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the-kr8tor · 7 months ago

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Mr and Mrs Smith AU: When Jane met John

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word count: 9k

Summary: Joining a spy agency? Check ✓ Hired in said agency? Check ✓ Getting a new fancy house? Check ✓ An entire armoury of weapons at your disposal? Check ✓ A new Husband? Check ✓ wait, what?

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader (except for her clothing), Hobie and R call each other by fake names (ie: John, Jane, Smith etc), spy AU, CW suggestive, CW food mentions, TW blood, CW violence, CW vomit mention, TW death.

A/N: Happy 1k! Happy reading!!!❤️

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Buy me a ☕?

The waiting room seems like it's designed to make you extra anxious. From the bright fluorescent lights that whir above, to the carpet that smells like a very harsh citrus soap. Add the metallic chairs that's incredibly cold under your slacks— It all makes you bounce your leg from the bundle of nerves inside your stomach. The people waiting around you don't help either, they all look like they came out of magazine covers. Hair all tied up in a perfect bun, pencil skirts that cinch their waist perfectly. Button ups that are ironed until there's no crease in sight.

You bite your lip, eyes glued on the steel door, to where your last resort is, to where your entire future depends on. Looking around the room full of models, it doesn't seem like you're applying for a security job.

Maybe you should've worn that pencil skirt that's gathering dust in your closet.

Even though you technically don't know what kind of job it is, you really need to get this one, or else. Your savings could only get you so far. An old ‘friend’ of yours recommended this ‘company’. It operates at the highest security, the risk is just as high, but the pay is higher. More than what you've ever earned in the five years you've worked anyway.

Flicking your eyes above the door, the light finally turns green from red, and a chiming sound can be heard as the door clicks open on its own. You still wonder where the applicant goes after their interview since you never saw them exit out the same door. A morbid thought passes by your mind: a gun plus a bullet to the head. The image makes you grab the rubber band on your wrist to slap it against your skin. It leaves the stinging pain for only a moment, but it's enough to throw away the vision from your brain.

An applicant enters and you look down at the piece of paper in your hand— you're next.

The number, 2715 is written in Times New Roman. You can recognize that font anywhere, for it's the same font used on newer gravestones, the same font on his— you slap the rubber band against your wrist again. This time harder than the last. The stinging stays for a minute more. Your heels tap against the carpet, the clock ticks, the fluorescent whirs, someone coughs and you want to punch them in the face— you slap the rubber band against your skin again.

Your ears perk up at the familiar chime like you've been Pavlov’d by the sound after waiting for three hours on that uncomfortable metal chair that has tiny holes that you've gotten your pinky finger stuck in on hour two.

With a deep breath, you saunter your way towards the creaking door, trying to summon all the confidence in your body. They may be watching so you do your best to not look as nervous as you feel like.

As you enter the room, the large screen in the center raises a curious brow. The light from the monitor shines a spotlight on the singular office chair right in front of it. The room is dim, save for the single light. The screen reminds you of one of those mall touch screens that shows you the map of the building. There's another door on the opposite wall, now you know where all the other candidates exit, and it's definitely not from a bullet judging from the clean floors.

With a tentative step, you cross the distance. Sitting down, the chair is a comfortable welcome from the last one you sat on.

“Am I supposed to push a button?” You roam your eyes over the circular shape up top. You surmise that it's the camera.

The calming sky blue screen flashes words,

> Hihi, welcome

“Hi?”

> Insert nail clippings

A box slides out below the screen, prompting you to take the ziplock with your nail clippings from your bag. It slides back in with a mechanic hiss once you place the plastic on the drawer, and the screen blinks to a couple of questions that you answer honestly.

> What's your ethnicity?

You don't falter. Answering it truthfully.

> Height?

You clear your throat, the lump is either from the nerves or how your voice faltered when you answered.

> Are you willing to relocate?

You wring your hands together on your lap. “Yes, absolutely. Nothing's holding me back.” Then the dreaded question pops up on the bright screen.

> Tell me about yourself

“Uh, I graduated top of my class.” You scratch the back of your neck. “MI6 agent for three–no, uh four years.” Chuckling shakily, you continue. “I got high merits…w-well until the thing— but I was on the road to promotion b-before it happened.” God, you hate interviews.

> Words that people would describe you with?

You blink, sucking in a breath. “Truthfully?” Joking, the screen doesn't appreciate your humour.

> Yes

“Oh, p-people would describe me as a… someone who has initiative. Cunning…” unfeeling— you slap the band on your wrist again. Sitting up right, you gaze at the camera like your eyes could see the person typing behind it. You guess it's a person at least. “Passed all my training with flying colours, infiltration, marksmanship, hand to hand, you name it. You tell me the job and I'll do it with no questions asked.”

> Are you okay with high risk?

“More than okay.” You answer quickly.

> With a team or alone?

“I'm alright with either, but I prefer alone.”

> Why did you get fired?

“You know why.” You say intensely, eyes boring holes into the screen. For a second you thought you flubbed it but the screen continues to flash a new question.

> Have you killed anyone?

> And why?

The question turns into what you're more accustomed to. “Yes, approximately…” you inhale sharply. “Forty three. Two unintentionally, the rest with various…weapons.” You mindlessly play with the loose thread of your blazer to get rid of the flashing images in your head. “As for why, that's confidential information.”

The robot or the person behind the screen seems to accept your vague answers for it moves on with the interview.

> Favourite food?

Your eyebrows knit at the sudden turn of question. “Uh, I have a sweet tooth, ice cream. I think. But I can't resist good popcorn.” Your tone wavers at the end.

> Have you been in love?

You laugh, but the question still flashes on screen, unchanged and unamused. Clamping up, you feel for the rubber on your wrist.

“I-I'm sorry but what is this part for?”

The screen remains the same.

“—No,” you remember that they've probably already known everything about you even before you applied. So you decide to answer vaguely, that seems to work out before. “Once, just once.”

> When was the last time you said ‘I love you?’

“A long time ago.”

> To whom?

“You know who.”

—

You're surprised that you got the job even after the disastrous interview. The suitcase is light in your tightly clasped hand. The belongings you've tossed inside are sparse, only packing the ones you only need.

The large wooden door looms in front of you, the street behind you is bustling and right across your new home is an expansive park. A park that looks like you need to pay just to get inside. The neighborhood that you're situated in can be described as exclusive, rich and very suburban. The kind of setting where parents would do anything to raise their kids in. Something you've never thought in your dangerous life to live in, more so even step foot in.

With an exhale, you unlock the door. It clicks open surprisingly, you doubted the company for a second when you pushed it in. Maybe they gave you the wrong address? Maybe something went wrong in their system and your name popped up instead of someone more worthy? Someone who's a better shot, someone who isn't as bat shit insane as you.

The long hallway greets you, the low warm light brings comfort to your rattling bones. Its carpet runner is soft beneath your sneakers, red and blue threads weaved around the thick cloth. Framed art is posted on the walls, the artist's name you recognize from some pretentious reality tv about selling mansions that you once drunkenly watched alone on a friday night.

You leave your baggage in the hallway. Opting to explore the cinnamon scented home. Its rich walls remind you of chocolate that you once got for your birthday. The furniture doesn't look like it came from Ikea, the oak is sturdy under your palm, no rough surface, no protruding nails that slashes your flesh.

You snap the rubber band on your wrist for the umpteenth time today.

There's an ornate door sitting on your right, robins and roses are carved on the wood. The biometric scanner is placed right next to the door, it’s a stark contrast to the traditional home. Flipping the cover open, you place your thumb on the smooth surface of the scanner. After a half second, the door clicks open, revealing a steel elevator. The bright light above it almost blinds you.

Your curiosity makes you enter the steel cage, roaming your eyes, you spot the buttons.

“Might as well.” You say to the emptiness of the house.

As the elevator door closes, the front door opens.

There's a lack of elevator music, perhaps that's the best since you always hated the cheery chiming of it. The second the door opens, you take a peek inside. The weird smell combination of chlorine and butter hits your nose.

“Holy shit,” you mumble in disbelief at the indoor pool and theatre. “A fucking pool under the house? And a fucking theatre screen in front? Which rich fuck decided that?” Your voice echoes, bouncing off the tiled walls of the pool.

Roaming the large room, eyes wide and strides small, you marvel at the high ceilings with the same warm tone lights hidden in the coves to soften the lights. You crouch down, letting the warm water lap at your hand.

There's a handful of sun loungers on the side, tables in between them for drinks and whatever rich people put on it. A projector hangs above the pool, an electrical hazard, you thought and an image of an entire pool party getting electrocuted lingers in your mind. You snap the rubber band against your wrist.

The popcorn machine helps distract you from the intrusive thought. Opening the machine, the popped kernels are still warm against your skin. You quickly scoop up a handful of it in your palm, the butter slicking your hand and your mouth as you eat it like how a baby deer eats grass.

You've had enough of the overly decorated basement, getting back on the elevator, you finish off your popcorn with one big bite. Still chewing, you wipe your hands on your trousers to press the shiny buttons on the elevator. The doors close as you chew loudly, eyes up on the screen showing the floors of the house, you don't notice the stranger standing outside of the opened doors.

Butter on your lips, you almost smack him on his pretty face.

“Christ!” You yelp, almost choking on a kernel.

“Close, but no.” He smirks, eyes flicking at the sheen on your lips.

Your husband, the title echoes in your popcorn filled head. His smile captures your attention, a ten megawatt grin that could power the entire posh neighborhood. His piercings glimmer in the warm light, and your eyes are glued to the ones on his eyebrows. Hazel eyes, the left one seems to be lighter than the other, watercolour eyes stare back at you, scanning your features. If you stare long enough you swear you can see patches of green and gray in those expressive eyes.

“John Smith.” He introduces himself, your husband, your partner. John doesn't raise his ringed hand for you to shake, instead he nods at you, waiting patiently for you to say your name. As if he doesn't know.

Clearing your kernel filled throat, you quickly run your tongue across your teeth (with your mouth closed of course) because you don't want to embarrass yourself further by having popcorn stuck in your teeth.

“Jane, Jane Smith.” You reach towards him to shake his hand, he raises a brow at you in turn.

“I don't do that, love, sorry.”

“Shake hands?”

“Yeah,” he looks to the left of your face, his eyebrow twitches slightly— a tell.

“Are you a germaphobe?” You ask before you could stop yourself.

“Not really, I've got issues…with intimacy.” John shrugs, the metals on his leather jacket clinks together. You think he'd rather be a model or a rock star instead of a spy with how he dresses and carries himself with confidence.

You smile knowingly, “We all do, but you don't have that issue. It's our first day of marriage and you decide to lie to your wife?” You click your tongue, eyebrow raised. “Not a very good first impression, John.”

He'll never get used to being called that basic name. ‘John’ takes your hand, it's warm, searing hot under your slippery hand. You'd thought his warmth would cook your flesh, you guess the butter on your palm would work wonders. You're starting to regret snacking. The calluses on his palm matches your own, a large scar across his palm tells you a story untold. Silver rings decorate his long fingers. There's a more simple silver bracelet on his wrist, a stark contrast to the ornate rings he sports on both hands.

He's handsome, you think, rightfully so. With his chiseled jaw that rivals any greek statue and eyes that could be mistaken for stars; he's tall too, so that's a plus. You lucked out on the fake husband department. Well, there's worse men to fake marry out there. Just judging from first impressions, you're glad he's the one you have on your side,

“How'd you know?” He asks, eyes narrowed.

“I'm very perceptive.”

“Trained?”

“Nope,” you hide your bundle of nerves with your casual tone. His hand is still clasped on your own, you don't notice it. “Just very good at reading people.”

“Did you have a stint at the BAU too?”

Too? You ignore it for now. “No,” chuckling, you finally notice the heat on your palm so you let him go. “Just…natural talent, I guess.”

“What’s under the house?” John asks, stepping aside so you could exit the elevator.

“A beating heart.” You curse yourself, fingers already reaching for the rubber band on your wrist.

To your surprise, John laughs. The sound is genuine, eyes crinkling in the corners. “I got the reference.”

“I figured.”

“I saw a black box in the office, you wanna check it out?” He points behind him with his thumb.

“Why? Do you think there's a beating heart in there too?”

“Maybe.” He plays along, walking beside you. “You never know with the company, for all we know there's a head in there.”

“Morbid.” You joke as he opens the door for you.

“Says you?” John keeps reminding himself of his real name whilst he memorizes the side of your face. He already wants to tell you his real name, not the one assigned to him by the suits behind the faceless screen he has grown familiar with. He says his name in his mind again, if he accidentally blurted it out, well, c'est la vie.

“Says me,” you shrug casually, trying to keep up with his wit and charm. You already think you're losing. You scrunch your face at the painting above the mantle. It's an art of two lovers doing the tango, if tango excludes clothes and includes intense snogging.

He chuckles right next to you, an airy laugh that has you smiling too. “A very brave choice. Not my taste, but whatever floats the company's boat. What's inside is a bit better though.” Your ‘husband’ reaches towards the frame of the painting, gently pressing down, it releases a metallic click as it reveals a secret compartment full of weapons.

You hide a snort behind your hand. The cabinet reminds you of your own. Unimpressed, you flick your eyes down at the office table, the large black box sitting on top of it is just begging to be opened.

Without a second thought, you open it. Taking out the bottle of expensive looking wine, you read the card that is tied in a neat ribbon around the neck.

“‘Good luck on your first day of marriage’” you look at the man beside you. He's incredibly close to you, his elbow grazing yours, lips slightly parted whilst he takes a peek at the wine. He smells of burgundy and leather, it calms your senses for some odd reason. “I prefer coke.” You practically shove the bottle in his hands. The glass clinks against his metal rings.

“The snorting variation or the fizzy one?” He asks, placing the bottle down on the narra table with an almost silent thud.

“The fizzy one.” You take his question at face value. He doesn't question why you don't prefer alcohol. Sitting down on the plush office chair, you open the laptop in front of you. It dings, needing a password to open it. “It needs a—”

Before you could even finish the question, he gives you a scrap of paper from the numerous envelopes inside the box. The password is printed on it with the same font as the one from the piece of paper you held a couple of weeks ago.

You type it whilst he rifles through the box. The home screen pops up, nothing too fancy or out of the ordinary. Except for the single application in the corner that's only labeled as ‘S’

Clicking it, a chat box appears.

> Hihi, follow man

John snakes up next to you, the harsh light from the laptop shines on his pensive face. You return your attention towards ‘your boss’. A picture of a young blond man pops up in the chat, there's a mole near his left eye, he sports dark eyebrows. And a look that says ‘daddy paid for my college!’

> 40.748817, -73.985428

“That's downtown I think.” John pipes up next to you, and you look at him like he just said the sky is green and the grass is blue.

> Take keys, take car. Bring car here

> 51.505554, -0.075278.

“A car?” You rhetorically ask.

“Must be a very expensive car, or an important one.” John answers back as he leans further down to take a better look at the monitor. His hand is on the back of your chair, his necklaces dangle on his neck like a pretty chandelier.

You both wait for more instructions but it doesn't come.

“Hihi isn't very talkative, huh?” Your voice echoes in the awkward silence.

“‘Hihi?’”

“Yeah, I thought I'd give it a nickname.” You think he's weirded out but with an amused laugh he pats your shoulder nonchalantly.

“Cute.” You don't know if he's referring to you, or to the nickname you dubbed your electronic boss. “I've separated our papers.” John says as you still contemplate his last comment. “Here's yours.”

“Thanks.” You scan the pile in your hands. Your own face greets you as you flip through it all.

“It has everything we need. Credit card, ID's, carry permit and a passport.”

“What's that one?” You point at the larger envelope next to John's pile. A smaller black leather envelope sits atop it.

He opens the large envelope, giving you the contents of it. “Marriage certificate. And this one…” shaking the leather envelope, whatever is inside of it clinks. Taking it out, he shows you the gold bands. “...our wedding rings.” Heat rises in your cheeks unavoidably once he says it softly. “May I?” Open palm reaching out, he beckons.

You try to remember which hand wears it. With a split second decision, you place your left hand atop his own. Carefully sliding the cold ring in your marriage finger, you stay locked in on his eyes that's concentrating like he's disarming a bomb.

John pats your hand and then inserts his own ring in his finger, mirroring yours.

“Guess we're married.” You shrug casually like your heart doesn't beat against your ribcage, like it's trying to escape its confines. “It feels kind of weird?”

“We are,” he flashes you his signature smirk. “And we'll get used to it, hm, wife?”

“Yeah, I'll adapt.” You say just barely above a whisper, hands suddenly clammy.

“That's my girl.” Throwing you a wink, he walks away from a flustered you.

Yeah, you got lucky.

—

Morning comes and you had the best sleep you've had in years. Even if you slept on an empty stomach last night, you still slept like a baby on the eight hundred thread count Egyptian cotton blanket. You stare blankly at the beige ceiling, hands roaming around the soft bed sheet like you're making a snow angel. Sleep ridden eyes roam around the expansive master bedroom to which your new husband has graciously let you take.

Speaking of ‘John’, his bedroom is just across your own. Surprisingly enough, he hasn't woken up yet based on the silence in the hallway outside, you hadn't pegged him as a late riser.

Breakfast calls for you when your stomach rumbles loudly, but you're too comfortable to even move from your spot. Something taps from your window that's facing the foot of your bed. A soft tippy tap of something hitting the glass that has you sitting up. Eyes blinking rapidly, you stare off a pigeon perched outside. Its iridescent feathers shine in the early morning sun, its beak tapping rhythmically at the window.

Sliding your hand behind you, blindly grasping at a pillow, you fling it across the room to scare off the bird. The pillow hits your mark and out flies away the annoying pigeon. With a sigh, you get off your ass to get ready for the day ahead. You don't want to be late to your first day out in the field, no use in rotting in your luxurious bed if you can't keep it after you get fired for being late.

You dress for the day and for the cool weather. Spring has come but the freezing temperature has decided to stay for a little while. With a cozy turtleneck and comfy slacks, you forgo the torturous device called ‘heels’ for a pair of trainers. Staring at yourself in the mirror, you shrug with a huff. And you snap the rubber against your skin once again.

Taking the chair off the doorknob and then unlocking the door, you exit your sanctuary. Closing your door softly, you find yourself in front of John's room. Judging from the soft snores, you notice that he’s still sleeping. You might be his fake wife but it's not your job to wake him up. So you continue down the hallway and into the kitchen to fix yourself a bowl of cereal.

Bowl in hand, you chew as you walk up to the rooftop. Unlocking it, the sun greets you with a comfortable heat, and you frown at it. You keep eating whilst you explore the space. There's a bountiful garden in the corner, raised garden beds full of fresh vegetables and fruit that is ripe for the taking. An outside dining area sits in the middle, you recognize the long table from a catalog you once read to pass the time at the dentist. You remember that it doubles as a grill and leg warmer in the winter.

“Fancy,” you murmur with your mouth full of grainy goodness. Sipping the leftover milk in the bowl, you place it on the expensive table to crouch down next to a bushel of strawberries to sniff. “Almost ripe,” you figure from the softness of the fruit.

A bird flies above you, it's shadow casting over you. With the sound of fluttering wings, the bird perches on the table, black orbs staring at you, head tilting like it's observing your presence.

“Are you the same fucking bird?” You question the pigeon. It coos at you, and then pecks at the ceramic of your discarded bowl. “Motherfucker—” standing up, you have the look of someone ready to square up with the feathered creature.

“Why are you fighting an innocent bird?” John appears with a mug of tea in his hand. You forgot to make tea.

“I wasn't fighting with it.”

“He,” your partner crosses the distance, the bird doesn't fly away from the close proximity. You raise an eyebrow at that. “might be hungry.” He gestures towards the strawberries behind you with his chin. “Think you can grab us one, lovie?” You're gonna need some time to get used to that term.

“It's not ripe.”

“I don't think he's picky.”

“It's too sour, it might upset his stomach.”

“He's a pigeon, he's used to eating shit off the pavement. I think that's fine, love.”

With an awkward nod, you pick the one that's redder than the rest. Throwing it towards John, he catches it with a practiced hand. He sits down before laying the fruit in front of the bird. You watch it unfold, the pigeon hops on the table, beak pecking at the seeds. You're intrigued at their interaction.

John sips at his drink, still in his sleep clothes. Toned arms in full display from the loose tank top he sports. Pajama pants hanging low on his hips, silk bonnet on his head. He only has one sock on his feet, you tilt your head.

“What happened to your sock?” You point at his bare foot curiously.

“Hmm?” He looks down, and he chuckles like he just realized the missing article of clothing. “Don't know, probably kicked it off while I was sleepin’”

“Oh,” you blink, “you should get ready, we might miss our target.”

He fakes salutes at you, drinking casually from his mug as you leave the rooftop. He doesn't miss how you didn't take your dish with you. Sighing, he watches the pigeon eat his fill.

—

You and John arrive at a pub. It's dim inside with only a few miserable patrons sitting sparsely at different corners of the musty establishment. They all look miserable, all having expressions from different points of the human emotion. But there's only one face you're observing— your target.

He sits alone on the bar stool, back hunched, eyes red and nursing a half filled pint of beer. Holding his face in his hand, blond hair raked in between his fingers, bomber jacket hanging loosely on his form, bags under his sagging eyes. He's the picture of someone who's on the bottom of the barrel.

John guides you with his hand hovering on your back. Not touching, at the same time still close, you are supposed to be a couple after all. You slide into a booth that has the perfect view of the target, but still out of his sight and out of earshot. The leather seat is worn down, tiny bits of it are ripped, at least it's not sticky. He orders for you, and you observe how he slyly roams his eyes towards the man, looking out for the keys.

He comes back with a plate of chips and dip. “Thought it would be weird not to order anythin’”

“Good call,” you take a chip whilst your eyes only briefly leave the target's back. “Thought you'd buy me a pint.”

“Did you want a pint? This early? Do you want to talk about it?” He half jokes as he takes a smaller chip.

“No,” you scoff, “and no. I just thought you'd order it instead of this.”

“You're not the only perceptive one in this relationship.” John looks over his shoulder to quickly do a once over at the forlorn man.

“Did you see where he's keeping it?”

“Inside his jacket, right side.”

You nod, “Is he carrying?”

“Not that I can tell.” He shrugs, licking the salt off his finger. “So, why'd you join?”

“Really? We're doing that?” You watch as the man gulps down his remaining drink and then orders a new one immediately.

“Yes, we're doin' that. Won't that make us work better together? To get to know each other a bit more?”

“Fine,” you silently huff. “No one else would take me, this is a last resort, I guess?”

“Bullshit, love, I think anyone would be happy to have you in their…agency?”

“Flattery won't get you anywhere, birdman.” A small smile appears on your lips, he beams at you. “Besides, who else is hiring for someone with the specific skill set that I have?”

He hums, while turning subtly to take a peek at the target. Returning his attention to you after seeing the blonde man still hunched in his stool, John takes another chip. “True, did you get kicked out from the last one?”

“Not really,” you stare at the crack on the wooden table. “You?”

“Not really,” he shrugs and you roll your eyes.

“You MI6?” He asks casually. “This your first time in London?”

“I'm not answering either of those questions.”

“C’mon,” he wiggles his left hand, the wedding band shines in the pub light. “Husband, remember? ‘sides, I won't tell anyone.”

You place your elbows on the table, smiling sarcastically at him. After a beat for his anticipation, you grin wider. “No.”

His shoulders fall, a chortle escaping his lips. “Cheeky.” Pointing an accusing finger at you, he quickly looks behind him, only to find the target sluggishly exiting the pub. “He's on the move.”

You both follow the drunk man like gravity is pulling you towards him. Walking the streets of busy downtown London, stranger's faces whizz past you. John has his hands casually in his pockets, yet he stays close to you, eyes flicking in the corners to check on you.

“Why don't you ask me a question? Y’know tit for tat?” He waits patiently for you to answer back, hell he'll even take a grunt at this point.

“Okay,” you surprisingly start the conversation on his behalf. “Have you killed anyone?” The passing pedestrians don't seem to notice you and the morbid subject.

Your partner snorts, nose scrunched up, eyes glued on the staggering target. “Nah. Have you?”

“I call bullshit,” you dodge a distracted woman scrolling on her phone. “Anyway, I have. I'm not exactly proud of it or flaunting it if you're thinking that I'm doing that.”

“Good, once you start flaunting it like a bloody trophy, you've lost it.”

You hum in agreement, the sound of a deep rumble in your chest as you two turn a corner. “Why do you think hihi needs us to nick the car?”

“Hihi” he chuckles, you turn to him with a serious face. “There's probably a stash of confidential information in the trunk or somethin’”

“Maybe a stash of weapons?” The man in front of you stumbles. “I don't see him as the type to harbor secret documents.”

John nods, “a highly infectious disease then?”

“Christ, we better drive carefully once we get a hold of it.” You turn to him briefly. “Maybe it's a really expensive sports car and he's all sad and mopey because he's gone broke after buying it?”

“Got a whole story now, huh?” He pushes you lightly with his leather clad shoulder, and you smile softly. “You good at pickpocketing him?” Your partner gestures with his chin, said target is walking into traffic. He seems unbothered by the oncoming vehicles. John curses under his breath.

“We should do that now before he kills himself.” You speed walk across the crossing, grabbing the drunk man before a car hits him.

Arms enveloping around his bomber jacket, swiping him away and quickly carrying him to the footpath, you save him before an suv hits you both. The car honks loudly and angrily as your target groans in your arms like he's about to hurl the contents of his stomach.

John punches the hood of the car, pointing at the driver accusingly. A distraction for you to take the keys hidden in the man's jacket.

“You almost hit my fuckin' wife, you wanker!” Your partner yells, covering the sound of jingling keys in your expert hand. He plays the part well.

Surprisingly, the target straightens up in your hold, a split second after you pocketed the car keys inside your own coat.

“Y-you,” he slurs, feet struggling to keep himself upright. “Dickhead!” Slamming his fists on the hood with a loud *thunk, he joins John who gives you a look and a shrug. The drunken yelling gets louder and the driver now exits his car with an equally angry look.

John takes this opportunity to come back to your side, hand holding your elbow, he leads you away from the screaming match as more and more people try to intervene.

“Got it?” He whispers closely to the shell of your ear, sending goosebumps to rise in your arms.

“‘course I did.” You jingle the keys inside your pocket. “I'm not an amateur.”

Playing along, he laughs, hand still holding your elbow softly. “Good job, missus.”

With an awkward chuckle, you lean away from him. “Just so you know, I'm not in this for…the romance.” You bite the inside of your cheek. “I'm not looking to date my co-worker.”

John raises his hands in mock surrender. “Fine by me. if the situation calls for us to actually act as a couple—”

“We'll act as a couple, I won't fuss if that's what you're saying.”

“Good, now let's get this bloody car.”

—

“A fucking ‘99 toyota corolla?” You stare in disbelief at the rusting metal. “At least it's one of the good models.” Kicking the wheel, you expect it to tumble over like in an old timey cartoon.

John is crouched way down to check the bottom of the car. “It's clear.” He stands up fully, cleaning his hands on his jeans. You wince at his movements. “What?”

“Nothing.” You open the driver's side, the smell of alcohol and something musty hits your nose. “Nasty.” Coughing, you air it out by opening another door.

“You know your cars?”

“A little bit.” You say with your nose pinched. Sparing him a look, he stands in the parking lot like he's still waiting for the rest of the story. “What?”

“Throw me a bone here, love.” You roll your eyes. “Why do you know so much about cars?”

“I said I know a little bit.” You place your hands on your hips like an exasperated mother whose son keeps asking weird questions about dinosaurs. “I dated a mechanic.” You say flatly.

“Really? Did you date a pickpocket too? Or do you date people so you could absorb their skills like kirby?”

“Are you jealous?” You tease him with a comment you didn't have the foresight that it would backfire.

“We are married.” He says matter-of-fact with a killer smirk and eyes glinting with mischief. “And this is technically our honeymoon so—”

“Get in the fucking car, birdman.”

—

The wheel is sticky under your hands, you have an intense urge to wash your hands or to at least grab a sanitizer. Apparently your disgust shows on your face, for John chortles next to you.

“What?” You say through gritted teeth.

“Nothin’, you just look like someone shat in your tea.”

“The wheel is sticky.”

“I have a handkerchief with me, d’you want me to?” Taking out the dark green cloth from his jean pockets, he's already twisting in his seat to wipe it clean.

“Please,” you ask softly, hands sliding down to make space for him.

Your hand never left the wheel while he cleans it for you. John's seatbelt is unclasped so he could have more movement, his face is close to your vision, warmth blanketing over you. He's so close that you can smell his cologne, it's a different one from yesterday, it's more flowery with a hint of mint. You spot a hidden mole under his ear. A tiny dot that is just begging to be poked.

Without thinking, you press softly with the pad of your finger. He yelps, flinching away instinctively. Looking at you with wide eyes and mouth agape, you're ready to be called a nasty nickname, or be cussed out with a loud voice. Instead of what you're anticipating, a laugh bellows out, a rumbly laugh that makes you smile and let out an almost silent chortle.

“I think you found my mole.” John holds the side of his neck with a grin. “You let your urges get to you, love.”

“Sorry,” you keep your eyes on the road to hide your embarrassment.

“It's fine, your hand was just cold. Ask me next time, I have a few more cute moles on me.”

“Nevermind, you ruined it.” With a roll of your eyes and a smile, you park at the coordinates. “Nice acting back there, I see an Emmy nomination for you in the future.”

“Thanks, I barely remember what I said. You sure this is the place?” John peeks at the map pulled up on your phone. “Shit, we're here.”

The entire street is suburban, large colonial houses lining the sides, tall pine trees decorate the sidewalks. There's not a lot of people walking by, save for a couple pedestrians walking their dogs, the place is devoid of people.

“What now?” You unclasp your seatbelt to twist around in your seat so you could observe the neighborhood.

“Hihi told us to bring it here, so maybe we should—?” John lets out a high pitched scream that also has you yelling in surprise, not from whatever made him shriek but from the sound that escaped him. “What the fuck!”

Leaning slightly to look at what had his knickers in a bunch, you stare blankly at a bespectacled man in a bespoke suit. The man gives you and your partner an apologetic look, he points for John to open the window.

He turns towards you with an eyebrow raised. “Should I?”

“Yeah, I think you should.”

“What if he's got a gun?” He whispers.

“We also have guns, John. I'll cover you, don't worry. Maybe this is what hihi asked us to do.”

“Easy for you to say, you're not the one opening it.” He gives you a glare before rolling the window down an inch. “Hi, mate. What can we do for you?”

“The car,” the stranger points a lengthy finger at the wheel. His voice is crackly and gravelly, like he just smoked a pack of cigarettes before he went up to the car. “You're late, but that doesn't matter. How much do I owe you, folks?”

“Uh, the usual.” You say with fake confidence.

“Good,” the lean man straightens up, “mind gettin’ out of the car then?”

“Right, sorry, bruv.” John, gives you one look before exiting the car. He's nervous and so are you.

As the doors shut, the man flexes his open palms expectantly for the keys, to which you hand off immediately. He gives you bad vibes, maybe your intuition tells you to run for the hills.

“Thank you, sweetheart. I'll wire the money to the usual account.” The nickname sends shivers down your spine.

He closes the door and starts up the car. With a splutter of the exhaust, he slowly drives away. You and John watch, standing side by side in the middle of the street in confusion.

“He was weird, right? Not to mention it was too easy.” You turn your head to look at him. “Maybe they're trying to ease us in?”

“It was all weird, not just him—” A blast coming from the car interrupts him, the sheer force of it sends you two down on the rough pavement.

Your cheeks are incredibly warm from the searing heat of the bomb. The light from it blinds the two of you.

Palms skinned, trousers slashed at the knees, your ears ring loudly like an annoying buzz from a broken microphone. Coughing loudly, smoke fills your lungs, debris is scattered around the once pristine neighborhood. There's blood on the concrete, you can't hear John calling for you, your vision is blurred by the cloud of smoke. His hand reaches for you, and your instincts tell you to run.

“Fuck!” He yells, running beside you at full speed. “What the fuck!”

“Keep running!” You yell as he turns around to check on a woozy you. “I'm fine!”

Someone behind you screams for you to stop so you and your partner run faster. Knees aching, thighs burning, you don't stick around to look who's running after you. The unmistakable click of a gun’s safety is loud in your eardrums, even if your lungs threaten to give out, you sprint right next to John as he turns a corner and into a carwash.

The smell of soap and heavy pine scented car freshener hits your bloody nose. He tugs you towards the plastic curtains and inside what you presume as the employee lounge, someone yells after you but it falls on deaf ears as you and John continue your escape.

Exiting the establishment, the metal doors open to a messy alleyway. Boxes upon boxes of trash and god knows what are littered all around. The pungent smell makes you want to hurl, or maybe that's the adrenaline having a weird effect on your stomach.

You two find reprieve for a second, huffing, trying to get oxygen back in. Hands on your aching thighs, the concrete below you slowly turns crimson as your mysterious injury drips precious blood on the messy ground.

“You're bleedin’” He says in between inhales. There's rustling of fabric next to you, and you feel the warm cloth placed on your forehead.

“No shit, Sherlock.” Waving the drenched cloth away, you scoff lightly. “Don't.”

“What am I supposed to do? Let you bleed?”

You stand up straight, blood coating your lashes as you stare at him. “I've got a better idea.” Placing your palms on the source of the pain, you let your blood coat it.

“What—?” You roughly smudge the warm ichor all over his face and shirt, the plain white of his t-shirt turns a dark pink shade with your touch. Leaning away, he gives you a slow nod of understanding. “Ease us in, huh?”

“I'm rarely wrong and this is one of the rare instances.”

“Let's hope you're right about this one.”

—

You kick the backdoor open with ferocity. It bangs loud against the wall, getting the restaurant staff's attention.

“Help please! My husband!” John's limp arm is around your shoulders, your hand gripping on to his waist to add that one detail that would convince them of your innocence. “There was a bomb!” You don't let the bystanders touch you or John whilst you quickly lumber through their dinghy bathroom. There's murmurs and chairs scraping on the tiled floors as you lock the door behind you.

The bathroom is small, tiles yellowed from the years, the stench of bleach itching your nose. The lightbulb above you whirs like it's about to burst out. He leaves your side to take off his bloodied jacket, tossing it outside from the window— his exit, you presume.

“Your phone.” He holds his empty hand out to you, when you only raise an eyebrow at him, he sighs, eyes turning soft, adrenaline melting out of his system. “Please, c’mon, love, you got me sayin’ please and shit.”

“What for?” You try desperately to wipe the blood off your face.

“To contact you, just in case you need help.”

“I can handle it.”

“I know you can, how else did you get the job then? Just let me,” his voice wavers a bit but he corrects himself with a timed clear of his smoke filled throat. “Please, Jane.”

After pausing, you take your phone out from your pocket to give it to him. He enters his number after seeing your home screen of a basic mountain range.

“There.” Giving the phone back, you expected him to give his too, but he doesn't as he's already halfway out of the window. “I'll see you at home?”

You let out a chuckle, “yeah, I'll see you at home.” He gives you one last smile as he exits the small bathroom and into the streets where numerous sirens go off from ambulances and fire trucks.

—

It was a blur the entire trip home, you bought a loose hoodie from a thrift store and then promptly discarded your blood soaked coat in the bottom of a dumpster. It was a shame though, you liked that coat, it had real wool in the lining. The uber drive was thankfully uneventful, if the driver noticed the remnants of dried blood on your skin he didn't mention it. You gave him five stars for it.

An empty house greets you, John's shoes are nowhere to be seen in the hallway, nor his jacket. You worry for a second, mind rushing through possibilities. The rubber band burns as you pull it back and release it with a harsh thwack against your skin.

The water is cool as you shower, your blood mixing in and pooling around your feet and into the drain like a macabre whirlpool. You don't let your mind wonder about the man that you turned into a street pancake. Instead, you focus on yourself in the mirror.

You stare at the gash near your hairline, the skin around it is angry, leaving a throbbing sensation. There's also a few scratches on your face, especially around your chin. Your main concern is the large gash. It doesn't look like it needs to be stitched together though, which is a good thing since you don't have the energy to even tend to the tiny scratches on your palms. Cleaning and bandaging the wound, you put on clean pajamas and head to bed.

You stop in your tracks when you see John lying face down on your bed. Still in his iron soaked clothes, save for the jacket. You glare at his boot, it's off the bed but you still grit your teeth at the thought of it grazing your bedsheets.

He senses your presence, and he lifts his head up, chin helping prop himself up. “Your bed is better than mine.” His multi coloured eyes are laced with exhaustion, dull yet there's still a spark when he looks at your annoyed gaze.

“Who are you? Goldilocks?”

“Yeah, I ate your porridge too.”

“Damn, not my porridge.” Too tired to fight him, you slither into bed next to him, an arm's length away from his equally tired body. Staring at the ceiling, you feel his eyes on you. “What's up with your eyes?”

“It's called heterochromia—”

“I know what it is, I'm asking why you're staring at me like you're about to devour me.”

“I could devour you if you want.” He says nonchalantly but with the charisma of a man who knows what he's talking about.

“Maybe next time.” You blindly pat his shoulder which ended up with you patting his cheek. He hums at your touch, a deep rumble that you felt through the mattress. “Not bad for our first day huh?” Lifting your hand away, he twists on the bed to mirror your position. Now you're both gazing at the beige ceiling like it owes you money.

You're tired but for some reason you're fighting off the sandman from sprinkling sand in your heavy eyes.

“I lied back there, I've killed before.” His voice is merely above a whisper but you heard it as loud as a trumpet blaring in your ears.

“I know, you wouldn't be here if you haven't.” You answer with empathy. “If it makes you feel better, I've been to London before. Twice, on a family trip and a decade later…on vacation.”

“Glad to know.” He taps the inside of your elbow as a thank you for trusting him. “You CIA?” He blurts out above the comfortable silence.

“God no.” You truthfully say.

“And here I thought you're an alumni of the culinary institute of America.”

For the first time in years, you let out the loudest laugh you could muster. Snort and all.

Your ‘husband’ joins in with his own rambunctious laughter, the bed shakes at the loud guffaws. The happy sound fills the room, and your heart feels like it isn't as heavy as before. It's still there, the heaviness, but it isn't as cumbersome. You now realize that you've only snapped the rubber band on your wrist a couple times today.

An annoying tapping sound interrupts you both. Simultaneously sitting up by the elbows, you two tilt your head at the intruder.

“It's that pigeon again.” You actually smile at the thought of the same bird coming back to your house like a white strand of hair that keeps growing even after you've pulled it out. “I think we should name him. Something like Terry or Flanders.” You chuckle softly.

“Jeff.”

You shake your head. “Nope, doesn't suit him, what if it's a she?”

“His name is Jeff.” John turns to look at you, eyes full of certainty.

You turn to him, blinking rapidly in realization. “He's yours. He's your bird, isn't he?”

“You are insightful.” He smiles, a soft one that fills you with endearment that you haven't felt in years. “Met him a few months ago, fed him once and now he wouldn't leave me alone. I guess he followed me here too.”

“Y’know, pigeons are really smart, kinda like crows. He probably thinks you're his daddy.”

“Does that make you Jeff's mummy?”

“I don't want to be Jeff's mom.” Said bird taps on your window again, like he senses that you're currently talking about him.

“Too bad,” he raises his marriage finger, showing you the gold band. “He's our kid, love.”

You smile, hiding it with a huff and by laying back down with a gentle thump.

“Can I tell you somethin’?” His face pops up in your vision, you nod in place. “My real name is—”

“Let me stop you right there.” You sit back up, almost hitting his head with your own at how fast you sat. “There's a reason why they gave us fake names. Whether we like it or not, It's John,” You point at him. “And Jane Smith.” You point at yourself. “Until they dismiss us, that's our names. Not whatever you were about to tell me.”

“But you know it's not our names, right?”

“Of course I do. You don't look like a John, John.”

“And you don't look like a Jane. I just…” He sighs. “Just want someone to know my real name. We almost died back there, what if we stayed a minute longer inside that car? What then? I don't want to die with someone else's name written on my grave.” His words are genuine, but it sounds like he has said these words before.

Still, you sympathize with him. You've gone undercover before, taken someone’s name instead of yours for months. Those missions were so long and tiring that you almost forgot your own name. But it was…survivable because he was with you. John has no one, and this time you have no one. No one that calls your real name, no one that can identify your body if you suddenly croak in the middle of a mission.

No one else but John and Jane Smith.

So with bated breath, you give him the go ahead. “Okay, tell me. But I can't promise that I'll call you by that name.”

“Don't want to get in trouble with hihi?”

“No,” you scoff. “I don't give a shit what that robot says. I just don't want to die with a stranger's name. So fuck it, tell me yours and I'll mine.”

He smiles the same smile that he gave you before he went out of that dinky bathroom window. The smile that reassures you, a smile that tells you everything will be alright.

“It's Hobie,” Hobie finally says. “Hobie Brown.”

“It suits you better. Thought it was Jeff.” You whisper, and you give him your real name. The same name you were born with, not the fabricated ones your former agency has given you, not the ones your new company has given you.

He whispers back your name, tongue rolling off it like honey. Then, Hobie smiles again, nodding and those heterochromatic eyes bore into you comfortably like the sun's rays kissing your skin in the summer.

“You look like one. Definitely suits you better than Jane.” You smile shyly as you lose the fight against sandman.

In Hobie's mind, he hopes that knowing your real name is enough, enough to keep you alive, enough of an incentive for him to keep you safe, since you're not just a typical Jane anymore that the company randomly selected for him, no, you're Y/N L/N, and he'll do anything to protect you better. Because maybe, just maybe, knowing your real name this early would work, and you'll outlive all the Janes that he himself has outlived.

As you fall asleep next to him, he stares at Jeff the third. In that luxurious house, within those bulletproof walls, and in your room lies a deep anger in him. An anger that keeps him sane in all those years trying to pay his debt. He needs to end the cycle, not just for him but for all the agents that are in the same shoes as him. For now he lets you sleep soundly, for now, he plots the demise of the people behind the screen.

The laptop flashes a new message from the company.

> Mission complete: 3 fails remaining

> Good job, next mission?

Support banner by @cafekitsune ❤️

A/N: thank you for reading!!! Please consider reblogging if you liked it ❤️❤️❤️

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lanabuckybarnes · 8 months ago

Text

Always.

This is a sequel to Empty Words. I had someone ask for it and I was also thinking of writing one so here it is. I don’t know if it’ll be as good as the first part but I hope it’s up to your standards.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: none?? If you see any plz lemme know and I’ll add them.

Words: 1.1k

EMPTY WORDS

"How long has it been?"

"70 years."

The words replayed in her head constantly. It had been a year since that day, since she’d woken from her Cryo-sleep. Steve sat by her side telling her it was no longer 1945 but much later, she shouldn’t even be alive.

Tony, Howard Stark's son, had been generous enough to offer her a place to stay at the compound. She had been fed by the girl, Wanda, every day and they gave her peace since she so desperately needed it.

She never got to grieve for Bucky, not long after Steve told her of his passing, she was captured. For some Hydra experiments, according to the guy who turned green.

She still had Bucky’s jacket. She’d woken up with it wrapped around her frame, and she refused to take it off. It was the only part of him she had left.

A knock sounded throughout the room. "It's me, I've got dinner," Steve spoke from the other end of the door, his voice slightly muffled by the thick wood.

"Come in." She spoke, her words monotone and quiet.

He set the tray of food down on the bed, pasta and sauce. Wanda’s favourite. He picked up on her gloom quite easily, it must have been a perk of the super soldier serum.

"Are you alright?" Steve questioned softly, a reassuring hand rubbing her shoulder clad in the dark military jacket. He watched as she picked at the food but never put any of it near her mouth.

He knew better than to push people to talk about their feelings, he hated it when people did it to him.

They had both bonded over Bucky. In the 40s, they never really got the chance— he was too busy being Captain America, and she was too busy saving people's lives away from the frontline. He had never really spoken to her, he knew a bit about her from his old friend’s stories but besides telling her about Buck he’d never really seen her himself. In the past year though, the two had become good friends.

"It's... our anniversary, today." Her voice was small, like the squeak of a mouse, almost as if speaking any louder would scare him away. Steve didn't know how to answer. He was an excellent soldier and had always been great with words, but even he became tongue-tied at the mention of Bucky.

He blamed himself, he could have done so much better than what he did. Countless nights he stayed awake wondering how he could have changed the past, how he could convince Tony to invent some contraption and put himself in Bucky's place. Maybe he would have survived the fall.

"I'm sorry," Steve's voice mimicked her own. His arms wrapped around her smaller frame in a warm embrace, the only form of comfort he could truly give her at that moment.

She cried into his arms that night. When he eventually left she’d flopped her weak body onto the large bed that was far too comfy. She tossed and turned with Bucky's coat, hoping, wishing that dreaming hard enough would bring him back.

The compound was under attack, she had strict orders to stay in her room. Steve had warned her, promised that he’d keep them away from her but passed her a pistol as a last resort.

She could hear the sounds of bullets flying around, hitting walls and people. She felt helpless just sitting on the wide windowsill watching the world go by, what could she truly do though?

Just as a dark feathered bird flew by her window the hairs on her neck stood on end— there were eyes on her, someone stood at her door. She mentally cursed herself for setting the gun on the bedside table.

The presence stalked forward, till his thigh bumped her shoulder. Her head tried to turn to him but the feeling of coolness; a metal hand, spread over the top of her head and turned her back to face the window slowly.

The cool fingers dropped to the side of her face, tucking a few loose stands behind her ear. Was he trying to torture her? or was she finally receiving a final act of kindness before the sweet release of death? Her eyes squeezed tight in preparation, no matter the outcome she would not watch.

Death never came, no, instead the soldier flopped his large body down beside her. He was still as rigid as before, she could feel as much from the way his arm brushed against hers.

When she finally turned to look at the face of the last man she’d ever see, her killer— the muscles around her eyes pulled them wide and her breath caught in her throat.

His eyes, although obstructed by dark locks of her, emulated hers, shock evident in those deep blues along with the reflection of something she knew danced in hers— Recognition.

“B-Bucky?” She hadn’t realised tears were falling from her eyes until she spoke, her voice breaking. His head nodded softly, almost unnoticeable and his eyes glazed over as well. After all these years they were both alive, and the past 70 years' worth of bottled-up emotions bubbled over. She pulled him forward into her arms.

The way his tired body slumped forward into her frame told her he’d faced a similar story, he’d been holding onto a lot too. She could see Steve’s frame standing in her doorway in shock from her peripherals but she couldn’t find the will to glance at him. Not when he was here, not when Bucky was home.

“You came back” she whispered into his hair.

“Always”.

“Bahhhh!” God those goats were impatient. It must’ve been around 6 am, and the Wakandan heat blared through the mud-coloured walls.

“BAHHHH” the goat wailed again, more desperate and demanding than before. A groan sounded from the man behind her, his arm pulling her close and his lips ghosting over her bare shoulder.

“You gotta get up and feed them” she whispered silently hoping they’d disappear and leave them in each other’s arms, at least for a little bit longer. The heat made their embrace almost impossible to withstand but she’d missed years' worth of closeness to him, some sun wasn’t going to stop her now.

His grumbling vibrated against her neck before he pushed himself up to sit. He was quite the sight shirtless, much more muscular than before. The soft blue fabric wrapping around his left side and over his shoulder complimented his skin perfectly.

“Fucking goats” he complained as he threw the deep red fabric over his body, doing as much as he could with one arm before shifting to her for help.

Her fingers moved expertly over the fabric as they did every day, fastening it to his body before pulling half of his long hair into a bun.

“Love you” Her breath blew between his shoulder blades, her lips pressing into the nape of his neck as she wrapped the thin belt around his waist from behind— she’d become so familiar with the routine she could secure it with her eyes shut. He couldn’t help the way his worries fell apart at her soft touch.

His body twisted to face her naked one, his right hand finding her left, squeezing tight before dropping his fingers to roll the thin gold band around her ring finger; a symbol of his promise fulfilled. The matching one secured around his neck.

Steel blues ran up from their joined hand to her face, searching for her own eyes, asking in silence for permission that she was glad to give him as she leaned forward locking their lips together in a sultry dance that mimicked one of the many they shared all those years ago.

“Bahhhhh” he growled into the kiss and she couldn’t help the bubble of laughter rising from her throat. He’d never get a moment's peace with his girl with those beasts around.

Tags: @matchat3a

#bucky barnes #bucky x female reader #bucky x reader #james bucky buchanan barnes #bucky #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky fanfic #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #marvel #mcu bucky barnes #james bucky barnes #the winter soldier #winter soldier #winter solider x reader

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maybeitsalivescribbles · 25 days ago

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Guess who's back. (semi-back, I'm going to take it slow for a while)

Now, Detective was quite sure he had locked his office.

He stopped dead in his tracks, watching the door that was slightly opened. The last time this had happened, he’d found himself in front of two guns. The time before that, he’d found himself against a Villain, who didn’t need a gun. His own weapon was of course safe and locked in a drawer somewhere. He rolled his eyes at himself and listened intently. There wasn’t a sound. He threw a glance by the opening, ready to jump back and run.

His place looked blissfully intact, but now that he was closer, he heard it. Someone was breathing unevenly. He stepped forward. A head popped from behind his desk.

Well, well, well. Wasn’t this new. Detective let out a sigh half of relief, half of annoyance, and snapped:

“This isn’t a nursery, kid.”

He went round the desk to find a skinny teen huddled on the ground, their arms around their knees. They were wearing one of these stupid red capes that told everyone in the city they were special with powers, ooooh, aaaah. From the traces of tears on their face, they didn’t seem to feel especially happy about it.

Detective leaned over them, frowning. He’d already met that child. He snapped his fingers in an attempt to remember:

“You are, you are- oh, you’re that Sidekick kid, right? The sidekick of this hero, the one with the stupid boots.”

They nodded.

“So what’s the problem?”

“I don’t want-” Sidekick sniffed. They took a handkerchief from the desk, blew their nose, and kept on: “I don’t want to do this anymore.”

Detective was opening his mouth to ask why this would be his problem, but Sidekick added quickly:

“ I thought I could...hide here for a little while? Hero won’t find me here. I didn’t steal anything, honest.”

“Except the handkerchief.”

“You can have it back.”

“Thank you, I’ll live with that loss.”

He sighed:

“Tell you what, what about I phone your Hero and tell them what you’ve decided, so you can sort it out with them?”

The teen froze, looking at him like a deer in the headlights. Detective raised an eyebrow:

“That bad, uh?”

Sidekick nodded once, avoiding his gaze.

“Did you already tell them?”

“Yeah…”

“And they said?”

“That if I tried to leave, I’d be found dead on the road.”

Detective paused.

“Ew.”

Yes, that was what he’d said. An eloquent man, Detective. In his defense, that was short to the point at least, not to say accurate. Child abuse was icky.

He didn’t ask anything else, mostly because he wasn’t particularly surprised. Once or twice he had to deal with clients Hero had “saved”, and it hadn’t been a pleasant experience. Hero was the kind of person that didn’t mind saving the day if they were the one saving it, so they could reap the benefits after, no matter what happened to the others. If the kid shattered the illusion that they were perfect, well. This kind of people was willing to go very far to protect their image, especially when they could blame on any villain passing on the streets.

Sidekick, knotting their hands together, whispered:

“I thought you could...maybe hide me for a little while?”

Detective blinked. He asked with a mild voice:

“Tell me if I’m wrong, but isn’t your Hero the one who makes the ground shakes just by walking?”

“Yes?”

“The one who can crush people with a pinch?”

“Yes.”

“The one who can punch buildings?”

“Yes…”

Detective looked thoughtfully at his fists and his gun, all that he had – when the gun wasn’t forgotten in his office. He shrugged:

“No worries then. Just checking.”

Sidekick bit their lip, looking at him like a kicked puppy. Detective scratched his head, embarrassed. The silence was lingering for too long. He patted his pockets to look for something, anything, but there were just a pair of handcuffs and some old receipts. As a last resort, he generously held out his flask to them:

“Take a drink, kid. You’ll feel better.”

Sidekick looked at it with a wary look:

“I’m fourteen.”

“Eh, there’s no age.”

The teen took a little sip and yelped in surprise:

“It’s...cocoa?”

“Yep.”

Sidekick drunk a little more, then held it back to him:

“ I thought it was whiskey or something.”

“Psch, as if! With people shooting lasers with their eyes or whatever, I don’t need to get plastered. I need something stronger than booze to get through the day.”

Detective crossed his arms and sighed:

“Okay kid, you’ve won. Let’s find a place for you to sleep.”

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vnti-vnxiety-recs · 1 year ago

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Destruction In My Mind 2 (M)

★ PAIRING: Toxic! Stalker! Jaemin, Switch! Jaemin x Reader/Mentions of Reader x Mark

☆ WORD COUNT: 10k

★ GENRE(S): smut, thriller, angst,

☆ SUMMARY: When your relationship spirals out of control with Jaemin, he resorts to kidnapping to keep you all to himself. It's been months since you've been held captive, and Mark is the only one who may be able to uncover the truth of what happened to you.

★ ☆ WARNINGS: Toxic relationship, manipulation, swearing, various acts of sexual intercourse, hate sex,unprotected sex, DEATH, GUNS, DARK THEMES, YANDERE, STOCKHOLM SYNDROME, KIDNAPPING. STALKING, BLOOD, VIOLENCE, CAUTION MFER IDK WHAT ELSE TO SAY

☆★ NOTES: (Part 1) I wasn't originally planning on writing a part two to this, but a few people requested it, so I challenged myself to see where I could take the story. Honestly, I don't really enjoy writing about dark themes or angst, but it was interesting. I hope you guys enjoy this, because I'll probably only be sticking to one shot after this.

Today was like every other day for the past few months: dull and unremarkable. It's been months since you last had contact with the outside world. Jaemin would attempt to casually strike up a conversation, like he didn't lock you away in a room away from the rest of the world like an evil stepmother in a fairy tale, except that the very prince who was supposed to save you was the one who locked you away. Ever since Jaemin told you that Mark had stopped by to look for you, you had hoped that maybe someday he would find you, but as the months went on, you began to doubt his efforts. Part of you had actually hoped he would stop searching; you knew it could be dangerous if he got too close.

You would soon learn to trade your silence for forced smiles and fake laughter. Jaemin had promised to leave Mark alone if you entertained his conversations. You hated him. You despised the false compassion he displayed, doting over you when you rejected his meals and insisting you eat something. You hated how he acted sulky when you turned down his offers to watch movies together. You especially hated him for bringing back designer clothes whenever he upset you. What's the point of a designer if there's no one to show them off to?

You think If he wasn't a raging sociopath, he would make a good boyfriend. You could be living your best life if he wasn't easily overtaken by jealousy over the smallest things. Sometimes you indulge yourself in fantasies where he's your sweet boyfriend rather than the monster that imprisoned you.. Reality always hits hard when you find yourself staring at the locked door that keeps you imprisoned.

Some days you hated him to death, and others you found your heart warming up too quickly at the thought of him. It's when he returns from long business trips. Those are the days when your heart is most vulnerable and craves him the most. The day before those long nights away, he would bring you food, filling up your fridge with at least two days worth of food. He bought you every book you had circled from a catalog he brought to you. bringing you anything you requested.

The first time he left you, he even got you a cat to keep you company. When he was away, you would use that time to find an escape, but after hours of prying at your door and window, you would give up. You always end up playing with Luna instead.

After days of being alone with nothing but your thoughts and Luna to keep you company, you would practically crave human contact. On one of those many lonely nights, the thought crept up on you. Maybe this was also a part of his plan; was this a way to break down your defenses as well? If it was, it was working because when you heard the automatic lock to the front door opening and the heavy thud of his bags on the hardwood floor of his highrise condo, you couldn't help but call out to him.

You didn't care about the mind games as you leapt from wherever you were in your room and made your way to your door. He can barely even get it open before you throw yourself into his arms. His smell, his warmth, and his voice all amplified during the time he was away. Those days are the days you melt into him. Those days are the ones you let yourself forget. Those days you let your hands wander. And those days are the same days you go to sleep the most satisfied and wake up the most tormented.

After three days away, Jaemin had returned. You practically threw yourself at him the moment he stepped into your room to check on you. You immediately wrapped your arms around his neck, kissing him passionately, before jumping up and wrapping your legs around his waist. You're too preoccupied with pressing yourself against him to notice the cunning smile that kisses your lips. When he doesn't immediately kiss back, you whine into his mouth, and it draws Jaemin back into the moment.

Whatever he was holding clatters loudly against the floor as he drops it in favor of gripping your hips before lowering them to grip your ass. He has you pinned up against the same door he entered as you both hurriedly pull off each other's clothes, laying hot kisses in their wake. You're too impatient to wait any longer, so you haphazardly push his slacks past his hips enough to pull him out of his briefs before you tug your panties to the side. Catching the memo, Jaemin takes over, ripping the crotch of your panties for easier access. You position him at your entrance, and Jaemin thrusts in shallowly. You open your mouth to complain, but Jaemin quickly snaps his hips again. re-entering deeply, effectively shutting you up.

Not a single word has been exchanged since he walked through the door; the only thing filling the room was the harsh slapping of skin and heavy panting as his hips picked up pace. The door soon joined the cacophony of noise as it creaked against its hinges ruthlessly. You came over his length again and again; it was like he was making up for all the days he had left you alone. He didn't stop until he felt your slick heat push him out as you squirted.

The things that happen on the nights you spend with him cause war between the part of you that loves him and that part of you that wants nothing to do with him

You couldn't help but give in to your needs, even though you hated yourself for it. You could never quite reach your peak; your fingers could only take you so far. It didn't help that he would always come to you on those nights in his best suit and sporting his most expensive cologne. He would always tease you, cooing at your wandering eyes as they undressed him. On those nights, he would let you use him until you wore yourself out, leaving him to clean you up. He never stayed the night in your room because he knew that would only make it harder for you in the morning. He knew you hated him for it, but that just made him want you even more.

It felt like a never-ending cycle for you, but lately, even when he wasn't gone, you craved him. He noticed the cracks forming in your hard exterior. He was overjoyed when you started striking up conversations with him, asking him to read a book with you or to play a board game. He hadn't had to beg for your attention lately; he had you exactly where he wanted you.

Or that's what he thought.

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Jaemin had entered your room early one morning and gently shook your shoulder to wake you up. You thought he was about to tell you he was leaving on another trip, but instead he sat beside you, petting Luna, while you dragged yourself out of your sheets to sit up properly.

“You've been so sweet to me lately; it got me thinking,” he said. When he stops petting Luna, she leaps from the bed. Your tired eyes follow her as she exits the room through the door.

The open door

Jaemin was never one to leave the door open. He always locked it behind him as he came and went. Jaemin was never one to take chances. Until now, it appears. Your gaze returns to him in anticipation.

"I think you've been locked up in here for too long. You need fresh air…sunlight," he finishes.

He doesn't go on, watching your reaction and testing you with just his words. He waits for you to say something, but you don't. You think you made the right choice because he's smiling now as he continues.

“The house is too big, and it feels lonely sometimes. I was thinking about leaving your door open now so you can roam freely. This house is your home too. I trust you.”

Freely

Being locked in a multimillion-dollar condo above the clouds isn't exactly liberating. You control your reaction. Of course he wasn't going to let you go free; he was probably waiting on you to ask him if he would. You try not to look disappointed in his proposal and return his smile.

“That means a lot, Jaem," is all you can manage as you lean in for a hug, your smile fading the moment he can't see your face.

By free, Jaemin meant limited, which was probably better than what you had. Jaemin's condo was enclosed in large glass windows that let in plenty of light. He also had a sprawling terrace that wrapped around the perimeter of his condo. You were only allowed to spend a maximum of two hours on the terrace with his supervision. You convinced him to buy a hammock and beanbags for you so you could read out there during the summer. You had more room to play with Luna as well. You would run up and down the halls with her toy wand as she chased after you.

This must have been part of his plan to delude you because you almost forgot you were being held captive. You even had access to Jaemin’s room and used his shower from time to time, as it was bigger than the one in your room. It wasn't until he plopped down next to you on the living room couch one evening that you realized how far his trust in you had gone.

He let you know he was going to be gone for the night because he had an overnight business convention he had to attend; he wouldn't be back till morning. It would be his first night away since you were given access to the entire house. He told you the same rules applied and gave you a kiss on the forehead before walking to the front door, where his bags were already waiting, and like always, he leaves without another word.

Just like that, he was gone. You stayed glued to your spot on the couch. He's joking, right? Is this a test? What if he comes back early? A thousand questions are running through your head. YYou do the only thing that comes to mind: you wait. For the first hour, nothing appears out of the ordinary. Another hour passes, and the house remains silent, exactly as he left it. You get up from your seat in the third hour and search the house. You dash for the kitchen; you need a weapon—anything that will give you an advantage.

You searched every cabinet and every drawer, but there was not a knife in sight. You couldn't even find a butter knife. You notice something else is missing just as you close the last drawer. There were no forks either, not even a chopstick. Anything with a sharp point had vanished without a trace. It wasn't until now that you realized that every meal that you were served was pre-cut and prepared. You never even questioned the lack of silverware because you never needed one.

You almost trip over yourself as you hastily make your way to the balcony. You try the handle but realize it's locked. It seemed to have an automatic lock that could only be controlled remotely. Without wasting time, you rush to his office but not a pencil or pen in sight. The bathroom was next, but there was no floss.

You try to calm yourself down, but your frustration with your shortcomings grows. Luna notices your condition and begins to whine and rub herself against your legs in an attempt to comfort you. You don't even notice as tears well up in your eyes and you begin to cry. Luna is gently picked up and cradled in your arms.

“Your daddy is a liar; he doesn't trust me." As you kiss her soft fur, you chuckle bitterly.

In defeat, you make your way back to the living room. You shift your weight to get comfortable on the couch. You're about to re-start the TV when you notice a paper weight on the TV stand beneath it. It's almost hidden among the other trinkets that adorn the surface, but the light from the TV reflects off of it, drawing your attention slightly. You reach for it, and the cool glass warms against your skin. It's a good size and fits comfortably in the palm of your hand. It's a clear glass ball with an angry blue wave frozen in the center, as if captured just before the wave crashed. The wave was at its peak, frozen in time, waiting to crash down, but it never would. In a way, you were just like the angry wave trapped in the glass. You decided this would have to be your weapon. You amble to your room and stuff your makeshift weapon under your pillow. Your spirits were lifted by the minor victory. There was one more thing you wanted to double-check.

There was only one way out of here, technically two, but you don't think Jaemin has enough bedsheets to make a rope that could scale 20 stories. You quickly arrive at the front door and begin to inspect the lock. The lock was identical to that on the balcony door. There was no physical lock to turn to open the door; everything was internal and automatic. The only way to unlock the door was either by the pin code on the outside or, as you guessed, by a phone remotely. He didn't have these locks when you first came to his house.

You take a step back from the door and laugh hysterically as it all begins to make sense. You laugh all the way to your room, where you find the paperweight under your pillow. It was pointless hiding it because he saw.

It was a test.

No sharp items in the house, not even a pencil? All the locks have been changed, and he just so happens to let you out of your room out of the kindness of his heart? Jaemin is not kind, and he's definitely no fool. You were naive to believe that the man who had isolated you in a single room for months and denied you all human contact could possibly trust you. He had to be watching you, and you notice it as you trudge back into the living room. The faint blinking of a red light perched on the high ceiling of Jaemin's highrise. He really was watching you the entire time.

There was no meeting, or maybe there was; at this point, you couldn't trust his word. This was all a test to see if your “good behavior” would last. And just like the naive fool you were, you fell right into his trap.

“I know you're watching me, Jaemin! I'll kill you! I fucking hate you. Do you hear me? I fucking hate you!” You scream and scream at the blinking light until your voice is raw, but the camera doesn't respond; it just blinks mockingly at you.

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You awaken to sunlight hitting your face as you stir awake. You must have screamed yourself to exhaustion last night and fallen asleep on the couch. You move to sit up when the cool glass of the paper weight knocks against your skin. You were clutching onto your “weapon” all night, waiting for Jaemin to show up. From your vantage point on the couch, you looked around the apartment, but there was no sign of him The house was as silent as ever. Just as you're about to get up and search the rest of the house, you hear the mechanical gears of the locks on the front door unlocking. You perk up and grab your paper weight, arming yourself as best you can. You wait for Jaemin to walk through the door, but he doesn't.

In your confusion, you slowly make your way off the couch and towards the door. You approach it with caution, expecting him on the other side. You raise your weapon into the air, ready to swing down and strike whoever is on the other side. You swung open the door, but no one was there. In fact, the corridor was unusually quiet. You shuffle out into the hallway, your hair sticking up in all directions, armed only with a paper weight. Real intimidating.

“Jaemin?” You call hesitantly. No response.

You don't care if it's a test, and you don't care if he's watching. This was the closest you have ever gotten to escaping the 3000 square feet you've been confined to. You're booking it down the hall until you reach the next door, and you beat your first against it, calling for help. You're making all the noise you possibly can with whatever voice you have left from screaming all night. No answer, so you move on to the next door. You pound on every door in the corridor, but no one answers. You scream for help as you reach the final door on your floor. You pound on the door mercilessly until you hear a noise from the other side..

“Yes! hello!? Please open the door! I've been kidnapped and i-” you begin, but your begging stops as the door opens, revealing the owner of the condo.

“You’ve been kidnapped? No sweety, what you've been is naughty” Jaemin coos from his spot in the open door.

“Wha-what?” You can't breathe.

So much is happening, Too much is happening, and None of it makes sense as your head spins.

“You silly thing," Jaemin says, casually leaning against the doorframe, ”you know they told me when I had these built that the walls were too thin. I didn't think it would come back to bite me in the ass though,” Jaemin mockingly knocks on the wall closest to you. The hollowness mockingly echoes back at you.

“I don't understand,” you manage.

“I own this building, princess. Everyone on this floor,” he says, taking a step closer.

“the floor below us,” one step closer

“and the floor above us has been relocated.” He stares down at you coolly. “I didn't know how much of a fight you were going to put up, so I moved everyone out a month after I locked you up,” he whispers tauntingly.

"Funny enough, the only screaming you did up until now was when I was-” you turn away before he can finish, humiliated. This whole time, you played right into his hands.

“No point in running, princess; nowhere to go," he laughs.

You ignore him, swiping at the tears that threaten to run down your face. You storm back to his apartment, knowing he's not far behind you because you can hear his footsteps as he follows. He's right, there is nowhere to go, but right now you need to go anywhere he is not. You slam the door in his face angrily when you make it to the apartment, but he catches it and makes his way in behind you.

“You really want to make this worse on yourself, don't you?” he says before reaching for your arm to turn you towards him. The moment you feel his hand enclose around your elbow, you spin on your heels and strike him with the paper weight.

You drop it the moment you realize what you have done. You were angry, you were scared, and you were frustrated with his mind games, but you had no intention of actually hurting him. You acted out of rage; you weren't thinking clearly. You can only stare in disbelief as blood drips from his brow. His head is still slightly bowed from the blow, and he stumbles a little. Blood continues to drip down onto the floor.

"Jaem, I-I didn't mean to; I just-” You didn't know how to finish your sentence.

He finally lifts his head and looks at you, blood dripping into his eye.

“You want to hurt me?"

"No, Jaem i-”

"That's it, isn't it baby? I give you everything, and this is how you repay me."The way he speaks to you holds no warmth as he wipes at the blood staining his perfect skin.

“I didn't," he says, wrapping his bloodied hand around your throat, gripping harshly as he pushes you into the wall. He leans into you, barely a breath away. You almost expect him to kiss you, but instead he leans in to whisper in your ear.

“You want to kill me? then do it right.” The next thing you know, he's pushing away from you and releasing your neck. He bends down and picks up your paper weight. He takes your hand in his and places the paper weight in your palm once more.

“Do it.” He stares you down patiently, waiting for your next move. You shake your head as tears roll down your face freely.

“DO IT!” he yelled this time. You cry even harder and shakily throw the paper weight at his chest. You look pathetic, trembling in front of him.

“You want to hurt me, right baby? You want to leave me so bad? Well, the only way you're gonna leave is if you kill me, so do it!” Jaemin spits angrily.

“I won't," you cry.

“And why not?” Jaemin waits for your answer.

“Because I'm not like you!” you yell angrily, pushing at his chest. You pound on his firm chest, your cries becoming weaker with each blow. Jaemin waits for you to relax before grabbing your chin. Jaemin waits for you to calm down before he grabs your chin.

“No, that's not why pretty.” jaemin tuts.

He grips the back of your hair and drags you to the living room's floor-length mirror. He forces you to look at yourself in the mirror. You stare at yourself in the mirror. Your disheveled hair and tear-stained face stare back. Your eyes rake farther down your face until they reach your neck. You gasp in shock.

Right there, sitting prettily against your neck, was a bloody handprint. His bloody handprint possessively stains the skin of your neck. You can almost still feel the ghost of his touch in its wake. Jaemin's other hand trails up your body until he reaches your neck, fingers barely grazing the marks he left, afraid to ruin his work.

“You don't want to hurt me baby, because you're scared to be without me, hmm?” He teasingly whispers in your ear. “You love me, and you don't want to leave me; I can prove it too. I'll tell you a secret."

He breathes down your neck as he turns you towards him and away from your reflection in the mirror.

“Down the hall on the left; there's an emergency staircase; if you take that down, it will lead you right out of here.” He kisses each fingerprint left on your neck slowly so as not to disturb the mark he's left on you. When he's finished, he takes a step back and looks at you, waiting for you to make a move. Your lips quiver, and more tears fall, but you remain still.

“That's my girl,” Jaemin mumbles to himself before kissing you.

You can't do anything but cry harder, but you return his eagerness because he's right. He's right, and you hate him because, just like the handprint on your neck, he's got you in a chokehold. Your hatred seeps into the way you return his kiss. And grip at his hair as he lifts you onto his hips to carry you back into your room. You bite and tug at his lip, none too gently, as you kiss him. As Jaemin enters the room, he "accidentally" bumps your head against the door frame.

"You did that on purpose, asshole." You groan in pain.

“When have we ever played nice princesses?” he smirks before throwing you down onto the bed, making your head hurt even more as you bounce roughly against the mattress.

He's crawling towards you on the bed. You're not done being a brat, so you kick at his chest and shoulder, pushing him away from you. You refuse to make this easy for him, but he just grabs your ankle, pulling you towards him.

“You wanna brat out?"

“When have I ever played nice?” You use his words against him as you struggle more.

He pecks your lips hesitantly, knowing you like to bite, before kissing you deeply, prying your legs apart to settle between them. Just as he expected, you bite into his lip again, but he suddenly grinds deep into you, and you let out a choked moan. You push at his shoulder and try to close your legs to push him away. You were soaking through your panties already, and you knew he would be able to feel it soon. You were wet the moment you saw how pretty his handprint looked painted against your skin. You try to turn away from him and shake your head away from the kiss.

“I hate you,” you mumble against his teeth.

"I know,” he says, kissing your neck.

“You disgust me.” You try again.

“That right?” He slips a hand between your legs, patting against the seat of your panites.

“Because you're soaking princess,” he states, and you can hear the wet sound his fingers make as they make contact with your core.

You're mortified. You try to push him away again, but he grabs your hands with his free hand and pins them above your head. Resting his forehead against yours, you can feel the blood on his forehead begin to grow cold and sticky as it dries from the initial blow. He shushes you gently as he slips his fingers past your panties and into your core.

“Listen to how wet you are baby; I'm the only one who could make you feel like his,” he coos as he fucks you onto his fingers.

“Your all fucking mine, you hear me?” He kisses you again, swallowing your moans while he curls his fingers up into you.

"My fucking pussy,” he mumbles as he licks into your mouth.

“Fuck…you” you gasp in between moans. He releases you as he pulls off completely.

“I've been too good to you, but I forgot sluts like you need to be taught manners.” He stands at the edge of the bed before grabbing your ankles again and pulling you down the bed, flipping you over onto your stomach. He pulls your hips off of the bed until your feet are planted on the floor and your upper body is still bent over the bed. He pulls your hands behind your back and holds them there as he delivers a harsh slap to your ass.

"I spoil you too much; that's the problem. Think I won't ruin you?” He presses your arms into your back as a signal to keep them there before he lets them go. He pulls your bottoms off along with your panties and slips his fingers back inside your warm cunt.

"Greedy cunt. Swallowing me so easily. Uh-uh baby, you weren't going anywhere,” you can't see, but he has to bite his lip to hold in the moan that threatened to spill out as you practically dripped down fingers.

He pistons his fingers in and out of you quickly until you're a babbling mess and your thighs begin to shake before he's pulling them out and leaving wet slaps against your cunt. He forces you to count them each time he pulls out and lands another hit against your abused core.

"Don't you dare mess up or else your starting over,” he would threaten when you would stumble over your next number.

"12...13...14...15..." you would count each time he meanly slapped your pussy until he would shove his fingers back inside you. He'd fuck you with his fingers until you're shaking all over again. It wasn't until you got to 20 that he let up.

“I'll ask again, who do you belong to?” you pass the point of comprehensible words as tears run down your face again.

“Don't make me repeat myself,” Jaemin says as he yanks your head up from its place buried in the covers.

"You,” you cry as shivers run down your body.

“And who does this pussy belong to?"

“Nana!” you sniffle.

“That's right, baby.” He releases your hair, and you fall back into the sheets.

“Are you ready to be Nana's good girl now?" He mumbles as he kisses the back of your head.

You nod pathetically.

"Are you sorry for hurting Nana?"

You nod pathetically again.

“Get up there then,” Jaemin slaps you ass as he signals for you to climb back into the bed.

You plop down tiredly at the head of the bed and watch as Jaemin strips himself of his clothes. You think he's going to reclaim his position in between your legs as he climbs back into bed, but he chooses to lie beside you instead.

“Show me how good you are,” he says as he throws your leg over his hip and manhandles you until you're sitting on his waist.

“I can't—please, I can't."

He raises a brow at you, and you know better than to argue, so you lift your hips and sink onto him. He slips inside easily, and he's gripping your hips as he helps you ride him.

“There you go-fuck,” he moans as you lean onto his chest for leverage and begin to throw your hips the way you know he likes.

He looks up at you pathetically, chest heaving, as you ride him just like you did all those nights before. In these moments, he knows you need him just as much as he needs you, and it drives him insane. His arms lay uselessly beside him as he gripped the sheets at the rough pace you chose. You look down at him as the power dynamic starts to change. You knew if you rode him hard enough, he'd start begging like a useless slut. It was moments like these in which you had any control over him. You can feel anger begin to bubble up in your chest at the thought. You despise how weak he made you.

Before you know it, you feel your hands travel from his chest up to his neck as you steal the breath from his lungs. You grip tight as you watch as his eyes begin to roll, and if the way he white knuckles your hips isn't sign enough that he's close, his heaving chest and insistent whines are.

“Your so… such a…fuck.” He struggles, “Good girl,my good-”

He can barely complete a full thought. You're so close, and you're just about to finish when suddenly you're on your back looking up at the ceiling. Your mind is still trying to catch up as you feel nothing but deep harsh thrust s as his hips slam into you. The quick pace creates a fog in your mind and all you can do is take it. You finally meet Jaemin’s eyes and he's completely gone. The power dynamic has been switched again and it was right before you could even finish your fun. Jaemins eyes are hazy as he shivers with each thrust. He leans down to place messy kisses into your mouth that end in him panting against your lips. Still upset that he ended your turn so soon, you wrap your legs around his waist as you drive your hips up into his, meeting his thrust.

Jaemin shakes his head as he attempts to pin your hips back down into the mattress. You challenge him with a nod as you tighten your hold, fucking against him harder. It was just fucking; there was no making love anymore. You're both in a fight for control as you feel your high approach. Soon you're both drunk off the other as you grab, push, and tug at each other selfishly in an attempt to get off. Thrusts have grown sloppy and wild as you arch your back into the sheets when the cord in your belly finally snaps. Your legs finally grow weak as they fall pathetically from around his hips. Jaemin groans at the feeling, and after a few more aggressive shoves of his hips, he's spilling into you. He pulls back to watch as his love seeps out of your abused cunt. He pushes it back in,and the last thing you see before sleep takes you is how he licks his fingers clean at your combined taste.

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Mark vowed to never give up. People told him how ridiculous he was for trying so hard to find someone he only worked closely with for such a short time. For some reason, Mark still felt indebted to you. You did so much for him when he broke his leg and showed him and everyone that you worked with so much kindness; you didn't deserve this. So he never stopped looking.

When Mark learned you had quit your job, he knew something was wrong. You definitely would have reached out to him about it. Not to mention, when he went to check your social media to see if you had updated or hinted at a new job, he found that they had all been deleted. He even did some digging to find your old apartment complex, but when he inquired about you with your old landlord, he was given the cold shoulder.

It was like you were wiped off the face of the planet. His only lead was Jaemin, but it was almost impossible to get close to the guy. Mark was sure Jaemin had something to do with your disappearance; he just had to prove it. He couldn't do this on his own, and there was only one other person he could ask.

Every day for a week, Mark would press Jaehyun to hear him out. He tried every guilt trip, bribe, and threat in the book, but Jaehyun wouldn't budge. Jaehyun had recently gotten promoted a few months after coming back to the office after his wreck. He would use his hectic schedule as an excuse to blow off Mark.

"Dude, please just talk to me; I just need one thing.” Mark begged early in the morning.

“Keep it down; I'm not talking about this right now." Jaehyun sternly reprimanded him.

Mark looked over his shoulder before pushing Jaehyun into an empty conference room.

“You're the only one who can get close to him; you were literally promoted into his department. I just need you to get in close to find out some information.”

“She’s gone. Let it go, for all we know he could have-” Jaehyun pauses. "Listen, drop it; I've already warned you.” Jaehyun huffs frustratedly.

“We won't know until we dig deeper!” Mark argues, “Look, your department just exceeded the projected goal for the year, right? All you have to do is convince your team to host a party at his place in celebration. I don't know; just get in and see if anything is off.” mark pleads

Jaehyun doesn't reply, but Mark takes his silence as a sign to continue.

“The whole department will be there if you sneak off; no one will notice. Once he becomes CEO, you're next in line to take over that department. It would be weird to exclude you, so you would have to go.”

A few beats pass, and Jaehyun sighs in defeat.

“Fine, I'll see what I can do.” Jaehyun breathes.. Just before Mark can celebrate, he continues, “But if nothing comes up, you drop this, alright?” jaehyun bargains

“I promise, I'll drop it.” Mark raises his hands in surrender.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

For the next two weeks, Jaehyun would slip the idea into casual conversations and subtly mention that the department's hard work deserved a celebration. Every now and then, a coworker would suggest going out to drink, but Jaehyun would decline, instead proposing a private party.

“But I mean, who has enough space for that, right?” Jaehyun would joke before another one of his co-workers jumped in to mention Jaemin’s huge condo.

“We should get Jaemin to host it; I heard he's getting a few floors of his building renovated so we wouldn't have to worry about noise.” Seojun added

"Yeah, he always treats us to drinks; I doubt he would mind taking the party to his house this time,” someone else chimes in.

Jaehyun got the entire department talking about it and even got Jaemin’s grandfather to back the idea. As the CEO, he said it would raise morale and show the employees how important they are to the company. He said that once Jaemin became the CEO, he would understand the importance of showing gratitude to his employees. That's how Jaemin was cornered into hosting a cocktail party the following week.

Jaemin mentioned it casually to you, saying you wouldn't be able to come out that night. He'd block off that side of the house, and the party would be hosted mainly on the highrise terrace. You counted the days until the party. If there was any chance of getting someone's help, it would be then.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

It was the night of the party, and all you could do was press your ear against the wall and listen in on the conversations. You were curious about who showed up; would Mark be there? It was a company party, according to Jaemin. Did that include every department? As you backed away from the door, you huffed in frustration; the voices were too muffled to make out. You wanted to scream for help, but Jaemin warned you against it before he shut you in your room hours before.

You pace your room anxiously. Even Luna got to attend the party! Jaemin said it was because she was well-behaved, unlike you.

It isn't long before Jaemin comes in to check up on you. He slips into the room quickly before shutting the door behind him. He must not be staying for long, because you notice he doesn't bother to lock it.

“I thought you might be hungry, so I brought you some appetizers from the party.” Jaemin smiles as he hands you a plate of assorted sliders.

"Thanks; I was getting a little hungry.” You laugh nervously as you take the plate from him.

“Is everything okay?" He asked curiously.

It's now or never. You only needed a second, and you had to think fast.

"Actually, I was trying to take a shower, but the facets stuck in the bathroom. Could I take a bath in your room?” You pout at him.

“We have company princess; you'll have to wait." he replies

"Then, can you see if you can turn the knob?” You ask, putting your plate down and gesturing for him to follow you to the bathroom.

He makes a sound of acknowledgement as he follows you to the tub. You stand by the door to the bathroom as he walks past you to inspect the shower. When he's not looking, you quietly turn the lock on the bathroom door. You know it would only stop him for a second, but that's all you needed; you just needed to get in earshot of the party and scream for help.

The shower knob turns easily in his hand, and the shower sputters to life. Just as he looks up at you in confusion, you grip the handle to the bathroom door and shut it behind you as you sprint across your room for the door. Your heart pounds in your chest as you hear him pull against the door to the bathroom. The lock keeps him locked in for a few seconds before he realizes you locked it. You're already out of the room as the lock on the door clicks open. You run down his long hallway, and you turn the corner into the living room. You can see the terrace from where you stand, and it seems as though everyone is outside as they bustle around a table, chatting and drinking as the night continues. You run into someone before you can take another step, their drink clatters to the ground and you look up.

“JAEHY- '' He covers your mouth before you can continue and pushes you back into the hallways, out of view from the balcony. It isn't until you can't be seen that he uncovers your mouth.

"Jaehyun, please, you have to help me." You continue your rambling; you don't even realize he's still pushing you back towards the way you came. “Jaemin is crazy, and he's keeping me here against my will and-” You hit a familiarly firm chest.

“And?” The voice behind you speaks.

All you could do was look up at Jaehyun with hurt and confusion.

“I'm sorry” was all he said before you slung over Jaemin's shoulders and carried back towards your room as Jaehyun followed. You're too stunned to speak.

Just as quickly as you left, you find yourself locked back in your room along with a new guest.

Once your shock wears off, it doesn't take you too long to put two and two together.

“All along… You're working together.” You don't even question it.

"Well, not all along,” Jaemin points out. “His accident was on purpose, but after seeing how obedient he was afterwards, I thought he might be useful."

“He offered me a promotion, and in exchange, I had to make sure the people in the office didn't get suspicious.” Jaehyun interjected, “It was easy until Mark came back; he really doesn't know how to give up.” Jaehyun finishes.

“What is wrong with you? You were my friend!” You yell incredulously. “You sick freak, I thought I knew you!"

You wanted to cry, but you refused to show any more weakness. You would never forgive him for this, and you would never forgive either of them. You wouldn't allow your heart to falter any longer. You despised Jaemin.

“You've made quite the scene, princess." jaemin tsks “We better be getting back to the party, princess, or our guests will wonder where we went. I'll deal with you later, '' Jaemin smirks. He leads Jaehyun out of your room and closes the door behind him.

You're left with your thoughts once again. Jaehyun's betrayal left a gaping hole in your heart. You would never expect him to do something like this; granted, you would have said the same thing about Jaemin. You can only hope that Mark won't let you down.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

Mark stops looking. That Monday after the party, Jaehyun told Mark that nothing was out of the ordinary. There was no sign of anyone else living there, and Jaemin acted normally. With no further leads, Mark decided it was probably for the best to let it all go. Maybe everyone was right. Maybe you did just get a new job and quit. Whatever the reason, Mark hoped you were alright wherever you were.

If only he would have kept digging.

If he had kept prying, he would have found out that later that month, Jaemin moved out of his condo and into a small, inconspicuous house on the outskirts of the city. If he had asked around, he would have found out that one of the guests at the party had seen a glimpse of you as you bumped into Jaehyun, but they would later “quit” as well.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

It's been a year since you moved into the new house with Jaemin. Jaemin had decided to move you guys out because of Mark's insistent poking. He also wanted to be farther from the city,less people to worry about. You have lost all hope. You had no fight left in you. What was the point when Jaehyun was right? Who would come looking for you at the CEO of the country's largest corporation’s house?

After the move, Jaemin’s grandfather had been riding his ass even harder about preparing to take over the company, and because of that, he's rarely home. It wasn't until recently that the title was officially handed over. You start to wonder why Jaemin even keeps you around anymore. He's grown far too busy for you now. Some nights, the thought keeps you up. What if the only reason you're still here is because he hasn't found the time to get rid of you yet? Jaemin had gotten two more cats to keep you company, hoping that would make up for his absence.

Sometime in passing, Jaemin mentioned that tonight a gala would be held to celebrate his promotion and commemorate the start of a new era for the company. The entire company would be there; it wasn't an event that he could miss. Once again, he dons his finest suit, wears his most expensive cologne, and styles his hair up away from his forehead. Jaemin always looked the best like this, but your heart didn't beat for him the same way anymore. Your anger and frustration towards him outweigh any feelings you have left for him. He leaves again for the umpteenth time this week without bidding you farewell.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

It was Mark's first time attending an event of this caliber. The company had rented out a large convention center for the occasion, and it was decorated beautifully. There was a main room with a walking platform near the front that had a podium and screen. That must be where Jaemin would give a speech later. In the room across from it were the food and refreshments, and there was a clear area for dancing and socializing.

He'd been there an hour and Jaemin still hadn't delivered his speech. He spent the majority of his time conversing with various department heads and socializing with coworkers in his own department. He ate from the refreshments table when he wasn't catching up with someone. He had no idea someone had been watching him all night.

When it came time for Jaemin's speech, the party moved to the main room. The lights had been dimmed, and the screen behind the podium displayed various slides of stocks and other information related to the leadership change. It was the first time he'd seen Jaemin all night. As he climbed onto the stage and took the podium, everyone applauded and cheered. Jaemin started his speech, and he was as charming as ever. While everyone was focused on his speech, Mark felt a buzz in his back pocket. Wanting to remain professional in a business setting, he ignored it. It wasn't until the second buzz came through insistently that he decided to slip his phone out of his pocket and check the notification.

There were two unread messages from a private number.

You can find what you've been searching for 1942

(Address attachment)

Mark's breath caught in his throat. Was this a new lead after a year of silence? His brain was telling him to ignore it, be respectful, and put his phone away, but his instincts were telling him this would lead him right to you. He was curious how you were doing after all this time. He feels like he's done nothing but let you down all this time. Not anymore; he wouldn't do it again. The next thing he knows, he's pushing through the crowd to make his way to the exit. As he rushes out, he attracts the attention of a few people, one of whom is Jaemin.

Jaemin was finishing up his speech when Mark left. He had tried to walk down the stage as swiftly as possible without causing a scene. Once he was down from the stage, he had tried to immediately catch up to Mark; he knew something was up, but he was stopped by his grandfather.

“I'm so proud of you son; you're finally stepping up like I knew you always could,” he praises.

“Thank you sir,” Jaemin says humbly, shaking his grandfather's hand.

“Come on now son, enough of the formalities! I've already given you the title of CEO.” The elder laughs joyfully.

“Right grandpa,sorry. It was nice catching up, but I have to go."Jaemin tries to slip away again but is stopped by his grandfather who claps a proud hand on his shoulder.

“Nonsense! The night has only just begun. I have some business partners I want to introduce you to,” his grandpa says, successfully trapping him. His grandfather leads him away from the exit and back into the crowd. Jaemin can only grit his teeth as he's pulled further and further away from his exit.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

Mark speeds through the dead of the night to get to the unknown address; he knows he only has so much time. He didn't know where the address would lead him, but as he pulled into the driveway and spotted Jaemin's car, which looked way out of place, parked in the driveway of a small house in a suburban neighborhood, he knew exactly where he was. This heightened his sense of urgency.

The only conclusion that Mark could draw was that Jaemin must have moved because he was hiding something. After all this time, Mark might finally find you. It's not until he's at the front door that he realizes he has no way in. He looks down at the lock on the door. It's an automatic pin code lock that requires a 4-digit code. Mark quickly pulls his phone from his pocket as he reads the message again.

You can find what you've been searching for 1942

He enters the only numbers he sees on the screen, and the door flashes green as the lock clicks open. He tentatively opens the door, slipping through quietly and closing it behind him. He walks down a corridor, and as he nears the end, he hears the sound of a television. Before turning the corner, he can see the light spilling into the corridor.

“You're here early, what? They realize how crazy you were and that you weren't a good fit for the company."A voice jokes harshly.

There you were, sitting on the couch watching TV in your pajamas, lazily stroking a cat as it purrs in your lap. Mark was relieved you were safe; honestly he had expected you to be in worse shape. He should have known Jaemin would spoil you while in captivity.

"Y/N?” he says hopefully.

You jump at the sound, causing Lucy, one of Jaemin's new cats, to leap from your lap. You slowly turn your head, not believing your ears until your eyes confirm what you've heard.

“M-mark?” you whisper.

When you call his name, all the air in his lungs escapes . It's been over a year since he's heard your voice. Your eyes well up with tears as you leap over the couch to embrace him. You're immediately engulfed in his arms. You take in his comforting scent and cry even harder.

“I looked for you for so long, and the entire time you were right under my nose, I knew I should have never given up.”

“What took you so long? I was waiting for you,” you choke out as you hug him tighter.

“I had a hunch Jaemin might be up to it, and I had someone look into it. They didn't find anything and said I should drop it. I thought maybe you really did just move away.”

“Who told you that?” you ask. Whoever looked didn't do a thorough job, because, alas, here you were.

“Jaehyun,” Mark says, and it all makes sense.

“Jaehyun is a traitor! I was so close to getting out, and he helped Jaemin catch me during a stupid dinner party!” you explain

Mark remains silent for a moment, almost as if he doesn't believe it. He needs to shake it off; there are more pressing matters at hand.

“Catch me up later; we have to leave before Jaemin gets back.” Mark rushes as he goes to grab your hand. You're about to leave when you notice a figure standing in the corridor.

“Too late,” Jaemin says, announcing his presence.

“Let her go Jaem."

Jaemin points a gun at Mark before he can finish his sentence. Stunned, you both take a staggering step back. Mark shields you behind him.

“You're not taking her anywhere,” Jaemin says a little too calmly.

"Jaemin, put down the gun seriously. Let's just talk it out.” You try, but he holds up an irritated hand at you.

“Be quiet. Time and time again, I've forgiven you, but you never learn. I'll deal with you next,” he says. “Right now it's me and him; you stay out of it.”

Mark pushes you away, and you take the hint, stepping back away from the conflict. Jaemin circles Mark, his weapon still drawn as he berates him.

“You just never knew how to give up. You're lucky I'm a man of my word, or else I would have killed you a long time ago." jaemin snarls

Mark stays silent as his eyes track Jaemin's every move. Mark knew he had to be careful; he had trained in weapon disarming, but that was only for a few days. He knew fighting back would greatly increase the odds of losing his life, but he had to do what he could. When Jaemin took a step closer, Mark jumped into action. Mark moves to grab Jaemin at the wrist; he maneuvers the gun so it's pointed away from him as he grabs it and spins it away. Jaemin fights back against the motion and attempts to take control of the gun again. Both fight for the weapon, but in the effort to gain control, the gun slips from their grasp and clatters noisily against the hardwood. You make a move for it, but Mark reprimands you.

“Stay back! It's dangerous!” he warns.

In that split second that he looked away, Jaemin gains the upper hand and gets him in a chokehold. Jaemin is relentless, and Mark is struggling to flee. You can only cry out as you see the fight slowly leave Mark. He's on his last breath before a force pushes them both to the ground. They fall over onto the glass table that sits in the middle of the room and shatters under their weight. They roll in agony attempting to get back up off of the broken glass but stay down. You look up towards the figure that pushed them and you meet face to face with Jaehyun wielding the gun that was discarded earlier. Mark is the first one to notice the new threat. Jaehyun once again has the gun pointed at him.

“Jaehyun please!” you beg

“Jaehyun, do it! Shoot him if you want to keep your position!” Jaemin coughs weakly, still fighting to pull himself up from the glass shards.

All Mark can do is shake his head, pleading silently with his eyes.

“DO IT!” jaemin yells

Jaehyun pulls the trigger, and you close your eyes as the shot rings harshly through the small house. Soon after you hear a thud, your knees feel weak, and you slip down the wall as you cry. You don't bother to raise your head at the footsteps that approach you. You don't care what happens to you at this point. You're ready for it to just be over.

A gentle hand rests on your shoulder, and another caresses your face.. You open your eyes at the touch, and marks equally as teary ones stare back at you. You gasp in shock as your eyes trail to the other set looking at you. Jaehyun stares back apologetically before he lowers his head in shame. You throw yourself into Mark's arms again, and he groans in pain. You release him immediately, and he laughs.

“Its ok. Just a little sore after being thrown into a table is all,” he says sarcastically as he eyes Jaehyun jokingly.

“Sorry man, I didn't know what else to do." jaehyun apologizes

“What's going on, Jae? I thought you were helping Jaemin." You say in disbelief.

“I had a change of heart; Mark was right. I did nothing but turn my back on you when all you did was show me kindness. It kept me up at night. "Jaehyun grimaced in regret.

“Were you the one who sent the text earlier?” mark inquired

“What text?” you ask.

“It's how I found you." mark answers

“I thought you might be able to handle it, but Jaemin was able to slip out of the venue earlier than expected, so I came just in case." jaehyun explains

At the sound of his name, you pull yourself up onto your feet. If the mark is in front of you, that means the one Jaehyun shot was...

As you look over at the shattered glass table, a fresh wave of tears starts up as you inspect the scene. Jaemin's body is bleeding out over the glass shards. They twinkle red in the light of the room, and like always, he looks beautiful. The glass crunches under your feet as you walk closer. You don't even wince at the pain as you kneel next to him. He looks at you silently as ragged breaths wrack his chest. A weak hand raises to reach for you, but it falls. You grab it and interlace your fingers; you despise him. You wanted to despise him, but as he took his last breaths, you couldn't bring yourself to. You did love him in a sick, twisted way. Even when your heart was filled with nothing but rage, hurt, and frustration, a small part of you still loved him. You secretly wished for a normal life with Jaemin. That's what compelled you to lean in and kiss him one last time. You kiss him gently, and when you pull away, his eyes are closed dreamily, as if he was sleeping, but you knew. Jaemin was still and quiet, but above all, he was beautiful as he lay there, and that's how you would always remember him. You were pulled up and away by Jaehyun and Mark. You grabbed a few of your things, and you left.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

The police wasted no time investigating the death of the newly appointed CEO. It was initially classified as a break-in, but that was later debunked, given that nothing was stolen. They went on to believe that his death was premeditated, and that someone in the company was jealous of him for his new position, but everyone seemed to adore him, and his grandfather revealed that he would not have chosen anyone else to run the company in his place. The police were also unable to locate the murder weapon, which made their job even more challenging.

After a few months of investigating, the case was closed and dismissed due to insufficient evidence. Jaemin's grandfather was livid and sued the city, but you're not sure what came of that. You started over in a new city. You and Mark started seeing each other and took in Jaemin's three cats. Jaehyun continued his position at the company, and despite the fact that you never heard from him, he seemed to keep in touch with Mark. You believe he was protecting Mark in his own way by telling him to give up on searching for you.

It would take you a very long time to truly heal from what happened, and sometimes your heart would still ache for Jaemin, but you would overcome it. You were sure that with marks by your side, you could overcome anything.

#jaemin smut #jaemin fic #jaemin #jaemin scenarios #jaemin imagines #jaemin x reader #nct fanfic #nct scenarios #nct imagines #nct smut #nct fic #nct #nct u #nct dream #nct dream imagines #nct dream scenarios #nct dream fanfic #nct dream smut #nct dream x reader

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weldingmetal · 11 months ago

Note

how do you think the transformers would react to adrenalin? Something we often say after maybe a simple run or to someone after getting hurt greatly is how "adrenaline is one hell of a drug" leading to us not feeling pain till after we've calmed down I'm curious how this would further maybe horrify how even if we've evolved we still have many animalistic qualities. Love your writing by the way!

to be honest I think cybertronians would have something slightly similar. Such as a last resort coding program to ensure their survival to any threat or it’s actively engaged when fighting against a threat.

However, this is different because it just code. Even then I don’t think it would do much because there’s only so much a simple code can do to a metal being. It might make there vision sharper and head clearer for some moments but that’s it. Anything else would be battle programming.

The difference is that the code is for a last attempt to survive. Adrenaline is so much more raw. With us adrenaline is much more powerful. It gives us incredible strength, an invisible charge that not only enables us to survive…but to live.

It helps us win in a game of tag, calculate how to survive a test or bad situation. To save others and ourselves. To always succeed when the predator and to escape and survive as prey.

It is nothing short than a powerful raw drug that allows us to connect with our feral ancestors.

As for team primes reaction it would first be confusion, then concern and worry, followed by mixed shock and horror. Everyone would have mixed feelings by the end.

Think of it like this. Both bots and humans have a gun. The bots have a single bullet that shoots its mark at the speed the gun is expected to shoot. Humans also have a bullet, but when loaded the bullet changes the very gun its loaded in. Then the gun shoots far more than it was supposed to and is far more powerful than it should be. That’s not how guns work, it’s not supposed to happen and yet, it has, it did, so obviously somehow it can and will.

And that scares them.

#humans are space orcs #humans are weird #Optimus’ savior complex is having an aneurysm #cybertronian biology #cybertronian culture #transformers #transformers prime #maccadam #Shockwave has an idea #And not a good one

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dark-frosted-heart · 4 months ago

Text

Roger Barel Main Route - Chapter 6 His POV

As usual, can’t guarantee 100% accuracy on this. I’m doing this for archiving purposes and you can probably find a better translation out there.

It’s said that in war, 80% of those given guns wouldn’t “dare” to shoot the enemy.

The act of shooting another person is such a grave and immoral act that fills the heart with guilt.

And here I am shooting people with a hunting rifle used to kill beasts—

Roger: Kate, I got something for you. The best from Victor’s armory.

(I’m being selfish)

Kate: A…gun?

When I handed it to Kate, who wanted to become strong, she was like a baby given her first toy.

(...Ha. That’s a cuuute face)

(Come to think of it…Not too long ago, she was living in a world without the scent of death)

Roger: Give it here. I’ll teach you how to shoot.

I took the gun back and aimed at a target in the distance.

All three bullets hit the target dead center.

Roger: The height you hold the barrel depends on the opponent’s feet. In close range, point it down. Long range, horizontal.If you’re in a room, on a train, or some place with obstacles, you can point it up. But keeping it steady takes practice.

If the muzzle’s shaking, you have a higher chance of hitting a comrade so the basic rule is to aim down. That’s about it. Now we just have to practice.

Kate: I’ll give it a shot…

I placed the gun back in Kate’s hand and moved behind to guide her.

(...She’s so small)

Roger: Grip it like this. Yeah, good. Keep your finger on the trigger…no, don’t squeeze it. Loosen up.

Kate: Okay.

Roger: Relax. Just pull it back.

When she pulled the trigger, there was a dry sound and a bullet grazed the target.

Roger: A little more to the left. Fire them all.

Kate: …

I watched as Kate continued to reposition her arm and pull the trigger.

(Her arm’s shaking. Well, that’s understandable. However…)

Her determined expression was very Kate-like and I enjoyed it.

Roger: Out of 6 rounds, 1 was a hit. 2 grazed the target. Not bad for a first time.

I’ll add this to your training so you better start doing push-ups every day.

Also—Kate, use this as a last resort. Got it?

After gun-handling lessons, I returned to my research.

—The smell of gunpowder wafted from my clothes, bringing back distant memories.

(It was a few days after joining Crown)

When the trickster of a Queen’s Aide cheerfully invited me to the lounge.

~~ Flashback ~~

Victor: This is the lounge where we drink, play, party, and hold strategic meetings. And when you touch the first glass on the left, third row from the top—Ah!

When I touched the “first glass on the left, third row from the top”, things popped out all at once.

Roger: A weapons collection? There’s a lot of them too.

Victor: Aw, you touched it before I could reveal what it was. How naughty of you. Yes, this is my weapons collection! One of the benefits of Crown is getting to use all the weapons you want! You’ll be going on missions soo, so pick whatever weapon you want.

Swords, small guns, sword canes, knives…all of them looked pretty high quality. But something caught my eyes.

Roger: …I’ll go with this one.

Victor: A hunting rifle? I won’t question you, but…

Roger: It’s difficult to use, stands out, not useful in close range, and I have poor eyesight. But to make up for my eyesight—I have my power…

To fulfill my ambitions, I gave up my future as a doctor.

From then on, I was a member of Crown. The opposite of a doctor who saved lives, I killed and condemned people.

With my skills and knowledge on how to save lives, I’ll be bearing the sin of killing people…forever.

Roger: Taking lives with this is what I need to stay myself.

When I said that, the queen’s aide gave a smile that complimented this darkness.

Victor: I understand, Roger. If that is what you want. —Now, pledge your allegiance to evil.

~~ End flashback ~~

It’s said that in war, 80% of those given guns wouldn’t “dare” to shoot the enemy.

The act of shooting another person is such a grave and immoral act that fills the heart with guilt.

And here I am shooting people with a hunting rifle used to kill beasts—what a brute.

(But that’s okay. There’s no regrets or doubts on the choices I’ve made)

(—However)

~~ Flashback ~~

Kate: I’m…frustrated…by how weak I am.

Roger: Last question. Kate, what do you want to be?

Kate: I want to be…

Strong…I want to be strong. Because I…don’t want to hate myself.

Besides…life’s too long to live in despair.

Roger: …

~~ End flashback ~~

(I don’t want to lose the lil’ lady…to the same path of a brute I chose)

The thought of Kate, so honest with a desire to be strong, killing someone and falling down that path…

I felt sick, like I was hungover after a day of terrible drinks.

The Webley revolver I gave Kate wasn’t for killing people. It was only to protect herself.

(From here on, there might be moments when Kate will have to kill)

(But, when that time comes…)

(I’ll be the one doing the killing instead) Roger: …Haha. I’m the type of guy who adores my dogs.

#ikemen villains #ikevil #ikevil jp #ikevil translations #roger barel #ikevil roger #ikevil roger route

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twisted-wonderland-memories · 1 year ago

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“I am the real monster, not you.”

Dorm Leaders [minus Kalim and Malleus] x Reader who hides their ‘Execution Magic’

You fooled the magic mirror that you are basically magicless but is that all the mirror can say? You evenly made sure that the mirror won’t sense a dark secret that you possessed. You hide it for a pure reason:

One, you think it is NOT magic. It's an overblot magic that you happen to got that gift from a kind phantom who saved you.

Two, your abilities KILLS people if you are not careful that is.

Three, you can protect other people but you prefer to do the mission alone.

Lastly, you are immune to overblot except if you KILL someone who has innocence.

In summary: You are immune to overblot, however, if you kill a innocent person YOU will overblot as a punishment. You can however protect someone from the Phantoms.

You are gifted with Execution Magic (however, you perfect NOT to say how you got it), however there is one catch. You need to never use it for murder of threatening people, if by any chance that you use it to break the personal rule you will overblot immediately. The only time you can do that is when you are fighting overblots aka phantoms. Because of that you are forced to keep this ability very hidden by making yourself act like a useless magic person on purpose.

But one day you accidentally let your abilities out in front of them, how will they take it?

CW: Spoilers from Book 6. (Kalim won’t be here for now especially Jamil since they would just be neutral about you.), also it would be a bit short since inspiration dries faster.

Riddle Roseheart

Riddle once insulted you and your status, but you simply just forget and forgive him just because you know that you need to understand him and the other before casting judgement on them. Tho much to Riddle’s confusion since he noticed something was a bit off from you, he thinks that it was just him but he swore that he sense magic from you.

He one day confronts you about it in a very private tea party, you accepted the invitation. But you were surprised that he asked you this question:

“Is it really true that you….have magic?”

“…”

Riddle was surprisingly the first out of everyone to noticed such a aura, “I don’t call it magic-“

“Then…why can I sense that you HAVE magic?”

Before you had a chance to reply a lurking phantom that was passing by and it was right behind you, Riddle tried to protect you but in a blink of an eye he saw a shadowed gun and aim it behind you finishing off the phantom in one shot. Riddle was stunned and yet, “That is not magic….its overblot magic….” You said before putting the shadowed gun away.

Yeap, Riddle has more than one questions. Sure it looked amazing but something tells him that something was NOT right, and yet the thought of killing an innocent someone and overblot as consequences is honestly frightening than what he has experienced. He does admit mentally that you had magic, but he has to remember that you are pretty much the last resort if the battle against overblots or phantoms goes south.

Leona Kingscholar

He smell that you had no magic, but after his overblot Leona noticed that you do have magic. If he remembers clearly he saw how Riddle goes to you about a strategy and yet he swore he heard

“Last Resort.”

Tho it might be his imagination, but it wasn't ever since the aftermath of his own overblot. If you THINK that Leona would ignore that you don't have magic but now he knows but prefers to keep it silent since it is not his business, tho he did manage to confirm one when he once talk to Riddle in private about you.

"Oi herbivore. Explain this."

"This?"

"You had no scent of magic, and yet you had magic."

"..."

Yeap he has alot of question is the FIRST THING he has on his mind but would obviously not initiate it, however when you once protected him from an incoming overblot attack, he knew that something is wrong with you and will find the right timing to ask you questions but observation is the first thing he would do before going to ask you the question. Its not that it would affected his life, its more likely he is concerned for you the moment he realize the worse case scenario.

You may not know this but Leona secretly kept tabs on you from time to time in the shadows, its only fair since you did save his life.

Azul Ashengrotto

Ever since you made the contract with Azul, the Leech Twins are SURPRISINGLY quiet about the hidden info about you. Which to him it was very weird and yet they say that it was basically unrelated to the contact, but after his overblot…. Azul notice that you have been hiding something from him, he too can sense that you had overblot magic and yet he was in denial.

“Im sure that Perfect is not hiding something dangerous from me right…….”

“….”

“RIGHT?”

Part of him wants that magic, but most of him thinks that it was highly dangerous considering that those kinds of magic are strictly forbidden in Twisted Wonderland, not only that it also makes Azul wanting to find out the background of your origins with overblot magic, sevens forbid if he finds out that the worse case scenario aka losing you is something that he fear the worse especially when you did save his life by executing his phantom behind him.

Azul does fear you, but wants to also be there for you.

Vil Sheonheit

Vil thinks that you are just a normal potato, no offense. But he did not notice your overblot magic since he as alot of task that needs to be finished. But when he learned this was right in front of him when you shielded him from a fatal attack from the phantoms.

“Perfect, what is the meaning of this?”

“?”

“How can you wield magic when its not even….-“

“Its overblot magic, I know.”

He evenly tried to ask Rook and Epel if they can sense magic from you, but they did not but him and the others. Yet that alone would give him even more questions, after all wouldn’t that mean that your life will soon be in danger? Will your situation will be the same as Grim who too had lost control? Either way he needs to make sure that you don’t overwork yourself in doing most of the protection, tho what would inspire Vil is the tiniest of motivation that you can handle it with ease.

When you point out to Vil that no matter the cost you can brave it with a strong look on your face, Vil secretly admits that you are beautifully strong despite the consequences of your actions especially if you are scared of that fate.

Idia Shroud

One you can’t fool Idia, he knows who you are and the information he got is ten times scarier than he could ever do, worse case scenario is that he doesn’t want the other STYX members to capture you for research. He almost overblotted before Vil and the others came and yet he can sense you skills as a fighter gives him the red flags on not to mess with you.

But when he comes face to face with you, he soon understands why you are a real threat to the phantoms, titans are pretty similar to your case but Idia would needs to do something that no one would ever try.

“What is this?”

“Overblot suppressants.”

Idia did give you a check up on the experiments before, and the test results are normal but Idia’s eyes did not fool him the moment you slowly lose control to defeat a powerful phantom. Because of that Idia is kinda like your source of overblot information, but you need to make a deal with him by sacrificing giving Grim to Idia or offer to play his favorite games with him.

Little did you know, Idia was also making sure that your condition is not worsen.

In all summary:

They will be worried about you when you turn into a overblot yourself, the worse case scenario is that “you leaving them” is something that they won’t allow it to happen.

The worriest of the bunch is probably Vil and Riddle

The isnt worried but kept it well hidden is Leona and Azul

The one who would keep tabs about you is Idia secretly

But you did reassure them that you will be fine despite everything you had witness.

#twisted wonderland #twst #riddle rosehearts #leona kingscholar #azul ashengrotto #vil shoenheit #idia shroud #twst riddle #twst leona #twst azul #twst vil #twst idia #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #//i did not include Malleus and Kalim this time #//but ill make it a bit brief #//Kalim wont sense that you had overblot magic but Jamil did be Jamil wont touch on that subject ever #//so much for Malleus remains unknown #//we all had to wait for Book 7 to find out

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msookyspooky · 6 months ago

Text

Fours a Franchise

Part 14

wordcount: 7,332

TW: SA Mention but Doesn't Happen

☆

You got shoved into a dark corridor in the hallway as Billy had a firm grasp on you and Stu acted as a look out; actively shielding you both.

It all happened so fast. You didn't even get to chance to explain yourself!…One minute, you're waking up to Stu sneaking into your room. Your vision was so blurry you fell back to sleep thinking you were dreaming. The next, you were woken up again to Jill charging in and trying to choke you. Then the fight and Dewey and your body jumping in front of Billy as a last resort and the pain and…And…It was the most awful 10 to 15 minutes of your life and it happened in a blink of an eye.

You tried to weakly shove Billy off with a pained groan as you clutched your bleeding stomach. You were in pain, not thinking quickly and felt sick. “You shouldn't have dragged me out like that!” You weakly protested with a strained voice.

Billy shhed you to not get caught as a cop ran to where you all just came from; urgently speaking into his radio for backup.

He then glared at you. “...And get shot? Or better yet, all of us arrested?”

“No, it would've been just you two.” You grumbled weakly.

“You sure? Dewey didn't seem too understanding.” He asked, raising a brow. The silence of his words hung in the air. “...You made your choice, we made ours with what options we had. Now shut up.”

You went to protest but it died in your throat as the uneasy guilt ridden feeling of how Dewey looked at you plagued your mind.

You couldn't dwell as Stu motioned and Billy grabbed you to keep going.

You still felt like you would get caught. You almost wanted to just run to that hospital room again and let yourself be caught just to clear your name but you knew that was pointless. Jill had them convinced and there was no going back now.

You all followed the wall in the shadows as Stu and Billy guided you. Expertly avoiding cameras in the halls like it was their job. Knowing when to move and what halls to avoid while evading cops and hospital staff…All before Stu grabbed a woman who went to scream and he threatened her with the gun at her chin.

“Stu-” You gasped out in shock. Scared you were gonna see her brains splattered on the wall any second as Billy nudged you to be silent.

Stu smirked as his large hand covered the night nurses mouth. “Hey cutie, we're gonna need your keys.”

The terrified woman didn't hesitate to shakily give him her keys as he snatched them up. “Thanks, hotstuff.” Stu remarked with a grin before smacking her ass and shoving her away roughly.

The poor woman cried silently as she got shoved into the wall. Covering her mouth, slinking against the wall to the floor. She was just threatened with a gun to her face, her car stolen and technically sexually harassed in one go. You felt awful but it didn't last as Billy shoved you to move the best you could.

You were in their world now. You saw tid bits with how they talked or when hunting other Ghostface's but this was how they survived all these years. You almost regretted even saving them at this point. Almost.

You all rushed to the nearest exit and Stu cursed when it was locked. “Shit! News of escaping got out and now we're screwed. Damn it, man!”

Billy huffed and reached for the keys using the nurses keycard to unlock it and give Stu a judgmental glare.

“Oh…I knew that.” Stu sheepishly grinned, taking the keys and pushing it open. He scoffed at the eye roll Billy gave him, “Hey dickhead, circumstances and drugs. Cut me some slack here.”

As soon as they stepped out they plastered themselves and you against a wall to avoid cameras…And a cop car pulling in. Billy and Stu both grabbed you to hide behind a huge column as the police ran around the parking lot towards the elevator.

“Dingus's.” Stu snickered as he stood and helped you up. He started clicking buttons on the keychain in the parking garage. “Welp. Not this floor…Going down.”

You groaned in pain and exasperation as Billy helped you as you all snuck through parked cars. Your faces most likely on camera as Stu and all of you snuck yet tried to also act casual as a few people walked by from their parked car. You covered the blood on your gown as much as you could.

You were just along for the ride in your hospital clothes as you all followed the path to go down a level.

“We can't walk all 5 levels. Especially with us being hunted.” Billy harshly whispered.

“Got a better idea?” Stu argued back before his face lit up as a car beeped and its lights flashed as he pressed the button on the keychain. “Sweet Freedom, baby.” He mused with a grin as you all made your way over there.

Stu had a giant welt on his head and was struggling to move with so many bandages just like you and Billy. If not worse considering how many times he was shot; he definitely had some organs messed up and some broken ribs. He's lucky to be alive. Billy had a damn limp while clutching his stomach and you clutched yours with dried blood on your fingers. You all looked horrible and felt it too.

Stu went to drive and Billy snatched the keys, “You were shot the most and got beat in your cinder block head multiple times by a piss pan…I'm driving.”

Stu rolled his eyes but for once relented. “Fine with me. Just get us outta here.” As he urged you to the backseat, helping shut your door before getting in the front and you all drove out.

You knew cameras were catching you all and yet being able to sit in that car seat with tinted windows…You didn't care. A million things were running through your mind. What if you hadn't called Billy and Stu tonight? Would you have lived regardless? What if you never went to that barn to talk to them; would Randy be alive and your secret safe? What if you didn't save Billy tonight; would Dewey have believed you over Jill?...And could you have lived with the guilt of that after they saved you and they were dead or rotting in prison? So much happened in a 12 hour period. Too much to think about.

And…After Billy and you…Had that moment when you thought you were dying… What of it?

One word echoed in your mind. Mine.

You knew it was probably just his way of saying he was gonna kill you and no one else but why hold your hand? You're mine. Always have been. That's what he said to you. And whether you liked it or not, in your fearful moment, telling him the truth happened. You didn't hate him. In fact, in some fucked up way, you still cared about him. It was…It wasn't right. It was sick. But the truth nonetheless. He and Stu came back, risking their lives and secrecy to save you. And you saved his life for what? The second time? Technically, more like third or fourth counting all the other Ghostface incidents.

Billy caught your gaze in the rearview mirror as he drove. A very different feeling being the one relying on him to get you from point A to B…Your eyes met his coal black ones as you both looked at each other for longer than intended before he glanced back at the road.

The silence was deafening as Stu sighed, rubbing his head while wincing and you just sat in that back seat grimacing at the car hitting a pothole. It made a pained gasp escape you as your eyes accidentally filled with tears. It hurt, yes but…Other things hurt too. Your heart ached like no other at the horrible night…The horrible day. The horrible… Everything.

“I know, sweetcheeks. We'll be outta danger before you know it and get you feeling better.” Stu reached back to pat your knee.

It wasn't as comforting as you wished it was. You quietly cried in that backseat but didn't sob. Just sniffed back tears a few times as you all drove down the dark road. Dawn was approaching slowly.

All before Billy got closer to Kirby's house of all places.

You sat up. Anxiously seeing cop lights ahead until Billy pulled off into an alleyway where, to your surprise, a van sat. He fished into his hospital pants having pocketed his keys as he told you, “Alright, let's go.”

Stu smirked, “A pedo van? You drive a creeper van?”

Billy glared, “It has windows and is red, dipshit. Just shut the fuck up and get in.”

You were numb. Almost not responding.

“YN.” Billy snapped his fingers as you took too long to respond but finally did. It's like your mind wanted to shut off from all the anguish tonight. He opened your door and grabbed your hand. “C'mon. Now.” He ordered in a voice that lacked his usual malice. Putting his arm under yours to support you and help you out of the car and into his van.

Stu watched you both but said nothing. Just observing. Opening the door for Billy to get you in.

You got in the front and Stu in the back sprawling his long legs out on the seat. “Damn…You could totally get some motion back here, if ya know what I mean…”

A pause happened as Stu wagged his brows and Billy gave him an incredulous look.

It dawned on him as Billy rolled his eyes at what Stu was getting at. “Are you fucking high from anesthesia or something?”

“C'mon!...Just say it… How many girls have you porked back here? Be honest.”

“Your Mom. She barely fit in that seat. Now, shut the fuck up.” Billy jeered in a deadpan.

Stu chuckled weakly, hanging his head back tiredly with a smirk as he cringed. The chuckle hurting his tender ribs.

You ignored their immature jesting and their crude remarks. To them, they were scott free and still acting like teens getting away with it. But to you? You were leaving everything behind. You couldn't even risk getting your suitcase that had Sidney's locket or any pictures Mindy and Chad drew for you because cops would be across the street cleaning up the crime scene of Jill's Mom and the two Deputies. You didn't have Dewey's gun you had for over a decade because Judy confiscated it. You didn't even know if you could go home. You had no weapons on you. You were…Done. Weak, helpless, tired. Done.

You just laid back in that passenger seat in pain. The anesthesia still in you and feeling foggy the more the adrenaline wore off. Still in a bloody hospital gown and pants just with a blanket Billy told Stu to get from the back seat over your body as you laid back. More so if cars went by they wouldn't see the blood. Closing your eyes with a heavy heart and hopeless feeling.

————————————

Billy subtly watched you as you all left town come morning day break. The crack of dawn with the sky a hazy blue and light pink in the distance. ‘Leaving Woodsboro’ a sign he never thought he'd see again but couldn't see fast enough as he purposely took an old back road out of town to avoid detection.

Till Stu gently played with your hair then picked up your arm to move it.

Billy looked bewildered, “What are you doing?”

Stu nodded to himself when you breathed heavily. Easily setting your arm back down and opening an eyelid to see nothing but white. “Good. She's knocked out.” He mumbled low as he left you to sit back. Waiting a few moments to make sure you stayed asleep.

Billy's mouth twitched in a frown knowing what Stu was gonna say…Because he thought the same damn thing.

“What are we doing here?”

“Hiding out at my place, I guess.” Billy answered in a monotone.

“No. You know what I mean, man.” Stu glanced at you. “What are we doing? All 3 of us…Both of us with her…What are we gonna do?”

Billy sighed heavily as he drove. But said nothing for a moment. “...What do you think?”

“Well…” Stu gazed at you. “I know we came back because no one kills her but us. And to get rid of imposters but…We won. I mean, we did it. Here she is.” Stu gently combed a stray tiny hair from your face and you didn't even stir. The anesthesia is still heavily in you and you haven't slept for a while. “On a damn silver plater. No friends. No police. No gun. No knife. No witnesses. No mace.”

Billy huffed at that still remembering how bad that stung and how much he wanted to tear you limb from limb. “What are you getting at? Spit it out.” They kept their tones low.

Stu paused then drew it out. “...We've hunted her for 15 years. 15 years, man.”

“Thought you were in love with her?” Billy raised a brow.

“Was. Bitch didn't even talk to me for a decade after everything I did for her. She only hugged me at the barn because her only friend rejected her. If it wasn't for that, she wouldn't give us the time of day other than to be her bodyguards for Ghostfaces.”

Billy nodded. Something they could agree on. You were cornered and couldn't be trusted.

They both sat in silence as Stu pondered aloud. “I mean…Maybe we should just…Do it?”

Billy faltered and eyed Stu in his mirror, almost turning in his seat at one point to look at him. “...You can't be serious. We just about got caught and you want to…Are you fucking stupid?”

“I am. I mean, serious, jerk. C'mon man. A decade ago she was begging for us to end it. She's got money and fame and she's still not happy.”

“And how would you know?” Billy huffed with annoyance.

Stu raised a brow, “You getting defensive? Was I right-”

“Just shut up and answer.” He grumbled while readjusting his tense arms while driving.

“...I can just tell.” Stu gazed back down at you from the backseat as you barely stirred. He smiled a moment, as if admiring how cute you looked to him in this state, all before sighing softly. “Ray's dead. Dewey hates her guts. Everyone betrayed her and wouldn't listen. She's a wanted woman now. And she's probably living all alone like she was a decade ago…Isn't this more cruel than, I don't know, ending it?”

Billy felt his heart sink and he didn't understand why.

Stu kept going as his old partner in crime stayed silent, “YN's worst fear was being caught and everyone thinking she was in on killing those other kids with us in 96…Why not free her of that burden? Two birds with one stone sorta thing. We get what we always wanted and her name is cleared.”

Billy blinked, “Are you…Are you suggesting we off her while she's here just to do what we talked about over a decade ago??” He whispered so you wouldn't hear in your deep slumber.

“I'm just saying that you've especially been wanting to kill her for a long time and I'm indifferent to it really. If anyone should kill her it's me…I mean, it kinda would be one last act of kindness to her. Romantic even, not that I'm a sap or anything but...” Stu softly chuckled and smiled tenderly; gently gliding a finger over your cheek watching as your face scrunched slightly and you turned away in your sleep. He waited till he heard a slight snore. “...Kill her. Do what we've had on our bucket list for so long. Maybe even make her body the most memorable kill of all? She is the one that got away. The one that started all this just like we did. Everyone gives Sid credit but nah. It's her…Decorate her near the Woodsboro sign and make Dewey and Gale feel like dogshit and Jill's story unravel and make YN a memorable pretty corpse people will talk about for years to come…’Poor YN. She died trying to warn everyone. Poor YN, no one believed she was innocent when she was. Poor YN was a hero’.” Stu mused thoughtfully.

Billy hated this…This... Fucking emotion!

What the fuck was it!? His body heated and yet chilled, his gut twisted into knots and his heart sank. He hadn't felt this in so long. He felt fucking human for once.

Stu went on, “Don't worry, we wouldn't torture her. She deserves a merciful death for helping us when she did and sparring us a decade ago, ya know?” Stu hesitated before an almost perverted smirk played on his lips. “...But…It would be fun to do to her what we would fantasize about in the cabin before Windsor happened. Give her as much pleasure as pain. Drag it out…If the body is-”

Billy almost slammed on the brakes and he didn't know why because he had fantasies of practically stabbing you while fucking you years ago and him and Stu practically got each other riled up as they used to talk about it but something about what Stu was saying for whatever reason was too damn far.

“NO!” He barked out angrily as Stu shhed him as you almost opened your eyes.

Both of them froze before after a few moments of tense silence you fell asleep once more. Stu glared at Billy, “Man, what the Hell!? She almost woke up!” He hissed low under his breath.

“We are not doing it! God damn it, we aren't raping her dead or alive.” He grumbled running a hand over his face as he tried to reason shit out in his head.

Stu held up his hands, “Okay, okay! Jeez it was fine at Windsor and to jerk off to the idea but not now…Got it.”

Billy just gave him an annoyed glare as Stu kept going.

“But what about the kill? She's defenseless in the middle of nowhere with no one to go to. What better time! We never have to worry about her coming after us or police from her talking or getting involved with these Ghostface from taking our kill…This is it, man! Right here-” He pointed downward for emphasis. “Right here, right now. We only ever got involved because we didn't want our secret out or someone taking thee YN from us when that right should be ours, man! Ours!” Stu ranted, trying to whisper. “She tossed me aside and she's damn lucky I didn't kill her for it. I want her and I'd rather it end like this than her turning us in for immunity in court or her getting away and another Mark happening… All I know is it's now or never.”

Billy felt like shit and his mind felt even worse. He looked back at Stu and swore he saw his dead mother in the backseat behind the blonde man. Nodding with a sadistic smile on her dead face. That same smile she had before she died on that stage in front of him. Another hallucination like he got when he was under stress or killing happened. Swear to God, sometimes he felt like Anthony Perkins in Psycho.

He had two Devil's on his shoulders whispering in his ears ‘Do it, do it, do it’ and yet something deep in him…

He shook his head to himself.

Seeing your face. It was the first time in years he truly felt you were beautiful to him like he thought when he was 18. Bloody and teary eyed…Vulnerable. Calling for them to help you. You finally let the wall down and your voice sounded like a scared child calling out to him. He wanted to protect you. It was the most bizarre reaction he ever had in this sort of situation.

‘Billy, I'm scared.’ You whimpered to him as he held your hand at that house. Such a silly yet simple gesture for two people dying but you needed him. YOU needed HIM. You didn't hate him. You let the wall down and finally admitted you were scared and you never hated him for what he did. Just the thought made the most unfamiliar tingling warmth prickle in his chest that felt weird and uncomfortable for a man like him. It increased realizing you saved him. You were willing to take a bullet for him again and put your name and life on the line.

He was a prick. A cold hearted serial killer. A sadist. Probably psychotic or some other diagnosis he self diagnosed just cause it sounded cool…But what you did for him when he was 18 went unappreciated. All he could focus on was you ruining his plans and almost sending him to prison. But he was a man now. A grown man. And he now appreciated the sacrifice you gave to save his life tonight. You risked everything to save a murderer when only Stu and him were focused on Jill not killing you because one day they might want to kill you instead.

He was so conflicted. Especially after the secret he found out about you a few short years ago while you both hadn't seen each other in years. After reading that and seeing how you felt; it was extremely hard to hate you like he used to. He was so confused and conflicted and he hated it.

Stu mumbled, “I mean…I love her. I do.”

Billy rolled his eyes. Stu didn't know what love was…No, he LITERALLY didn't know. He knew Stu better than anyone. Stu obsessed hard, worshiped hard, fixated then the second that person irks him they're dead to him. Like a toy. If he cares, it's an altered version of it.

Stu cared at the barn because you needed him and he liked the feeling. The power that you needed him. The thrill of taking you with them and being under his mercy. But him caring didn't stop his murderous tendencies. In fact, for Stu, it seemed he viewed this as his way of ‘showing mercy and love’ by killing you to make you look like a poor murdered angel on tv. Soooo merciful for a woman that rejected him, Billy thought.

Stu continued, “- Which is why if we kill her…No one can hurt her again. No more suffering. No more death of people she cares for. No more sadness.”

Billy couldn't take it. “No. Fuck…Shit! Fuck. God damn-” He grumbled smacking the steering wheel in frustration. “No! Damn it, we can't! We won't.”

The silence was deafening. It dragged out. Lasted onward and for severely long moments.

Stu stared long and hard before it came out, “...What happened?”

Billy blinked, “...Huh?”

“What the hell happened between you both?” Stu demanded with a familiar look in his eyes that was never a good thing. Jealous over the idea someone else, especially Billy, had played with his toy in any way. If he wanted to break his toy or love it he could but not some other boy behind his back doing it too. “Yesterday you were talking shit about her and today you're coddling her. What the fuck?”

“I don't know what you're talking about.” Billy scoffed. Trying to hide how his heart was all twisted up right now. Stu did not need to know about the confession in that house or that while he was knocked out YN saved his ass.

“Yeah, I bet.” Stu jeered with a mild sneer. “How do you go from wanting her dead and me having to protect her to now I moved on and accepted she'll never return feelings for me and now you're the one getting all defensive about AN IDEA of doing it. Didn't say I would, I'm just talking about it. And you're acting like her white knight or something.”

“Look!” Billy demanded in a firm tone. “15 years is not going down the drain by killing her when she can't even fight. It's below us. It's not right. She's too…She's put up too much of a fight for us to do her like that.”

“Didn't stop us from going after Casey; two men after some defenseless chick. Didn't stop you with Tatum or me with-”

Billy smacked the wheel in irritation again, “I said no! It's pussified to get her when she's down! We're gonna lay low and-”

His raised voice made you stir and they both froze.

——————————

You made a tiny noise as the sun was out now. Something woke you up. Yelling? Billy wouldn't look at you and kept driving with his shoulders tense but Stu just plastered a relaxed smile on his face and said, “Sleepy heads awake. Just discussing where we're going, sweetcheeks.”

Stu suddenly surprised you in your doped up tired state and handed you something before you could space out too much. “I promise I only looked at pictures. Honest!” I think Dewey must've got it from the yard for you. It was in your room and I thought I'd grab it because of evidence or whatever.”

You hesitated, still groggy then gingerly took your phone. Screen cracked a bit but nothing major. “...Thanks Stu.”

As soon as you fumbled with it and turned it on; you saw all the missed calls from Dewey before you went to Kirby's house and the call to Billy and Stu. It said unknown but just the fact you knew was enough. Complete evidence if someone really dug and traced where that unknown call truly came from. And your lip threatened to wobble as you shut your phone off and looked away. You didn't dare look at pictures the last few days of Randy and his kids…You'd break down. You'd sob your eyes out on this extra fucked up day.

Stu eyed you with wide eyes. Like a child seeing someone cry and not knowing what to do. Billy rolled his lips and averted his eyes before telling you in a tone that sounded almost too soft to be his. “Just go back to sleep. We aren't too far from our stop.”

You didn't even care to ask where you were going. What did it matter? Everything you loved or your future was gone. The sun was starting to rise higher after such a long night. Still sleepy from surgery. In pain. Emotionally drained…You just closed your eyes to sleep again. All three of you banged up badly. Honestly? At this point, if you woke up to handcuffs from being pulled over; then you did. If you wrecked and died; then you do. You couldn't bring yourself to care right now.

You didn't see it but Billy subtly looked back at Stu from the mirror and Stu sighed but nodded. “Okay…Yeah, she should just get some sleep and rest up.” He mumbled reluctantly as silence fell over the inside of the van.

—————————

“Alright, c'mere sweetcheeks. Up ya go.” Stu groaned with a grimace as he helped you up. You jerked away. Startled as hell and damn near smacked him thinking it was Jill. “Easy, easy! It's me, babe.”

You breathed heavily, trying to calm your hammering heart as your chest rose and fell.

Billy glanced at you. “Relax, YN. He's been beat multiple times tonight and god knows any other night; don't make him braindead.” He mumbled as he got his keys and you looked around.

You were in a small driveway. A beat down old trailer on blocks with a wooden deck built on.

Stu helped you out and grinned with a groan, “Jeez, humble dwellings huh?”

“Blow me.” Billy grumbled with a glare. “Not everyone's an attention whore that showboats.” He gave while opening the door.

Stu helped you as you tried to wake yourself up. “Someone's cranky that they're poor. This thing is the size of my garage.” He chuckled trying to get you to laugh but you didn't even crack a smile. But even Stu grimaced as he chuckled too hard and hurt a rib that got shot.

He led you in Billy's trailer. About what you would expect for a single guy on edge. Billy dragging his leg stiffly, Stu lumbering around slower than he was at the hospital and you were just there. In pain with your insides; wondering if you're gonna die from your injuries or not.

You were led to the couch to gingerly lay down and as soon as you felt it your eyes started closing again. You were exhausted.

Stu staggered about and you heard Billy telling him not to touch anything and laying out a ‘game plan’ in case cops showed up but it soon became background noise.

As soon as your eyes closed in a twilight state; images filtered through your head. This wasn't real. Of course it wasn't. You were on Randy's couch with a blanket over you with the credits for a movie playing in the background. Randy was peacefully snoring in his recliner with Chad and Mindy curled up with him. All of them are peacefully sleeping as you smiled to yourself. The tv illuminating them and you as you tried to relax on Randy's couch. It smelled like the teakwood mahogany scent Karla had throughout the home. It was warm, it was home away from home, cozy. You breathed a sigh of relief…It was all just an awful nightmare.

Soon, you'd be home with Cherri. Maybe invite Dewey and Gale and Karla and Randy over for dinner one night? The kids could come too. Your dog loved those kids. You just had to pick her up from a family friend's house. Billy and Stu never showed up and are in prison because they never saved you in the first place. They got caught, of course they did. They hadn't changed since 1996. Ghostface was Jill and Charlie and they had been killed. You were healing and discharged from the hospital…It was all just an awful nightmare on medication and surgery…It was.

You sighed peacefully. Watching Randy a moment as he snuggled his kids. Too bad you didn't have a camera…Your phone? Hmm…Where is your phone? You looked around feeling like the coffee table looked more dark than you remember but all well. You'd find it in the morning. No more publicists to worry about; you fired her. You almost closed your eyes to fall back to sleep.

But then, you went to turn to look towards the dark hallway of Randy's home and your body jolted at seeing a dark robe, white face mask and 12 inch bloody knife. You tried to get Randy's attention but you couldn't speak. Mouth opening but the words wouldn't come out. All before an ungodly scream of pure fear ripped from your throat when the Ghostface barreled towards you knife over head ready to plunge it into you. Your heart bottoming out as the scream ripped away from you.

“Hey!”

You felt hands on you as you yelled out, thrashing and crying as someone forced you back down on the couch. “Hey!...You're safe. You're fine. Relax….Shh.” Billy told you. His dark eyes were wide at the way you reacted to being woken up. “It's okay…” He offered.

You sucked in breaths of air. Feeling sharp pain in your abdomen as you grimaced. Eyes darting to see a brown flannel style old couch instead of Randy and Karla's gray one. Smelling faint cigarette smoke and a more natural scent than the teakwood Bath & Body Works scent. Feeling a rougher blanket than the fuzzy one you had at Randy's…And then it all hit you that Randy being alive and all of you safe at his house was a dream…It was all just a hopeful dream. This was real. It was all true and real.

You had to swallow down the pain in your heart.

“Here…” Billy offered pills and water.

You said nothing, still frazzled as you sat up. Looking at them skeptically.

“It's a Clarithromycin and Tylenol.” He clarified. “You're gonna need it.” He offered them again as you shakily took it. Trying so hard not to cry as your fingers trembled to get the pills from his palm and the water. Your fingers brushing the palm of his hand repeatedly as he zeroed in on it. Eyes hyper focused on your hand before he averted his gaze. He was in different clothes. Comfortable clothes that he could escape in if he had to in case authorities knocked on the door.

His leg fucked up and his stomach but compared to you and Stu; he was slightly better off. “...You need food with that.” He mumbled awkwardly. Getting up off the couch with a groan. “You want…A sandwich or…Maybe Spaghetti-o's or something?” He quietly asked.

You blinked and just nodded. Throat hoarse from screaming in terror and grief the night before and mind scattered, “Yeah. Whatever you got.” You quietly replied back trying to wrap your mind around the fact you were alive. You were alive and had been stabbed repeatedly in the stomach. You were alive and staying at Billy's place hiding from the cops.

Billy shuffled painfully to the kitchen. All of you are worse for wear. You didn't even know where he lived. Were you even still in Cali?

Out of pure instinct upon waking up, you went to check your phone to see almost 12 hours had gone by since you escaped the hospital and…A lump formed in your throat that ached as you saw the missed calls from Dewey from the night before. And now this morning…Karla Wilson Meeks.

You sat the phone down, getting up to go use the bathroom. Seeing it in the hallway from where you sat on his couch. Everything hurts. Who knows if Jill didn't rupture a damn organ in you? And yet, you probably couldn't even go to get checked out unless you were vomiting blood or something and you might as well kiss your freedom goodbye if you did. It's why you all were hiding out doctoring wounds at Billy's trailer.

You used the bathroom, painfully sitting on the toilet. Even peeing hurts using muscles you took for granted and you weren't even sure if you were allowed to eat solids or not. Unable to talk to the doctor before having to flee the hospital. You painfully tried sucking in a breath as you stood up and adjusted those hospital pants you still had on. No idea where you would get clothes.

Before completely re-opening the door; you stopped and looked in the mirror at the bruises and minor cuts on your face. Still in your hospital clothes. A big bloody stain on the front of you.

“We didn't undress you to check your stitches.” He awkwardly told you.

You jumped a bit at Billy's voice. He was standing in the hallway watching you.

“...I…I can do it.” You mumbled, trying to get your bearings here.

“...I can take a look.” He offered after a moment's pause. “I mean you know…If you're cool with it.”

You hesitated but realized you had pants on…So. If he wanted to check then. Well he wasn't a Doctor but it was better than nothing.

You gently lifted your gown to see the bloody bandages as Billy stepped closer towards you. He looked up from slowly stooping down to look, “We gotta take these off. They're just marinating your stitches in bacteria at this point.”

You nodded, not much in the talking mood. Wincing as he peeled the caked on bloody bandages off your sore skin. You tried jerking away when he went to touch your stitches. “Hey, ya want infection? I'll be gentle. Promise…” He gave in an unsure voice as if just saying the words felt so foreign to him.

You didn't feel you had much of a choice as you stood there. You watched him as he looked at your injuries. His dark eyes gazing at your bloody skin, brows furrowed in concentration as his fingers ever so slightly touched your side.

“I gotta clean it…That cool or?-”

You nodded absent-mindedly. “Yeah, sure. Whatever you gotta do.” You softly gave. Still in a daze that Billy Loomis of all people was helping with your wounds.

You closed your eyes and gritted your teeth as Billy used a warm washcloth that was too rough to get the caked on blood off. “Easy!” You grimaced.

Billy scoffed, “Oh? Am I too rough, Princess?” He mocked.

“Yes…” You softly mumbled, averting your gaze.

Billy completely faltered at that. Expecting a smart ass witty jeer from you and getting a voice that made you feel pathetic come from yourself. You just…You just didn't have the fight in you right now.

“...Please, be a bit…Easier.” You mumbled again not wanting to look at him. You felt vulnerable and you didn't like it. Not with these freaks. And yet, how much more could your brain take? You felt ready to sob and scream any moment and your ego was the only thing preventing it.

Billy stared. He stared long and hard before nodding and swallowing. Both of you not use to…This. This helping and taking care of each other. Not use to being this close without murder.

“Alright.” He nodded again as he was more gentle on your skin.

You looked up at the ceiling trying to be strong before sneaking a glance in the mirror. Your entire abdomen had bruises in various places and your stitches are red and angry looking.

“You know, I think you'll be alright. I mean, who knows internally but…I mean, your stitches only opened here and here. Easy fix if you'll let me.”

You hesitated letting Billy of all people help you but sighed and relented. You watched him as he sanitized things. Feeling vicks on your wound as you looked bewildered, “Vicks??”

He smirked getting the needle ready, “Burns at first but numbs the area. Old trick in a bind I've learned. Don't know if it's the right way but whatever.” He groaned while sitting on the toilet seat for his wound while you stood.

You nodded and looked away. Hell, he might be doing things to make it worse and you had no choice. You'd much rather be in a hospital but…Well…

You broke the silence as he santized his supplies. “I um…I don't think I should eat solids too much till I see if everythings in…Working order inside.” You made small talk as he sewed up the two openings after sterilizing them. You grimaced and tensed as it hurt but tried to get through it.

Billy huffed in annoyance mid stitch, “Are you kidding me, I just-” He faltered, sucking in a breath. “Tch...Fine. Makes sense.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, it's fine. Whatever.” He grumbled finishing up.

You had so many things to say…So fucking much. Why was Billy doing this? Why not kill you? Why risk all this?...But you knew. You were just scared of saying it and apparently; so was he.

“Okay.” He examined his handy work. “I think that's good.” He added what looked like neosporin and then got out some bandages from the bathroom cabinet. He had a whole arsenal of medical supplies no doubt from all the close calls all these years.

He gingerly placed the gauze pads down and started using body safe tape and wrappings as you could only watch.

“...Thank you.” You hesitantly gave. What else was there to say?

Billy glanced up at you, “Don't make it weird.”

“I'm not! I just…” You trailed off sighing. This was so awkward. You both clearly had things to talk about like a confession and so much more but neither one was willing to say it.

“Billy…I think we need to talk about…Everything. I mean, what you said and what I said and did. I meant…I meant what I said when-”

Billy faltered seeing the expression on your face. He looked like he was struggling before saying, “YN, stop. About…You know I just…Look, I mean shit we were dying-”

An awkward silence fell over you both before someone cleared their throat and both of you jumped slightly to see Stu in the hallway. “Oh, YN. You had him stitch you up? Good as new?”

Billy gave Stu a strange look but you just nodded. Hating the awkwardness of being in this trailer with these two after so long.

Stu nodded, seeing your clothes. “I think a bloody gown isn't the look, babe.”

“Her clothes from last night are bloody too. Especially her shirt. She can borrow one of my flannels, I wear shit oversized so hopefully she isn't swimming in it.” Billy mumbled.

Stu made a tight lipped face and nodded, “Alright.” He gave a smirk before groaning in pain. “Man, I need pain relievers and water. My waters too warm now…Billy.” He alluded.

“Are you motherfucking for real right now?” Billy glared at him.

“I was shot, like, 7 times man! No, 10!” Stu jeered.

“So!? Am I your damn mother??”

“Man, c'mon! I'm dying here! It's your shack!” Stu whined loudly and ‘weakly’ held himself against the wall.

“You pathetic ass baby, I swear to God-” Billy grumbled making his way to the kitchen. You gingerly followed as Stu reclined on a chair in the living room with a pained grunt as he eased down. Billy nagged him from the kitchen as you ventured there yourself. “I'm only doing this one damn time. After this? Get it yourself.” He cursed under his breath before looking at you. “What the hell are you doing?”

You looked like a deer in headlights at his tone, a can in hand you got from the cupboard. “Um…Just getting soup? Is it special, is that okay?”

“No, idiot. I don't have special soup, are you- Damn it.” Billy shooed you. “Get the hell outta here, I'll do it. I don't need you opening your damn stitches again.”

You looked perplexed as he seemed to take care of you and Stu…Bitching while doing it but still. This was not the Billy you knew and kinda weirded you out.

“Yeah well, you're injured too. I'm okay opening a soup can and using the microwave-”

He pointed with a glare. “Go. Now. Sit on the couch.”

You glared back feeling that familiar fire in you slowly rising, “I'm not helpless-”

“You are. You are very pathetic and weak and helpless right now and should count your blessings that I'm not taking advantage of that. Go!” He ordered like he was your Dad or something.

You scoffed softly and grumbled under your breath as you shuffled back to the couch. It sucked too. Smelling like a guy that didn't know what febreeze was and a spring was poking you in your back. You eased back down trying not to pout at being ordered around. You weren't a damn kid! But…This was Billy's house, you were heavily injured, and you had less choices.

Stu watched you from across the room. “Damn, did you just get chased out the kitchen by mother hen in there?” He teased. But his smirk settled as he stared at you. “How are you feeling?”

“Bad…I mean, not great.” You shrugged. Cold and pained and tired and feeling like dogshit mentally too.

“Yeah. Better get a shirt from Billy. You sure you don't want mine?”

You gave a bewildered smirk, “No, Stu. I'm not taking the shirt off your back.” You forced yourself to try and get up again but…

Before you knew it, your phone ran. It set everyone on edge.

#scream #stu macher #billy loomis #my writing #scream fanfiction #yn fanfic #she her yn #my stories #fours a franchise #scream 4

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princess-of-thebes-1995 · 8 months ago

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I feel warm thanks to friends and supporters. Especially Lemonadeicesoda. Thank you. Enjoy this drabble

You huffed in annoyance as you clung to the bath towel closer to your wet skin. Your ex Navy Seal boyfriend or whatever he was to you. He kidnapped your ass.

Norman was lifting his weights. And he was making you watch him. He said he doesn't trust you alone without his watchful eye. He makes you stay. Even chopping wood.

You knew he was bullshitting you. That millionaire set up cameras all around his mansion. And his dogs and guns were there too to prevent you from running away... Again.

You tried but you were so pathetic. Norman easily caught you without anyone's help.

You gave up running away.

The punishment of his belt gave you bad memories.

You knew Norman couldn't stay away from you. You would have gushed from his attention. But, you didn't love that psycho bastard. And you also knew that jerk was showing off his strength. As if that would make you fall in love.

You scowled. You will never love that wrinkly old man. You didn't do anything. Norman used to be blind for months. He got surgery. Then demanded you to pay him for the cost. Ironically, he didn't want money. He has more than enough. As an excuse, he said he wanted your love and companionship as his girlfriend.

Now, here you were. Broken spirited. Norman looked at your beautiful sad face in the corner of his blue eyes. He wished you would smile. But, you seemed to always hate him. He didn't mean to slap or whip you for misbehaving and giving him attitude.

He wanted to marry you and give you children. You just had to give him a chance first instead of blocking him out.

The loud thud caused you to jump. The heavy weights fell on the floor.

He was leaving his home gym early.

You were not a sports girl. You took ballet from time to time as a small hobby. And would walk and hike.

But, your beautiful yet small and flat duck feet made you a horrid swimmer. Norman was so obsessed with survival training. You wondered why

You were definitely not thinking of Joining a military branch so why would this old man force his ideals on you like a dictator? As long as you live in his mansion you will obey his rules. You don't want to live with him and he will not let you go. Hypocrite jerk.

You simply cannot swim. Your own father gave up on you. He hired teachers and you failed to understand. Even kids were better than you. Which embarrassed your dad. As a last resort before giving up, your dad threw you inside the pool like he was by his cousins when he was a kid. Your dad sadly saved your pathetic ass from drowning. He gave up.

You wondered when Norm will give up on you. But that pervert must love looking at you in a skimpy bikini.

You used to take selfies on your Instagram and just pose next to water. But you would use life jackets to have fun with your friends. Now, you are regretting your actions. You were not a social media influencer. You wanted to be important rather than an entertainer. You wanted to be a linguist. Go to East Asian villages and study ancient and dead languages in rural places that has no technology.

But, here you were a kidnapped bride. Norman luckily promised to not force himself in you. Besides hugging and kissing.

Snapping back to reality, Norman sighed. "I know you're tired. Sleep now."

He picked you up from your sitting position bridal style and walked you to the bedroom you shared with him. He made you sleep next to him. That was all.

After making you remove your wet bikini and into your silk night dress. Norman was sitting on the bed waiting for you with a brush to untangle your long wet hair.

He kissed your bare neck after finished. He tucked you in.

You blinked in confusion. He will not join you? Giving you a sad smile, Norman traced your bottom fat lips with his thumb. He declared of some computer paper he has to type which will take hours.

He leaned in and you closed your eyes and said nothing as he kissed the tip your cute nose.

"Sleep well, doll."

You watched his muscled back walk out of the luxurious room then eventually slept.

Maybe... If you allowed Norman inside your heart, your new life will not always have to be the same boring routine.

Should you give it a try?

#stephen lang #don't breathe #don't breathe 2 #norman nordstrom #yandere #yandere x reader #love #obssesion #yandere x you #fan fiction #fanfiction #fanfic

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ghostandsoap · 2 years ago

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The Risk of Love

John Price x Fem! Reader

Tags: Mentions of death. Sacrifice. Angst.

A/N: Just a simple fic. Kind of trash.

Word Count: 2.4k

“I couldn’t live with myself if something had happened to you on my account.”

Price was pissed.

Never in his life had the good captain ever flipped his lid quite like this. It was the kind of anger that no one dared to try and get in the way of. His blood was boiling hot, and the pressure of it felt like it was increasing with every inhale he took. He was scary when he was angry, and it didn’t feel good to be on the receiving end of it.

Even in hindsight, you wouldn’t change a single thing that you did that day.

To avoid sugar coating it, you had saved John Price from dying. Price was mere moments from meeting his demise when you swooped in at the last minute to snatch him from the grasp of death.

It had been a scene of chaos. Enemies were dropping like flies and the sound of gunfire was so loud that it was hard to hear anything at all. Eventually, there was a clearing and a window of opportunity to escape and complete the mission.

Price failed to get away with the rest of the team when it was time to run. At the brink of escape, you realized that your captain was left behind – now a sitting duck in the midst and swarm of enemy fire.

It was a no-brainer. There was no hesitation or time spent weighing your options. You did what any loyal soldier would do.

You went back for him.

In all honesty, you weren’t so sure that it wasn’t more out of an act of love than it was an act of loyalty. There was no question as to how you felt about him. Avoiding going back for him wasn’t a choice.

You weren’t leaving your captain to die.

It wasn’t a graceful rescue, you would admit. It was pretty much a mixed scramble of shooting blindly at anything that moved and grabbing at his collar to force him to his feet as an attempt at a second chance at life.

The two of you dashed through gun smoke and flying debris, doing everything you could to ensure that you were going to live to see another day. It all happened so quickly that Price didn’t even register what had happened until the two of you were caught back up with the rest of the team.

He was frazzled at first. He was barely even aware of what happened until he had the chance to replay it all over in his mind again.

The team eventually slowed once the coast was clear and was in a safe location. The time to catch your breath and regroup was definitely needed, and it was just enough given time to allow Price to come to terms with what exactly you had just done.

And quite frankly, he couldn’t believe it.

You had come back for him.

He couldn’t fathom that you had rolled the dice and thrown your life out on the line on the off chance of saving his. He wasn’t worth all of that, and it spooked him just how quickly you had acted on it.

He was having a hard time processing it. He couldn’t come up with a proper reaction fast enough. So he resorted to the one that came to him most naturally (a flaw of his, he was aware.)

Anger.

His initial reaction exploded right there in front of everyone. He blew a gasket right then without taking into account that this was not the time nor the place to have this conversation. He spat fire as he gave a little sneak peek at the full version scolding that was to come later when the two of you were alone.

Ghost, Soap, and Gaz couldn’t do anything other than stand stoically and watch. They were just as shocked at his fury as you were because if there was one thing there was to know about John Price, it was that you could never, ever do wrong in his eyes.

His anger was a major surprise to you. Certainly it was a rash decision, but it was the right move under any circumstances. How could he be mad at you for saving his life?

The journey back to the base was quiet. No one dared to say anything. Price was silent, but visibly stewing. It didn’t feel right to be the source of his emotional turmoil. Never once had he blown up at you like that, especially when you had done him a favor.

There was part of you that felt ashamed, the natural feeling after being hissed at by your superior. But the other part of you was frustrated. He was ungrateful for the fact that you cared enough to go back for him? How did that make any sense?

The trip back to the base felt all too short. You knew once you were in a private location, it was game on. The scenery outside of your window flew by in a flash, far too quickly for you to take any of it in.

The moment your boots hit the ground outside of the vehicle, Price barked an order to speak with you.

The rest of the team couldn’t do anything but watch helplessly as Price practically dragged you to an empty room to “have a chat.” It felt like following the principal to his office after one too many strikes inside the classroom. Except this time you had no strikes, and you weren’t even sure what exactly you were in trouble for.

Price entered first, waiting for you to follow suit before unloading everything on you. There was barely even time to take a breath before he went off again.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Price boomed, not even a millisecond after the door closed behind him with a squeak and a thud.

A flush of red infiltrated his cheeks as he stared at you through unblinking eyes. His pupils were blown to twice their normal size, almost to the point where his irises were completely swallowed by black. If it weren’t for the natural intervention of his brain, the hard clench of his jaw would’ve broken every single one of his teeth.

Never once had Price even remotely acted like this towards you. If anything, you were the only one who could prevent him from getting this upset over something.

Needless to say, Price was beyond angry.

It was uncomfortable to be yelled at like this by anybody…especially when it was someone who you were so fond of and vice versa. But even under the awkward pressure, you weren’t one to let this kind of outburst slide without a little pushback.

“Well that’s a shitty way to thank me.” Your voice low and words coming out as a mumble.

Price’s upper lip twitched. His face morphed into an expression that plainly and clearly read: “are you kidding me?”

“Thank you? You just nearly got both of us killed, and you want me to thank you?” He gawked, clearly not believing what he was hearing.

“We were all at risk. I wasn’t in any more danger than anybody else.” You argued, arms crossed over your chest in a defensive way.

“You had gotten away with the others. Darling, I would’ve been just fine.” He seethed.

“Like hell you would’ve. You might as well have had a target on your forehead,” You corrected. “I had to come back for you.”

“You didn’t have to do anything. You put your own safety, not to mention your life, in jeopardy.” He fired back.

“Which is something that I know you would’ve done for me,” You remarked. “Look me in the face and say you wouldn’t have done the same if it had been me instead of you.”

Price’s next line of words were knocked out of his mouth. He knew that you were right. There was no doubt in his mind that he would’ve done the same for you…in the exact same way and with the same lack of hesitation.

Price never would’ve been able to live with himself if something irreversibly horrible had happened to you, and he did nothing to prevent it. The thought alone of something like that happening brought a burning, unbearable nausea to his stomach.

This was different in his mind. You had put yourself at risk for his sake…in a lot of ways, it wasn’t so different at all.

John did everything he could to keep you safe. There were layers to your relationship. Colleagues, best friends, lovers. It made things complicated, he would admit. It certainly had changed many things.

Suddenly, you had transitioned from his best soldier, to his best soldier that he also happened to be madly in love with. It was a welcomed change, but it was one that presented some challenges.

He was so emotionally and romantically involved with you that he went the extra mile to ensure that you were secure.

In this line of work, it made that task much, much more difficult. It was exhausting to constantly be on defense from the outside elements that he couldn’t control. The sinister things and people that were out to get you in an ongoing war.

Price knew that deep down he couldn’t stop everything from getting to you. You had been injured on missions more than once, some incidents being worse than others. But he felt that it was his responsibility to do everything he could to prevent that, and that’s where the root of his anger was growing from.

In reality, it wasn’t that at all. It was fear manifesting itself into anger.

You had scared him.

It wasn’t lost on him that most people wouldn’t lash out like this at the person who just saved them from death. Honestly, he wasn’t sure why he was feeling so strongly about this.

Price knew that he was often quick to react boldly to certain situations. It was something that he had been consistently working on since establishing a relationship with you. He wanted to better himself, and this was an opportunity to put it into effect.

He took a moment to re-center himself, taking a deep breath in to reset his mind and body.

Explain how you feel, John. Communicate.

“It was stupid to come back for me. You could’ve easily been killed,” Price rumbled. “I can’t risk that.”

While Price was well on his way to calming down, you were still burning on.

“Why? I can handle myself, Price.”

That stung his heart. When it was just the two of you, you only used his last name when it was an intentional dig. He took another breath. He had drawn this behavior out of you, and he could certainly defuse it if he kept it together.

Keep it together. You made her angry.

“Because this means nothing without you,” He said as coolly as possible. “I couldn’t live with myself if something had happened to you on my account.”

There was a moment of quiet. A gentle, personal reflection that both of you needed to reach a constructive end to this conversation. His words took a moment to register in your mind, your heart soaking them up much faster than your brain.

His face was still frozen still, but his eyes were swimming with feeling. Somewhere in those pools of his, there was a glimmer of fear shining through. A fear that you had inadvertently caused out of an act of care and love.

When looking at this situation from his point of view, it made sense how he felt. If Price had risked his life to save yours, it would’ve frightened you as well.

“John…” You exhaled, a mound of stress coming off with it.

Tell her you love her.

“I love you,” He professed, his hand coming to cradle your face. “You know I do. It’s just that I’ve lost a lot of people that I care about…and I can’t lose you.”

“I almost lost you. I couldn’t just let that happen.” You stated.

It was almost comical. The two of you were arguing over the same thing essentially…just from different perspectives. John was upset that you risked your life for his, although he would’ve done the same for you. And if John had been the one to put his life on the line…you weren’t so sure that you wouldn’t have reacted the same way.

John’s anger was a reflection of fear, which in turn was an even stronger reflection of love. It was hard to be so defensive when he was so passionate. John was understanding of the position you were in. He supposed that, in reality, he was more distraught over the fact that you had been put in that situation to begin with.

“I suppose I can’t stop you from saving my life then, hm?” John chuckled, his voice low and much calmer now.

He pressed his lips to your forehead, planting a sweet kiss that was more for his own comfort than yours. This ordeal was just a reminder of the dangers and tribulations of your job. The situations that you often found yourself in were less than ideal, considering the average person would never have to have this conversation.

Most of all, it was a cruel reminder of how uncontrollable fate can be…and the risks of being in love with each other.

“And I can’t stop you from saving mine.”

John didn’t like it when you couldn’t come to a mutual compromise. Nine times out of ten, the two of you could always come to a happy solution when you had a disagreement. John didn’t like leaving unfinished business, especially when it came to you.

He ran his thumb across the apple of your cheek, the warmth of your face infiltrating his hand. He felt relief when he looked into your blinking eyes, the same ones that he had fallen in love with over and over again. The ones that glistened with love and life.

He always prayed that he would go first because he was petrified of the day that he couldn’t look into their beauty anymore.

“I wish that I could promise to be more careful.” John declared, his chest inhaling and exhaling deeply.

“Yeah…” You answered, the sudden serenity in his voice settling you. “But no matter how much you protest it…I’ll always come back for you.”

There was a pang in his heart. The words crept into his bloodstream and spread through every capillary and every fiber of his body. He couldn’t stop you from being there for him, protecting him, supporting him.

Most of all, he couldn’t stop you from loving him. The same way that you couldn’t stop him.

“Me too, darling. Me too.”

#john price #john price x reader #john price x fem! reader #john price x female reader #john price x you #john price x y/n #john price angst #john price oneshot #john price oneshots #john price imagine #john price imagines #john price fanfiction #john price mw2 #mw2 #mw2 fanfic #mw2 fanfiction #mw2 imagine #ghostandsoap

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taramaclaywasaterf · 21 days ago

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Ok so I’ve been crying all day. But now I’m just mad. We need to organize. Now. Enough bullshit. Call it 4b or whatever else you want. They’re going to be doing mass deportations. Banning abortion and birth control. Checking women to see if they’re pregnant at state boarders. Getting rid of no fault divorce. Maybe even trying to repeal the 19th amendment - women’s right to vote.

Women - all women, but especially Black and Brown women, lesbians, poor women, refugee women, mothers and pregnant women, single women, and any woman who refuses to lay down and become a doormat - are now facing the backlash of decades of advancements in women’s rights. This is men reclaiming what they feel they’ve lost: a guaranteed fuck toy and free maid, mommy, and broodmare like their fathers and grandfathers and every generation of man before them has been entitled to.

This could be the patriarchy’s death rattle - one last desperate grab for power before it all crumbles beneath them. Or it could be the last little bit of rope they needed to secure the noose around our necks, the final nail in the coffin for women. We can’t let it happen. Our foremothers worked too fucking hard to get us to where we are right now.

It was less than a hundred years ago that women couldn’t open bank accounts or have credit cards in our own name. Our grandmothers were trapped in abusive marriages and forced to birth unwanted children. Women who are alive right now lived through that. That’s how much progress we’ve made in such a short time, and that’s how quickly it can be stolen from us.

But women don’t give up. We’ve never given up. Men have tried for millennia upon millennia. Burning us at the stake, using rape as a weapon, forced pregnancies, “comfort” women, child brides, inventing entire religions to oppress us. And we continue to fight. Because we aren’t inherently submissive, passive, fragile little things. We have so much power that THIS is what they need to resort to in order to attempt to control us.

Instead of being sad and depressed and feeling helpless, get angry. Start saving money - cash, not digital. Get your tubes tied. Start working out. Start talking to women in your community. Form female friendships. Read feminist books like Dworkin and have your friends read too. Get a VPN. Learn how to induce a miscarriage at home, safely. Learn how to shoot a gun. I’m dead serious, I fucking hate guns, but if you can get a gun safely, get one and take some classes. I have an M&P380 and recommend it. If you’re not comfortable with a gun, get a knife. Take self defense classes. And again, organize. Offline. Our foremothers didn’t need the internet in order to create entire underground abortion care systems. They did it in person, word of mouth.

Most importantly, don’t interact with men. Stop fucking them. Stop dating them. Stop marrying them. Stop birthing their children. I don’t care how badly you want a fucking boyfriend - buy a vibrator and get your emotional connection from female friends. Men do not care about you. They will not protect you. They don’t even see you as human. Stop giving yourself to them, it’s humiliating. To be blunt, at this point, it’s the most humiliating, degrading, dehumanizing thing you can do to willingly have sex with someone who sees you as subhuman. You aren’t just humiliating and harming yourself, you’re humiliating and harming all women.

Be careful, be smart. Channel your anger into change.

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spookykoolkat · 1 year ago

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the red j.m. | chapter one

CHAPTER ONE: STIFF AND COLD

series masterlist | main masterlist | next chapter

pairings: older!joel miller x younger!plus sized!reader

chapter summary: the life you lived was not the one you wanted, and unfortunately on your journey to absolutely nowhere, you were heroically saved by two men who were far from heroes.

warnings: su*cidal tendencies, thoughts, and actions (attempted su*cide), poor mental health, swearing, mentions of brief violence, MDNI!

wc: 5K

na: omg omg omg omg i'm so excited to share this with everyone. i've been working on this series for about two weeks now, and i'm trying to make sure everything is perfect before i post. thank you guys for ALLLLL the love and support i've gotten it makes me feel so warm inside :P please do nottt be shy! i love feeback, i love the comments and the asks, i'm friendly!!! AND thank you for 100 followers omg my gift to U! please like and reblog and leave your thoughts and comments i love all of it!!! i hope this is good!

YOU

november 15th, 2024

this was fucking impossible. 20 years later. and still, fighting to survive. fighting your way to survive by yourself, losing the people you stuck by, fighting to save people just for them to be taken by the world you lived in. you were pissed, to say the least. and as you trudge through city after city, sleeping and camping in the woods, killing those who were alive and those who weren’t people anymore, you truly wished you were dead. you practically were, it was going to find you sooner or later. death.

but you accepted it. you knew that this long trail of steps you've taken from texas to where ever you are now, was going to come to an end. but it wasn't ending without a never ending fight you put up for yourself. as long as you were here, you refused to accept defeat and lay down to die.

with all of the silence you had to yourself, you found yourself thinking a lot. you remembered the first day it started, down to the minute, down to what you were wearing. you were only five, five years old when everything came crashing down, literally. you promised yourself that the fear you felt growing up as a child and having to watch everyone you’ve ever loved be ripped from you, picking up a gun to shoot your first clicker, and picking it up again to kill those who tried to kill you—you wouldn’t experience again.

so, you avoided civilization. or what FEDRA called civilization. it was bullshit to you. it felt like an excuse for not having anything locked and loaded in a situation like this, and it felt the same as your last government. it was suppression, control, lack of free will. they wanted assimilation and compliance in return for what seemed like a dictatorship ran by none other, those in power. those who were left at least. you'd been trapped inside of a QZ not too far from texas, one with harsh summers and hot winters. you felt like you were in actual hell.

you avoided people, their pleas for help as you traveled by yourself or in groups that never lasted long. the only person that mattered in this world was you, and there was no grace from god that you would find any other family, any other friends—because you had none. you didn't make any, and you were better off for it.

you couldn’t deny that you had days where you wanted to let it go. let all of the survival tactics, the lessons you’ve learned from people you traveled with—let yourself be consumed by the evil of the world.

you also didn’t understand why people, and yourself, fought so hard to live in a world that was worse than the one before. why people fought so hard to live in a world where now, people just take. it was an endless cycle of blood and violence, the only way of survival is by taking. never giving, because when you give, you’re dead.

but you realized if you didn't fight, if you didn't resort to a bullet to the head, you would die just like the ones around you. you tried to be better than the people that were left. by better you meant not resorting to killing innocent people to survive, but you failed. and so did the rest of the world.

you really didn't know who was innocent and who was guilty. it wasn't black and white. everyone did what they needed to do to survive, and if it meant being the guilty one, then you were okay with that. some people were in the wrong place at the wrong time, fighting for the wrong side, invested in a belief that the world will be good if we are divided.

you refused to take the accountability of taking someone's life. it wasn't your fault. this wasn't what you were made to be doing. you told yourself, but the blood on your hands said otherwise. it was this fucked up cycle that you grew apart of, because if you didn't assimilate you would die. so it got easier to take the lives of people, it was for your own safety.

as you carefully stepped in the snow, nothing but rocks, trees and snow surrounding you, you thought about how this was almost comical to you. how many movies about zombie apocalypses, night of the living dead, were out and you still felt it was impossible. there was no way that the world could turn into ruins within 24 hours, no way that your friends and family turned into vessels, having to die at your hand. this was simply too hard to wrap your head around, even being almost 26 years old now. you truly didn’t know how you made it this long, how you were able to keep up and fight despite everything–even down to the way you were shaped.

you were five when it happened, not knowing what the concept of anything really was. and as you got older— you did what you could to make surviving the easiest for you, rummaging through empty yet not so empty malls to find a decent sports bra, taking feminine hygiene needs and making sure your clothes fit loose/tight enough for your benefit. you learned as you lived, and you didn’t have much around you to learn from. you imagined being a woman in the real world was less difficult than this, but realized that life as a woman has never been easy. just made it more real in the apocalypse.

the violence, the danger, the belief towards women just got worse. you were at risk just existing, and the infected that walked amongst you weren't the only danger of humanity. you knew that you'd die by the hands of your fellow person, a clicker, or hunger. it was only a matter of time.

it wasn’t until you heard the sounds of the devilish creatures screech in a distance that you shook back to your reality. it was way too dark, snow falling too fast to see clearly, only using your ability of sight and precision to protect yourself. your gun felt light in your hand as you squeezed, finger lightly over the trigger as you reminded yourself of quietness. you knew you should’ve stayed back, waited until the sun was out to at least search for safety. but you knew you wouldn’t make it, the stab wound was lodged deep in your abdomen. you held the wound tight hoping to stop the bleeding, bit it was too much, too deep.

you realized the time you took to reflect back on your life and stolen childhood, it was your life flashing before your eyes.

you truly didn’t know where you were, you didn’t know how you got there, and you knew this might be your last night. here you were in the midst of snow and darkness, and you felt yourself losing hope. what were you fighting for exactly? you were tired. you fled from your safe space miles back, and you fled from the place before that, and before that. all you knew was that your stomach was crying to be fed and fixed up, your throat was dry with nothing but a lick of spit, and while you made your way closer towards the sound of a river you noticed that the sound of clickers sounded more distant.

there was no pain in your stomach anymore, it was a throbbing dullness now and you felt the tips of your fingers tingling, becoming frozen around your gun. you weren’t sure if it was because your ears began to ring and your vision started blacking out on the edges, but you felt sick.

before you could even register that you were going down, you fell into the hard snow and accepted the fact that this was it. and it was okay. you sunk into the darkness, feeling warm all around now, and allowed it.

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

tommy and joel were on their patrol route around the commune when they heard the sound of screeching, possibly heading the other way. it was late when maria told tommy there was a wire tripped right outside of the commune, needing him and joel to take a patrol shift at eleven at night instead of the two rookies that were on it.

“they ain’t gonna come over here,” tommy reassured, mostly for himself after hearing the screeches of distant infected.

“right,” joel sarcastically agreed, keeping his rifle aimed and ready for anything and anyone to jump out at him or tommy. joel kept following the trail he remembered following himself, wanting to make sure there wasn’t anything going on without his knowledge of it.

joel was tired, to be frank. but the minute he heard there was a threat around the area, he didn't waste time to gear up and tell ellie to stay inside while he's gone. now, he and tommy were searching for something, anything that could be the cause of maria's concern.

they walked around a little more, searching the ground area and looking within the trees, finding nothing but a few deer and elk.

“joel!” tommy yelled out.

joel stopped in his tracks, tightening the grip on his rifle and immediately following his brother’s panicked voice.

“joel! c’mere man, holy fuck,” tommy shouted, sending joels heart racing and making him speed up, passing by trees and large rocks to get to him.

“where are ya?” he shouted panicked, and as tommy said ‘over here,’ joel followed his voice, the only thing he could hear being the crunch of the snow. finally, he made it towards the river where tommy was kneeling down before something, something that looked like a body.

“look man, we gotta take her back,” tommy said, checking her pulse and setting his gun down. joel just shook his head, looking at the small pool of blood that trailed from the woman's abdomen in the snow.

“she’s dead. if she’s been out here for however long, she’s gone. ain’t worth it.” he gruffly said, pointing his rifle at the body instead.

“joel her heart is beatin’, i can feel her pulse. we gotta take her,” tommy said and joel felt himself grow angry.

“it ain’t worth it.” he said once again and tommy shook his head, moving to flip your body over to see your face.

tommy swiftly moved your backpack and gun out of the way, and saw how blue your face was. your lips were practically purple, and your body was freezing cold, stiff. both the men's eyes trailed to the blood soaked white shirt that clung to your body, the injury deep and wide. but tommy saw the shallow breaths, he saw your chest stutter as it tried to rise and fall.

“she’s just a kid, joel,” he said.

he was right. joel was fifty seven, and tommy was nearing his late forties and he could tell you weren’t older than thirty. why should it matter? he wanted to say, but he knew. his own lack of trust makes him take a bit to decide. what if it’s a trap? what if she got bit? then she wouldn’t be cold and frozen, idiot. what if this is just a distraction? from what! joel’s inner thoughts fighting with each other, fighting with his gut and finally closed his eyes hard before opening them back up.

“fuck,” he sighed and moved his rifle to sit on his shoulder, going to tommy and deciding to just pick your body up and carry you bridal style.

tommy saw joel was angry, already knowing the thoughts in his mind saying she wasn't worth it, the girl's practically dead.

“go,” joel demanded and began to follow him as tommy protected the both of you. he didn’t know if this was a good idea. if taking you in and disrupting the course of nature was the best idea. just another mouth to feed. he thought to himself. if you even survived this. he knew he was cold hearted, he knew he wasn’t close to being a good person.

joel couldn’t help it. he was selfish, he was hard headed, and he was cold. children, women, animals, it got to a point where it was all the same to him. if you were gone, you were gone. he’d killed so many clickers who posed themselves as children, so many women who weren’t women anymore, families even. he was desensitized in the worst way and even though it benefited him and helped keep him alive for twenty years, it was his biggest downfall.

a little bit of him wished he was softer. more inviting, more trusting but in what fucking world? this was always a world of hate, he thought. a world of pain and despair, and it was only a matter of time before it turned into some sort of hell.

and as he carried you in your arms, limp and blue, he wondered if you were even going to make it. what was the point of trudging through all of this snow for a dead body? he didn’t have much hope for anything else, for anything but his and ellie’s survival. and as you soaked his shirt with blood, he highly doubted there was a chance you'd live. maybe it was for the best.

joel was just so angry. this was not what he wanted to find. he did not want to be responsible for another person, one who seemed like she didn't even put up a fight. had she walked thirty more feet she would've made it. he thought.

the thing about joel is that the things that softened everyone else up, just made him irritated. even the fact that ellie opened him up as much as she did, he even wanted to resent her for it. but he couldn’t, because to him he could never blame ellie for anything. she was just a kid. but she gave him something to fight for, gave him hope again in a world where hope was seen as childish, naive. he couldn’t resent her for that.

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

was this life after death? you knew your eyes were closed, but you didn’t know how you were still conscious. until you heard the sounds of beeping and heart monitors, you believed you had found purgatory. you wanted to smile, and it creeped on your lips until you heard the noises of what sounded like people shuffling around and immediately you shot up with your eyes wide.

you were running on pure adrenaline. where am i? what the fuck? where is my gun? who the fuck are these people?

you looked around the room to see a woman, a man and another child in the beds, the woman was pregnant, the child was coughing into their arm. but it wasn’t until you looked right next to you to see a man with a mustache and a woman with locs standing closer to your hospital bed.

“where the fuck is my shit?” you asked harshly, pulling the IV out of your arm and detaching any other wires on your body.

“no, no honey don’t do that,” the woman said as she tried to step closer to you, and as you were going to defend yourself from her touch, you looked down and saw the swollen belly in all her vulnerability. so all you did was scoot further back into your bed, not wanting to get violent. that's a first.

“where is my gun?” you asked, looking around at the makeshift infirmary that was stocked with everything you could possibly need.

“we have it. just for right now, you can have everything back just, who are you? was there anyone else with you? do you work for anyone?” the man said swiftly.

you just laughed breathlessly, looking down at the fact that you were naked in a hospital gown but feeling the sharp pain of the wound you remembered, now wrapped with gauze around your abdomen.

“i don’t have to tell you a fuckin’ thing,” you said shaking your head.

“just let me go. i wanna go.” you couldn’t help but feel scared. the same fear that rattled you as a kid. you couldn't even meet their eyes. you forgot how to talk to people really.

“look, we can help you. i’m tommy, this is my wife maria. she managed and built a space for us to live with the help of her community, our community, without the threat of those ugly fuckin’ things. you’re here in jackson, wyoming. it’s a safe community.” he said and you looked between the two. wyoming?

“we don’t take kindly to strangers, dear. and you happened upon an area that was real close to our commune, tommy and his brother found you, almost dead, bleeding to death.” maria said as she sat down on the other side of the bed, you just watched her.

“why didn’t you just leave me?” you asked, weakly. you felt so powerless. so bare. no gun, no knife, no protection.

“i told ya,” a gruff voice said, making your eyes search the room to see a broad dark figure walking to the edge of your bed. your eyebrows knit together at him and looked away quickly.

“what were you doin’ out there anyway?” tommy asked and you shook your head, looking down at your hands.

“how long have i been here?” you ignored his question and tommy looked between maria and the man at the foot of your bed, who watched you closely.

“a week.” you whipped your head to maria, asking with your eyes if she was serious.

“you were taking your last breaths when they found you. you were so frozen, so stiff we didn’t really think you’d make it past that night. but, we managed to warm you up and put a feeding tube through your nose, stitch you up, hoping for the best. we weren’t sure you’d wake up.” maria informed and you ran your fingers through your hair, suddenly tired.

“i need to go.” you whispered.

“go where? is there someone you’re meetin’ or waitin’ on?” tommy asked. joel was silent, watching the exchange between everyone. but his eyes never leaving your figure. he looked at you like he didn't trust you, th same way you looked at all three of them.

“are you just gonna stare at me like a fuckin’ asshole or what?” you spit, looking at the man who was staring at you and glaring at him. he was making you so angry for some odd reason, not understanding why he’s just staring and not talking.

“no. i’m not meeting no one. i don’t work for anyone. i don’t even remember where i was last before coming up here. i knew i wasn’t gonna make it.” you confessed and the three of them looked between each other.

“you were alone?” maria asked, getting closer. you were so tired, so drained all of the sudden.

“been that way since 2012.” you said.

“how old are you?” joel asked finally, his arms crossed against his chest.

“i’m twenty five.” you said reluctantly and tommy shook his head, looking at maria. tommy was right. you were just a kid.

“how long before i can leave?” you asked.

“i want you to stay,” she said and joel looked at her sideways. this wasn’t like maria, or tommy actually. joel wondered if this was putting everything at risk, if taking you in like a lost kitten was going to jeopardize everything.

“you don’t trust us. that’s fine. you don’t want to stay? that’s fine. but letting you go back out there right now is suicide, and you know it. stay for a few weeks, or even a week. everyone deserves a home and a community, especially now. let me help you.” maria pleaded.

she didn’t know exactly why she felt so strongly about you, why she was okay with letting everyone else be denied and dumped from this place. even killed if they didn't leave fast enough. maybe it was her pregnancy, but she felt enough compassion to compensate for all three of you.

she sensed a sadness in you. everyone carried themselves in sadness, regret, guilt. but maria had never seen it so darkly, and she’s been around joel. she knew you could protect yourself out there, that’s not why it was suicide to go back in the open. it was suicide because she knew that’s what you wanted. she knew because she’s been there before.

“why? what for? i’m just another mouth to feed, another person to take care of. it’s better if i’m on my own.” joel wanted to laugh honestly. he said the exact same thing, and honestly felt the exact same way. he understood where you were coming from, he saw the pain in your face, the eagerness to stand alone even if it killed you.

“the more the merrier.”

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

you finally got your things back, but not how you remembered and when joel threw the backpack on your hospital bed, you glared at him.

“where’s my walkman?” you asked and he raised his eyebrow.

“your walkman? it’s 2024,” joel said as a joke and you glared at him, fisting the fabric of your backpack.

“where is it?” you asked again and he shook his head, shrugging his shoulders.

“it was broken, guess you landed on it or somethin’. maria took it down to get it fixed.” you looked down at your bag again and noticed your knife, ammo, and a smaller gun was still in there as well as cassettes that belonged to your mother, empty water bottles, tampons, and matches. you decided to get off the bed, leaving your backpack there and searching the room that was lined with hospital beds.

“where are my clothes?” you asked him and he nodded to the shelf above the bed, and you sighed.

without missing a beat you swiftly got on the bed and stood up to grab the clothes, not the ones you came in but new ones, duller ones. it was a faded red t-shirt with some university logo, a black sports bra, black underwear and dark brown cargo jeans that were big enough to fit you.

“can you close the curtain?” you asked, and he stepped back before closing it and letting you be in your own privacy to change. but you saw his shadow under the curtain, still standing there.

“you don’t have to babysit me. i’m not gonna kill anyone.” you said as you removed the gown and slid on the undergarments quickly.

“you think i want to? got a lot of other things to do, maria put you on suicide watch.” he said from behind the curtain, facing all the other beds and the exit. you scoffed and slid the shirt over your body, a little snug but good enough for you.

you pulled the curtains away from you, grabbing your backpack and heading to the door that kept you.

“where do you think you’re goin’?” he asked as he followed you, grabbing your wrist.

“don’t fucking touch me, are you crazy?!” you asked and took the gun from your waistband, pointing it at him after cocking the hammer.

“get your gun out of my face,” he seethed, letting your wrist go and staring at you with his hands at his side.

“just let me go, don’t say nothin’ to them, let me be on my way. it’s what i want, and i know it’s what you want too.” you said and slowly backed away from him, watching him as carefully as he watched you.

“i can’t let you do that,” he said.

you felt hopeless. like you were stuck there and even as you tried to back into the door, it wouldn’t budge.

“fuck!” you screamed and used the back of your hand that was gripping the gun to wipe the sweat from your forehead.

“don’t do anythin’ stupid, just wait for maria. don’t do nothin’,” he warned and you shook your head.

“or what?! you’ll kill me? here,” you said and cocked your gun again after letting the hammer go back into place, raising it to your temple. “i’ll fuckin’ do it for you. i’m dead anyways! i can’t leave, you’re keepin’ me here, what’s the fucking point!”

for the first time in a while, joel felt his heart beat pick up in anxiety. he was nervous, a feeling he'd only had a few times in his life. not only because you were threatening to scatter your brains everywhere, but because you were doing it in front of three other patients, one pregnant, one child and one in a coma. not only will you traumatize him, but everyone around you and he can’t let you do that.

but a part of him feels for you. because he knows what that feeling was like. to put a gun to your own head and pull the trigger, only it didn’t seem like you’d flinch like he did when you pulled the trigger. you weren’t scared to die, he felt it. you pull the trigger and you’re dead.

joel had his hands up to you, suddenly wanting to take some of that anger and pain from you. you were nine to ten years old when you were forced to be a killer, and he knew it took so much away from you. you were desperate, you were tired, and he understood, for once in his life the sincerity and empathy was present. It was a weird feeling for him, to not want you here but to also want to make sure you’re safe from yourself.

he felt responsible now.

“give me the gun,” he said, stepping closer and closer to you as your finger danced on the trigger. you didn’t acknowledge the crying child, or the expecting mother clutching on to her belly. your eyes were on joels, turning from hard and angry to soft, worried, almost afraid.

“i want to go,” you choked, tears streaming down your face as you pressed into the unwilling door.

“go where? there is no where to go. i reckon your family is gone? hometown gone?” he said, his hands in surrender.

“i shouldn’t be here.” he knew you weren’t talking about jackson. his heart twinged at it, it reminded him too much of when he and ellie witnessed the same thing a year back. he couldn't let it this happen again under his watch.

he saw your hand fall a bit weak, the barrel of the gun sliding on your temple. watching your every movement he stepped closer, and closer—until he was somewhat right in front of you. he figured if you wanted to kill yourself, you wouldn't have thought twice about pulling the trigger, you were unsure, he could tell. he took the opportunity to get as close as you allowed.

“you ain’t gotta trust us. trust is earned. but i can promise you that these folks won’t let anythin’ happen to ya,” he said, “i know what it’s like, i was you. couldn’t trust not a damn person, killed anyone i had to. i’ve lost too. but i found somethin’ worth fightin’ for.”

you just listened. you wanted to fight him on it, you wanted to ignore everything he said and just pull the trigger. you felt it was destined, you couldn’t fight anymore, you didn’t want to. you kept the gun at your temple, and in the silence between the two of you, you hear an immediate worried and frantic ‘what are you doing’ from maria and tommy behind him. you couldn't take your eyes off of joel.

the grip on your gun just gets tighter, and joel notices. he shakes his head fast.

“stop! stay right there.” he said and held up a hand to them, still having his eyes on you.

“i’m tired of fightin’,” he heard your slight texan accent, coming out more in the light of your crying.

maybe it was ellie, maybe it was him still mourning sarah, and all the women he failed. but he felt something in his throat tighten, watching you so vulnerable like this and he doesn’t even know you. he didn’t know why this was so different for him. he’s seen people do this, seen people want to fall off the edge. and for some reason, he can’t fail you. he can’t let you take your life.

“if you stay here, you ain’t gotta fight by yourself no more. you ain’t alone out here,” joel said and reached slow to your hand.

“let me help you, please,” you heard the honesty in his voice, how he was practicing pleading for you to put it down.

your eyes kept searching his as you took your lip between your teeth, streams pouring down your face. you let him grab the gun, click the safety on and put it in his waistband. and as you stood there, silently crying and staring into his eyes asking for help, asking for comfort—he couldn’t do it. he couldn’t simply wrap his arms around you to let you fall apart for a minute, he wouldn’t let himself.

he was like stone, and even though he talked you off a ledge, his heart wouldn't open the way you needed right now. he was going to tell you to leave, to take it somewhere else because now you couldn't be trusted alone. he was angry now. the fact that you did that in front of not only him but a child, he thought you were selfish. but he couldn't blame you.

he knew something was off with you. he saw how this world chewed people up and spit them out, sometimes swallowing them whole. he knew what it did to people, turning them into monsters themselves or people too weak to fight. to him, you weren't the monster.

he was.

maria ran past joel even being five months pregnant, and took you in her arms once she got to you. but your eyes could never leave joels, you were stuck. you were out of it, out of your mind, almost out of your body. you didn’t want this life, and you didn’t want to be around strangers. for once, in a long fucking time, you were scared.

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seventeendeer · 5 months ago

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finished rewatching ATLA so here's my obligatory hot take on the age-old discourse of "should Aang have put on his big boy pants and killed that guy or what"

my perspective is that either choice would have ended the show in a bad place. no, Aang should not have killed that guy; a child being forced to give up his own individuality to become a tool for violence has terrible implications in a story about war that is intended to have a happy ending, and so does the notion that if you just kill the right people the world will be saved. yes, Aaang should have killed that guy; ATLA as a whole has an uncomfortably centrist perspective on the concept of war, and by giving the protagonist an easy way out of having to do anything "too drastic" to save the day, it cements its status as a fundamentally flawed narrative that pussed out of every opportunity to say something meaningful.

in order for ATLA to stick the landing, Ozai would have had to be dead and alive at the same time. there was no way out of this story that wouldn't give the kids watching the wrong idea about the very concepts the writers were trying to introduce them to.

in my opinion, the problems with the ending are not a question of "kill that guy/don't kill that guy", but rather the fact that the writers clearly designed this narrative to make "don't kill that guy" the only reasonable option. the writers chose to have a vulnerable, bright-eyed child protagonist; they chose to have him descend from a group of monks who valued non-confrontation and peace; they chose to center his character around themes like "joy and hope perservering against all odds" and "choosing your own destiny"; they chose to make the central conflict of his character about wishing to resist a destiny that was incompatible with his personal values; they chose to make the goal of his journey "stop a guy who won't stop until he's dead in the ground" - and then render in loving detail how Aang finds a way to avoid putting him in the ground after all.

from my perspective, ATLA is at its core an exercise in bending over backwards to make kids believe violence isn't the answer. it's a centrist's dream. fuck all of those scary people who had to punch a guy or fire a gun or drop a bomb as a last resort to try to save innocent lives - surely they simply weren't trying hard enough to find a morally stainless way to defend themselves and their loved ones from harm ..!

this is why, even though it has some fun elements, I have a bitter disrespect for this show and for bryke. these writers wanted to preach about the virtues of keeping your own hands clean in the face of injustice, and they found some cool "exotic" Asian philosophies to cherry pick ideas from to make their perspective seem deeper and more insightful than it is, slapped all of that together in a blender alongside some "chosen one" power fantasies for little kids who want to be cops, and with some nice art and some elbow grease, they managed to make it into one of the most influential cartoons of all time.

ATLA was always going to pull punches until the bitter end, because as far as bryke is concerned, refusing to punch anything at all is the point of the show.

#deerchatter #atla #avatar the last airbender #atla analysis #yeah im swinging a bat at a hornet's nest putting these in the tag but tbh i don't care #atla is a super influential work and i do think it deserves the respect of being taken seriously.#i don't think discussing art should be limited to praise actually. sometimes sincere analysis ends up at criticism.#orientalism cw #racism cw #btw please don't reply to this if you're just going to defend the show. i love sincere discussion but mindless fanboyism makes me angry #atla critical

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randomfoggytiger · 8 months ago

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Collector's Edition: Cars and Conversations (Part I)

Mulder and Scully have traveled a lot a lot a lot during their years in the basement-- surely, they had pretty cool conversations on the road?

Loose chronological order below~

@wexleresque/hellsteeth's

stars

As he climbs into the passenger seat of his father’s Lincoln, Fox yawns. The dashboard clock reads 5:03 AM and the smug tilt of his mother’s lips suggests that the early hour is the result of considerable negotiation. The tires crunch on the driveway and his mother waves at him absentmindedly from the porch as they depart. She doesn’t make a habit of smiling, but in the dark, Fox thinks something close might be on her face.

The drive is quiet this morning, save for the news on the radio and the whistle of the wind through the cracked window. Sunflower seeds sail over the glass and Fox takes a few out of the bag, chewing on them for something to do.

“How’s work, Dad?” he asks as they pass Fall River.

Young Mulder is tossed back and forth by his begrudging parents.

the fbi basement bulletin board - Chapter 5 (Tumblr)

“Hm. Well you probably don’t need a medical professional to tell you this, but if you keep moving it around, it’s going to take longer to heal. You need to rest it.”

“Noted, doc. And you just missed the turn, by the way.”

S1 Mulder is bad at directions-- especially with a sprained wrist.

Local Radio (Tumblr)

Driving out to a little town in Indiana hadn't been in the original plan, but the business of Memorial Day weekend had removed flying as an option. They needed to reach their destination within 24 hours. So here they were, en route to another place that didn't even warrant a dot on the map (you've seen one, you've seen them all, he sometimes thought to himself).

Mulder is amused at a crazy radio station (and at Scully's reaction.)

Christine Leigh's (Alt. Ao3) Maybe?

"Okay, here we are." Maggie said this as she pulled off the highway and onto the road that would take them into Democrat Hot Springs. She was surprised that there wasn't more traffic. This town, if she remembered right, was supposed to be some sort of a resort area. Five more minutes, and they were in the parking lot looking up at the familiar sight of the neon arches, and that's all that mattered.

Captain Scully is back from deployment; and Maggie senses something is off with her youngest daughter.

@thatfragilecapricorn30's (Ao3) Tell Me You Love Me - Chapter 1

“How do you know where I live?” he asked.

Scully’s cheeks reddened; she was hoping he wouldn’t notice or find her actions inappropriate. “It was, uh, it was in your personnel file. I wrote down your address after you called me at home after the last case. I figured I may need it at some point.”

Mulder smiled. “Just trying to see if you’ve been spying on me.”

Post Deep Throat Scully can't shed her keyed-up nerves after driving Mulder back home.

@scullywolf's (Ao3)

Eve

Her eyes narrowed. “How far up north?”

“California’s a big state, Scully.”

“I’m aware of that. How far?”

He decided there was probably something very interesting over in the corner that merited staring at while he answered. “About 300 miles. Give or take.”

Eve Mulder sheepishly wakes Scully.

Red Museum

Sure, the old man wasn’t a member of the church, and similarities between him and Brother Andrew were all but nonexistent, but the cryptic “There’s something I’d like to show you,” with no further explanation, was enough to set her mental warning bells chiming. She was a grown woman, with a gun, but that didn’t mean she loved the idea of jumping into some random stranger’s truck after only the briefest of exchanges. Mulder joined her at the truck’s window, an unspoken question on his face.

Red Museum Scully communicates her anxieties to Mulder without a word.

Demons

The car company rep agreed to come and pick her up, and she sat down on the curb for only a minute or so before getting up again to pace off her nervous energy. A hundred horrible scenarios played themselves out in her head; at least ninety of them involved Mulder getting into car wrecks of varying degrees of seriousness. In order to keep herself from panicking, she tried to focus on the task at hand, which only made her angry that she was even in her current position in the first place.

Demons Scully has to call in a new rental car.

Drive

“All I’m saying,” she said pointedly, “is that it could be worse. We could be crammed in a room right now with a bunch of other agents, and instead we’re at least driving around through what you have to admit is some fairly scenic farmland.”

Mulder spared a moment to mourn their lost office.

Drive Scully appreciates being out in the field with Mulder again.

Dreamland II

"...Mulder, I’m not proud of how long it took me to realize what was going on. I was about ready to drag you in for an MRI. Some sort of delayed-effect brain trauma from your trip out to the Queen Anne was the only thing I could think of to account for your dramatic change in behavior. Only it wasn’t you at all–”

“Well, you believe it now, and that’s all that matters. Now how do we fix things?”

Dreamland II Mulder and Scully catch up before heading back into the fray.

@cactustree's (Ao3) Fast Times and Slow Drives

She startles when she feels a warm hand on top of hers, and her eyes snap open as though jolted by an electric shock. She looks over to find Mulder studying her, his eyes darkened with concern.

“Watch the road, Mulder,” she murmurs, pulling her hand away from his.

“What’s wrong, Scully?”

Post Genderbender Mulder banters away Scully's apology with facts.

@h0ldthiscat's (Ao3, Alt. Ao3)

Survivor

She swats him away with one of her small hands when he touches her head and helps her into the car, but the look she shoots him lacks her usual antagonism, and the purse of her lips doesn't quite convince him that she's annoyed.

"Do you want another one of these before we hit the road?" He shakes a half-empty bottle of Gatorade at her as he slides behind the wheel, but she shakes her head once, firmly, and presses her lips together in a thin line, making them even whiter than they are.

Post Darkness Falls Mulder drives them home.

7. things you said while we were driving

She shoves the sunshade back up and clears her throat. “Can we go?”

He notices for the first time that her eyes are wet, that her chin is quivering despite her best attempts to control it. Remorse and guilt wash over him as he remembers an offhand comment from earlier in the week that explains her makeup, her nicer-than-usual suit, the set of her jaw.

Post Never Again Mulder's remorse soothes Scully's feelings.

Can I ask for a fic tonight? :)

“Was the drive okay?” she asks.

Mulder jerks his head back to the still open door and says, “Ask your son, he drove.”

William appears in the doorway, duffel bag slung over his shoulder, tawny hair in his eyes. “It was fine, Mom.”

“Good,” she says, shooting daggers at Mulder with her eyes, daggers that say she can’t believe he let their son drive in a snowstorm....

AU-- Revival era Scully is not pleased Mulder let college age William drive back in a snowstorm.

@crossedbeams’s (Ao3) I-Spy

‘I love this song!’ I explain, whizzing the twizzler I have pilfered from Mulder’s junk food haul around in some vaguely rhythmic pattern. I love music I just lack the skill set to express that love very elegantly.

Mulder chuckles at my enthusiasm and cranks up the volume, ‘I never would have had you pegged as a Clapton fan’.

S1 Scully tells Mulder about her family road trips.

@slippinmickeys's (Ao3, Gossamer)

Prompt Drabble Collection - Chapter 25 (Tumblr)

The thing was, it was next to impossible to see out the windshield.

Scully loved thunderstorms. Having spent a large portion of her youth in San Diego, they were still a novelty, even after years on other, more weather-prone bases and college campuses, and if she'd been home, she would have pulled up a chair next to her window and curled up there with a mug of tea, watching the light play in the sky and the water ping sharply against the glass.

However, as a driver she was cautious, and with Mulder, well, she had a reputation to uphold: He was the engine. She was the brake.

S1 Scully drives through a storm, donuts and a dozing partner included.

@brownies-and-tea/browniesandtea's Collect Call

“Mulder, it’s too late.” Scully sighed and leaned against the rain-streaked window of the car.

"I can't believe you're thinking fondly of that awful motel."

"I'm thinking fondly of a decent night's sleep." she stretched across the passenger seat.

S1 Mulder pursues a lead with Scully, from car to phone booth.

Ten's Learning to Breath (1/2)

In the elevator the women leaned him against one of the walls and kept talking to him, worried that otherwise he would go back to sleep and start sliding to the floor. Dana asked him questions, like his name and address, to keep him alert. She was relieved when she received the correct answers.

They got him into the backseat of Maggie's car, careful not to bump his head. Dana immediately raced around the car and got in the back herself. She fastened his seatbelt and watched as he leaned back against the headrest. He was asleep again before Maggie turned the key in the ignition.

AU-- Post One Breath Scully, Maggie, and Melissa are shocked at the state of Mulder's apartment.

J. C. Sun's Car Ride

My partner is next to me, as he always is, but for the first time in months, he's wearing his glasses. They make him look like an owl: a giant, somber six-foot owl perched in the driver's side seat. However, I doubt any owl has ever rolled his shirtsleeves up to the elbow and cradled a book in his lap, or chased the paranormal for a living. Nor do I think any owl has ever looked quite like him: the slightly twisted nose, the clear hazel eyes and the annoying, annoying little lock that, even now, droops across his forehead. It takes a wrench of will to resist the urge to reach out and to smooth it into place.

Post Firewalker Scully is bonded to Mulder now.

@seek-its-opposite/seek_its_opposite's

transient luminous events

He is still just standing there, the sleeves on the turtleneck he didn’t need to wear pushed up at the elbows. She is suddenly, vividly aware of the car, of the hot metal and the smell of rubber in stagnant humidity. Duane Barry’s trunk smelled like a spare tire. Her mouth goes cloth-gag dry.

“Can we?” she asks. She waves her hand at the road ahead and wonders how she’s so sure of this: He’d have known what she was asking even if she hadn’t.

“Sure,” Mulder nods. He looks relieved. He grabs their flashlights from the glove compartment and hands her one, and the flood of Pfaster’s headlights behind her eyes softens and clarifies into two beams that will never outrun her. And they walk.

Post Irresistible Scully confronts Mulder on his bubble-wrap method of protection.

if you weren't so

She tilts her chin up at him, at the usual angle, and finds that the geometry between them is the same.

“I need to talk to you,” she says. “Something’s happened.”

Behind him, his not-wife drags a recliner over the threshold in reverse, yelling at the houses that all look like hers.

“I have to talk to you alone.”

She says “alone” like she always says it and wonders if she meant to do that. There are days when she’s sure she could leave him in the dirt and still wind up in a room with him at the end of the world. As they slip behind the truck, she's gripped by the idea that to Joanne Fletcher, she is the woman Mulder shouldn’t be with.

AU-- Dreamland II Mulder and Scully try to find a way back to each other.

theramblinrose's Irresistible - Chapter 5/Chapter 6

“I didn’t know when I’d hear from you,” Mulder said.

“I’m at the airport,” Scully said. “I’ve got a car. I’m driving in. I just wanted to call before I left.”

“Anything wrong?” Mulder asked.

“No,” Scully said. “Honestly—everything’s feeling pretty right, Mulder.”

AU-- Irresistible Mulder and Scully are juggling their new relationship, a surprise pregnancy, and the fallout from the nefarious Pfaster.

eponine119's Same Old Fight

-Turn it back, he'd insisted, his knuckles white on the steering wheel with the effort of keeping the car on the narrow twisting road, This is making me jumpy.

-I don't know why I let you drive.

-You didn't have any choice.

-Mulder, pull over and let me drive.

-No.

S2 Mulder rescues Scully after their blowout fight almost ends with an explosive conclusion.

Sneakers/sneakers's

Walter Skinner's 'From Left Field

"But I don't see why Skinner should care about the book. It didn't mention *him*, and it didn't even use our names." Scully stood in front of the bookcase, scanning the shelves. "We didn't divulge anything classified; I'm sure the reading public thinks the whole think is a joke."

"But they had the nerve to claim I ate *twelve* piece of sweet potato pie!"

She pulled the book down. "Skinner's going to complain about your eating habits?"

"But I *hate* sweet potato pie, Scully. You know that, remember? I turned green at the gills last Thanksgiving, when your sister-in-law offered me some."

Post Jose Chung's From Outer Space Skinner has his thoughts on the book.

Sweet Home D.C.

"But the reception . . ." She looked out the window at the 1 AM darkness. "I think we both need to get some sleep. Turn the radio back on if you want to."

He did.

<< . . . Sweet home, Alabama . . . where skies are so blue . . . sweet home, Alabama . . . Lord, I'm coming home to you . . .>>

"That guy's got something wrong with his head, Scully."

Mulder and Scully, switching songs and swapping gum.

Evil_Little_Dog's

Cassadaga Bound

Dana squinted out the car window. "I don't think there's enough room in this town for all the witches, or demons, or devils in Florida, let alone the world."

S3 Mulder detours he and Scully to a fortune teller's.

Travelogue

“We’re not lost.” Mulder shot her a look then turned back to the road, correcting for the drift. “We’re directionally challenged.”

Making a guttural noise deep in her throat, Scully glanced out the window.

Mulder, the car, and a ditch.

@sunlightscully's (XF Writing Challenge - Food)

They have perfected the art of car eating. The driver orders and pays and hands the greasy bag over to be unpacked. The passenger unwraps the driver’s burger. They share fries.

When he pays she asks for the bare minimum and nothing too expensive. He orders extra large milkshakes and pretends he doesn’t see her stealing sips. They compensate for each other. Ketchup has not been spilled in years.

Mulder realizes he loves Scully.

Starbuck's (FFN) Wake Me When We Get There

"Shouldn't be much longer, Scully."

She made no acknowledgment, lying her head upon the seat once again. He continued driving as she drifted in and out of consciousness. White line. White line. Yellow line.

"Wake me when we get there, Mulder."

Mulder keeps the volume down so his partner can sleep on the long drive home.

@wtfmulder/@momdadimpoppunk's (Ao3) drabble; pay no mind

Scully paces around the car, branches and leaves snapping quietly under her weight. But she’s not angry, not at all, or nervous. She occasionally bends down to steal a sunflower seed from him and pauses to crack it before continuing her little loops.

Mulder and Scully find their own ways to entertain themselves when the rental car breaks down.

@incidental-ao3/incidental's Febuwhump 2023: The Truth is Out There (And the Fic is In Here) - Chapter 18

“No, Mulder, I should be keeping you awake, you’re the driver.”

“But I am awake,” he argued reasonably. “So there’s no reason for you to torture yourself when you could catch another few hours’ rest.”

“Don’t be dramatic, it’s not torture,” she scoffed. He smirked.

“Could’ve fooled me,” he said. She scowled sleepily.

Scully tries not to fall asleep, and Mulder ruminates on life before lights.

@mulderbabe77's Taco Stands and Regrets

He pushed down a little harder on the gas pedal.

“Are you gonna throw up?” He gulped, hoping to hear a no.

“Nope,” she answered and for a moment he almost sighed with relief. “The other thing, I think,” she finished, grimaced again and held a hand to her cramping stomach.

“I’m on it!” He sped the car up a little more.

Ten minutes later they could see the exit just ahead. Mulder was shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

Mulder and Scully both get food poisoning while on the road.

@hamster-on-fire/fade_into_the_dusk_with_me’s For The Sake Of Driving (Ao3)

They’d do this sometimes. Drive. They were always driving, it seemed. But when it was dark like this & he was scared like this, or tired like this, or just utterly numb like this, it was different. The curve of the road up ahead could feel like a whole conversation; the silence, an opening, & they’d both sit there, like staring at a sterile wound.

Mulder and Scully help each other decompress on long, long car drives late into the night.

Timemeantnothing's On the road again

“We helped keep the Germans from getting Thor’s Hammer.”

“Mhmm,” Scully hummed, turning the corner.

“It was Einstein, Scully. We protected Albert Einstein.”

“That was very good of us to do.”

Mulder and Scully, driving: hot ladies, aliens, cheek kisses, Triangle rambles, and Millennium contentedness.

Thank you for reading~

Enjoy!

**Note**: I am a "separate the art from the artist" person through-and-through; but my lists will no longer be featuring writers that have blocked me-- tooooooo much drama has been kicked up over that issue.

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