#you won’t know what you’re bleeding for … Remain open to feel free.

[authenticity2025]

When there’s a fresh wound in your heart, keep it open until it heals. Air it out. Understand it. Dive into it. Be fierce enough to become it. If you ignore it, it won’t be able to breath. If you ignore it, it will merely deepen, spread, and resurface later, wanting to release. And when later happens, it will hurt even more; because when later happens, you won’t know what you’re bleeding for … Remain open to feel free. Victoria Erickson

[reidswrld]

me & you together song.

❛ i’ve been in love with her for ages, and i can’t seem to get it right. ❜

spencer reid x reader.

summary: you’ve always assumed spencer reid’s love language was acts of service. flowers left at your desk. notes written only to you. every tuesday, he gave you your favorite bagel from downtown. you knew he was like this with the rest of the team, too. you didn’t sweat it. you were focused on your job, and your job only. but when multiple instances occur over the course of a case, it’s hard to ignore both of your feelings for each other.

tags: grumpy fem!character x sunshine!spencer reid, friends to lovers, everyone knows but them, the bau literally bets when they’ll get together, no use of y/n, afab character, found family if you squint hard enough, spencer’s obsessed with her but won’t admit it to the public (the public is morgan), based on me & you together song by the 1975 btw, i wrote this while eating a doritos loco taco

word count: 2k

notes: i asked my best friends to give me a character and a trope. happy first post!

When you first landed the job as an agent at the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI, you first told yourself not to get too attached. This was a job, after all. A career. A high risk one, that could end in fatalities and wounds that might never heal, cuts that will always bleed for the rest of eternity. Once you made it clear to yourself that you were to be civil with your coworkers —close enough to be friendly, but not enough to go out for drinks on Saturday nights— and most important of all, do your job, and do it damn well, you poured yourself a glass of wine and watched the rest of the season of the sitcom you’ve been meaning to finish.

However, with all of the ups and downs your job gave you, it could not have allowed for you to expect the boisterous chaos that were your coworkers. They welcomed you in not only with open arms, but open minds. They respected your boundaries, your ideas, everything about you. Your attempt at remaining just civil became useless after months, but looking back, how could you have tried any longer? Penelope gave you a big kiss on the cheek every week, exclaiming that she loved your outfits and needed to go shopping with you right that minute. Morgan ruffled your hair whenever he brought you coffee (despite your incessant dismay that now you needed to brush it again). Hotch, though not a fan of public displays, would murmur a reassuring, you’re doing well every time he returned a file back to you. And then there was Reid.

Spencer Reid.

Well, what was there to say about him?

Over time, you’ve assumed that his love language must be acts of service. He brought you a bagel every week, sometimes more, from your favorite bagel shop downtown. Every Tuesday, a poppy seed bagel with extra plain cream cheese, extra toasted, cut in half so you could eat the middle dollop of cream cheese first. He made you mugs of tea whenever it grew past five pm because you told him that you had trouble falling asleep once months ago. Sometimes, small bouquets of wild grown flowers were left on your desk. At first, you thought it was Penelope being extra kind to you, or even Morgan playing a small joke on you. Both denied, but still giggled as you walked away. Whatever that meant. Behind your back, they secretly slipped each other five dollar bills.

You were sure he did the same for the rest of his coworkers, too. You’ve seen him refill coffee pots whenever Emily mentioned starting a new brew, and work extra hard on his reports in his free time to make sure Hotch or JJ didn’t stay too late. You were on the same page, anyway. Friends. Civil. It didn’t matter.

You huffed as you walked into the BAU, which was deemed more of a half jog, half marathon sprint. You hadn’t bothered to check the weather before leaving, and on the walk from the subway station to the office, it had started downpouring. The sudden drops of cold from the sky had caused you to drop your half empty cup of coffee, and you had forgotten to grab the breakfast you made yourself the night before in the fridge. Not even Harry Styles’ album blaring in your ears could have stopped you from turning the morning around. You grumbled simple good morning’s to everyone as you shook off your coat. Expecting to see your desk surrounded with papers that you were too tired to file in their intended drawers yesterday, you instead found a clean one; the papers were stashed in their designated places (in alphabetical order), the pens were compiled in the pouch you bought at Daiso years ago and cherished, even the trash under your desk was taken out. The only thing left to be seen on the wooden desk was a small brown bag that smelled of heaven and happiness and a folded piece of paper. You reached inside to find your usual poppy seed bagel the same as it always was. To make your Tuesday better. For you, always, the note read. You didn’t need to decipher whose scribbles those belonged to. You forgot it was Tuesday.

“Where’s my bagel, lover boy?” Morgan’s voice boomed as the man sat on top of your desk, snatching the bag with a grin. Spencer only swiftly passed by the desk with ease, choosing to make eye contact with the carpet.

“Good morning, Dr. Reid. Happy Tuesday.” Spencer’s eyes divert to yours quickly. He only nods, responding with the same greeting. Happy Tuesday, honey.

Morgan’s laugh carried throughout the room, swinging his legs as he spoke. “You two make me sick, that’s for sure. Can I have some of your bagel?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You furrowed your brow in annoyance, which only made Morgan smile widely.

“Do you need to get your glasses checked again? You know, there’s an optometrist across the street—”

As you started to speak, Hotch walked from his office, announcing a new case and to meet in the room immediately. You got up swiftly, grabbing your bagel from Morgan’s hands with a muttered asshole falling from your lips. It only made Morgan cackle loudly. You remind yourself to write a psych evaluation on Morgan after the case is over with.

On the first day of the case, you realized it was going to be a more difficult one than usual. You didn’t panic. You never do. The second day, you worked harder than ever only to see little to no result. You continued not to sleep. It was like clockwork. Work, coffee, repeat. After three days, the case was far from settled. In fact, it seemed to only be getting worse with no ending in sight. Everyone was continuing to work in hopes that they would be home for the weekend. The fourth day, though, seemed to be the worst. The killer was getting more spontaneous with their kills, and the team seemed to keep showing up minutes after the kill had occurred. You were running on little to no sleep and were getting more frustrated with each move the killer made in silence. Near the end of the day, as you stared aimlessly at the wall in front of you, hoping it would make some sort of answer appear in front of your eyes, Hotch put a hand on your shoulder, You jumped slightly, trance be gone, when he told you to get back to the hotel immediately.

Immediately, you persisted. “I’m fine. I’ve almost got something. I’m sure of something.”

“I’m not asking you.”

“Hotch—”

“I’m ordering you, not only as your boss, but mostly as your friend. Your dark circles are getting concerning.” You tried to budge once more, but as Hotch gave one of his stern glares, you knew you were done with work for the day. “I’ll get someone to drive you back. Wait here.”

Within seconds, Spencer appeared, replacing the previous figure of Hotch. Gently tapping your shoulder, he signaled for you to get up. With a flick of a wrist and a soft grin, he spun around a set of keys around his fingers. “Hotch is letting me drive.”

You smiled. “Don’t want Morgan to ‘vibe it?’”

“His definition of ‘vibing it’ is just turning on the sirens when he doesn’t want to stop at a red light.” You walked side by side to the car. Your shoulders brushed ever so slightly due to Spencer’s hands in his pockets, but you didn’t mind. You welcomed the warmth.

“Your definition is turning the volume up to 13 and calling it loud.”

“I would like to be able to hear when I’m old, thank you very much. Any decibel over eighty and poof. Hearing. Out the window.”

“I really don’t think playing Queen at any volume above 13 will kill you, Spence.”

“You never know, honey.” Spencer opened the door for you, ushering you in before closing the door and getting in on the driver’s side. He pulled a cassette tape from his bag and pushed it in the radio; it started to softly play Queen while Spencer messed with the volume, setting it at 13 before driving away. It made a soft smile appear on your lips as your head leaned against the cool glass. Between the constant, soothing movement of the car or the way Spencer’s lips mouthed the lyrics of Good Old Fashioned Boy, it was hard to tell when the lines blurred and sleep drifted you away. The only thing you recognized before falling asleep were the unmistakable words that left Spencer’s mouth.

“Good night, honey. Love you.”

You woke up with a start the next morning. You had no idea how you got back into your hotel room, or how you were wearing your favorite sports shirt that you find comfort in sleeping in all of these years, though your mind directed each question back to the same person, of course. Your mind wandered to the night before; it was the most relaxed you had been all week, even if it was just the simple act of driving with Spencer. You had done it before in past cases —even driven him back to his hotel at times— but this time felt different. Maybe it was the words that left his mouth.

“Oh, good. You’re awake.” Spencer suddenly walked in, holding bags in his arms. He set them down on the table, pulling out various assortments of breakfast foods and handing them to you. “No bagel shops around here, but I did find some good pancakes if you want to eat now.”

“Spence.” You suddenly sat up straight, as if a revelation hit you.

“What? No pancakes? It came with hashbrowns, too.”

“Spencer.” You emphasized, getting him to look at you.

“Yeah?”

“Why do you do all of this for me?”

“What?” His head cocked to the side, not understanding.

“Why do you… I mean… you go out of your way to do things for me. Unnecessary things. I need to know why.”

“Unnecessary…?”

“You… you leave me flowers that are like, hand picked from a garden or the forest, or something not from the city. You clean my desk for me when I’ve left it too messy. You make me my favorite tea when I’m at the office too late. You write me notes that are alluding but you won’t say what. I mean, Spence, you get me my favorite bagel every Tuesday. Why?”

His face suddenly turned serious as he sat next to you on the bed. “You want to know why?” He repeated.

“I know you do these things for the rest of our team, but I just, I just don’t get it.”

“Because I’m in love with you.” Spencer stared at you. “I’ve been in love with you. I think I’ll always be at least a little in love with you, if I’m being honest. I thought you’d catch on by now.”

“…What?”

“Yeah, honey. I thought I was pretty obvious.”

“So you meant what you said last night, then?” You said softly.

“I didn’t mean for you to hear that. Really. I would’ve said it better if I had known you were awake.”

“But I did.” Your face grew closer to his. “And I’m not upset about it. Because I’m in love with you, too.”

Just as your lips began to brush, Spencer began to smile. “You know what day it is, honey? It’s our day.”

You smiled, too. “Happy Tuesday.”

You both tried to be subtle about it for the rest of the case. Weeks had passed by without the team knowing, but one slip up of a kiss on the cheek from Spencer on a Tuesday morning had led to an entire office full of chaos (and a meeting on workplace romance and consent from Hotch). You two didn’t mind, though. It was bound to happen. Until Penelope turned to Morgan and yelled at him to cough up the fifty dollars he owed her, of course.

Happy Tuesday.

[holylulusworld]

Inseparable (3)

Summary: Professor Xavier entrusts you with the mission to locate a certain mutant with unknown consequences.

Pairing: Alpha!Wolverine x Omega!(Mutant)Reader

Warnings: angst, language, gruff Wolverine, a/b/o, a/b/o dynamics, scenting, implied true mates, you are on the run, fighting (telepathic/telekinesis), blood, unnamed characters death

A/N: Jean is not Dark Phoenix in this story. The reader is stronger than both Professor Xavier and Jean Grey. She is a telepath, telekinetic, and empath. Most of the time, she suppresses her powers.

Undefeated masterlist

Catch up here: Undefeated & Obstinate

It's been a while, huh...

Words in italics are telepathic orders

“Get out of my head!!” Stryker fights you with all he’s got. Not only the mutants he forces to protect his mind, but the man himself is an impressive opponent. “GET OUT MUTANT SCUM!”

“Hold still, bastard,” you growl while clawing your way inside Stryker’s mind. He’s still fighting me. Whatever he tries to hide from me, it must be important. “I’ll get you.”

“You sure?” Logan glances at you while fighting for control over the car. The roads are icy, and new soldiers are following you and the grumpy mutant. “Your eyes are violet for a while, and you’re fucking glowing. Your nose is bleeding too.”

“I’m fighting five telepaths and Stryker,” you snap your fingers to make Logan shut up. “Stop distracting me and drive. I can’t focus on you and that man.”

He huffs. “Fine. If you die, it’s not my fault.”

“I won’t die so easily,“ you snarl. “If you don’t total the car,” you turn your head to look at him while wiping the blood off your face, “I’ll live.”

You focus on Stryker, and the mutants again. One of them gets weaker, you can feel his control slip whenever you use your powers. “Stop protecting him. He’s a monster experimenting on us.”

The mutant fights your influence, but you won’t give in. One of them must fall first, and then you can take them down—one after another. It’s a low blow, but you show the mutant images of Stryker’s crimes. He screams in your mind, and then he’s gone.

“What the fuck was that!” Logan growls as the rear window bursts. “Y/N! What did you do?”

“Energy must get released,” you gasp for air. Your head feels like it’s going to explode when you turn it to look at Logan. “That wasn’t me, but the first one biting the dust.”

“Did you kill them?” He asks. “I thought you protect mutants.”

“I did not kill him. He’s out cold but alive. Stryker left him behind. At least, now he’s free of that monster’s influence.” Your eyes flash violet again. Focusing on the remaining opponents, you blend the grumpy alpha next to you out.

He huffs watching soft violet light surround your body again. Logan grits his teeth and slams his hands onto the steering wheel, watching your eyes bleed. “Fuck! Stop this shit. You’re going to kill yourself!”

You raise your hand to stop Logan from distracting you. “Drive and don’t stop until we are safe. You know the way.” His body relaxes, and his hands grip the steering wheel less tight.

You can finally turn your attention back toward Stryker, and the mutants protecting him. While Logan drives faster than he should to get you somewhere safe, you dive back into Stryker’s mind. It feels like pulling teeth to convince the mutants to give up. When you push one of the mutants protecting him out of his mind, the next slips inside. You know they got lied to, but slowly you are getting mad.

“STOP THE CAR!” You force Logan to stop the car. There’s no time to ask him nicely. He barely has the time to stop the car when you jump out of the vehicle. The aura protecting you turns red, indicating that you reached the breaking point.

“Y/N! What the fuck!” Logan rips the door of the car open to jump out. His eyes widen seeing your changed aura. “Okay, this is enough! Whatever is going on, you must stop. This can’t be healthy.”

You chuckle darkly—a dark, guttural sound sending a chill down Logan’s spine. You don’t look like your controlled self. The woman in front of him seems like a predator ready to pounce.

“GIVE UP NOW OR I’LL UNLEASH HER!” You scream in their minds. “NOW! OR I WON’T STOP HER!”

The mutants refuse to give in. Stryker trained them well. They won’t believe anything you say. Unlike the first one giving up, they are stubborn and strong-willed.

You fall to your knees, and dig your fingertips into the dirt. Logan watches you growl like a wild animal when the red aura surrounding you turns into human form.

He gasps watching it run toward the mutants. It disappears in the woods. For a moment, there is death silence. Only your heavy breaths and the wind tugging at his jacket fill Logan’s senses.

The hairs on his neck and arms stand up when screams pierce through the silence. Logan doesn’t wait for the red figure to return. He runs toward you, shaking your stiff form.

“Y/N, you got to stop whatever you’re doing. Can’t you hear them scream?”

“I warned them,” you murmur, like in a trance. “She won’t kill them, just show them the truth about Stryker, and force them to face their crimes.”

“Y/N—” Logan slides his claws out sensing the soldiers creep toward you and him. “Get behind me. You’re in no state to defend yourself.”

He glances at you; eyes widening when you slowly get up. The red aura is gone, but you are standing tall. Raising both of your hands, you rip the trees out of the ground, revealing your enemies.

You laugh like a maniac before flicking your wrists to throw the trees at the soldiers. “I told you to stay away. I can see your souls.” Your eyes are dark red when you look at Logan. “They are rotten to the core.”

The screams in the distance ebb up, but the ones coming from the soldiers burn into Logan’s mind. He sees them fall - one, after another. You don’t show mercy. Images of the soldiers’ victims blind your mind and conscience.

“Y/N! You need to stop!” Even Logan feels sorry for the soldiers. He knows they are not good men but doesn’t want you to have nightmares because you killed them all. “That’s a waste of wood too.”

You chuckle darkly when the last soldier falls. It’s done. They are all gone, and their sins got paid for. “It’s over.” You drop your hands, and the trees fall to the ground.

Logan grabs your arm. He tries to drag you toward the car when the red figure walks over the dead soldiers. It drags something behind it, and Logan swears, it is smirking at him.

“They are all asleep,” it says to you, ignoring Logan as it drops an unconscious Stryker next to you. It dips its head to glance at Logan, blowing the alpha a kiss before turning back into the red mist surrounding your body.

“WHAT THE HOLY FUCKING SHIT WAS THAT!” Logan backpaddles when you turn around to look at him. Your eyes are back to normal, but there’s a change in the air he can sense.

“That was my alter ego,” you shrug and crouch down to check on Stryker’s pulse. “He’s alive and won’t wake until I let him. We need to go now before the other mutants wake.”

“Wait! We are not done here! What was that thing?” He splutters, still a little shell-shocked. Logan has witnessed the powers of many mutants in his long life and saw a lot of shit go down. But tonight was a whole new level of shit.

“We don’t have time for chit-chat, Logan. Help me with that bastard.”

“You didn’t answer my question!”

“I told you, she’s my alter ego. Can we go now?” You dip your head to glare at Logan. “Do you want to waste your breath out here, or get somewhere safe?”

“So this is your ultimate power, then?” He crouches down to grab Stryker to drag the man toward the car.

“No,” you open the door to the passenger seat. “It’s only a variation of my powers. I hope you never have to witness my ultimate power…”

Part 4

Tags in reblog.

[thoughtkick]

When there’s a fresh wound in your heart, keep it open until it heals. Air it out. Understand it. Dive into it. Be fierce enough to become it. If you ignore it, it won’t be able to breath. If you ignore it, it will merely deepen, spread, and resurface later, wanting to release. And when later happens, it will hurt even more; because when later happens, you won’t know what you’re bleeding for … Remain open to feel free.

Victoria Erickson

[perfeqt]

When there’s a fresh wound in your heart, keep it open until it heals. Air it out. Understand it. Dive into it. Be fierce enough to become it. If you ignore it, it won’t be able to breath. If you ignore it, it will merely deepen, spread, and resurface later, wanting to release. And when later happens, it will hurt even more; because when later happens, you won’t know what you’re bleeding for … Remain open to feel free.

Victoria Erickson

[kisskiss-slashslash]

Slashers accidentally killing their witchcraft s/o but a few minutes later they revived again and they find out that they are actually immortal?

Ty and have a great day <3

Here you go!

Warnings: Blood, Gore, Allusions to amputation

Slashers accidentally killing their s/o only to find out they’re immortal

Jason Voorhees

His machete slipped out of his hand, and time seems to slow down as it heads straight for you. There is nothing he can do, it all happens so fast, and before he even knows what is happening, you’re on the ground, the blade buried in your chest, down to its hilt.

His whole world is anguish. Memories of the night his mother died are flashing through his head. First her, now you. And this time, it was all his fault.

He sinks to his knees next to you without paying any attention to the escaping victim, and cradles you against his chest, hot tears dripping from under his mask onto your face.

You groan. “Hey… Jason? Love? Could you please pull the machete out? It’s really uncomfortable.”

He looks at you with wide eyes. You return his gaze sheepishly.

“I… I guess I should have told you that I kind of… can’t die.”

Wait what? He tilts his head at you.

“Yeah. You know. Practising witchcraft has its perks. Now please…. the machete?”

Needless to say he is torn between being angry and relieved. Could you not have told him that before he essentially relived his past trauma?

Vincent Sinclair

He mistakes you for a victim. He lost sight of the last survivor of the current group, but he can hear someone right next door.

He strikes before he can see who it is. And it happens to be you, now with his carving knives sticking out of your neck on both sides. When he realizes what happened, he reflexively pulls the knives out, and you are already on the ground, blood pouring out of the wounds.

He drops his weapons in horror and rushes to your side. You are losing too much blood, there is little he can do… But soon the wounds seem to close up again with no issue, and you sit up.

“Vincent, honey. Next time, please look before you slash. Okay? This would have gone horribly wrong if I weren’t immortal.”

You still look a bit ashen, but seem otherwise okay. You assure Vincent that while you may be a bit more tired and lethargic until your body managed to regenerate all that blood you lost, there won’t be any long-term damange.

Freddy Krueger

It’s a prank gone wrong. Freddy assumes that, as his s/o, of course you aren’t afraid of him, so he can feel free to play rough with you in the dreamworld. But love or not, appearantly there is a tiny sliver of you that is at least a little afraid of him and his powers. Which is unfortunately only something the two of you notice when your stomach gets sliced open while Freddy tries to tickle you.

“Ah shit… fuck… bitch… we’ve been together for so long, how the FUCK are you still afraid of me?!” He panicks and tries to stop the bleeding and you… you start laughing.

“Freddy, you can stop. I can’t die. The whole witchcraft thing, remember?”

“Are you fucking kidding me?!”

You double over and clutch your stomach, both from laughter and to keep your guts from falling out. It *is* pretty adorable how worried Freddy is for your safety. And in the end, even if he can technically hurt you, your immortality still means that you can play rough with each other.

Brahms Heelshire

Another one of his fits of rage, after which he finds you on the ground, bones broken and with blood pouring. He stares at your remains in horror.

“Hey…”

He kneels down next to you and shakes you.

“Hey, get up. I didn’t mean to hurt you. Please. Get up… don’t leave me…” He starts sobbing, uncontrollably switching between his child and adult voices in his distress, until he feels you gently pat his back.

“You’re grounded”, you say dryly. “Just because I’m immortal doesn’t mean I’m down to being your punching bag.”

“Yes. Yes of course. I’ll be good now, I promise”, he sobs, relieved that you are okay after all.

Bubba Sawyer

He accidentally touches the button that switches on his chainsaw while the two of you are fixing some malfunction. The saw buries itself in your torso, sawing through bone and soft muscle and organ alike. Your blood sprays through the room, and Bubba howls with terror while desperately fumbling to turn it off again.

He finally manages to, after a few seconds. But the damage is already done. His hands are cupping your face, running through your hair, knowing that after an injury like this, there is nothing he can do. He just whines softly, trying to somehow comfort you, if you can even still hear him.

“Geez”, you sigh, with some difficulty. The saw completely shredded one of your lungs, after all. “Good thing that it missed my spine; regenerating that would have been a pain.” You look up at him and are met with Bubba’s teary gaze.

“Bubsy”, you coo softly. “I’m fine. I don’t die that easily. Give me a week to recover and I’ll be good as new. So no tears, okay?” You raise your hand to wipe away the tears from under his eyes.

When Drayton later learns of this day’s events, he asks if you can also regenerate limbs, like, say, a leg. You will have to firmyl tell him that you are *not* going to end up being the family’s primary meat source.

[perfectquote]

When there’s a fresh wound in your heart, keep it open until it heals. Air it out. Understand it. Dive into it. Be fierce enough to become it. If you ignore it, it won’t be able to breath. If you ignore it, it will merely deepen, spread, and resurface later, wanting to release. And when later happens, it will hurt even more; because when later happens, you won’t know what you’re bleeding for … Remain open to feel free.

Victoria Erickson

[resqectable]

When there’s a fresh wound in your heart, keep it open until it heals. Air it out. Understand it. Dive into it. Be fierce enough to become it. If you ignore it, it won’t be able to breath. If you ignore it, it will merely deepen, spread, and resurface later, wanting to release. And when later happens, it will hurt even more; because when later happens, you won’t know what you’re bleeding for … Remain open to feel free.

Victoria Erickson

[perfectfeelings]

When there’s a fresh wound in your heart, keep it open until it heals. Air it out. Understand it. Dive into it. Be fierce enough to become it. If you ignore it, it won’t be able to breath. If you ignore it, it will merely deepen, spread, and resurface later, wanting to release. And when later happens, it will hurt even more; because when later happens, you won’t know what you’re bleeding for … Remain open to feel free.

Victoria Erickson

[quotefeeling]

When there’s a fresh wound in your heart, keep it open until it heals. Air it out. Understand it. Dive into it. Be fierce enough to become it. If you ignore it, it won’t be able to breath. If you ignore it, it will merely deepen, spread, and resurface later, wanting to release. And when later happens, it will hurt even more; because when later happens, you won’t know what you’re bleeding for … Remain open to feel free.

Victoria Erickson

[nightlyquotes]

When there’s a fresh wound in your heart, keep it open until it heals. Air it out. Understand it. Dive into it. Be fierce enough to become it. If you ignore it, it won’t be able to breath. If you ignore it, it will merely deepen, spread, and resurface later, wanting to release. And when later happens, it will hurt even more; because when later happens, you won’t know what you’re bleeding for … Remain open to feel free.

Victoria Erickson

[densi-mber]

A/N: What if Kensi stayed with Deeks at the hospital in “Ascension”? I suppose this isn’t so much a fix it as an alternative outcome.

***

Second Chances

It’s awful. Deeks is covered in blood, spitting out more, and—other things Kensi would rather not think about. He’s roughly moved from the stretcher, his groan of pain palpable, and Kensi wants nothing more than to comfort him.

She stays back with Granger though, her shock immobilizing her, and watched the medical staff hurry to provide intervention. One of the doctors tries to examine Deeks’ mouth, and he resists, his distress obvious. When Deeks shoves the man away, refusing to be touched, Kensi finally intervenes.

“Deeks, you have got to listen to the doctor,” she tells him, her words coming out more harshly, more demanding than she intended in her desperation. She clasps his hands between hers, willing him to hear her, to feel their connection. His eyes remain focused anywhere but on her, and after a moment, she realizes he’s avoiding looking at her. The realization stuns her. “Deeks,” she pleads one more time.

“Come on, Agent Blye. We’ve got work to do,” Granger says from behind her.

She stills, staring down at Deeks, who’s still shifting frantically, eyes roaming over the room. She’s not even sure he’s completely present at the moment.

“We need to get him calmed down,” Kensi hears the doctor say to someone else in the room. If Deeks reacted strongly to someone trying to look inside his mouth, she can only imagine his instinctual response to an attempt at sedation. She can’t leave him alone like this.

“No,” she tells Granger without looking away from Deeks.

“That wasn’t a request, Blye.”

She turns now, just enough to look Granger in the eye. So he knows she serious.

“I’m not leaving him alone. Not like this, not after leaving him in that warehouse bleeding, hurt, and terrified out of his mind. You can suspend me, or whatever you want. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Granger comments grimly.

“I do,” Kensi says, gripping Deeks’ hand even harder. She isn’t aware of Granger leaving, though she assumes he does. Here entire focus is on Deeks.

“Agent, I need to examine him now,” the doctor repeats. Deeks visibly tenses at the sound of the man’s voice and glances towards the tray of medical implements again.

“I know you do.” Kensi glares at him, holding her body protectively in front of Deeks. “Give him a minute.”

The doctor looks like he wants to fight, but after a moment, he steps back, murmuring something to a nurse.

“Thank you.” Deeks’ voice is impossibly weak and the words forced through his barely opened lips, but the sound gives her hope.

“Always,” she promises, freeing a hand to move his matted hair off his face.

She couldn’t protect him in that garage, but she can now. She won’t leave his side until she knows he’s safe.

[timeskip]

Deleting this scene from a fic WIP so you get it ^-^ (no character death here, but it is discussed)

---

Killua clutches his wound. His eyes flutter closed, the back of his head leaning gently against the rubble.

“Killua,” Palm says softly. “Stay awake.”

“So annoying,” Killua says, just to bother her, but cracks open his eyes to see her face. Her hair has retreated, so instead he stares at that strange crystal ball on her forehead. “I’m probably going to die—you know that, right?”

Palm winces. “I’m sorry,” she says, her voice wavering.

“It’s—” Killua waits until the wave of pain recedes before he keeps speaking. “It’s not your fault. It was that ant behind you, right? I could tell something was—was different. About you.”

Was it this obvious when he broke through Illumi’s control? He thinks about needles and blood, about his brother’s fearsome aura. The ant had a pretty nasty aura too. Killua feels like vomiting just thinking about it—or maybe it’s the injury again, slowing his ability to process things.

“Yes, Pouf was controlling me,” Palm says. “But I broke free because of you. Let me save you. Let me repair what I’ve done; I can stop the bleeding and take you to safety.”

Killua weighs his options. He thinks about himself, about his wound, about the slow building dread in his bones. There’s so much more he could do for Gon now. He’d told Meleoron that he might die with Gon, and now he won’t be able to.

More than his death itself, that’s what hurts. He can’t stop the beginning of tears from leaking from his eyes.

“You should help Gon,” Killua says, pushing himself up against the wall. He might crumple at any moment, unstable feelings flowing through him. He swallows down any self preservation instincts that remain. “I was serious—he’ll definitely feel better if he knows you’re okay. And—and with how things are going, he’s going to die, and it’ll all be my fault.”

He wants to at least leave help for Gon. Something will be left behind.

“I’m saving you,” Palm hisses. “I can help Gon afterward. Pouf was using me to get closer to him, and I’m not going to put him in danger now by messing with his emotions. Right now you’re what’s important—Gon would agree.”

Killua sucks in a breath. “He wouldn’t.”

“He would.”

Killua had thought that all his tears were used up, falling onto the floor at his knees before Palm had injured him. Now, Palm grips at his arm to help him stay upright, and Killua truly feels like this is the end, tears he didn’t know he had in him soaking his cheeks. “Gon is focused on Pitou. There’s no room for me in there.”

Palm just shakes her head.

The next thing Killua knows, she’s wrapped him up in her hair and he can’t move. He can’t even struggle to free himself, to try to get to Gon—what would Gon think, watching Killua die in front of him? That he wasn’t as useful as he thought he would be?

Killua cries against Palm’s back. He doesn’t know if they can save him when he gets to safety—maybe the last thing he’ll ever see of Gon is his back, sitting next to Pitou.

He gladly would’ve died for Gon. Right now, he supposes he almost has.

[broodwoof]

Idk if you’re still taking prompts but if you are then how about the dialogue prompt “Hold my hand for a second. It won’t kill you.” For Solas/Merrill?

took me a bitttt bc i got a Lot of prompts to work thru lmao but! some pre-relationship meet-cute stuff /u\ this was sooo fun fr @dadrunkwriting 1120 words cws: canon-typical violence; enemy death; blood

Hawke had come to the Inquisition, and had brought one of her friends. Varric had been excited to see the young Dalish, called her “Daisy.” Solas had thought that was her actual name for a time, only learning differently when Hawke had introduced her as Merrill. Although their Inquisitor was Dalish as well, he was on edge around the other elf, although he was intrigued by her staff. A mage, then...? Why would a Dalish mage be traveling with the Hero of Ferelden, coming out to Skyhold?

Hawke had arrived because she had apparently dealt with Corypheus before, along with Varric. This was news to Solas and he was frustrated by the lack of forewarning, although he supposed he couldn’t exactly blame his agents - Corypheus was not a known name, and they had apparently encountered him in some strange Grey Warden prison. And killed him, for whatever good it seemed to do.

Solas wished he had heard this story before he’d seen fit to provide Corypheus access to his orb, but there was little use mourning the past. For now he was accompanying the Inquisitor, Hawke, Merrill, and Varric to a cave in Crestwood, to meet with a Grey Warden. Things had seemed fairly typical until they came across a small group of bandits.

As he was settling into position and withdrawing his staff, he saw Merrill cut open her palm, her blood coiling around her staff before it shaped itself into thin, crimson projectiles, plunging straight through armor and skin alike. A blood mage.

He was not inherently opposed to blood magic of this nature, the use of one’s own blood, but he had not expected it from the delicate-looking young woman. During the battle his attention remained more on her than on their enemies and at one point he let someone get in too close, cursing under his breath as he tried to move away and give himself space to cast before hitting the stone wall. They were in a relatively narrow passageway that the bandits had clearly chose for just this reason.

He had drawn his staff protectively in front of his body, looking for an opening, when he heard Merrill call out and plunge the blade of her staff under the man’s raised arm, twisting as he cried out and fell, a spray of blood between them. But what struck Solas more than her capability and the violence was her battle-cry: “may the Dread Wolf take you!”

It made him feel horribly off-balance. Didn’t most Dalish call out to their “Creators”? Why would she call his name?

She frowned at him and he frowned back, wondering if he looked as uncomfortable as he felt, but then she rushed forward. “Solas, are you okay?”

Was he okay? What did she mean-

She placed her hand against his upper arm and he flinched, glancing down to see blood coursing freely down his arm and wicking into his sleeve. He stared at it for a moment, uncomprehending, before dropping his head back against the stone wall with a snarl. The bandit must’ve caught his arm as he fell. Shit.

“Solas is wounded!” She called out over her shoulder, grabbing his waist and opposite arm to encourage him to slide down the wall into a seated position. “It’s bleeding a lot. I don’t know if there are any potions left...” He noticed that she gnawed on her lower lip as she let her pack drop free, rummaging through it as everyone else approached. She gathered a roll of bandaging before drawing her knife. The blood on the handle reminded him that she was bleeding, too.

“Take care of yourself,” he said weakly and she huffed, glaring up at him for a moment before her expression softened.

“I am fine. You are losing too much blood.”

“Then use blood magic,” he shot back, teasing. But she tensed briefly, staring at the material of his shirt before lifting it to cut it away. He sighed - he’d have to replace that, and it was a comfortable tunic. Oh well.

“That’s not how it works,” she told him quietly and he winced, hearing the discomfort in her voice. He hadn’t meant to be cruel.

“It’s fine, Merrill,” he said, letting his eyes slip shut as she worked on bandaging his wound. “I was only teasing.” He once again felt her hands still on him and opened his eyes to find her staring up at him, wide-eyed and disbelieving. “Truly. I don’t mind. Just... make sure you bandage yourself soon, too.”

“I... yes. I will.” She resumed wrapping his arm. “Um... thank you.”

“Hm?”

“No one has ever been ‘fine’ with it. My magic.”

“Misunderstood...” he mused absently, still feeling a little weak from the blood loss. But the wound barely hurt - the blade must have been razor-sharp. “Is that why you call upon the Dread Wolf?” This time her pause was brief - apparently she was becoming accustomed to him. Or at least less surprised. The Inquisitor, Hawke, and Varric had been watching for some time but had drifted back to scouting out the area after Merrill made it obvious that she had this covered, so their conversation was as close to private as it could get out here.

“Fen’Harel? I...” She frowned, seemingly at a loss. “Perhaps so. Our legends tell of a trickster, a betrayer...” She shook her head, her expression tight with a deep pain. “But sometimes, people don’t recognize the truth. I am not sure what his truth is. Only that I have called upon him, and so far he has seen fit to spare me.” She tied off the bandaging and hummed to herself, apparently satisfied, before standing.

He rose a moment later and held out his hand. She glanced down at it, frowned, then met his eyes. “Give me the bandaging and your hand,” he said. She sighed, handing over the wrap, but clearly hesitant to offer her hand. He grinned, amused by her reserve here after having treated him. “Give me your hand, it won’t kill you.” She huffed but he noticed the edge of a smile pulling at her mouth as she placed her wounded hand in his.

He carefully wrapped it and tied it off. She pulled away to stare at the bandaging, then looked up at him, something curious and assessing in her gaze. After a moment she nodded to herself, seemingly satisfied. “Thank you, Solas.”

“And thank you, Merrill,” he said in turn, gesturing to his wrapped arm. She smiled in truth now, gathering her pack and slinging it back on before they caught up with the others.

He decided he’d want to speak with her more, when they were all back at Skyhold.

[lovelyladyabsinthewrites]

Love Song for a Vampire Pt.23

Pairing(s): Edward Cullen x Wolf!Reader

Warnings: none

Words: 1806

Summary: You tell Alice that you have a way to fix everything.

Part 1    Part 2    Part 3    Part 4  Part 5  Part 6  Part 7  Part 8  Part 9  Part 10  Part 11  Part 12  Part 13  Part 14  Part 15  Part 16  Part 17  Part 18  Part 19  Part 20  Part 21  Part 22  Part 24  Part 25  Part 26  Part 27  Part 28  Part 29  Part 30  Part 31  Part 32  Part 33  Part 34  Part 35  Part 36  Part 37  Part 38  Part 39  Part 40(series finale) 

“What does it feel like when you shift?” Evita asks you once she had gathered all the stones she needed. You’re both heading back to Sam’s so that he could drive you to Port Angeles. While it was for the warding spell, you were excited to get out of the small bubble that was La Push. It had been so long since you had last broken free from the comforts of the rez. And you were really starting to like Evita. Hanging out with her was starting to feel so natural. Her personality was warm and inviting. The fact that she was part of your world helped a great deal too. You had a few female friends at school, but there was so much you had to keep from them. Things that would probably scare them.

Not Evita though. She’d even seen things that you had yet to experience. All for the best if the lechuza was the worst of it.

To the best of your abilities, you described the shivering sensation that took hold of you in the beginning before each individual cell in your body burst. Phasing released the wolf that lay under the surface of your skin. Shedding free the human exoskeleton, you were powerful.

Almost back in the perimeter of Sam’s backyard, Evita stops and turns to you. “Ah yes. I forgot about something. I’ll need something of both you and Edward’s to perform the bond cutting spell. Preferably something that has your DNA on it. If that’s even possible to acquire from vampires.”

Blood, saliva or hair were all acceptable. Immediately a blood sample was out of the question. Vampires didn’t bleed. Getting either of the other two required you to actually tell Edward what you were planning with Evita. He’d approve of it though. . . If it allowed Bella to come back to him, surely he would want to try anything and everything.

You tell Evita that you’d be right back. You want to have everything ready for when both of you return from Port Angeles. The sooner the better. And if it fails, at least you could say you tried.

The path to the Cullen house was becoming so familiar to you. How many times had you taken this same route? Taking the porch steps two at a time now opposed to your tentative steps when you were first invited over.

Alice opens the door the moment your foot steps on the welcome mat. “(Y/n)! It’s good to see you!”

You smile, sharing the same pleasantries before getting down to business. “Evita says she has a way to absolve the imprinting. If this works then we won’t even have to worry about the Volturi coming here again!”

Her frown wasn’t something you’d anticipated. “Oh.”

“Is he home?” You press on while silently observing the subtle change in her features. Disappointment remains on her petite face.

“He’s actually with Carlisle. Their taking Carmen and Eleazor to meet Bella.”

Brows lift up in astonishment. From Jacob, you heard that Charlie was adamant on keeping a distance between Bella and the Cullens. Edward was never his favorite but now his dislike curdled into hatred. Hating that all along, Bella had been in danger for so many months and he was the last to know the truth.

Without having telepathic capabilities, even Alice understood the surprise that widened your eyes. “The only reason why they’re allowed over is because of Carlisle and the fact that Bella may still be in danger.”

“Well. . . I guess it could wait until he gets back. Um, do vampires even produce saliva?” The question you ask as a second thought.

“(y/n). . . Do you really want to do this?”

Gaping at her in utter confusion, you find yourself looking down at the wood of the front porch. “I- yes. Yes I want to do this. It would fix all of our problems.”

Alice didn’t seem to think so. Her continued frowning told you as much. She tears her citrine stare away to look off to the side. “I don’t want to interfere or tell you what to do. But I don’t think this is something you should mess around with. If you and Ed are meant to be together-“

“We’re not though. Everything about us just doesn’t make sense. Regardless of fate, this is a mistake. We’re not bound to each other out of love. We’ve hardly had the proper time to get to know one another.” You shake your head. Out of all the things about being a wolf, imprinting was a deal breaker. If Evita was able to succeed, then not just you but everyone else in your pack could have a semblance of power back in your control. What happened with Sam could be prevented. “And what he and Bella had. . . I don’t think that’s something that can be easily erased with something like imprinting.”

Edward was willing to wage a war for her against powerful enemies. That was a special kind of love. That’s what you saw in shows and read in books. A mere fling wouldn’t risk their life.

Viciously, you rub your fist along your eyes that well up with tears. Alice must have already seen them for she reaches a hand out to comfort you but you shirk away from her touch. More so embarrassed than anything else. Hastily you compose yourself and attempt to speak again past the wavering quality of your voice. “This has to be done.”

She’s at a loss of what to say to stop you. You saw how it pained her.

Taking a deep breath, you make your way down the streps slowly. “I’ll text to him to give me a call when he can.” Inside you full heartedly acknowledged Alice may not relay a message due to her evident reluctance.

Behind you, you catch the sound of her shoe scuffing against the boards; preparing to go after you. After that first step though, Alice stops. Instead her heavy gaze drills into your back. Each like a mournful arrow.

She should be happy.

This would stop anymore fighting and you could continue with your life.

“If you two don’t make sense, then why are you the only shape-shifter I can see the future of?” Her voice has a bite, pulling you to a halt.

This may very well be her only opening. Alice took whatever chance she got her hands on. “The visions are painful, but they come to me when you’re in great danger. When I try to look into the future regarding the other wolves. . . I just get a splitting headache with no result. I know this just can’t be a mistake. You need to accept that.”

That did it. Warm and shameful, they slid down your cheeks and dribble onto the front of your shirt. Forcing your legs to move, you held your breath; refusing to breathe until you breach the trees that line their estate. Ignoring the buzzing in your ears that make your lips tremble.

Wasn’t this the right thing to do?

**

For the third time in five minutes, Edward tried to ignore the nagging vibrations of his phone along with the vague call of Alice’s voice echoing in his mind. Now was not the time.

The four vampires sat awkwardly in Chief Swan’s living room. Said man stood behind the armchair which his daughter presided in.

Bella.

She looked better, much better since the last time Edward had seen her. Healthy although still pale but that was her usual palor.

Her rich, chestnut eyes keep his attention. At least she was looking at him. Under her dark lashes were faint blue bruises that whisper to Edward her lack of sleep.

“It’s such a pleasure to finally meet you, Bella.” Carmen smiled to ease the suffocating air in the room. Men were such volatile idiots.

Bella brought up a small smile that did little to ease the tension set in her jaw. “Edward has told me so many things about the Denali coven. It’s good to meet you too.” That was true. Edward had said good things about the Alaskan vampires and Bella really was happy to meet some other vampires that were civil. The fact that they were here though didn’t bode well.

Abruptly, Alice’s voice screams at him from miles away. Edward stood to excuse himself and rush into the kitchen where he fished out his phone and finds Alice’s name on his phone. The calls he had missed were from her.

What could be so urgent?

“Alice?” He held the phone up to his ear.

“Edward! About time! You have to stop (y/n).” Her voice is tersely clipped. “She’s going to have that witch break the imprint.”

Fear actually made him feel ill. Thumping heavily in his gut. Whether it was possible did cross his mind, but he’d learned by now that anything could exist and anything was possible. Even witches. Again (y/n) was going to try to defy her lupine instinct that as ingrained in all Quileute shape-shifters. Last time nearly got both (y/n) and Sam killed.

He made for the back door in the kitchen that led outside. Bella’s voice from the living room has Edward pausing. If he stayed and let (y/n) go through with whatever she was planning, then maybe Bella would go back to him.

If he left, he would officially be choosing a life with the wolf girl. A girl he hardly knew.

And yet, all he could think of was (y/n)’s smile. All he could hear was her laugh. She was warm and being around her felt like home. He could truly be himself around her. Monster and all. She would understand.

A life with her certainly wouldn’t be easy. Not like a life with Bella had been simple either. Vampires and wolves were on opposites sides of a spectrum. By nature they were enemies.

Against all odds though, (y/n) and Edward had proven to be the perfect match. She was his other half that Edward had been searching for in Bella.

Teeth biting into his bottom lip, Edward pivots and goes back to the living room where all eyes are on him. "I apologize but I have to leave."

"Is everything okay?" Carlisle immediately asked, preparing to stand up from the couch but Edward shook his head.

"Everything is fine. I just. . . I forgot I had something to do. Alice called to remind me." Anxiously he casts a glance at Bella who was trying to read what was really going on underneath his complacent words. Could she tell that he was about to permanently change his life?

Edward Carlisle and the Denali couple that he would see them back at home. For now though he had to leave immediately.

——————————

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[perfeqt]

When there’s a fresh wound in your heart, keep it open until it heals. Air it out. Understand it. Dive into it. Be fierce enough to become it. If you ignore it, it won’t be able to breath. If you ignore it, it will merely deepen, spread, and resurface later, wanting to release. And when later happens, it will hurt even more; because when later happens, you won’t know what you’re bleeding for … Remain open to feel free.

Victoria Erickson