shakes his head. “Nothing. There’s nothing been sent.”

“Erase it. She can’t see it. She can NEVER see it. Get rid of it. You gotta erase it.  I don’t want her seeing that.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Koen assures him, and his eyes narrow when he finds the file in question; jaw clenching with rage as he watches the first thirty seconds before quickly deleting it. “That sick mother fucker”

“Call her,” Tyler instructs. “I need to talk to her.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, mate. I don’t think…”

“Call her,” he insists. “I need you to call her. I need to make sure she’s okay. I need to hear her voice. Call her.”

Sighing heavily, Koen reluctantly dials the first number in the call history, then holds the phone to his friend’s ear.

“Tyler?” She answers on the second ring, voice frantic. “Oh my God...Tyler…”

“Hey, baby…” he manages, the mere sound of her voice causing a smile to tug at the corners of his mouth. “Are you okay? Everything’s good there?”

“I’m okay. Things are fine here. Quiet.”

“What about the kids? Did you hear from them? Did you call them? Are they alright?”

“Nik called a little ago and said they’re okay. Not even a single scare or even the slightest threat in Mumbai. She said it was just like any other day. That the kids were outside playing with Ovi and Kyle; Addie was taking a nap. Are you okay? Please tell me you’re okay.”

“I’m not okay,” he admits, and chokes back a sob. “I love you. I love you so much.”

“I love you, too. What happened? How bad is it? How bad are YOU?”

“Pretty bad. I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I can’t come and get you.”

“Tyler…” her voice cracks with emotion. “...you’re going to be okay...you’ll be fine.”

“I don’t think so, baby. Not this time.”

“Don’t say that,” Esme gently scolds. “Don’t talk like that. You don’t give up, remember? You don’t know the meaning of those words. You never have.  You survived seven years ago and you’ll survive now. I know you will.”

“I’m sorry. I am so fucking sorry. I didn’t want it to end this way.”

“Nothing is ending. It’s nowhere close to the end. You’re going to be fine. You’ll get looked at it and you’ll be fine. You’re always fine.”

“Tell the kids I love them. That I’ll always love them. And tell Ovi too. And that I’m so fucking proud of him.  Tell them all that I wish it could have been different.”

“Don’t do this. Don’t you dare do this. Don’t you say your goodbyes. You NEVER say that word. You don’t believe in that word, remember?”

“I’ve always loved you. I always will. I need you to know that. It’s important that you know that.”

“I DO know. I’ve always known. And I love you. So much. I’ll get there as soon as I can, I promise. You just hang in there, okay? I’ll get to you. Somehow. Just don’t give up, alright? You’re not allowed to give up, Tyler Rake.”

“I gotta go.”

“No. Don’t,” Esme tearfully pleads. “Don’t hang up. Please don’t hang up. Tyler…”

“I’m sorry,” he says, and disconnects the call. Phone dropping from his hand as he once more slips into unconsciousness.

*****

She’s unsure of how long she’s been pacing the floor; bare feet repeatedly shuffling against the polished tiles in the kitchen. Cell phone clutched tightly in one hand, the other moving over the top and sides of the small -but very visible- baby bump. It’s comforting regardless how far along she is or how much she is -or isn’t-  showing; palm travelling over her stomach in slow, smooth circles.

“Hang in there little bean,” Esme pleads aloud. “I need you to stay calm and hang in there, alright? Because now is NOT the time to be giving me issues. We need to stay calm. Or try to. Daddy needs us to be okay…” her voice cracks with emotion. “...daddy needs you to hang in there. Because once he’s all better, he’s going to watch you grow and rub my tummy and talk to you all the  time. He’s going to teach you all about surfing and you tell you what life is like in Australia. And before you know it, you’ll recognize his voice; just like all your brothers and sisters did. And it’s a nice voice. A VERY nice voice. And you’ll kick and squirm for him every time he talks to you. So you HAVE to hang in there. Daddy needs another surfing buddy. He always says he can never have too many of those. Or maybe it’s a football team he’s trying to build. Maybe THAT’S why he wants so many kids. I’m onto him.”

The cell phone beeps in her hand, alerting her to a text message. Nik. Asking her if she’s heard anything yet. It’s only been ten minutes since the last time the woman checked in, and the answer remains the same. No calls, no texts. Tyler’s phones -both SAT and personal- immediately going to voicemail. Esme has left several messages; everything from stressed yet calm,  to worried and tearful, and then ending with irrational and frantic.  Begging him…begging ANYONE...to let her know what the hell is going on.

Her stomach flutters and grumbles; nerves had kept her from eating all morning. Constant butterflies that are more painful than pleasant, and accompanied by incessant nausea that holds the promise of disappearing as soon as she forces herself to be sick, but only continues to gnaw at her insides. Rationally she knows that now is not the time to be thinking about food; her phone could start coming to life any minute or Koen and Rata could come barging through the door to whisk her away to a hospital to be by Tyler’s side.  

Or they could show up with the worst possible news; that  the brief phone call with him was in fact the last time she’d ever hear his voice.  That whatever happened to him…whatever had gone down at that storage facility...had just been too much for an already damaged body, vulnerable mind, and near broken spirit to withstand. Yet he hadn’t sounded THAT bad; exhausted and weak but certainly not close to death. She would have been able to pick up on that.  Surely there would have been something in his voice or in his words. She’d heard pain and fear and worry, but hadn’t heard DEATH.

It’s something she’s accustomed with; many a first hand experience as people lay dying around her in the Middle East. She’s held countless hands as fellow Marines and even strangers - innocent civilians- took their last breaths. That rattle they make; the last of the air being expelled from failing lungs. The desperation and the pleading in their voices; requests for comfort and miraculous healing and eventual mercy. She didn’t hear any of that. And what she did hear could have been nothing more than the byproduct of fear and concern; a man in physical agony that didn’t truly believe he was dying, but was desperate for relief.

“No,” she orders into the quiet of the kitchen. “No. He's fine. He’s going to be fine. He’s always fine.”

She attempts to distract herself from fatalistic thoughts, moving now to the fridge and throwing the door wide open. Rummaging through the fully stocked shelves and compartments and finding nothing appealing and growing more frustrated with each passing second. The futile search and the determined growling of her stomach suddenly becomes too much to bear and profanities spill from her mouth as tears stream down her face. Angrily slamming the fridge door shut; its contents rattling noisily in response.

“Esme?” Koen stands in the doorway; the front of his shirt and the thighs of his cargo pants saturated in blood. It stains his hands as well; caught in every crevice and crack and gathered around his calluses and under his nails. His face is grim; eyes dark, fresh bruises and cuts decorating both cheeks and under one eye.

“Tell me he’s okay,” she pleads, one hand tightening around her phone,  the other once more finding her baby bump. “Please tell me he’s okay.”

“I…” Koen begins, then clamps his mouth shut and slowly shakes his head.

“No.” The sob is choked as it comes out of her mouth. “No. You’re not here to tell me this. You’re not here for THAT. I know you’re not here for THAT.”

“Esme...”

“No,” she firmly repeats, and suddenly the room feels as if it’s spinning. Panic settles in, making her feel nauseous and lightheaded. Her entire body swaying as she takes a step towards him. “No.  It can’t be THAT. It can’t be.”

The next step she takes is wobbly; her legs threatening to give out from underneath her. And she finds herself caught in her friend’s strong embrace; his body warm and soothing as he pulls her tightly into him. A comforting hand on the middle of her back, the other resting in her hair.

“This can’t be happening,” she sobs into his shoulder. “This isn’t happening. Please tell me it’s not. Tell me he’s not dead. Tell me he’s okay.”

“He’s not dead. But he’s not okay either.”

“How bad is he?”

“I don’t even know.”

“How bad does he look?”

“Pretty damn bad.”

“Where is he now?”

“Still here. In Dhaka.”

She frowns. “Why not Mumbai? You guys have a chopper. Why not get him out of here? Get him somewhere safe? Mumbai would have been a better choice. Why didn’t…?”

“There was no time.”

“Where is he?”

“Evercare Hospital.  It’s one of the private ones. Run by that doctor that Anil sent over the night. He’s  in good hands there; best care he can get, I promise. When I left he was still in the ER. They were looking after him and trying to figure out what tests they needed to do; so they could figure out what they’re looking at and how to take care of him. He was breathing on his own, though. No tubes. At least not yet.”

“But it isn’t safe here,” Esme argues. “In Dhaka. The bounty….”

“There’s no more bounty. It’s been lifted.”

“It’s over?”

“It’s all over. Asif’s people are dead. So is Mahajan. There’s no one left.”

“What about Neysa and Aarev?”

“Safe. He got them out.”

“And Nathan? He’s the one who did this, right? He’s the one who hurt Tyler?”

Koen nods.

“Is he dead? Tell me he’s dead.”

“He’s dead. I made sure of it.”

“You killed him?”

“I emptied an entire magazine in his head and face.”

“Good,” she says, and defiantly holds back a flood of tears. “Thank you. For doing that for Tyler. Thank you.”

Koen once more embraces her tightly, hands slowly running up and down her back.

“And he was breathing?" Esme asks. “On his own? He didn’t need to be intubated?”

“Needed a bit of oxygen; through those tubes that go in your nose. Doctor was pretty surprised; said he’s never seen someone that torn up that didn’t need more help. That’s a good sign, yeah? That he didn’t need more help? Shows how strong he is.”

“Or stubborn. Or both. You’ll take me there? To Tyler?”

“That’s what I’m here for. Are you okay? You gonna be alright?”

“Probably not,” she admits. “But I guess I have to be. For him. He needs me to be alright. You know how Tyler is. Even when he’s at his worst or he’s suffering and in pain, all he worries about is me. Never himself. Just me.”

“Well he’s a fool in love. What do you expect?”

“I’ll have to find my things. I have no idea where anything is. My purse, my shoes…”

“Saw both out in the front hall.”

“My phone.”

He grins. “It’s in your hand.”

Esme glances down. “Oh fuck. I AM losing it.”

“Come here, kiddo.”  Koen draws her into another tight hug, a hand on the back of her head, guiding it down to his shoulder. “He’s gonna pull through. He always does.  He’s a tough little bastard. Well maybe not so little. But tough. And a bastard.”

She manages a small laugh.

“And when he opens his eyes, your face is going to be the first thing he sees. Just like seven years ago. And trust me; there ain’t no better medicine than that.”

“I need him to be okay. I need him to get through this. For me, For the kids. For this baby. I need him, Koen. I can’t lose him.”

“You won’t,” he promises,  and gives her a tight, reassuring squeeze and drops a kiss on the top of her head.  With a comforting smile, he places  a hand on the small of her back and leads her from the room.