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psychedelic-ink · 2 years ago

Text

𝑬𝑿𝑰𝑳𝑬 𝑬𝑷𝑰𝑺𝑶𝑫𝑬 𝑺𝑰𝑿

A few things to keep in mind; after the fallout with Tommy instead of heading to Boston Joel heads to the woods to escape it all, and the 20-year time jump doesn't happen. Which means, for now, no Tess, no Ellie. Joel is 32-33 here (since in the prologue he's around that age) and reader is in her mid-twenties

**for full series summary please check masterlist

chapter summary: when in the forest, you and joel come across three hunters. Subtle confessions are made.

pairing: joel miller x ofc!june | written in reader format, no body descriptions but does have a personality

word count: 5.2k

genre: dark cottagecore, horror, angst, explicit smut, hybrid au, minors dni

warnings: canon typical violence, blood, you get shot, mentions of reader having body hair, piv, oral (receiving and giving), emotional sex, possessive kink, praise kink, mild dirty talking, soft!joel, vaginal fingering

SERIES MLIST || PREV CHAPTER || NEXT CHAPTER

Snow crunches under your boots and the wind chills your skin. Except for the pines, most trees are left bare, thick snow covering their branches. Ever since the infection you don’t feel that cold anymore. A simple jacket is all you need, unlike Joel, who seems as if he’s wearing a dozen sweaters underneath his coat.

He walks ahead, rifle hanging on his back.

After knowing one another, it was hard to truly part ways. The first week after he shattered the only joy you had left in your life, you two steered away from each other; both of you angry, both of you bitter.

But you two danced around each other like butterflies. One day, you met his gaze and he nodded. The next day you told him about the extra fish you managed to catch, and that you wouldn’t mind sharing. He seemed hesitant at first, but accepted your offer when his stomach ratted him out with a loud growl.

Neither of you talked about the incident. You swept the camera away, tucked the box of photographs under your bed. You didn’t enjoy looking at them anymore.

You watch his back, the way his coat seems tight around his shoulders, the dip from the rifle pronouncing his shoulder blades. He always walks in front. No matter what the situation might be, you find yourself staring at his broad back and beautiful neck. He doesn’t talk much anymore, and when he does, it’s in the form of short sentences.

You on the other hand, do whatever you can to fill the silence.

You don’t dive much into your past, but you tell him about your hobbies, what it’s been like being alone, and how you adapted to your new antlers and ears.

Then one day, as you were telling him the things you were afraid of most, he turned to you slowly, his one eyebrow raised and slack-jawed.

“Don’t you think you tell me too much about yourself?” he had asked and you were caught by surprise.

“Uh… no? Am I annoying you?”

“Not annoying—Well, maybe a bit, but I can live with that— you’re too… trusting. Aren’t you afraid?”

You shrugged, “I feel like if you wanted to kill me, I’d be dead already. No use in dwelling on something I can never be sure of.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Fine then, what do you mean? Do you want me to be afraid of you?”

He didn’t answer and you were grateful for it. The thought of reopening the wounds he caused you wasn’t something you particularly wanted to do.

You’re abruptly drawn away from the whispers of the past with a sting spreading from your nose to your forehead, you groan and stumble back, your hand immediately going up to touch your nose.

Your vision is blurry, but you see Joel standing as still as a tree in front of you. His one hand is raised to his side, fingers forming a fist. The command is silent but it reaches you loud and clear. You pull out your pistol, finger nestled against the trigger as your ears raise. You hear steps that you missed before, too entranced by your thoughts to hear them. A faint murmuring reaches your ears.

You take a slow breath to steady yourself and take a step closer to Joel.

“Three people,” you whisper. “They sound obnoxious and dangerous,”

He scoffs, “How can you tell they’re obnoxious all the way from here?”

“I just can. We should go,”

“No,” he says, fingers curling around your wrist just as you attempt to turn. “We should check who— or what— they are,”

“And after that?”

“We take care of it.”

There’s a stillness in the air and for the first time, you feel the sting of cold. You don’t share Joel’s coldness towards killing. Even killing the Infected is hard for you ever since you also became one by extension. You much rather let the threat simmer until it boiled and threatened to burn you.

Joel ignores your hesitation and releases his hold. “They’re close aren’t they? If I was able to hear them even a little they must be. Lead the way,”

“Joel…”

“Waiting around will get you killed,” he answers, his tone calm and collected. “You’re either with me or with them,”

“That’s cruel.”

“Is that your answer?”

Leaning slightly forward, he forcefully meets your gaze. He doesn’t blink and it feels as if he’s staring into your soul, which is ironic considering Joel probably doesn’t believe in such things. Closing your eyes you face the sky, the tips of your ears burn and your heart skips a beat. You already know what your answer is, and he knows it too.

“I’m with you.”

“Then lead the way, Bambi.”

It’s not a long walk. You’re surprised that they’re so close, so surprised in fact you shudder with each step. You’re not a fan of confrontation. Every nerve in your body screams at you to run. But you feel Joel’s presence near you, his ghost chokes out the screams, only litter whimpers left that are easier to ignore.

You and Joel take cover behind the thick trunk of a pine tree. Your guess is that the small group are hunters. They carry guns and they look the part. Your eyes move to Joel, his own gaze slowly turning to you. He pushes a finger to his lips, signaling you to be quiet. The three men talk about the tourists and the Domestics they managed to get a hold of, you bite back a whimper.

Joel leans in, the curve of his lips barely touching your ear. He doesn’t have to do that, you could’ve heard him just fine, but some habits are hard to break.

“I’ll take them out,” he whispers, the warmth of his breath prompting you to close your eyes. “You stay on lookout, shoot the ones that try to kill me.”

You nod. There isn’t much you can add to his plan anyway.

Joel moves out. As he slowly approaches the first one, you move, your steps feather-light. You find the best position to spot all three of them and crouch down, the snow melts under your knee and wets the fabric.

With one eye closed and finger on the trigger, you realize you’ve never actually seen Joel attacking another. You’ve seen him hunt, but that was as far as the violence went. Briefly, you admire his contrast to the white snow. His coat a dark green, stained, and his hair mussed.

His every move is calculated. He walks around the first target, wraps his arm around the man’s neck and pulls him away from the others until he faints. You expect him to fixate his gaze on the others, but instead, he raises his foot and slams it down with no shred of hesitation. Blood sprays against the snow, melting and hissing at the warmth of blood. A drop of red lands on Joel’s cuffs.

You let out a scream, clapping both hands over your mouth before you can stop yourself.

But it’s too late, the other two are already running toward Joel.

“Shit,” Joel hisses, eyes finding yours amidst the chaos. “Get out!”

You’re a deer in headlights, both literally and figuratively. The two men crowd Joel, one pressing a knife to the neck you admired many times while the other sets his gaze on you.

You hear the bullet first, and your body moves before you can process it. Joel manages to kick the man heading towards you in the back of the knee. He falls face first with a grunt. You hear the knife against Joel’s neck cutting skin.

You don’t blink when you raise the pistol and shoot your shot, the bullet sinks right between his eyebrows. He falls promptly. The other one still groans on top of the snow. Joel takes the knife that was still stained with his own blood and stabs the last of them in the heart. You collapse to the ground, pistol falling to the side as you cover your mouth.

Warm tears roll down your cheeks, eyes squeezing shut as your fingers tremble. You see black dots hovering across your vision. You feel incredibly sick. Your mind replays the scene over and over again until you feel his touch on your cheek.

You were aware of the violence growing in the world. Seen bits of it whenever you left the comfort of the forest. But you haven’t been aware of how bad it had gotten. How desperate everyone became to hurt others for the means of survival.

Bile rises up your throat and burns your tongue.

“Calm down— Calm down,” Joel cradles your face, thumbs moving over your cheekbones. “You’re good. We’re safe. You did it,”

“Did what exactly?” you snap, pushing him away and falling back. “Joel you—you kicked in his skull! You—You—” your voice breaks and you finally open your eyes accompanied by a deep breath. He looks broken and for the first time you truly understand what that means. “What the fuck, Joel?”

His eyes flit around your face. He slowly takes in every detail —the way you shudder, the way your ears are flat against your head, the way your breathing is uneven— but he doesn’t know what to make of it. Your words have underlined fear, uncertainty. You look at him as if it’s the first time you’re seeing him.

Joel’s gaze moves from your face to your shoulder, he reaches his hand out.

You jerk away without meaning to, his look softens, the tips of his fingers only an inch away from your shoulder.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he drawls, voice dropping, barely a whisper. “You’re bleeding.”

You look to the side, too tired to actually panic about it. Now that you were seeing the blood, you start to feel the sting of the bullet still being inside. You wince and Joel catches it.

“Your cabin is close by right? Let me patch you up.”

You’re strikingly aware that you won’t be saying no to him, not now and probably not ever, “Sure.”

Joel is surprisingly gentle.

He helps you out of your blood-soaked shirt, leaving you only in your bra. The chair creaks under your weight. You ignore the vulnerability of the situation. It’s been months since another person saw you bare, you didn’t have the means to groom yourself properly. The hairs on your arms and legs growing with time— Even though you’re blatantly aware of how stupid it is, you still wonder if he notices, or what he might think.

Joel returns with the first-aid kit and you refuse to look at him, turning your cheek when he kneels to your side. He dabs the cotton in alcohol, cleaning it first before taking the tweezers out of the box. You hear him sigh.

“I know you want nothin’ to do with me right now but you might want to bite down on something. It’s gonna hurt, Bambi.”

Hearing the nickname makes you feel lightheaded. Turning around, your gaze drops to Joel but he’s not looking up at you, instead, he’s staring at the wound caked with blood.

“Give me my shirt, I’ll bite into that.”

Joel nods and hands you your shirt. You take it begrudgingly, balling it up in your hands and biting down on the fabric. The pain is excruciating, sweat beads on your forehead. You close your eyes, trying to focus on anything but the searing agony in your shoulder.

Joel's gaze is fixed on you as he works, pulling out the bullet with steady hands. You try to focus on anything but the pain, your gaze drifting to the window. You see that it's started to snow, the flakes swirling in the air. You wince, the pain making it hard to think.

Joel's gentle touch brings you back to the present. His fingers are light and careful as he works, pulling out the bullet and cleaning the wound. You can hear the soft sound of his breathing, the occasional sigh or murmur as he focuses on the task at hand.

“You’re bleeding too,” you state, pointing to his neck. “We should get it cleaned,”

His fingers brush above the shallow wound, not even a small wince crossing his face.

“I’ll be fine. I’ve had worse.”

“I’m assuming you won’t tell me about those memories even if I asked,” you whisper, and his hands go still, fingertips feeling like hot iron against your skin. “I’m not even sure I want to know.”

“Believe me, you don’t.”

And that’s the most you get out of him. A tiny crumb of his past. His one hand slides down to your upper arm, fingers pressing into the muscle as if you’re a ghost that has just materialized in front of him. Briefly, you see scenes much more violent compared to the one you witnessed flashing before your eyes; a desperate Joel trying to survive, losing himself to the darkened world. His grief still consumes him, you can see it clearly now.

With a soft sigh, you cover his hand with your own. The moment is still, neither of you knowing what to say. He seems surprised by the fact you’re touching him, his eyes slowly lifting and meeting yours. You swallow, the sound of blood loud in your ears.

When you look into his eyes, his soft gaze is briefly replaced by the memory of rage-filled ones you saw outside. You don’t think you will ever be able to forget that look. You won’t be able to forget the way violence clutches at his heart. His need to protect himself and those around him clouds his better judgment— Or rather, he doesn’t care about what happens to others for the sake of his own people.

You know that this should most likely scare you, or that you should perceive him as something ugly and tainted.

But it doesn’t. In fact, you think it does the opposite. It’s like a moth to a flame. You’re drawn to him and his tainted light. You see him as nothing short of beautiful.

His breath hitches while yours stops completely. It warms the fresh wound, then you feel his lips, scarred yet soft, a soft kiss as an answer to your pain. The touch of his tongue forces a shiver up your spine, a soft sting blossoming across your shoulder.

Joel continues, mouth moving over the slope of your shoulder and to your neck. His patchy beard is a harsh contrast against your skin but you enjoy it all the same. He closes his mouth and presses his lips into the column of your neck. Your lips part with a soft moan. He kisses your neck again and again as if it’s a means to survive. With every press of his mouth, he becomes more sure of himself, the softness is accompanied with the sharpness of his teeth, goosebumps coat your skin.

Your hand hovers an inch away from his head, too afraid to dive your fingers in just in case he’ll turn into another ghost that your cruel imagination often creates.

Joel moves back, only an inch between your faces. There’s a new emotion you see that crosses his face but you can’t place what it is. He feels your hand at the back of his head, his eyes flutter closed and he lets out a deep, long breath. Joel’s fingers gingerly curl around your wrist, pushing your hand flush against his head.

“Touch me,” he says, his southern drawl deep. “I want to feel you.”

It’s like an experiment almost. Your fingers are touching new soil, getting used to the feeling of soft locks and the bumps of his scalp. You allow your fingers to explore, nails raking his skin. A soft hum rattles his throat and you look back down. You spot the vein meandering down his neck and with wide eyes your hand moves down his head, feels the warmth of his neck, and traces the thick vein. His jaw is locked tight, nostrils flaring with every touch.

“Joel, I—”

“Don’t.” his voice breaks, eyes falling away from your own. “Don’t. I don’t wanna hear anything of the sort, not now, not ever.”

“Tell me what you want to hear then,”

“The sound of your breathing is enough.”

Your body reacts before you do, forcing out the breath that was caught in your throat. An eternity later his lips move against yours. His tongue brushes the seam of your lips, your heart flares, your lips parting with the silent command.

How many times have you thought of Joel touching you like this? Kissing you like this?

He’ll never know what his mere presence means to you. How the sole image of him brought you back from the brink of not wanting to wake to such a daunting world again and again. Even before he knew what your name was, before you knew his, he was the only one keeping you company—Accompanying you during your every move. A phantom man, following you around and wrapping its arms around you whenever you needed.

Your body reawakens, his lips and tongue pulling you from somewhere dark. His large hands cup your cheeks, tilting your head as he slips his tongue into your mouth. You moan openly, your hands coming up to hold his wrists.

Words you want to whisper burn the tip of your tongue. His words echoing loud in your mind whenever they bubble to the surface.

The sound of your breathing is enough.

You have trouble swallowing them down, tears gathering in your lashlines, but Joel makes quick work of them, licking into your mouth forcefully as if he’s trying to erase the entire English vocabulary from your mind.

Your hands drop down from his wrist and awkwardly try to reach his belt. Joel smiles into your lips, calloused fingertips stilling your hands.

“Easy there, sweetheart. Show me to your bedroom,”

You give him a confused look, “You already know where my bedroom is,”

“I prefer this being the first time you lead me to your room.”

It’s been long since you moved the box of photographs and cleaned the broken pieces of your camera. The ache of your heart is hard to ignore but you do. You nod, also preferring for this to be the first time he’s seeing your room.

Neither of you touch the other until you’re confined into the smaller area. It’s much colder compared to the kitchen. Joel shivers, a puff of steam dancing from his lips.

Not wanting this moment to end, you close the distance. Your fingers find their way into his hair, tugging as his hands find your waist. He squeezes and pulls your hips close, forcing a grinding motion. The pleasure you feel is real. It’s overwhelming. Your whines are needy, made with short breaths and the sudden lack of air.

Joel swallows them all, he sucks your tongue, unbuttons your pants. Arousal pools between your legs, heat licks the bottom of your spine. Your entire world starts spinning when he gets on his knees, pulling down your pants along with him. Your eyes follow, another shudder overtaking you as his fingers move between your legs.

“J-Joel…”

“So wet already. Pretty thing,” your heart leaps at the way his eyes move up from your sex to your face. “I haven’t tasted a woman for so long.”

“Then go ahead,” you mutter, burying your anxiety deep into your heart.

Everything moves as if it’s in slow motion. The snow outside, the fading light, the way Joel tugs down your underwear. Pupils dilated, he licks his lips at the sight of your slick sticking to the net of your underwear. His thumb moves over your mound, nestling between the soft curls that reside. You suck in a sharp breath.

The sound is loud enough to prompt him to look up. “Most beautiful cunt I’ve ever seen.” Cupping himself over his dark jeans, a groan slips from his mouth.

Joel's tongue glides over your skin, you let out a soft moan. His lips velvet against your sensitive flesh. You grip his hair tighter as he expertly works his way over your aching clit. The fading light filters through the dusty window, casting a warm glow over your skin and creating shadows on Joel's face as he buries himself between your legs. His palms skim the back of your thighs, sending shivers up your spine. You let out a breathy moan as Joel's tongue delves deeper. He takes his time, the sharp edges of his face soften, the perpetual crease between his brows fading.

He must’ve looked beautiful before all was taken away from him. Joel never speaks about it, but you know. You have seen the same expression of grief in your eyes many times. You wonder if you two could’ve met if none of this had happened; the infection, the violence, the change. Another wave of pleasure washes over you with the swipe of Joel’s tongue. You moan and he mimics the sound, the reverberations making you curl over him, your arms wrapped around his head.

Every cloud has a silver lining, you don’t know who came up with the phrase but you find it cruel, haunting—yet also to be true.

Haunting is a perfect way to describe the moment. Hauntingly beautiful. A soft hue of light lingering in the darkness dances over your skin.

Any second can be your last, that’s what makes this moment truly memorable. It can be your last, and you choose to spend it together.

His gaze finds yours amidst the darkness, lips moving and tongue swirling around your clit. He sucks on it, watching you with a heavy gaze as your whine joins the sounds his tortuous tongue. Joel pulls away and your first instinct is to pull him back, chase the feeling of his skin against yours. His fingers squeezes the back of your thighs, soothing you like a scared animal. You feel his lips moving slowly over your mound, kissing the sensitive skin.

“I want you on the bed,” he says voice honeyed in a long drawl. “I’m gonna eat this pretty pussy out until you’re drunk on me. Then I’m going to feel the way you squeeze my cock—But I need you to get all nice and wet for me first,”

Your thighs clench together and he lays another kiss, hands roaming over your ass one more time before pulling you to the bed. He falls on top of you, his heavy presence proving not to be a figment of your imagination. Your entire body rings for him. You feel his breath fanning your face, he stares at you, you see the traces of regret and your stomach sinks.

“I’m sorry I frightened you,”

The apology takes you by surprise, you stare, unblinking, and swallow. His hand moves between your leg, two fingers slipping inside you with ease as his palm cups your sex.

“You still do,” you gasp before you can think. “But I would rather have you broken and bruised than be alone. Something inside me—A heart, a soul…it’s been seeking you out, Joel.” his fingers deftly move with a sharp thrust. Your back archs, body pressing into his touch. You close your eyes but you still feel his eyes boring into you. “You terrify me Joel. But not only because of the reasons you might be thinking.”

“What other reason is there?” he asks, curling his fingers and grinding the heel of his palm against your clit. You clench your teeth, swallowing down your moans.

You’re a whirlwind of emotions. His sadness, his grief…all of it resonates deep inside you, it joining the pleasure that builds up, your arousal thick around his fingers.

You feel the brush of his hand on your ear, your eyes open with surprise, remembering the first time he had attempted to touch you—The Infected part of you. He had ignored it ever since he learned your name.

Joel leans in and presses his lips, the fur soft against his mouth. Your heart leaps as you flinch, your ear twitching uncontrollably.

“Tell me,” he says as you moan. “Tell me the other ways I frighten you.”

“I fear the way you make me feel alive.”

He curls his fingers, a shout rips from your throat. “Go on,” he prompts you.

“I’m scared that you’ll leave. That you’ll leave, and that you’ll become a ghost again.”

“Again?”

“Forget I said that,”

He hums, “I can’t promise you that I won’t ever leave. But right now, I'm here. You feel me, don’t you? I ain’t no ghost,”

To emphasize what he said, he circles your clit with his wet fingers, tongue moving down your neck. He draws your stiff nipple into his mouth, teeth sharp and pleasurable. You feel the wet streaks across your skin when he slides his other hand up your waist, he pries your mouth open by pressing his fingers into the hallows of your cheeks. He sneaks in two fingers, forcing you to taste yourself.

“I think I need to fuck you now, think you can take me, my little doe?”

You’re highly aware that the words are spoken without much thought. However, the endearment crackles across your skin, lighting a fire in your stomach, your body jerks, slick wetting your thighs and sheets. He holds your tongue with his fingers, feeling the way it moves with the muffled sounds you make. His mouth moves up the swell of your breast.

“You like it when I call you mine?” he groans out, breath wet and warm.

Joel pulls out his fingers so you can speak, his cock lays heavy between your legs.

Your chest heaves, “Yes.” you gasp, the pressure building starting to become overwhelming. “Say it again, please,”

“You’re mine,” he replies, sounding as if he’s just stating a fact. “Nothing will hurt you. No one will touch you…” the words sink into your skin, your hips stutter forward, searching for the stretch of his cock. Your breathing becomes heavy, shallow. “And since you’re mine, you’ll take whatever I have to give…won’t you?”

You hear the uncertainty that follows his hardened tone. Nodding, you catch yourself murmuring back, "I'm yours, and only yours."

Joel doesn’t give you any indication that he hears you, he presses forward, notching the head of his cock against your entrance. Your cunt flutters around him, begging him to move. He’s nothing like your vivid dreams; he takes his time, making you feel every inch. Your breath is caught in your throat, your lungs convulsing. The sudden regret of not touching him beforehand resonates inside, you wanted to feel how heavy and warm he was under your palm, wanted to hear his whimpers—if he makes any, that is.

“So damn tight,” he grunts. “So wet—fuck,”

He moves his hips forward then back, thrusting against the dampness that coats your entrance. A moan escapes your lips as he moves faster, each thrust pushing deeper than the last. Your hands grip the sheets as your body trembles. You gasp and bite your lip, the heavy drag of his cock sending waves of pleasure through your body. You can feel him, hard and thick, and it feels incredible.

Tears gather in your eyes when his lips find yours in the fog of pleasure. Sweat and sex clings to your skin, body on fire, he shoves his tongue into your mouth. The muffled sounds you both make seeps into the other’s lips. You’re both hungry to devour one another, both touch-starved. He parts away with a string of saliva following, he kisses the tear streaks, kisses your eyes.

You're left chanting his name like a prayer, his hands slide down, cup your ass and lift you from the bed.

His thrusts quicken, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. You cling to him, your hands gripping his back, your nails digging into his skin. His warm breath tickles your neck, and your head spins. Every movement sounds wetter than the last, he splits you in half, cock moving all the way out before he slams into you again and again and again—

Your body shatters around him, pleasure bursting across your very being. The feeling pours into your veins, leaving a simmer and buzz in the pits of your stomach. Joel fucks himself deeper into you until you’re begging him to stop, your body overwhelmed both physically and emotionally.

“Where do you want me?” he asks, pulling out and fisting himself with little care.

The fog clouding your mind briefly lifts and you manage to push yourself up the bed. You push his hand away and wrap your numb fingers around his length. He’s so wet, glistening with your slick. Joel watches you as you lean down, wrapping your lips around his cock. His hand touches the back of your head, pushing you further.

Arousal pools between your legs once more, your tongue warm and wet as you eagerly lick down his shaft, feeling the soft curls tickling your nose, you swallow. Joel’s head falls back, exposing his tanned neck and small scars littered like a starry sky. A loud groan emits from the depths of his lungs, choked out and raspy. Your eyes roll back when he thrusts his hips, the head of his cock touching the back of your throat.

Your insides clench painfully, begging for more.

Your lips pop off, tender skin left wet and swollen. “Come down my throat,” you say, before swallowing him down again. Your tongue slides underneath his shaft, tracing the thick veins as you move up.

Joel’s nails bite into your skin, a string of curse words falling from his lips. Heat flares under your skin. He pushes and pulls, guiding you as you swallow around him again and again.

There’s something about the way his nails softly bite into your skin that makes your toes curl. It’s been a while since you sucked cock, and he’s showing you how to do it—

“Doing so good, little doe— Can you take me deeper?”

You moan your approval, your hand moving between your legs. Your fingers trace around your puffy clit, still sensitive, yet aching to be touched. He doesn’t seem to notice that you start to touch yourself, he holds your head between his palms, fucking your mouth until he feels his shaft begin to pulse before spilling into the warmth of your mouth.

You swallow every drop. He tastes bitter and you reel at the way the taste of him burns your throat. He keeps his cock buried in your throat as he rides out his orgasm. You run your fingers up the span of his stomach, feeling the dents and marks painted over his skin.

Joel is left breathless, his chest heaving and cock now soft. You tenderly pepper his skin with kisses, moving all the way up until you press one hurriedly onto his lips. Your fingers rub over the sweat-slick skin of his forehead. And as you move away he grips you by the shoulders and pulls you back, tasting himself on your tongue.

He licks the inside of your mouth and teases your bottom lip between his teeth.

“Why do you want me around?” he cups your jaw and rubs two thumbs down your cheeks. “I’m such a fucking mess. I’m not going to trick you into thinking that I’m something that I ain’t. I’m not a good man, June.”

“I said it earlier,” you say with a soft smile. “I would rather have you broken and bruised than be alone.”

#joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller x ofc #joel miller #tlou fanfiction #tlou fanfic #the last of us hbo #the last of us fanfiction #hbo the last of us #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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reidjumpers · 4 years ago

Note

would you ever write something along the line of the minimal loss episode reimagined. so instead of emily being in the ep it’s the reader and spence has the biggest crush on her. it kills him knowing that she’s getting hit and bruised. yeah i don’t know if you would do it but i love that idea.

GUESS WHAT I really love this idea too so I tried to rewrite Minimal Loss reimagined. Please emphasize on tried.

“Which one of you is the FBI agent?”

Spencer could feel his blood run cold at the question Benjamin Cyrus fired at him and you. He subtly glanced towards your direction, pressing his lips and tried his best to maintain his composure. He watched you shift on your seat a little bit, eyeing the gun on Cyrus’s hand intensely.

“Why do you think one of us is an FBI agent?” Spencer furrowed his eyebrows in faux confusion.

“God will forgive me for what I must do,” Cyrus said calmly. Too calmly. Spencer gulped as he heard the clicking sound of his gun. He caught the sight of you gaping and eyes widened in horror as a gun aimed against his head.

“I- I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“One of you does. Who is it?”

“Me,” your voice was firm, slicing through the thick tension. Spencer slowly turned his head towards you with a wide eye. You glared at him with an eye that screamed don’t you dare at him, determination and fear swirled together in your eyes made him shiver. He could feel dread and helplessness slowly sinking in. “It was me.”

Cyrus lowered his gun that aimed at Spencer, slowly turned his direction towards you. Spencer shot you a glare and silently demanded you for explanation at your stupid sacrifice. You had just deflated your own fear and bargained for your safety in order to save him. There was a bitter taste curled and overwhelmed him at the tip of his tongue upon knowing he couldn’t do anything to diffuse the situation.

Spencer let his shoulder sink a little bit as Cyrus silently holstered his gun into his pants, allowing himself a brief relief upon knowing that he didn’t have to watch your demise today. It took everything inside him not to jump and inserted himself in between you and Cyrus as he yanked you to the ground by hair and a sound of your pained whimper filled the room. He couldn’t even bring himself to flinch when a rifle aimed towards him as his eyes fixated on the sight of you being dragged across the room.

“I told you not to put me in this position!” Cyrus snarked, releasing his hold on you and slammed you to the concrete floor. Spencer bit the inside of his cheeks and could feel the tip of his fingertips go frozen as dread and fear pumped rapidly into his system.

The sound of you being slapped filled the room made him flinch a little bit. He glanced briefly towards the rifle against him, giving him a brief break from the horrifying sight before him. Spencer could feel anger and disappointment filled him with the knowledge that he couldn’t do anything besides watching you being beaten mercilessly by Cyrus. It was supposed to be him. It was supposed to be him who took all the beating instead of you. You were everything good left in the world and you are a living reminder that there are lights and hope in life despite all the horror and worst face of humanity he was constantly being contaminated with.

What would he do if you were gone then? The brief horrifying thought flashed before his eyes as he watched Cyrus slammed your defenseless body into the ground again. He could feel hot tears prickling in his eyes at the thought of living his life in void and helplessness if you ceased to exist before his eyes. Spencer collapsed his balled fist into his lap as the realization that he couldn’t live without you washed through him.

Spencer squeezed his eyes shut as your body was slammed against the wall and hit the mirror, refusing to picture the sharp shard of glass cutting your skin.

“Proverb 23rd tells us that bloods and wounds cleanse out evil,” Cyrus recited as he yanked you by the collar again and slammed you against the wall. Spencer could feel anger and disdain boiled inside him as he watched your body helplessly fall into the floor after the impact of your collision with the wall.

“I can take it,” you said with a firm voice. Spencer caught your eyes briefly as your eyes flickered in between him and Cyrus that stood in between you and him.

His heart fell into the bottom of his stomach like a heavy sandbag. He knew what you meant from your firm stares alone. You only said that to reassure him and signal the team outside not to come in a rush. It was a minimal loss situation, Spencer had concluded. He drew a sharp breath as he mentally prepared himself for a situation where he couldn’t possibly save everyone and had to accept however many people he could save while others perished.

Spencer glanced up to meet your eyes again before Cyrus moved to block his sight. He furrowed his eyebrows at the sight of your eyes screaming I’m fine, I’m okay at him with blood flowing freely from your broken nose. Dread settled painfully in his bones that the possibility of the team having to choose between your life or his was too close than he liked.

He blinked his eyes to shoo away the tears that threatened to fall. He couldn’t afford it. He couldn’t risk blowing up another cover that guaranteed his life when you had sacrificed yours for him.

Cyrus beat and slapped you for another round with disdain painted clearly on his face. “Pride comes before the fall,” he said as he punched your stomach and slammed you to the floor, thinking you were antagonizing him as you repeatedly said you could take it. Spencer let out a relieved sigh as Cyrus took a step back from you and left you shaking with pain on the ground, instructed Cristopher to tie you up and took you upstairs.

Not today, he reassured himself. Forcing himself to be satisfied and grateful for your spared life. Not today.

***

Spencer had just successfully coaxed Cyrus into testing the negotiator for the FBI and proving them that they were not a liar and ensuring your safety. Disgust and anger brewing at the pit of his stomach every time Cyrus glanced his eyes towards him. He somewhat marveled at the plain trust Cyrus gave him effortlessly. The memory of him beating you hadn’t left his mind, still painted fresh and clear as if it still happened before his eyes. He had to mentally restrain himself from glaring in disgust at the thought of Cyrus molesting a child and beating you up until bloody and bruised.

“What is it, Christopher?” Cyrus addressed his man that had been trying to shot down Spencer’s suggestion regarding the situation. Only then Spencer turned his attention fully at him who had been pacing around in agitation repeatedly.

“Some of them had been talking about leaving,” he sighed.

“Leaving?” Cyrus pressed his lips together as Christopher affirmed his question. Spencer balled his fist and hid it inside the pocket of his pants as he waited in antagonizing anticipation with whatever next step Cyrus would take. “Wake the baby. Let’s get them meet the orphan that they made.”

Spencer nodded mutely at Cyrus’s decision. He let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding this whole time, letting himself loose a little bit and allowed himself to feel relief washed through him. Cyrus had taken the big bait and he had ensured your safety with his lies and negotiation skill. It was the least thing he could do after what you did for him.

He knew he would be damned if he couldn’t get you out of his god forsaken place alive. For now he just has to give and surrender with whatever fate is waiting for him into the hands of the team waiting outside. He took one longing glance outside from the window, wishing that he would be staring into the starless sky with you right now.

***

Spencer watched from the back silently as the members of the cult filled the empty chair inside the chapel one by one. What was once an empty and quiet chapel now buzzing with life and the air was stale and raked with fear. The negotiation test went as smoothly as Spencer could wished for. He heard Rossi rattling out your identity to Cyrus in exchange for your safety from a speaker phone as they released the orphan into the team outside.

You emerged from the opposite end of the chapel, a swarm of children and women pushed through from behind you. Spencer stared and watched the way the sunlight that slips through the chapel window fell into your skin. The glowing sunlight from behind your back casted a halo behind your figure. He noticed that your blood had been cleaned up and there were a few specks of dried blood on the collar of your shirt. Some newly formed bruises littered your face, angry and red and was a painful sight to behold. He hated it.

Cyrus was listing out names from the list he had written the day before as Spencer slowly made his way towards you. Everyone’s attention was focused on their leader calling out the names on the altar, but Spencer’s focus was solely on you. Your eyes were watching Cyrus solemnly as you leaned yourself into the wall to support your weight.

Spencer lifted his hand to touch your face and stopped midair before he realized a tad bit too late. His finger twitched painfully with a burning desire to feel you underneath his fingertips, but he couldn’t risk another round of beating and blowing up plans that had been rolling quite smoothly so far.

Guilt surged inside him like the sea, disdain and bitterness brewing and threatening to explode from the bottom of his stomach. He could feel himself dying a little bit inside at the frightening state you were in, all because you were sacrificing your life for him. For his sake when he wasn’t even sure he deserved it.

You finally acknowledged his presence and spared him a glance. Your eyebrows furrowed together in distress and Spencer had to restrain himself from the temptation to put his thumb in between your eyebrows and smoothen out your stress wrinkle between your eyebrows. If he could take away all your pain, he would.

“He looks pissed,” you whisper-yelling at him. Spencer couldn’t bring himself to respond to your words. Even after you took the downfall and hard beatings for him, you still think about other’s well-being instead of yours.

You took another glance towards him from the lack of response from his part. Your eyes scanned his face briefly before your lips twitched into a soft, reassuring smile. “I’m okay. It’s not as bad as it looks.”

Spencer shook his head, refusing to believe your words. “I’m so sorry,” he croaked, his voice hoarse and full of regret scratching his throat painfully.

“No, no,” you shook your head and quickly squashed his apology. “No apologies. We both know one of us has to take it.”

“But why should it be you?” Spencer hissed through his greeted teeth. His distress and agitation, and overall emotions that he had been trying to tuck and buried it away seeped into the surface. He could feel his mask cracking and threatened to be broken, and he was thankful for the roaring voice of Cyrus listing out names that masked his own. “Why should it be you? Why couldn’t it be me?”

“He had a gun against your head, Reid!” you hissed back with an equal amount of emotions laced on your voice. “I couldn’t risk it. I couldn’t let them kill you. I know they would kill you first if one of us refused to answer. I can’t, Spencer, I—” you took a sharp breath and glanced away from his prying wide eyes. He could hear your voice wavering and your eyes glossed with tears. “Look at the people he’s releasing.”

“It’s the one who failed the loyalty test,” he observed. The previous slip of emotions was being put to the back of his mind again as he noticed the new fact he just found. “I’ll get word to the team, wait for the sign from outside indicating what time the raid will come.”

You stared at him with a wide eye, confusion and fear swirled together. You looked so vulnerable and small like that, like a polished porcelain that could crumble into dust anytime. Spencer nodded firmly and gave you a reassuring smile, silently asking you to believe him. He almost jolted with surprise when you grabbed his hand and squeezed it tightly and briefly, understanding what he was trying to do.

“Be careful,” you whispered.

He nodded and turned away to make his way to Cyrus, not believing himself to utter any single words without breaking down. He was determined to make sure you were safe and would make it out alive, whatever it takes.

“Told her she shouldn’t have blinded you like that,” Spencer told Cyrus with a faux exasperation and disappointment. He shuddered when Cyrus nodded sympathetically.

“To either of us,” he corrected him sympathetically, which made Spencer want to do nothing but curl up in disgust. Cyrus jerked his chin towards your direction and addressed Christopher, “Bring her back.”

Spencer watched you being dragged up by your upper arms into wherever they were keeping you. He forcefully gulped and shook away the lump of dread on his throat, disbanding it as soon as it was formed. His eyes were apologetic and yours were nothing but filled with determination and forced bravery.

Those who had failed for the test were ushered out of the farm through the front door. Spencer mentally counted the amount of people who walked out into a guaranteed safety, relieved that it held a much greater amount that he had prepared. It was only a matter of saving the rest and finding a way in for the team to bring you and him out of this place.

Cyrus was making his final and last negotiation call with Rossi, asking for a fried chicken and its sides for their last supper and the presence of media to document his sacrifice to God. A suicide attempt to bring down himself and his faithful fanatic followers was a more appealing option to him rather than surrender himself to the authority apparently. It was obvious from the first time Spencer stepped into the building, but it still didn’t fail to fill him with dread and fear.

“I’m always looking for signs of things to come,” Spencer explained to Christopher with a polite smile after he demanded how he had known Cyrus’s plan of final act of sacrifice all along. He maintained his gaze firmly and silently wishing that the team would catch his words through the parable microphone planted outside. It would be his only hope and way for them to come in.

***

Thick smog and fire blinded his sight and blocked his way. Spencer stumbled upon a block of brunt wooden log as Morgan dragged his limping body outside the chapel. Cyrus was dead, but Jesse had finished his suicide mission by blowing up the chapel and the rest of the building. He could hear sirens blaring outside and faint sounds of wails and fearful screams mixed together in the air.

The thought of you trapped inside the building flashed before his eyes for a moment. He didn’t have a moment to glance back to make sure about your whereabouts as he kept coughing and stumbling, Morgan’s grip still firm on his upper hand to drag him outside into safety. Fear started to paralyze his body that he nearly fell into the concrete fall face first. He just needed to see you, to make sure you were safe.

He didn’t know that the sight of armed soldiers and police cars could bring an immense amount of comfort for him. Spencer nearly cried at the overwhelming relief that he was out unharmed, slipped by the last strand of his hair from his ultimate demise. But he couldn’t allow himself to be relieved and comfortable before he knew where you were. Before he knew if you were safe.

“Spencer!” your voice came faintly in between the chaotic sirens and the sound of angry fire eating up the chapel. “Morgan!”

Spencer watched you squirm out of Emily’s embrace, running limpy towards him. He knew he had burst into tears as soon as his eyes landed on you, safe, alive, although littered with bruises and dried blood on your shirt. His shoulders sank and shook as your arms wrapped around him tightly, all the horror, fear, and dread that he didn’t allow himself to feel in the past few days before had rushed into him and knocked all the air out of his lungs.

Relief and comfort of knowing you were safe in his arms was a breath of fresh air for his burned lungs. Usually he would squirm at the thought of touching someone, but the steady rise of your chest as you breath against him overcame all the unfortunate uncomfortable thoughts that came with the activity of hugging someone.

“You’re safe,” Spencer gasped as he released you from his embrace. He was aware that everyone was watching him hugging you and he fought all the mortification that slowly crept up his cheeks. He tried to mask it away as being a relief to find his coworker made it out alive from the sticky hostage situation.

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” you reassured him with one last firm squeeze on his arms. He wanted nothing but to pull you into his arms again, shield you for any harms lurking in the outside world. The anger that had been forgotten on the back of his mind surged inside him again. But he had to be satisfied with only one final squeeze as you parted from him to be checked by the paramedics.

The flight back to Quantico was quiet and a peaceful one. Everyone was winding up and breathing from the horror of the case that just wrapped up. Spencer tried his best to distract his mind with his book, burrowed in the furthest corner of the jet as the comforting and steady hum of the jet lulled him to sleep.

You slipped into the empty seat right across from him. A weak smile and a timid greeting were exchanged between you and silence followed right after. Spencer knew what conversation would follow after this, and he didn’t want to face it just yet. He had stopped reading from the moment you took the seat and watched him with careful eyes, but he still put up the act in the hope it would steer you away from bursting his bubble.

It did not. Spencer didn’t put up a fight as you gently took his book away from his hands and placed it gently on the table.

“I need you to listen to me,” you started with a firm voice. You were wearing the nice lilac shirt that Spencer liked, and the bruises on your face had started to heal and fade away. “What Cyrus did to me is not your fault. It was my decision and I would do it again.”

Spencer opened his mouth to say something, but you tilted your head with your lips pressing together, discouraging him to counter your statement. He took a sharp breath and shook his head.

“Do you hear me?” your voice was softer this time. Your hands silently reached for his and held them gently. Your thumb made a soothing pattern on his knuckles, a reassuring and determined smile was on your face. Spencer couldn’t look away even if he wanted to. “Do you hear me, Spencer? I will do it again. It wasn’t your fault. It was my decision.”

“I know,” he answered finally.

“Thank you.”

“Please know that I will do the same for you.”

His words had caught you off guard. You stared briefly before nodding, patting the top of his hand gently with your hand as you gave him a really bright smile. Spencer let himself sink further into the comfortable leather seat and let relief washed through him again. Everything will be okay.

#spencer reid #minimal loss #criminal minds #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #cm #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst #cm fluff #cm angst #mgg #matthew gray gubler #minimal loss reimagined

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ikindamissbeingphysical · 4 years ago

Text

5 Times Musa wore Riven’s clothes

Read here or on ao3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29376804

The Alfea Games is a bullshit annual tradition. It's an exam masquerading as a tournament, just a way for the teachers and high rankers of the Kingdom to see who they want to pluck out of the Academy and take for their army, or task force, or some other random position Riven could really not care less about.

Still, he's competitive, and if there's one thing he likes doing, it's beating Sky.

He slashes, a dagger in each fist, at the Burned One projection and it falls to its knees shrieking.

The stands are full of students cheering, and Riven gets a rush at their applause.

"Show off." Sky pants from beside him, as Riven's tally flicks up to 7, and Sky's stays stubbornly at 4.

"Jealous, much?" Riven grins; relieved when the half-time bell chimes because his legs are sore, and the late afternoon sun still burns as it begins to dip out of the sky. He and the other Specialists head over to the shade and he rifles through his rucksack for some water as Sky goes to kiss Bloom, who's leaning over the rail; red tresses swaying in the breeze.

"You were amazing!" Bloom gushes, and Sky beams at her, and Riven mimes throwing up.

Someone laughs.

He turns to see Musa, headphones around her neck, hair in pigtails, and-and-

In his jacket.

She's wearing his jacket. His leather jacket. It's draped over her shoulders. Her bare shoulders, because she's wearing some strapless, form-fitting purple dress, and Riven's coat, she's wearing Riven's-

"You okay, man?" Sky asks, and Riven realises they're all looking at him, and he's still looking at Musa, and her big, brown eyes are lit up a sort of hazel in the red setting sun.

He nods, waving them off, and chugs more of his water, trying to temper his heartbeat.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Musa asks, more quietly, her irises flaring purple. Her eyebrows stitch together worriedly. "You're like- really anxious. It's just a game."

"Stay out of my head." He hisses furiously, petrified that she might be able to see, might be able to tell-

She leans away from him, scowling. "Fine. Whatever."

He's grateful when the bell rings again, but his winning streak is gone. As the flood-lights turn on and the sun disappears, he misses target after target. He keeps getting pinned by fucking rookies and everyone else's tally continues to jump up as his dies on a plateau.

He can see her, in his peripheral, wearing his jacket and she probably doesn't even know it's his. She probably doesn't know how she looks in that leather swamping her frame, the collar resting at her neck, where the skin looks so soft that-

"Fuck, dude," Sky curses, hauling Riven off his ass. "Pull yourself together."

"She's wearing my jacket." He snaps, and Sky looks at him blankly for a moment, before he groans.

"Dude, I know you're like, against sharing, but she was freezing and it was just lying there. I'd have given her mine, but Bloom had already-"

"It's fine, just-" Riven tries to shake it off, "I'm focused."

He can't help a final glance over his shoulder, to see Musa leaning sleepily against the railings, headphones now secured over her ears, resting her chin on her arms. On his jacket sleeves. She's lit by the silver floodlights, and her eyes are half-closed, and he wonders what she's listening to. He wonders-

The Burned One knocks him to the ground, and the buzzer blares.

The next day, traces of her perfume linger on his jacket, swirling around him the way she does, always, in his thoughts.

It's sweet, like honey and vanilla, like home-spun sugar and toffee.

He'd found his jacket right on the bench where he'd left it after the game: the stands empty, the game over. It had been folded neatly and left just beside his things and he'd slid it on and tried not to replay their interaction in his head.

Today's a new day.

As part of Sky's new scheme to become the best boyfriend in the history of boyfriends, they've been sitting with the Winx Suite most lunch times. It's not exactly Riven's idea of a good time. He feels some horrid mix of guilt and irritation whenever he looks at Terra, and Aisha glowers at him like his very proximity will end in her getting a suspension. He spends most of the time arguing with Stella, and trying (failing) not to look at Musa while Sky and Bloom stray the line between PDA and go get a room.

When he gets to the cafeteria and heads for the table, he's surprised, and maybe a little thrilled, to see that it's just Musa at the table.

She stands up as soon as she seems him.

"Good, the others just left. They wanted to have lunch out by the lake. Bloom has apparently ‘found a place’. C'mon, we can catch up."

He has no option but to follow her, and sure enough, half-way across the field is the whole merry-fucking-gang. Riven doesn't know how to feel. Sky could've texted, if his brain was capable of fathoming anything other than Bloom when she was nearby. Were they even going to invite him? Was he going to get to the cafeteria to see an empty table? They probably wouldn't have missed him anyway, he thinks bitterly.

And yet- Musa was there. Waiting.

He looks at her thoughtfully, and her eyes flash purple when she catches him. She winces. "It wasn't like that." She says, "they were caught up in the idea of going there. They weren't purposely trying to leave you behind."

Jesus Christ, can't she just-

"I'm sorry," she barrels on, as they fall into the same steps, almost caught up to the others. "I'm trying to respect your privacy and everything, I'm working on it- my control isn't great at the moment."

"You should work on that." He mutters.

Her shoulders slump dejectedly. "I know."

Well, fuck, he didn't mean to- he swallows hard. "I'm tanking my field training." He says, trying to ignore her look of surprise at this freely-offered information. "Great at everything else, but camouflage? The element of surprise? I'm struggling. It's hard. I also fucking hate it, so there's that."

She huffs out a small laugh. "I bet you just like the thrill of attacking someone face to face. None of that 'sneaking up on you' bullshit."

He grins before he can check himself, and she catches it, and smiles too.

"There you are!" Bloom calls excitedly, "c'mon, we're gonna use Stella's ring."

Riven hates to give Bloom props for anything- and it isn't because he doesn't like her, or anything like that- he's just reluctant to acknowledge anybody's good traits since they all seem so loathe to see any in him- but the lake is nice.

Large and leafy green, surrounded by trees and over-hung by the clear blue sky. There's a sunbeaten deck strutting proudly into the middle, and Aisha strips out of her clothes to reveal a swim suit, and in three great strides, dives in like a dolphin.

The rest of them stare after her in awe.

"Are you always wearing that under your clothes?" Riven asks, toeing off his shoes, watching as Aisha tumble turns and glides through the water like a dolphin. She smiles at him from the water, and he's surprised by the look of it on her face. For the first time, she looks relaxed. Stress-free. Content.

Bloom and Stella change into their swim suits, as he and Sky just strip down to their boxers. Bloom wolf-whistles, and Sky blushes.

Riven puffs his chest out, winking at Stella who scoffs at him. He turns to find Musa. She's shrugged off her coat and shoes, and is rifling through her bag in confusion. She's too pre-occupied to notice his abs. Riven tries not to take offence.

"I can't find my- oh shit." Musa groans, thumping her head. "I left it back in the fire circle."

"Oh! Don't worry, Musa," Terra says brightly, as she sits, fully-dressed, on the mossy bank, with a stack of books beside her. "You can sit this one out with me!"

Musa turns to her with a smile (that to Riven, looks fucking forced) just as Bloom and Sky jump in. They scream, splashing Stella who cannon-balls in after them. Riven watches Musa's face, can see the hidden longing in her eyes.

A part of him wants to tease her, entice her in by saying how much he wouldn't mind if they decided to go skinny-dipping instead, but he knows it ultimately wouldn't work. Instead, he reaches for his discarded black tee, and tosses it to her.

"Should be long enough to preserve your modesty," he says, going for casual and heading for the dock. "Considering you're such a short-arse."

Musa sticks her tongue out at him, but she eagerly turns to get changed and Riven plunges into the lake to resist the urge to watch.

The water is warm and licks at his skin as the sun beats down onto his shoulders. It's deep and he can't quite graze the bottom, and he's suddenly, a little stupidly, grateful for knowing Sky. Grateful that he gets to be here. He floats on his back, staring up at the sky and letting himself just bask in the moment. As the water laps in his ears, he can hear the others laughing, Aisha swimming, Stella screaming, and the sun warms red spots onto his eye lids, marvellous colours in the dark- so he opens them.

Just in time to see Musa standing on the dock.

Suddenly, all his attention is on her. Her long, tan legs on display, his tee, his t-shirt, tickling down past her hips, and she jumps.

Okay. Turns out it's not a leather jacket thing. Anything that's his looks good on her. He could look good on her.

He watches for her when she re-surfaces, as she joins in splashing Stella, and he waits, waits, waits, until- victory.

She swims over to him. A little way away from the group, to where he's treading water alone. The t-shirt clings to her and he wants to touch her and-

"Hey," she says, with wet hair and water droplets on her eyelashes. "Thanks for the tee."

He shrugs. "I'd rather you'd jumped in without anything on."

She hits him, but finally, finally, he gets her eyes on him. They linger, as the water rivets roll down the breadth of his shoulders, his chest, down to- her eyes flicker away, cheeks red.

"Don't be shy," he purrs, "I'm hot. It's not a sin to look. You're hot too. Dancer’s body. Bet you're flexible."

"Wouldn't you like to know?" She murmurs, before her eyes flash purple. He tries not to let it irritate him. He hates the violation of his privacy, but he knows she can't control it- but she turns away from him, and he follows her gaze to Terra, sitting balefully alone. "If I do what I'm gonna do," she whispers, and his heart trips up a little, at her whispering to him over the water, pulling him in closer. A secret just for the two of them. "Promise you won't tell anyone."

Riven grins. "I'm great with secrets."

Musa takes a breath, before she stares at Terra, face tense with concentration, eyes shimmering purple.

Riven turns to look at Terra expectantly. "You're mind-controlling her?"

"No." Musa mutters, still focused, "I'm just trying to increase her confidence, trying to-"

Terra looks up suddenly, and Musa hurriedly grabs Riven's arm to move behind him.

"The water does look good!" Terra calls, "is it warm?"

"Oh, it's lovely, Terra!" Musa hollers back, "you should come in!"

"Yes! Join us!" Bloom sings, from her position perched on Sky's shoulders.

Terra wavers. Riven can feel Musa's hand curled around his arm, her body against his back. "I don't have my costume!" She yells.

"You're wearing like five layers," Stella calls, "you can spare one."

Terra chews on her bottom lip, and Riven turns his head to whisper: "can't you boost it anymore?"

"I'm trying." Musa insists quietly, "I can't manufacture it. I can only enhance what's already there."

"Terra," Riven yells, startling her, "if you come in, I'll let you dunk me."

Sky bursts out laughing, and Terra giggles.

"Well, I can't resist that!" She says, getting to her feet. Riven turns away, looking down at Musa who's beaming up at him.

"Wow." She says, pressing her lips together to hide the glee in her tone. "That was very sweet."

"Fuck off." Riven mutters, but his eyes are on the collar of his wet tee as it clings to her skin. "I only did it because that was bloody painful to watch. By the way, is there anything else you can do with your powers that I should watch out for?"

Musa tips her head contemplatively. "Actually, yes." She lifts her hands and cups his face. He startles a little, at her fingertips against his jaw, before he sees her eyes purple and shimmer, and then suddenly, a weird emotion clouds into his head. It's familiar yet foreign, it's-

gratitude?

"It's meant to be gratitude." Musa says, when her eyes are back to normal and she's panting a little, "I'm not great at-"

"I got it." He reassures her, “I felt it."

She smiles, pleased, pushing away from him to swim further to the centre of the lake.

He watches her go, mind reeling. More powerful than he thought, though he's not sure why he's surprised. He can still feel her hands on his face. He wants to swim after her, but Terra and Sky corner him, eager to see him dunked.

It marks a turning point for the group as a whole.

The afternoon at the lake has softened grudges, strengthened bonds, and Terra talks to him more over lunch. Aisha doesn't bore him so much, not now he can see her for more than a stuck-up rule-follower. He and Stella get along as well as they usually do, but their barbs seem less sharp than before. Bloom has always been pretty accepting, and Musa-

Well, she's Musa.

She's making him lose all sense of normalcy, of sanity, because that's the only reason he'd agree to this fucking slumber party.

"No, I think it was better over there." Sky says, changing his mind for the fourth time, as Riven struggles under the weight of the mattress. The entire floor is covered with pillows and cushions and Sky needs to make up his mind before Riven kills him. "No, no, you were right- put it back."

"Jesus," Riven groans, setting it down and spotting the stack of Disney Princess movies. "We're two guys about to sleep with five girls, and you're suggesting we watch Pocahontas?"

"They won the coin toss," Sky shrugs, "besides, I always liked the little hummingbird."

The girls arrive after Laurie, the RI for the floor, has done her final rounds. They shuffle into the room on tiptoes, and Riven closes it behind them, meeting Musa's eyes. Her hair's down and loose around her shoulders, and he's never seen it like that before. In her soft looking, cotton pyjamas, some rainbow sweater, she's more enticing than usual so he busies himself with the popcorn as Sky sets out the rest of the snacks.

"This is a nice set-up, guys," Bloom grins, getting comfy right in the middle. Sky joins her, and soon, the lights are off- bar Stella's glowing little ball- and everyone's shuffling into place.

Bloom and Sky are cosied up to one another, and Aisha and Terra are tucked neatly into one corner. Stella fancies herself above the ground, and lies on Sky's bed, half her attention on her phone.

Musa settles in the other corner, leaning against a mountain of cushions, and Riven debates for about half a second before he joins her.

"Hi," she whispers, sounding pleased, "wanna hear a sad story?"

Their thighs are touching. Her fleece pants are warm against his bare leg, and the cushions are ridiculously comfortable, and she looks so different with her hair down, her face almost obscured from him. "Sure," he whispers back.

She points are her bare feet. "I forgot my socks."

He snorts. "If that's your idea of a sad story-" he breaks off into a hiss when she cruelly presses her toes onto his shin. "Jesus, they're fucking ice." He complains, and she laughs, tossing a kernel of popcorn into the air and catching it perfectly between her teeth.

He reaches over her, feels her entire body stiffen and does his best to ignore it, opening one of his drawers and pulling out a pair of mis-matched socks.

She takes them gleefully, leaning down to pull them on. Her shirt rides up and he catches a glimpse of her lower back, and when she sits up- she catches him. Their eyes dart away from each other, and the first hour of Pocahontas is a stiff, awkward affair. The darkness seems to electrify the space between them and Riven's too afraid to move. Musa seems to be feeling the same way, but then Terra starts singing along with the song, and the the air relaxes a little.

Then, somehow, in Little Mermaid 2, Riven's oddly invested in Melody and her pull to the sea, when Musa sighs, sinking back further into the cushions, resting her body weight on Riven, looking completely content.

"You comfortable?" He teases, and she smiles lazily up at him, wiggling her toes in his socks.

"Very comfortable." She says, and he isn't thinking when he says:

"You're insufferably cute, you know that?"

He regrets it immediately, but it's slipped out, and Musa barely seems to notice his panic. She just yawns, and then she- she- rests her head on his shoulder, and her hair fans down over him, and tickles his arm.

He feels, suddenly, the rather vicious urge to protect her. He's on high-alert, for some reason, for any intruder, because she's here, half-asleep, resting against him. So trusting. So vulnerable, and-

The DVD menu chimes on repeat, and when Riven looks up he realises that everyone else is asleep, and Stella's orb of light has vanished into darkness, and that it's well past midnight.

Slowly, gently, he rests his cheek on Musa's head, feels the way they're tucked in together, and he closes his eyes.

He's not sure how it happened.

How they can go one minute from a group of friends binging Disney movies, to out here, in the woods, watching Bloom's fucking fire wings and surrounded on all sides by Burned Ones. Real ones. Not projections.

The girls are all glowing, eyes burning, and there's splashes of water, tangling ivy, shooting flames, blinding light and Musa: shouting locations as she tracks them.

"Try to project lethargy!" Aisha screams, clutching one arm, as Sky slashes a Burned One along the chest.

Riven jams two sharp jabs into the torso of another, and growls over his shoulder. "She's already fucking tracking them, Aisha! Why don't you just water-board them some more?"

Musa doesn't mediate their bickering, just whirls and points and says "Another three over there, I can sense them. They want Bloom!"

Sky and Terra immediately run over to Bloom, who has fire burning along her shoulders, and it's so arresting a sight that Riven doesn't even notice when the Burned One crumbles into ash beneath him.

He doesn't notice when another hisses just to his left. He can't get his blade out in time, and it has one deformed hand around his throat, claws pricking into his skin when Musa's suddenly shoving him away, taking his place, and he just has time to notice, to scream- when she lunges forward, and stabs the monster in the chest. It howls, and she yells out in unison, her voice shaking with agony, a sound that'll haunt him.

The Burned One crumples, and Musa with it.

"Musa!" Stella cries, racing over, trying to get closer, but Riven blocks her, taking Musa's chin in his hands, tilting her face up. There are tears stained along her cheeks, and her eyes are still rimmed purple.

"I felt it," she gasps, clutching Riven's arms, still shaking, "I felt it die, I felt it-"

"It's okay." Stella insists, voice shaky, rubbing Musa's back. "You did amazing, you did so great."

Musa clenches her eyes shut. "I've gotta- I can feel more of them."

"Take a minute." Riven pleads, trying to catch his breath, feeling blood move sluggishly down his own neck. "Take a minute, you just fucking saved my life, you're allowed a goddamn minute."

His entire being seems to light up at the small, strained smile she gives him. Stella sees the smile too, so she shoots Riven a look that says keep going, moron.

He doesn't need her prompting. "And what a sexy knife move. Where'd you get that blade?"

This earns more of a laugh from her. Relieved and a little hysterical sounding, but a laugh nonetheless. She holds the blade up, and its blue handle glints in the moonlight. "Stole it from you." She says, and he wants to tell her it isn't the only thing she's stolen from him. She has everything he is in the palm of her hand, and she saved his life. She hands the dagger back to him, and he shakes his head.

"Keep it. You look hot with a knife in your hand."

Musa laughs again, still a little choked up, and the two of them help her to her feet. He doesn't want to let go for her, but she sniffles, nodding, so Riven just sticks close by the rest of the night.

They defeat the burned ones with minimal injuries. Aisha's leg is broken, and Terra's bandaged it as best she can, as they limp back to the school. Dowling and Silva meet them half way, overflowing with worry and gratitude, and at their insistence, Riven collapses into a bed in the infirmary as they tend to his neck.

They put Musa in the bed beside him, and he sees claw marks on her ribs, and it's a good thing the Burned Ones are dead, because it's the only thing stopping him from marching right out into that forest to have their heads.

He's on his way back from the drinks table, two glasses in his hands, when he notices that Musa isn't there anymore.

Terra points to the back door. "She needed to step out. Mind fairy thing."

Riven nods, setting down the drinks and heading for the exit.

It's a warm summer night, and the air is humid, and Musa's standing out on the grass, gazing up at the stars.

She must feel his mental presence, because she turns and smiles.

He heads over to her, and she steps easily into the circle of his arms, and he holds her tightly.

Here they are. At the Alfea Ball, dating. Their three month anniversary is coming up soon, and Riven has something in mind. He's excited to see her reaction. But right now, he just basks in having her in his arms. She's a vision, in a lace-sleeved, indigo dress, her hair up the way he likes, and heels that mean she doesn't need to tiptoe to kiss him.

"Sorry," she murmurs, "got a little loud in there."

"I don't mind," he reassures, dropping a kiss onto her head. He feels her shiver, so he shrugs out of his tux jacket and drapes it over her shoulders. As pulls it around her, she looks up at him, soft and smiling, and his throat goes a little dry. "What?"

"Nothing," she shrugs, "you just look very dapper in your tux. I'm feeling it." Her hands slide up onto the plane of his chest, and he grins, nipping at her nose.

"Shall we get out of here, then?"

She hums in agreement, but tangles her fingers into his hair to pull him down for a kiss. As usual, the heat flares down to his stomach, and he pulls her tighter to his body.

"We should get out of here," he insists, kissing at her jaw, "or we'll definitely get suspended."

Musa laughs, and she leads the way back to the dorms.

Once there, he whispers, low and greedy into her ear, to take off everything but his jacket.

"Is this some sort of kink?" She asks delightedly, once his tux suit is the only thing on her gorgeous body, and she's straddling him, thighs spread over his, her fingers dragging through his hair.

"I don't know," he admits, even though he knows it's only a thing for him when she's involved. "I think I just look really good on you."

She bites his neck and scratches his down his back, and it hurts and he loves it, and she looks down at the marks like a satisfied kitten with tiger claws. "I look good on you too." She whispers, and he kisses her again.

And again.

#rivusa #riven x musa #fate: the winx saga #mutual pining #fic

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wallwriterstuff · 4 years ago

Text

Still Learning ||Demetri Volturi x Female Reader||

Part 1: Little Rabbit

Warnings: None, this is fairly fluffy for once.

Words: 3161

Summary: A part 2 to Little Rabbit as requested by @clowence.

It’s been a few months since Demetri took you in now, and you’re starting to realise he’s more than just a mentor to you.

3 secretaries, 2 weeks in the dungeons for each one, and 1 one very patient man.

That was the brief version of your time with the Volturi so far. Demetri had been enraged when the Masters’ sent you to the dungeons the first time, though he had reluctantly let you go without a fight when it happened twice more. You had tried your best to be good, really you had, but the secretaries had just smelled so good and you were so thirsty all the damn time...

“And that is why you never lose focus in a fight.” Felix’s fist was like a sledgehammer against your jaw, shattering the porcelain skin. You hit the floor hard, a hiss escaping your throat. Felix had been assigned to train you by Demetri himself, since he trusted very few people to be around you, but Felix trained you hard. Your daily routine consisted of being his punch bag for a few hours, but it gave you something else to focus on other than the grating thirst. It was like a constant itch in the back of your throat, one that grew worse and made your throat raw when you were thirsty but was slowly dimming to background noise as the months passed.

Demetri had kept a close eye on you for the nine months you had been with him. Not once in all that time had decided to tell you you were his mate of course, seeing your obvious struggle with day to day existence and not wanting to add to that. The Volturi was not a place for newborns. It was a coven of much older, experienced vampires who had harnessed their gifts and their thirst – you were very much an outsider. Constantly teased, constantly under siege by your own instincts, and yet…you made him proud every single day. He made sure you had the room next to his, Aro not denying you that privilege of living amongst the higher guard after seeing Demetri’s thoughts on the matter.

Silently, he had watched you try to adjust to your new life, and after seeing your evenings were the hardest to deal with he had set up a nightly routine of visiting you when he didn’t have a duty assigned to him or something to do. You quickly picked up the Italian he taught you, your new mind quick to recall everything you had ever thought or seen from the moment you had awoken in this life, and he had been pleasantly surprised by your eagerness to learn some Greek from him to, completely oblivious that it was an attempt on your part simply to show him a little gratitude and interest.

The truth was, he knew you better than you knew yourself in this life. The moment you started to have a little wobble Demetri was at your side like he had never left it, and the intensity of the flurry of emotions he invoked was too much for you to bear some nights. After months spent in his company, nights where reading together became nights you spent curled up next to him as he read to you, casual touches began to linger, his hand on your waist as you moved past one another in the halls or your hand touching his as you passed books between you. He no longer held you back by the shoulders as he tried to teach you some restraint as you fed (your weekly trips to Florence something you very much looked forward to as it meant a bit of alone time with him) but by the hips instead, his lips playing along your hairline distracting you more than anything so you weren’t always sure if it was your actual self-control getting better or if you were just growing more aware of Demetri.

Felix had your back pressed into the floor once more, his hands gripping your head lightly.

“And now I can take your head off of your shoulders. What is distracting you today?” he asked. You groaned, struggling weakly until Felix let you up.

“I just am.” You grumbled. How was you supposed to tell him his best friend was invading your thoughts? You couldn’t. Felix would absolutely rip you apart.

“Distractions always have a root cause.” He pointed out neutrally. A flash of irritation made you hiss quietly before you took a breath to collect yourself. Felix smirked ever so slightly, sensing your frustration and silently lowering into a half-crouch to try and tempt you to take it out on him. You ignored him and ran a hand through your hair.

“I’m making no progress.” You huffed, a complete lie. Felix seemed to know it was a lie to but he let you get away with it, tilting his head slightly in what you thought was going to be a nod before it became a shake. You frowned.

“You have made a lot of progress, even if you don’t think that you have. I have been fighting newborns for over two millenia Y/N, most would not stand up to me like you can,” He assured you, “When your heads in the right place.” He added with a smirk.

“You’ll have a chance to prove you’ve made progress tonight.” Alec’s voice was a welcome one, even if you didn’t quite get on with the twins all the time. Jane was nowhere to be seen today but Alec stood tall in the doorway, arms folded over his chest. Your frown only deepened, mind racing a million miles ahead as to what that might mean. Did they want you to fight Felix in front of them? A mission maybe? Newborns didn’t go on missions, you were told so by a very upset Caius when you had first come to Volterra and asked what you might be doing to repay them for giving you a room.

“Put the poor girl out of her misery Alec, her mind is wandering today.” Felix chuckled.

“Heidi will be returning early today, Master Aro has extended an invitation to you to join us for feeding time.” Alec informed you. If you weren’t tense before you were now, your entire body freezing up a little. Feed with them? In the main hall? You had so little experience feeding around other vampires, your control still not perfect, what if you made a fool out of yourself in front of the entire guard?

“If vampires could go pale…”Felix grinned wickedly, obviously enjoying your discomfort. You shot him a glare.

“I’m hardly a pro at any of this!” you protested. Part of you were sure this was a test, or maybe a punishment. Caius had been very upset with you for killing their pilot and every secretary you had accidentally slaughtered had only kept you further and further out of his good graces. This had to be some sort of test for you, and you feared the dungeons more than anything. The smell was awful and the dark was constant, the groans of fellow prisoners a constant echo in your ears. You didn’t want to go back there.

“Y/N stop panicking, I’m sure with all the hard work you and Demetri have put in you’ll be fine.” Felix promised.

“I need to shower.” You murmured, fleeing the room before either of them could stop you. It was a lie, of course, vampires couldn’t sweat, but there was still something so calming about the hot water flowing over your frozen skin that for a few moments, you could simply escape your troubled thoughts. When you were done you sat on your bed in nothing more than your towel, staring distractedly at the door you were sure someone would come through to fetch you when Heidi arrived. Sulu didn’t let your mind drift too long, hopping up onto your bed and nosing at your hands in an effort to get you to stroke him.

Sulu’s tongue lolled out of his mouth, tongue wagging and pounding the mattress. What was Aro playing at? What could he possibly gain from making you feed with the others tonight? Was Demetri aware of this plan? Did he think you could do it? Would he be with you? Sulu licked at your hand, his big brown eyes questioning even if he couldn’t physically ask you anything. With a quiet sigh you leaned down to nuzzle him before crossing to your wardrobe, picking something appropriate to see the Masters’ in. You didn’t want to let Demetri down today, that was your biggest fear. He had helped you so much, given you so much of your life back when you thought it had been lost to you forever. The soft sound of scratching made you look up, slipping some socks on as you padded back to your room. Demetri lay on his side, fingers scratching at Sulu’s tummy.

“Heidi will be here any moment.” He said by way of greeting. You internally flinched. Not the news you wanted to hear. Apparently your silence was disconcerting to him and Demetri looked up with a frown, his eyes raking your body slightly while you avoided the dark burgundy irises, knowing they would see through every façade you put on.

“Great.” You murmured, moving towards your shoes by the door. You had barely jammed your feet into them when warm hands pulled you into a sturdy chest. The familiar softness of his lips found your temple, and you unwittingly relaxed into his grip.

“Stop worrying so much, you will be fine.” He promised. The affection was a tad overwhelming to your already overworking mind but you let yourself drown in it anyway.

“What if I mess up? I don’t want to go back to the dungeons.” You whispered, voice wavering slightly. Demetri squeezed your hips.

“You have nothing to fear. I will be right there with you.” His reassurances were sweet in your ear and before you knew it he had led you hand in hand to the throne room. Exchanging a long look with him, you squeezed his hand tighter in the hopes he’d know not to let go. The rest of the guard had already assembled, the Masters’ stood waiting to greet their tourists. Alec and Jane glanced towards you, Felix sending you the briefest of smiles. A few murmurs went up around the room and Demetri silenced them with a fierce glare.

“Ah, young Y/N. How wonderful to see you again. I have heard good things from the others.” Aro greeted you with an extended hand and you silently wished he hadn’t, wanting to keep your worries private. Still, you knew it wasn’t a request. Aro rifled through your thoughts like it was a slideshow put on just for him, and you dared not make eye contact as he chuckled. He neither confirmed nor denied your fears, simply let Demetri lead you away towards his station in the room. His hand was tight around your own.

“You will be fine darling, just remember all you have learned. No one is expecting perfection.” He promised you.

“I am.” Caius muttered, a sadistic grin spreading on his lips. You tensed up, hearing the familiar click of Heidi’s heels. It was followed by a gaggle of voices, a thousand beats of thudding hearts and the crash of blood rushing through veins, a similar sound to what your hazy mind could recall hearing at the Niagara Falls once when you visited. You tightened your grip on Demetri’s hand, holding your breath as he had taught you to do. His thumb moved in slow circles over the back of your hand. It felt like a small stretch of eternity had passed before Heidi even opened the doors, flashing you a bright grin as she went and introducing the end of the tour. Aro stood, all beaming smiles and clapping hands.

“Welcome! Welcome friends, to Volterra!” he cried, spreading his arms wide. You could shut off your lungs but not your ears. A cacophony of heartbeats and breathing and shuffling feet grated on your ears, every little sound rattling against your already frayed nerves. It was difficult to focus on Aro’s speech as it rambled on and on, Demetri squeezing your hand every now and then the only thing really grounding you – that and your fierce determination to prove every smug guard looking your way wrong. Clearly nobody expected you to last, and you couldn’t honestly blame them. Your patience was wearing thin, your throat feeling like someone had shoved a red hot poker down into its depths.

“Easy, Y/N, try to think past your thirst,” Demetri murmured. You hadn’t even realised you’d leaned forward until you were pulled back against his chest, his arms wrapped around you tightly. “Do not let them win, you are stronger than this.” He whispered, so low only you would hear. You grit your teeth, tearing your eyes away from the throbbing skin of a woman’s pulse.

“I can’t.” you hissed.

“You can.” He said firmly, tightening his grip on you. It was a horrific feeling, being unable to stop your mind from slipping away from you, but you could feel the frenzy taking hold, taking root in your mind. It was impossible to think past the roaring in your head and you instinctively began to struggle against Demetri’s hold, the warmth of his embrace starting to feel suffocating. There was a man across from you, a living, breathing human, with blood flowing beneath the surface of sweat dewed skin and a heart that was pounding in your ears, a tattoo in your brain you couldn’t seem to get rid of.

“And so concludes your tour…I do hope you enjoyed your stay.” You could hear him, but Aro’s words had no meaning in your head, no definition connected to any of them. They were empty, meaningless. Demetri’s grip suddenly disappeared and your head snapped around, teeth bared. He smiled slightly, giving you a nod.

“Now?” you ground out.

“Go ahead my love.”

You were away like a bullet from a gun, turning and launching yourself at the human opposite you. You’d never fed in such a public space, so many people around you, so many onlookers, but it didn’t seem to matter to you in that moment as instinct took over. You were lost to that first, hot burst of blood, drowning in complete ecstasy as a maelstrom of violence erupted around you. Your mind slowly filtered back to you as you drank, the fire clearing and conscious thought becoming easier. Picking your next target was more strategic than the first, since you had to avoid Santiago’s deadly glare as you did so, and by the time your woman of choice was limp in your arms there was a warm body behind yours. You sank into him immediately, falling back against his chest. His breath was still warm on your ear from the blood of his chosen victim.

“How bad do I look on a scale of one to ten?” you mumbled as the last of the screams died away. Demetri chuckled.

“To me, cara mia, you are always Aphrodite personified.” He promised. You smiled slightly, sure you would blush if you still could. Demetri was always dropping little compliments like that, and they almost always succeeded in making you forget where you were. It wasn’t until Aro’s slow applause echoed about the room that you remembered exactly where you were. Your head snapped toward him and you swallowed, glancing down at your shirt. You weren’t…messy, per say, but you certainly weren’t as spotless as the others.

“Well done young one, it seems Demetri has taught you well; I expected nothing less, of course.” He glanced to the tracker who stood a bit taller behind you.

“She is wearing half of her victim.” Caius sneered. You ducked your gaze a bit in embarrassment.

“But her control was applaudable, I admit I was betting against you.” Alec’s voice was warmer than usual and that mischievous sparkle was in his eye once more – he clearly enjoyed proving Caius wrong.

“Er…thanks?” you replied uncertainly. Demetri chuckled.

“If you would excuse us, Masters’, I think someone needs a fresh change of clothes.” He teased. You groaned softly but let him lead you from the room when Aro granted permission to do so. The walk back to your quarters was silent, but the air between you was charged. There were so many thoughts and feelings you had accrued in your head over the past 8 months, so many things you hadn’t actually said to him.

“Thank you.” You figured it was a good place to start. He glanced at you from the corner of his eye.

“For what? You did that all on your own.” He pointed out. You shook your head, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear and grimacing when your hand came back bloody.

“But you taught me to do that. You’ve taught me a lot, actually. I just...thank you, for giving me a chance to learn and not just…you know.” You trailed off awkwardly. Demetri paused, seemingly deliberating what he wanted to say before with a quiet sigh, he clasped the back of your neck, pulling you closer so he could press a lingering kiss to your forehead.

“You were the only one to survive you know, the only newborn that lived that day, because I selfishly could not imagine a world without you in it. Everything I do I do to keep you by my side, my motivations are the most selfish…you have no reason to thank me.” He murmured, his expression soft and adoring. You blinked, sure you were seeing and hearing wrong, but his thumb stroked your cheek tenderly as if to confirm his words. So he wanted you huh? The news warmed your soul, or whatever was left of it. It felt like the right moment.

“I love you.” You whispered. A hint of a smile crossed his lips.

“I have waited for those words.” He confessed, moving his lips from your forehead to his own.

“I love you.” You mumbled, already intoxicated by the merest brush of his lips on yours. Demetri hummed.

“One more time.”

“I love you.” You smiled, winding your arms around his neck. Demetri’s kiss was all consuming, deep and desperate in his effort to show you exactly how he had felt for the past 8 months since the day you had met. It was an outpouring of love and devotion and all the good kinds of things that made your toes curl, your heart soar.

“You need another shower.” He murmured, but his lips didn’t relinquish yours. You giggled, tugging at the hair at the nape of his neck. His low growl made your knees weak.

“In another moment of selfishness, are you planning on offering me yours?” you questioned. Demetri had lifted you off of the floor in a matter of seconds, grinning now.

“I’ll be as selfish as you let me my love.”

#twilight #twilight fanfiction #volturi #demetri volturi #demetri volturi x female reader #x reader #request #the student has become the master #sort of #reader is out here trying her best okay

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haro-whumps · 4 years ago

Note

Hey how do you think that would be a reverse version of GW? Like, instead of Galo getting the whumpees, the seven of them somehow, through a legal technicality, get a Galo that was Bethany's slave?How donyou think they'd all be, in this situation?

I would like to clarify that Galo and Bethany are NOT related in this version.

"... an old paramour," Greyson stated, hedging an explanation. Bethany had been, well, significantly too old for him, at the time. But he'd liked that.

Even so, he wasn't exactly chomping at the bit to disclose his past questionable relationships with his housemates.

"And what did she leave you, exactly?" Evan asked, wearing his joggers and leaning against the doorframe, Lilah dressed similarly and walking past him with a deep pull from her water bottle.

"Your guess is as good as mine," Greyson said, passing him the letter. Lilah propped her arm up on his shoulder, only to be dislodged as he propped his arm up on her head. The two leaned in and read the letter together, their faces screwing up at almost the exact same moment.

"Well that's cryptic," Lilah said, taking the page from Evan's hand and flipping it over, checking the blank back. She handed it back to Greyson, who nodded his assent.

"So my bet's on bird," Evan said, ganking Lilah's water bottle and finishing it off.

"Evan!" Nyla called from the other side of the house, "Have you sent me your portion of the mortgage yet?"

"I thought the point of buying a house was to get away from landlords," Evan muttered to Lilah, who snorted.

"Evan!"

"Doing that now!"

Sasha entered and gently shoed the athletes out. "I n-need to get st-started on dinner."

She placed her hand on Greyson's shoulder. "It'll be fine. Maybe it's j-just a dog?"

Greyson shrugged, sighing. He wondered why he'd even been IN the woman's will at all.

"N-now move. I'm cooking."

Greyson smiled playfully back, bumping his hip to Sasha's, and left. He found Nyla rifling through the rest of the mail.

"Are you sure that's all they sent you?"

"Unfortunately."

Nyla huffed, letting the letters smack against her skirt. "Why couldn't they have had a lawyer write to us or something? Anything to save a dime, and I have no idea what I'm supposed to be preparing for!"

"We can run to a pet store the day it gets here. If not, a night in the garage won't kill it," Greyson assured. Also, wasn't HE supposed to be the one preparing? He set his hand on her shoulder. "You worry too much."

"I worry exactly the right amount, thank you," Nyla said, whapping him with the mail. As she walked towards her office, she called out, "Lilah, you'd better have put those in the hamper!"

"Does it bring you joy to endlessly nag?!"

"I live in a house with four other people!"

Greyson chuckled. He was also probably overthinking this. It was weird, and definitely unexpected, but it would all be fine.

That was a human person.

Tall, with choppily short hair, kneeling in their front entryway between Evan and Lilah's running shoes and the narrow side table Nyla used for mail and key rings.

That was a human person.

They all looked to each other, wondering what to do, and this was technically Greyson's problem, which meant he was the one who should do something about this. Why. Why this. Why him?!?!

When it became undeniably obvious that the other four were waiting on him and the silence was stiflingly uncomfortable, Greyson cleared his throat and stepped forward.

"Hello?" He hadn't meant for it to sound like a question.

"Hello master," the slave returned, skirt fisted with shaking knuckles.

"I am Greyson," he cleared his throat again, "What's your name?"

"...Galo."

Oh Greyson was so out of his depth.

"So uh, you're Bethany's pet? Ex pet?" Evan asked, and Greyson was relieved someone else had said something.

"Yes master."

"This is weird," Lilah stated, shifting anxiously from foot to foot with jittery energy. "This is fucking weird. Why did your ex girlfriend give you a slave? Why were you dating someone who likes slavery?! Greyson what the fuck!"

"Okay deep breaths!" Nyla ordered loudly, everyone complying instantly. "This is. Unexpected," she agreed. "But let's not get out of hand. Galo, sweetie, would you please stand up?"

"Yes mistress."

"You don't need to call anyone master or mistress."

"Ma'am?"

"Ma'am is fine. Let's get you settled in. You can probably stay in Sasha's room at the moment, who'll sleep with me?"

Sasha nodded.

"Okay, good. Are these all of your belongings?" Nyla asked, gesturing at Galo's duffle bag, who nodded again.

"Okay, great. This way."

Greyson was so, so grateful to know Nyla. So glad she was in his life. Her competence was unparalleled.

"I-I'm going to make d-dinner."

Galo followed his mistress, who he wasn't going to call mistress, to a baby blue room with impressionist paintings hung from the walls, leaned up against each other, stacked against the desk and dresser. Canvases were just about everywhere, but it didn't seem messy. Just full.

"This is Sasha's room but you can stay here until we figure all this out. Oh! My name is Nyla, sorry, I spaced on that, we'll get you introduced to everyone properly once... once we settle down."

Galo bowed, hand crossed over his chest.

"This is just a little unexpected. We hadn't known you were--human."

"I'm sorry, ma'am."

"No, no, no need to apologize. Just some information lost in the pipeline. Why don't you settle in and... we'll chat more at supper."

His mistress left, closing the door behind her, and Galo was left standing in the center of a room that wasn't his.

He took a shaky breath. Well. They'd accepted his name, at least, which was nice. Maybe someday he'd tell them about... him being a man. Maybe. Definitely going to wait and see on that one, he wasn't interested in a repeat of what had happened last time he'd told an owner he was a man.

There were five of them.

Galo sank to his knees, duffle bag hitting the floor, his hands covering his mouth. There were five of them.

He was a fairly gigantic failure at keeping one owner off his back, how was he ever going to please five?!? And the little one had been so angry with his presence--he would have to show his gratitude to Mistress Nyla, later, for stepping in.

Oh god, what would they use him for? This house was no estate--maybe they would just have him clean. Yeah, maybe, maybe he could just clean for them and stick to the shadows and he would be ignored.

A hysteric peal of laughter bubbled out of him.

Ignored.

Yeah, right.

But for some reason, that... did seem to be the case. They ignored him. Mistress Sasha and Master Evan especially seemed to have no idea what to do with him, and would awkwardly prompt him to leave them alone if he guessed their routines wrong and ended up in the same room as them.

Master Greyson made earnest attempts to speak with him, which Galo responded to as best he could. But the conversations were stilted things. The most successful ones hinged around Mistress Bethany, and Galo always found himself stressed and exhausted after talking about her.

Mistress Lilah seemed to find him a curiosity, asking him questions and prodding him into helping her with her "Influencer Gig," which mostly involved holding light sources or cameras for her. She would occasionally do up Galo's hair and makeup, and Galo tried very, very hard not to show how miserable that made him. To smile and be grateful and not waste her product and time with babyish tears.

Mistress Nyla was his favorite. She had him help with the household chores and spoke kindly to him. She would praise and sometimes touch him. Conversations with her were... trickier, though.

Mistress Nyla has a very good memory. She would ask questions, know things he'd told Master Greyson or Mistress Lilah, gently pull his life's story from him. She would sometimes make him ask uncomfortable questions about himself, too, about his place as a slave, which--he knew better. He knew better!

She would stop, when he started shaking, though. Ask him to please go clean the kitchen or bathroom or fold laundry. It made him feel weak. A useless, manipulative slave who cried to get out of situations he didn't like.

"It's okay, Galo," she sometimes murmured, petting his hair and letting him kneel at her feet with his head in her lap. "You're being good for us. It's alright sweetie."

Master Evan didn't like talking to Galo. So he knew better. But one day, a couple friends of Master Evan's had come and gone, and one of them--

Not that Galo wanted to assume, or presume, but she'd. She had looked.

"Yeah, she's trans," Master Evan confirmed, looking desperately uncomfortable. Galo would find a way to apologize later. He just. He had to. He.

"And that's okay?" he blurted gracelessly, instinctively flinching back for two reasons.

"Yeah? I mean, yes, absolutely, I respect and support her 100%."

Galo fidgeted with his skirt, something Mistress Bethany had bought that he wanted little more than to burn.

"Are... do you, wanna tell me something?" Master Evan asked, also not making eye contact. "Or, maybe tell Nyla something, since I dunno if I'm really the guy to, uh." He gestured at himself and Galo bit his lip.

"The others are also, okay with, uh?"

"Being trans. Yes. It's not bad... bro? We're all chill and respectful here. Oh you know Sasha? Sasha's like, super smart, and knows all about this stuff, she could talk to you about this?"

"Yes sir," Galo said, knowing he'd overstayed his welcome the moment he'd opened his mouth.

"Cool. Chill. Yeah. Okay then," Master Evan said, and left the room quickly.

That night Galo had found a pair of Master Evan's sweatpants and a couple of old t-shirts on his bed.

The next time Lilah pulled Galo to help with her Influencer Gig, she'd done his makeup and hair and he had cried, to see a man who looked like him staring back from the mirror.

Mistress Nyla took him shopping. She held his hand, both literally and metaphorically, with increasing frequency as he started to transition and actually began to feel like this new house was his home. That these people weren't going to hurt him, that they maybe even liked him. Almost.

Mistress Sasha had him help her move her remaining belongings from the blue room. His room. They were, officially and permanently, making her old room his. Her paintings were either hung up throughout the rest of the house or set into storage in the garage. He helped her carry whatever else was left into Mistress Nyla's--now hers and Mistress Sasha's--room and organize so Mistress Nyla didn't work herself into a fit over the clutter.

"Thank you," he said quietly, crouched in front of the dresser and slipping some of Mistress Sasha's less-used attire into the drawers.

"Hm?"

"For, giving me your space, ma'am." For everything. For all of it.

Mistress Sasha crossed over to him and sat in the floor where he was, opening her arms to him. He leaned in, slowly wrapping his arms around her and pressing his face to her shoulder.

"You're part of the f-family now," she said warmly. "Of c-course."

#answers #thanks!#writing #mine #anonymous #gw #Galo #Nyla #Greyson #Sasha #Lilah #Evan #AU #slave Galo AU

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kirnet · 4 years ago

Note

32 for benny/raiden!

32. things you said right after hello, taken from this prompt list here

1.8k words

Benita’s nailless fingers burned as she dug them into the guard’s cheeks, but she was well practiced at ignoring the pain. It might have been more threatening if they hadn’t been ripped off one by one by the torturer a few minutes before; she could have clawed, drawn some blood to mix with the guard’s pitiful tears and mucus. But ultimately it didn’t matter. Her torturer lay dead on the floor of her cell, and if his sniveling was any indication, this guard knew exactly what she was capable of.

“P-Please,” he sniffled, bringing a hand up to grab Benita’s wrist. “I just work here! I have a -”

“The storage room,” she interrupted, her voice hoarse from all the screaming, barely audible over the blaring alarm. The guard whimpered as she pushed against his face. “Where is it?”

“And you’ll let me go?”

She didn’t deign to answer him, instead letting the light build behind her eyes. “I will not ask again.”

Moments later Benita had her answer and the guard’s body lay spasming on the floor, the electric charge she had forced through his skin still making its way through his muscles. She dropped to her knees and rifled his service belt, passing over his firearm with disgust in favor of a pocket knife. It was much smaller than the spear that had been forged to fit perfectly in her hand, but she would make it work.

Pushing down the pang of sadness at the thought of her sacred weapon, she started down the corridor, her bare footsteps muted by the alarm. Anti-Themi reinforcements would be arriving soon, with Benita their top priority. If she wanted to leave this station alive, she would need what remained of her armor. With any luck, the prison break would engulf the whole station and her fellow escapees would be willing to give her a ride out of here.

And if not, she could make them.

Despite the urgency, she slowed as she passed her neighbor, Cell 46. It was open and empty. Odd. Hers had been the only other cell opened on this block, though most of the cells here were empty. This was the maximum security ward. The “Gallows,” as the guards had called it when they dragged her sedated body to the cell, was reserved for either the most dangerous inmates or the ones with the most information to be tortured out of them. Benita had the misfortune of belonging to both groups. Who escaped here?

She shook the thought away. Storage room. Armor. Spear. Escape. That was all that mattered.

The guard had spoken true, and soon Benita found herself at the down the hall from the storage room. The journey had been easier than expected. More and more detainment blocks opened as she moved, overwhelming any resistance she would face. The sedatives they kept her constantly pumped full of dulled her senses, but adrenaline and pure rage had given her enough power to dispatch any guard that had crossed her path. The knife has been abandoned, imbedded in an enemy’s chest. She had no more need for it. Not with her spear within reach.

“I need the-”

“Could you hold on a fucking minute?”

Benita paused outside the ajar door. Guards? Or other prisoners?

“My father will hear about this.”

“Not if we’re all dead. But please, keep screaming and alerting any guards who weren’t already aware of us.” A new voice. So not guards.

Remembering her hunting training, Benita silently inched the door open. The storage room was filled with stacks of crates, most of them carefully organized and arranged in aisles. The exception was in the middle of the room, where four people riffled through individual crates that had been brought down from the taller stacks. Two of them, a pale redhead woman and a dark haired Asian man, were dressed in ill-fitting guard uniforms. The other two, a beautiful dark-skinned woman in a lab coat and a tan man in the same prison jumpsuit that Benita wore, were quietly arguing as they searched. Recognition tingled at the back of her brain, but she couldn’t quite place where she knew the other prisoner from.

The redhead gasped and pulled something from the crate, the excitement on her face falling as she held it up. “It’s a… cylinder?”

The light surged behind her eyes again, matching Benita’s rage. A cylinder? It might appear as such to the ignorant, but that weapon had been created by the finest Justiciar craftsmen for- Benny relaxed her fist. This should not matter to her anymore. She had forfeited all claims to any Themi glory. Still, she wanted the spear back.

Dropping low, she stalked forward behind the redhead, the others too invested in their own tasks to notice. Rising, Benita wrapped her arm around the redhead’s throat, her arm just short of crushing her windpipe. Her victim gasped and dropped the collapsed spear, which Benita snatched from the air with her free hand. Sucking in a breath of her own, she tucked the spear under her arm and pressed her palm against the woman’s head. Her companions seemed not to have noticed, their noses still in their respective crates. “If you comply, I will not harm you,” she whispered in the captive’s ear. She could feel her heart hammering through her throat.

The man in front of them, still seemingly unaware of her presence, gasped and tore something from the crate. “Holy shit,” he muttered as he held it aloft. Benita’s grip tightened on the woman’s neck. In his hands was a light breastplate scarred by both blaster bolt and spearpoint. To Benita’s relief, the small orange nodes on the shoulder straps seemed to be intact.

Ignoring the sudden heaviness of her body, Benita cleared her throat. “Excuse me?”

The dark haired man jumped, but to his credit, he recovered quickly. He turned smoothly on his heel, a hand inching towards his sidearm. “Well,” he looked her up and down, an audacious smirk forming on his lips. “Hello, there”

“If you want your friend to live,” Benita rasped. “Put that down, along with your rifle.” She shot a glance at the other woman. “And anything that you have.”

“You’re not seriously going to-” the woman in the lab coat silenced as the man gently set the mangled breastplate down, then removed his rifle sling and side arm. His smile remained, though Benita noticed that his hands trembled as he brought them up from the weapons. Good. So he knows what I am.

“It’s alright, Doc.” The man leaned back on the crate as the doctor dropped her weapon, his hands still in the air. “It’s ok, Esther. She won’t hurt you.”

“You sure about that, Raiden?” the redhead - Esther- croaked feebly against Benita’s arm.

Raiden raised his hand to silence whatever outburst the other prisoner was about to make. “Oh, sure. If she wants off this station, why would she kill our star pilot?” His smirk grew wider.

Benita scowled. She released Esther, who fell to the floor gasping. The doctor rushed forward, dropping to the ground and gently checking her throat. Benita ignored them, pushing past Raiden and snatching up the breastplate. She had to force herself put it on slowly. “You are responsible for the prison break?”

“Yeah. Thanks for being such a great distraction. They’re scrambling to find you.” Despite Raiden’s relaxed pose, Benita could feel the tension radiating off him. He unclenched his jaw. “So where’s the rest of the armor?”

She slipped the breastplate over her head. Despite the added weight on her shoulders, she felt lighter than she had in...weeks? Months? When had she first been captured? She shook her head. That wasn’t important right now. What was important was how much this man knew of her. Few uninitiated could distinguish the truth of the Themi from their bloated mythology. Fewer still could identify one on sight. “Whatever you think you know of the Themi-”

“I know enough to strike a deal.” He turned to her fully now, sparing a glance at Esther as she got off the floor. “I need to be somewhere else. These guys need to get to the ship safely, and I can’t be there to protect them.” His companion’s protested, the other prisoner the loudest, but Raiden just leaned in closer. “We have a ship in the hangar and one hell of a pilot. Get these two and our cargo,” he nodded towards the prisoner, “through any guards or prisoners and we’ll drop you off on some backwater colony. You can start over.”

Tempting, but...“And stoop to your level?” Benita palmed the spear, grateful for its comforting weight. “Why should I help you escape with him?” She closed in on the prisoner, the “46″ visible on his chest as he backed away from her. Ah yes, I remember now. “Don Lepora’s son, no? I am certain the Themi have a warrant out for your execution.” She tapped him on the chest with the collapsed spear, tilting her head as he whimpered. “I could do it right now,” she growled.

“And I’m sure you would if you were still a Themi, right?” Raiden slung his rifle strap back over his torso, ignoring Benita’s glower. “Oh, come on. No armor and you’re in prison? You’re just as bad as the rest of us.” His scruffy face suddenly changed, smile dropping. He pulled the glove off of one hand and extended it towards her. “You could put that behind you. Or at least escape the torture.”

The Themi code was quite clear about how to proceed. She should kill Raiden, then Lepora, then the other two women, then everyone on the damned prison station. There would be no redemption, no exceptions, just pure justice. But Raiden was right: despite the code’s persistent hold on her, she was no longer a Themi. She had spat on their code and spurned their traditions. Now she was nothing but a common thug, naked without her power armor. Perhaps this was her divine punishment.

She took his hand, her bloody fingers staining his own as she squeezed. “I will escort them.” Raiden had the audacity to wink.

She would hold up her end of the bargain, that much was only honorable. And she would go as far as that ship would take her from this accursed station. But one thing was clear to Benita as she unsheathed the spear from its collapsed state: this man was her enemy.

#i could keep adding to this but for everyones sake i will stop #i hope this like makes sense lmao?? im bad at language i was just gonna drop some sketches in where i couldnt describe things lmao #ignore any typos this is not proofread #hmm not sure i nailed bennys catholic guilt well enough #and yes she doesnt use contractions. bc shes insufferable <3 #ideally you would have the context of halin erin and raidens pov before this but uhhh that would just be an entire comic chapter #also is this a minific? like its shorter than a book thats how that works right???#basically like no one knows the truth abt the themi so the fact that raiden knows that she wont lie and knows abt her code and armor is #highly suspect #actium #raiden mare #benita #my writing #baodurs #ask #ok to rb if u want :3c spread the good word of actium #benny/raiden

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bloodfromthethorn · 4 years ago

Text

Training Days

Riley had never really considered herself much of a physical fighter. Sure, given her background she’d been in more than her fair share of scrapes and she knew how to fight dirty with the rest of them, no hesitation, if that was what the situation in front of her required. Even setting aside the absolute nightmare prison had been, she’d been butting heads with self-entitled dickbags since she was about seven years old and she had long since learned the quickest way of using her body to turn someone else into a non-threat.

But for all of that, given her choice of scene, she knew that her skills were best served behind a laptop, ruining someone’s day from an entirely different country, rather than from two feet away, sweating and panting.

Unfortunately, government agents didn’t always get that choice.

Which really was all just a very roundabout way of saying that one of the stipulations of her admittedly pretty shady and very much classified contract with The Phoenix Foundation was that she participate in extensive hand-to-hand combat training and physical fitness drills, and that meant getting sweaty on the training mats every Tuesday and Thursday. Some days it wasn’t so bad - there were a handful of other newish recruits who were at around the same level of training as her and she generally had a good time working through her sets with them to guide her, and guiding them in turn. Other days, it was rough; training with Thornton had been a minefield of expectations, admiration, and pressure, and training with Jack always left her aching and sore. She always walked away knowing something new, without fail, but she still wouldn’t call it a highlight of her working life.

Training with Mac though, that was something altogether different.

She ducked low just as a heavily muscled arm flew through the space where her head had just been, then immediately staggered back as his knee swung up to meet her. Mac didn’t let her get far, effortlessly pivoting the kick into a long stride forwards, keeping himself in her space to launch another flurry of attacks that she just barely managed to avoid. Strong and quick and well trained, Mac had every possible physical advantage in a fight, and to top it off, he was always mentally at least twenty steps ahead of anything she could even begin to plan to do.

Another punch came at her right side and she took a chance on Mac’s ever so slightly weaker left-hand-side reflexes to slide under the blow and put herself at his back. Against most opponents, the move would have been enough to give her an opening to throw a punch of her own or maybe even go for a grab; against Mac, he had already twisted to face her head on before she’d even finished moving.

“Nice,” he offered charitably, even though it had earned her no ground. Her one consolation was that he was starting to sound winded, not quite as unaffected as he likely wanted to appear by the intense physical exertion they’d been going through.

Riley, for her part, decided not to waste air responding. Instead she dipped low and took a cheap shot at his right knee, the same knee that had been in a brace up until three weeks ago after a gun runner in South Africa had managed to shove him clean off a rooftop and he broke his leg in the fall. Mac hissed in alarm - while technically cleared for duty, he was still healing and he had zero desire to lose the use of his limb again - and slipped sideways, right into the path of Riley’s incoming upper cut.

His agility saved him from a fist connecting with his chin, but she still managed to clip his shoulder with a hit hard enough to put him on the defensive, and for the first time the ball was in Riley’s court. As much as she knew she was still outmatched, it was a testament to how far she had come that it no longer felt like Mac was letting her go on the attack, rather than genuinely having to retreat under her advance, and she couldn’t help but feel a little bit proud of herself as she pushed forwards.

As he was wont to do when on defence, Mac went about the bizarre process of turning himself to water and slipped and slid out of every shot she could throw at him. When one of her kicks actually did connect with his thigh and sent him stumbling sideways, she was so surprised by it herself that she just barely managed to follow it up with an open palmed strike at the side of his head.

The hesitation would have been enough for any reasonably well trained fighter to get the upper hand, and Mac had ten years of military and covert experience behind him. He knocked her hand away with a fluid flick of his wrist and contorted sharply to get around and behind her in a single step, his other arm sliding up to tuck snugly against her neck and haul her back into him. To his credit, he kept himself gentle - as gentle as it was possible to be while dragging someone into a chokehold, at any rate - so his arm rested more against her collarbones than her windpipe and he caught her against him rather than crushing, but it was still enough to momentarily knock her off balance with a huff.

“Going for my knee was good instincts,” he told her breathlessly, apparently grateful to have a moment to suck in air. She could feel how his heart was pounding against her back, the rush of air in his lungs as fought to recover himself, and felt vaguely vindicated that she had enough skill to work him so hard. “Still a cheap shot though.”

Hauling in air herself and knowing that she was reaching the end of her adrenaline, Riley grinned. “You think that was cheap?”

With a twist and a grunt of effort, she cut her elbow up sharply into Mac’s stomach, catching him hard below the ribs and sending him staggering back with a pained wheeze. Momentarily thrown off and half-doubled over in breathlessness, Mac presented no threat at all when Riley darted out of his reach and spun to face him once more, smiling at her own triumph.

Mac glared at her half-heartedly, though the effect was somewhat ruined by the fact that his face was a blazing red and he couldn’t catch his breath. “Underhanded,” he managed to gasp out after a second.

Still riding high on the joy of a rare victory, Riley just laughed. “I thought sparring was supposed to be a no-holds-barred situation? Don’t tell me you wouldn’t have done the same.”

Giving in to the urge to drop to his knees rather than resist the gentle pull of gravity, Mac huffed out a strained laugh of his own. “Yeah, I would. Where’d you learn that?”

Winded and breathless herself, Riley followed him to the mat with an inelegant flop, just barely catching herself on her hands instead of sprawling across the mat like an oversized house cat. “Where else? Jack taught me. He might also have said something about you never remembering to guard against it.”

“Fucking Jack,” Mac wheezed, rolling over to lie flat on his back on the mats as he struggled to recover. “Old man’s not even here and he’s kicking my ass.”

“Just who are you calling old?” Another voice called from the doorway. Mac and Riley both turned to look as Jack came into sight, shaking his head as he took in the pair of them and just barely managing to maintain his facade of irritation over the amusement that so clearly wanted to burst forth.

“Especially when you’re the one wheezing like an asthmatic cat,” Riley chipped in happily, letting her smugness show through. She’d managed to get one over Mac from time to time in training before, but this was the first time she’d made him go down and stay down and the thrill of it was high in her blood. From the way Jack was beaming at her like she’d just hung the moon, she was pretty sure she had good reason to be proud.

Mac waved a hand in what might have been the beginning of retort, but he evidently decided he was too busy trying to breathe to voice whatever it was.

“I think you broke him Riles.”

“Just doing what you taught me. Worked like a charm.”

Jack snorted, dropping his gym bag by the wall and striding over to stare down at where Mac was still supine on the mat. “Always does since this one,” he nudged at Mac’s shoulder with his foot, “Never thinks to guard his ribs when he has someone in a choke.”

“I think about it plenty,” Mac protested half-heartedly. “Just don’t always manage it in time.”

“You’ve been saying that since the Sandbox man, I think it’s time to give it up.” He shot a smug look at Riley, like he was letting her in on a secret. “First time we met, this idiot tried to get me in a headlock. I popped him twice in the ribs before he realised it wasn’t going to work.”

Riley’s eyebrows rose. “You hit him?”

Even with his eyes closed, Jack knew Mac had just rolled his eyes and was bracing himself to tell her the story, so Jack beat him to it. “He started it. Caught some good for nothing punk kid messing with my gear.”

“Fixing your gear,” Mac wheezed, but tossed a smile Jack’s way to take any sting out of it. They’d never discussed it exactly, but Mac had learned early on that there was no one on Earth who knew their way around a rifle better than Jack Dalton and while he might not necessarily keep his gear in a ‘standard’ condition, he’d developed a system that worked for him. Mac hadn’t been wrong when he’d said the bolt carrier was lacking forward assist, but that was only because Jack hadn’t wanted it there. “And besides, I pulled that exact same move on you and you bitched about your bruised liver for a month.”

Riley was glancing between them with an amused smile on her face. “He touched your stuff,” she said, pointing at Mac, “So you took a swing at him?”

“Pretty much,” Mac put in, twisting his head to shoot her a can-you-believe-this-shit look. “I won that fight too.”

“You did not,” Jack argued immediately, kicking lightly at him again. “You’re just lucky I didn’t want to break your skinny little arm in front of all those nice people.”

“You couldn’t have if you’d wanted to. You’re lucky the brass came in and saved you the trouble of tapping out.”

It was obviously a well-worn fight between them, and from the fondness in both their voices, there was absolutely no animosity remaining. Riley couldn’t help but wonder just what it had taken to get them from a fist fight over equipment to the blood brother partnership standing before her in that moment. Although, on second thoughts, given what she had heard about the Sandbox, she might be better off not knowing.

Jack scoffed at the assertion, shaking his head. “You think you can take me on? Bring it wunderkind.”

Mac glanced up at him for a second, calculating, then pushed himself halfway to sitting before slouching back down with a huff. “Yeah, I’ll get on that as soon as my diaphragm starts working again, okay?”

It was said lightly, but Riley still felt herself frowning, her buoyant mood dipping in sudden concern. “You alright?”

Mac waved an unconcerned hand. “Peachy. You have very pointy elbows.”

“...Thanks?”

Jack seemingly took pity on her, because he thrust out a hand to help her to her feet and ushered her vaguely in the direction of the showers. “My turn to try and teach boy wonder here how to actually block that strike. Again. You get yourself cleaned up.”

Doing some quick maths in her head, Riley figured she could have a quick blast shower and be back in the gym within a couple of minutes, giving Mac plenty of time to get himself back upright and make sure she didn’t miss any of their sparring session. Her instructors had repeatedly told her that she could learn a lot by watching as well as doing, and honestly she was eager to see how Mac did against someone much more his equal outside of a life or death situation. With that goal in mind she rushed through a quick shower and a blessedly sweat-free change of clothes, then headed back to the gym to settle down at the edge of the mats.

As she’d guessed, Mac was back on his feet and seemed to have finally caught his breath again, but from the way he was eyeing up Jack’s muscled frame, he was probably wishing he was still on the ground. She bit back a grin.

“Hey, look at this, you get an audience to watch you getting your ass handed to you,” Jack taunted, finishing off his stretching with a small flourish and winking at Riley. “Now she can see what all of your moves are supposed to look like."

Mac didn't rise to the bait, and instead went about rolling his shoulders and shaking the fatigue out of his arms. Truthfully, he knew he wasn't a match for Jack on a good day, and he and Riley had already been going at it for a while. This was most likely going to be a lesson in damage minimisation more than actually winning. "We doing this then or what?"

Jack’s only response was a sharp, predatory smile and a lightning fast kick at Mac’s chest.

It only took a minute or so of watching them for Riley to understand just how and why Mac was so good at strike evasion - nearly a decade spent sparring with someone like Jack had no doubt taught him that being slow enough to get hit was a deeply regrettable decision. The ex-Delta soldier’s training had clearly served him well and it rapidly became apparent just how much of his ability he had been toning down when he went up against Riley on the mats. Fast, and strong, and precise, she had absolutely no idea how Mac was able to not only avoid Jack’s hits, but land a few of his own.

They were-

-Impressive.

She’d heard fighting being compared to dancing in the past and though she’d never really agreed with that particular analogy, for the first time she thought she might understand what they were getting at. Mac and Jack were a match, both incredibly skilled and both so familiar with each other that they knew exactly how hard they could push. No one watching this bout could ever not recognise them as partners.

Despite the earlier smack talk, Riley had to admit that she’d assumed Jack would be the winner hands down. Evidently, she’d been wrong about that because Mac was putting up a hell of a fight and he had the slightest edge on speed that balanced out Jack’s sheer force, but at the end of the day he was walking wounded and worse, Jack knew it. He’d zeroed in on the same weak spot she had, only he had the training and experience to properly put it to use.

Mac’s injured knee buckled like a snapped twig. He did his best to save himself from the fall, but there was only so much a man could do when he was already off-balance and his one remaining support had just turned to unresponsive water beneath him; all he could do was try not to land on his face. He was- reasonably successful. Somehow it didn’t make the whole experience look any less painful.

Almost in the same instant he was down, Mac was already moving to snatch at the offending limb, hissing out sharply between his teeth as he got his hands on the injury in genuine pain. Startled, Riley started pushing to her feet but Jack thrust his palm out towards her, waving her down from where he was hovering just out of arm’s reach of his downed partner, watching warily.

“You good man?”

Mac didn’t respond beyond rolling further onto his side, curling in around where he’d folded his leg up towards his chest. His eyes were scrunched closed, his breathing tight.

“Mac?” Riley asked softly, scrambling to her knees despite Jack’s dismissal.

Jack hesitated another moment longer, visibly torn, before he swayed half a step closer. “C’mon bud I need you to give me something here. I didn’t break that knee again did I?”

Still no response. From her vantage point, Riley could see that Mac was shaking like a leaf, fine tremors of pain racking his frame. Evidently Jack could see it too, because he only paused a second longer before muttering a curse and finally stepping forward into Mac’s range.

It was a mistake.

With a fierceness Riley hadn’t previously credited him with, Mac’s supposedly injured leg snapped out from where he’d coiled it in like a spring, cracking hard against Jack’s ankle and dropping him like a stone as his balance failed. The fall seemingly put his partner exactly where Mac wanted him, because a heartbeat later he had wormed his legs around Jack’s neck and snatched at the closest arm to him to pin it firmly along his own middle, locking it in place. It was the work of an instant and it left Jack helplessly pinned, his legs too far out of range to be of any use and his one free arm busily occupied with stopping Mac’s right leg from crushing his throat.

The leverage gave Jack just enough breathing room to speak. “You’re an ass.”

Mac let out a breathless laugh, clearly straining against the fight Jack was putting up. Even when Mac was in the far better position, Jack had him outmatched for brute strength by a country mile. “You should’ve seen it coming,” he pointed out, strained and amused.

“Forgive me for worrying I might have actually hurt you,” Jack grunted, shifting. Riley could see how the corded muscle in his pinned arm was straining against where Mac had it in a two-handed grip, fighting to get the space he needed to lash out. “Matty would kill me if I messed up that knee again.”

“Good to know you care.”

“You’re not gonna like what I do next man, fair warning.” Jack didn’t give him more than half a second to let that sentence sink in before he jerked his pinned arm back towards him. Mac had been holding it from rising, preventing Jack from getting the leverage to swing down at his face and chest; the sudden redirection of force wasn’t something he could compensate for and his grip failed. Fortunately, the warning had been a genuine lifeline - Mac knew exactly what he was going to do.

As soon as he felt Jack move, he canted his hips sharply, twisting his body so that the elbow that was about to drive down hard on a rather sensitive part of his anatomy caught him heavily in the hollow space of his inner hip joint instead. It was still a strong enough blow that he felt himself jackknife up, the muscles across his stomach rippling to attention in a sudden bolt of pain, but he wasn’t left gagging and helpless. Since the attack had already left him sitting up, he used that to his advantage, letting his momentum bring him up and over Jack, racing to get his legs where he needed them before Jack could react and preferably without kneeling on his neck or booting him in the face.

It wasn’t elegant, limbs tangled up as they were, but when the struggle settled down a few seconds later, Jack was still pinned flat on his back with most of Mac’s body weight crushing down against his chest. The arm that had very nearly threatened any possible future children was jammed flat to the floor by Mac’s left knee, while the other was trapped between Mac’s other leg and Jack’s own ribcage.

Mac smirked down at his partner. “I don’t know - this seems to have worked out alright for me,” he taunted, easing just a little more of his weight down. Strong as his position might initially appear, his balance was hanging by a thread and his only hope of keeping it was to use sheer mass to overwhelm Jack’s impossible strength.

“You know you’re not gonna hold me like this for long slick,” Jack shot back, sounding winded. With the amount of downward force currently trying to stop him from breathing, it was vaguely impressive that he could talk at all.

“Hey, Riley.” Mac shot her a quick look over his shoulder before returning his attention to Jack. Knowing the man, the momentary distraction had been something he allowed rather than something he failed to capitalise on. “You know how I managed this?”

Bemused that Mac apparently believed now of all times was the moment for a pop quiz, Riley found herself staring at him in disbelief. He didn’t continue though, and Jack was apparently willing to play possum long enough for her to answer, so she made herself concentrate. “You tricked him,” she said slowly.

“Yeah, but how?”

“Acting hurt.”

“Mhm,” he hummed in agreement, shifting ever so slightly when one of Jack’s breaths came in a little heavier than normal. The hold wouldn’t be hurting him, but it would put strain on his lungs and clearly Mac didn’t actually want to make him too uncomfortable while he tried to impart some new life lesson on their tech analyst. Not that it likely mattered - Riley had a sneaking suspicion that Jack could get himself up in a heartbeat the moment he actually wanted to and Mac was sure to know that. “But why did that work? How did I know it would?”

“Because you’re a little shit,” Jack muttered sullenly to himself.

“Because you knew he would worry about you,” Riley said instead of acknowledging the wisdom of a wheezing man trapped flat on his back. “You know he doesn’t want to see you hurt and that he’d help you if you were.”

Mac hummed again, shooting her a proud smile over his shoulder. “Same reason both of you went for my knee-” There, he threw in a peeved look at the pair of them, “-And why it worked every time. You get it?”

She did. “We used what we knew about our partners against them. We know your knee’s still recovering, so it’s a weak point to exploit. You know Jack cares about you, so he’s going to let his guard down when you’re injured.”

It wasn’t rocket science and she’d known it in principle for years, but she could see what Mac was doing. By forcing her to talk about it, to lay it out, he was getting her to actively consider it, to get in the habit of evaluating an opponent and seeing the places where she could get an advantage. Even now she recognised that she could almost certainly use Mac’s trick against Jack in the same way - provided she could manage to act half as well as he could, at any rate.

“It’s not as easy in the field,” Mac said. “We know each other really well - up to and including any recent injuries, which is a big help. You’re not going to have that with most of the people you come across. But with a bit of practice, you can start to pick up people’s tells.”

She digested that for a moment, then smirked. “So are you going to show me more of Jack’s?”

At that, he grimaced, the muscles across the back of his shoulders going tense. “Unfortunately, now he knows not to underestimate me, you’ve just seen pretty much all I have.” He looked back down at where Jack was starting to grin up at him and let his frown turn pleading. “Don't suppose I can tap out now and save myself the body slam?” He didn't sound hopeful.

Jack smiled like a cat with a mouse in its paws. “Not a chance,” he replied evenly, then struck out with the speed of a snake, so quickly Riley wasn't entirely sure what it was that he'd done. Whatever it was, the result was Mac's centre of gravity being yanked out from under him in one swift pull and sending him to the mats with a solid thud that knocked the wind clean out of him for the second time in ten minutes. In the same move, Jack swung himself up to hover over his partner, still grinning slyly to himself. “You done? Or do I need to pin you?”

Mac couldn't more obviously be out of the fight if he tried, his breathing rough and erratic, but he obligingly tapped sharply on the mat beside himself all the same. Jack let out a small whoop of victory, sending another wink in Riley's direction to show off even as he stuck out a hand to brush soothingly down Mac’s spasming rib cage. It probably wouldn’t help Mac get his muscles under control, but the gesture was fond and reassuring, and he didn’t protest the contact.

“And that’s how it’s done,” Jack said smugly, practically oozing satisfaction. “This is why you should always listen to ole’Jack when he gives you combat lessons Riles.”

“Rule two,” Mac wheezed helplessly, head thrown back and eyes closed as he fought to get his diaphragm back on side.

“Ey now, you just focus on breathing,” Jack cautioned. “You’re gonna scare Riley if you keep gasping like an old man.” He shot a glance at her that shut down any genuine concern she might have had brewing in her gut; if Mac really was hurt, Jack wouldn’t be smiling. “That slam is meant to wind, not injure. Good for incapacitating someone quickly without causing actual damage.”

“I didn’t even see what you did,” she told him honestly, trying to play the grapple back in her head and coming up blank. Jack had moved too quickly for her to grasp more than the headlines.

“Well, I’ll just have to show you again sometime. Perhaps a bit slower. Mac’ll be happy to help out, right man?” There was a disagreeable wheeze from the blonde’s general direction. “See? He’s thrilled.”

“Yeah, he sounds it.” Despite herself, she couldn’t help but laugh. Mac cracked one scrunched up eye open to watch her, fighting off a smile of his own that was cripplingly fond. Still resting above him with a hand on his partner’s chest, Jack’s expression was much the same. Her chest swelled with sudden, overwhelming warmth. “Maybe we should wait until he can breathe though, yeah?”

“Ha, he’s fine,” Jack said carelessly, patting him gently on the ribs for effect. “This isn’t the first time I’ve had to put him in his place on the mats. Always gets overconfident.”

“Screw you,” Mac replied. It might have had more weight to it if he hadn’t been struggling to haul in air at the same time. “I had you pinned.”

“Yeah, and how did that work out for you?”

Mac swatted at him, lazy and uncoordinated, and that feeling in Riley’s chest pulsed a little more fiercely. Sparring might be a bit hit or miss, but this, right here, huddled up with Mac and Jack? That was all but home and she wouldn’t trade it for the world.

“So the two of you really got in a fist fight when you first met? How did you ever become friends?”

Jack snorted. “That took some work. But of course Mac couldn’t help but warm to my sparkling personality.”

The man in question huffed a soft laugh. He finally seemed to have recovered some control over his lungs, because he was able to retort, “Sure, that’s what happened.”

“That is what happened.”

“Mhm. You’re conveniently leaving out the part where I saved your ass. Like six times.”

“Excuse me? I know you’re not forgetting about how many hours I spent protecting your skinny ass when you were so focused on an IED you didn’t even notice the guys sneaking up on you. You wouldn’t have lasted a week if I hadn’t been watching out for you.”

Riley half-expected Mac to snipe back at that, but he surprised her by finally getting his eyes back open and sending his partner a gentle smile. “That’s true,” he allowed quietly. “You promised me you’d get me home.”

“And I did.”

“And you did.”

Jack’s expression had gone very soft in a way it only ever did when he was looking at Mac, Riley, or Bozer. His hand had stilled over Mac’s heart. “I suppose you might have something to do with me getting home with all my limbs intact too. Even if you did take your sweet time about every little device we came across.”

Wordlessly, Mac extended his fist for Jack’s to bump against, a physical bond of solidarity.

She gave it another ten seconds of stillness to let the moment sink in for them all before Riley leaned forward. “You two are adorable.”

That got a good grumble out of both of them, but there was a gentleness to it that let her know there was no harm done. Despite how caught up in themselves they might have seemed to be, they were both far too well trained in situational awareness to have forgotten that she was sitting three feet away. It was just that they were both content to let her see them in a rare moment of openness.

Reawakened to the room at large - and possibly realising how uncomfortably sweaty he was - Jack clambered up to his feet with a groan, rubbing faintly at the spot where Mac’s leg had dug into his chest. “Time to hit the showers, I think. Unless you want to go another round?”

There was a muttering of disapproval before Mac pushed himself up to sitting with a groan, then stuck out a hand to let Jack drag him back to his feet. Once there he took a second to balance himself, leaning his weight awkwardly on one leg as he tested out the strength of his damaged knee. Whatever he felt, it made him frown.

Astute as ever, Jack was watching him like a hawk. “You doing okay there, slick?”

“Yeah, yeah I’m good.”

“Really? Because you look like you’re about to try limping out of here and ending up on your ass.”

Mac scowled at him, but it was fond. “Gee, thanks.”

Jack just rolled his eyes and strode back to stand beside him, sliding under Mac’s shoulder to help support his weight like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Please tell me I didn’t break that thing again. I wasn’t joking when I said Matty would have my head.”

Mac scoffed, the pain in his face lightening now that he could take his weight off the injured joint. “I think if you broke my leg a second time it wouldn’t be your head you’d need to worry about. But no, I think it’s fine. Just twisted is all.”

“‘It’s fine’, he says, hobbling about like a newborn colt,” Jack muttered, but he didn’t complain further as the pair of them began a shambling walk towards the showers.

The blonde shot him a disgruntled look, clearly about to offer some kind of retort before he swallowed it back down and shook his head with a smile.

Riley trailed after them, her thoughts shifting to her afternoon. “Dinner at yours Mac?” She called, just as they broke off from her to head towards the men’s showers.

He shot a broad grin over his shoulder at her and tipped his head. “‘Course. You did well today. Least I can do is offer up Boze’s cooking.”

She let her laugh buoy her as she waved at them both. “See you there. I’ll make sure there’s an ice pack ready for your old man knee.”

Mac’s disgruntled retort was entirely swallowed by Jack’s echoing laughter, bouncing around the walls to follow her into the main corridor that led back to the parking garage. Tired, sore, and hopelessly fond, Riley turned her steps to home.

Also on AO3

#macgyver #fanfiction #my fanfic #angus macgyver #riley davis #jack dalton #watch me try to get better at writing fighting and not really succeeding #why is it so difficult #also considering this was supposed to be a tiny short to help me work out combat wording etc #it sort of... got out of hand #ended up sappy #welp

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ilguna · 5 years ago

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Metanoia - Chapter Twelve (f.o)

Summary: you will be crowned victor of the 75th hunger games.

Word Count; 3k

Warnings; swearing, mention of murder and torture

NOTES: i give reader a last name to fit the world.

–

The second that you stepped foot off of the hovercraft, all you heard was the distant sound of gunfire. The peacekeeper gave you a bitter reminder of your due date, and then kicked you off the ramp almost instantly after. You waited a moment to make sure that the hovercraft was long gone, and then you went straight for the noise.

You know that they would want you to head straight to your house, which is the exact reason why you chose not to. They probably have something there waiting for you. A note, a bunch of roses, your house being trashed, bloodstains--maybe it’s been set on fire! It doesn’t matter to you all that much.

You’d much rather know what’s going on in the heart of the district, than take a shower and get a change of clothes. Plus, you only have two weeks until your evaluation by Snow, which means you have to act fast. And this is all under the assumption that there won’t be people checking up on you every couple of days.

You came up with a plan on the way here, as any sane person would. The basis of the plan being; you’re not going to follow Snow’s directions in the slightest. You’re not going to calm the people down, you’re going to add fuel to the fire.

Snow threatening to kill Tanith is the last fucking straw. Him threatening to strap you to a chair and torture you like Peeta and Johanna is one thing, but bringing Tanith into this, when she has nothing to do with it, is a whole ‘nother ring of hell. If he thought for one fucking second that he’d get away with a statement like that, he’s wrong.

You’re not going to fuck up your life twice, especially not because of what Snow says or does.

You weigh the necklace in your hand for a second, staring down at it. Then, you unclasp it, and bring it around your neck. Once it’s not tangled in your hair, you let it rest against your chest.

The entire district seems to be barren--at least that’s what you’ve seen on the way. All houses have their doors shut, but windows are broken and porches are in splinters. The shops are basically the same way, though it’s much worse. Some are burnt down, others are void of all things that were once inside.

It looks like a tornado blew through here, and had no mercy. Everything that could have been ruined, is. It’ll cost thousands of dollars to fix the damage done on these places. Buying a whole new house or store would be much easier than to restore what it looked like before.

“Approaching civilian!” Someone yells above you.

Covering your eyes, you look up to see where they are, since this is the first person you’ve come across the entire walk. The second that your eyes adjust, you’re met with a gun pointed at your face.

“Point that away from me!” you snap.

“Who are you, and how did you get back here?” a different voice asks closer to you.

Lowering your hand and whipping your head to where it came from, the situation isn’t much better. There’s a man with an automatic rifle pointed at your chest, finger near the trigger as if he doesn’t know if he should pull it or not. Not to mention all the people behind him hovering, and having the same intentions as him.

You should pick your words carefully.

“My name is (Y/n) Rosecelli, victor of the sixty sixth hunger games, tribute of the Quarter Quell.” What a hell of an introduction, “And I walked.”

He lowers the gun a bit, “You’re alive?”

Your first reaction is to scoff, “It’ll take a lot more than the Capitol to kill me, am I supposed to be dead?”

“That’s what we were told.”

“Hell of a shock, then.” you resume walking, “Who’s in charge of District Two’s rebellion? Like, who’s organizing the attacks against the loyalists?”

“Lyme.” A girl answers, “She’s also a victor.”

Lyme… well, you definitely recognize the name, and you can hardly remember what she looks like. Tall, likes to exercise, short blonde hair. She’s always been more modest and rebellious, it doesn’t surprise you that much. She’s older than you, almost twice your age.

“Take me to her.” you tell them.

“You’ve got it.” the boy says.

It’s a long walk, as you’re told. The only good news he had to offer was that you wouldn’t have to fight your way through gunfire to get to the Capitol building--where she’s at. They’ve pushed back most of the loyalists into the train tunnels that run through the mountains. Everyday they gain new ground, but they don’t really dare to go inside of the tunnels. It’s the loyalists’ territory.

“So, where have you been?”

“The Capitol.” you say, following the boy around the corner, “Unconscious and recovering from venom. I’m not easy to get rid of.”

“How’d you get here?”

“Snow organized a personal hovercraft to drop me in the abandoned part of District Two, near Victor’s Village. You should probably get some people watching over there in case it happens again, so the peacekeepers won’t be able to sneak up on you as easily.”

They don’t say anything else after that, even though you mentioned Snow pretty boldly. Of all things they could have asked you about, they ignored the one that would give them the most answers on why you’re here and wanting to see Lyme first.

“I’m going to check to make sure that it’s clear.” the girl says, the rest of you wait for minutes on end, and none of them seem antsy about it.

When she does show up, she tells you that you’re clear to head up, but they’ve got to go back to parolling. She says that you should mention the abandoned thing to Lyme, since she’s more likely to listen to you, and then they walk away.

You take the easiest path you could possibly take to approach the Justice Building. It’s also the one that will put you in the open, allowing the people standing out front to get a good look at you. If you snuck up through the shadows, they’d likely be more distrusting.

You hold your hands up even before you’re out from around the corner. They turn their guns on you quickly, but you don’t stop walking, “I’m here to speak to Lyme.”

“Stop--!”

“I don’t have any weapons on me, put your guns down before you shoot me by accident.” you head up the stairs, “My name is (Y/n) Rosecelli, and I’m here to talk to Lyme. I don’t have much time, so let’s leave the formalities for another time.”

“We should go get her--”

The second you turn to look at him, he stiffens, “Open the fucking door and bring me to her, or you’re going to be added to the graveyard.”

His eyes slowly drag to your arm, which is very clearly presented thanks to the short-sleeved shirt.

No words come from him as he opens the door and heads inside. You follow behind him, and from how new your shoes are, they sound like heels against the tile floor. You’re surprised that they aren’t squeaking as if you’ve just come in with water on the bottom of them. You guess that you should be grateful instead.

The guy brings you up the staircase, “You don’t have any weapons on you?”

You have a hundred snarky things that you’re willing to say to him, but you settle for the simple, “No.”

He brings you around a corner, and knocks on a door a couple times. He makes you wait out of sight while he opens the door, “You’ve got a guest.”

“We’re busy--”

“She insists.” he says, and then he allows you to come over.

You don’t wait in the doorway, you head straight inside, “Scram, runt.”

He tries to stand his ground, but the second you force the door to shut, he removes his fingers. After that, you go up to the table to see who’s standing there.

Lyme, as you expected. But there’s a strangely familiar face standing near her, finger still pointing out a place on the map. When she realizes that you see the place she’s pointing at, she retracts her finger into a fist.

“Who are you?” she asks.

You laugh, crossing your arms as you get closer to the map. There’s a bunch of lines drawn in pink marker, and considering the amount of space left behind the line, you’re guessing that’s the rebel’s side. As for the loyalists, they’re marked in red, like they’re the bad guys.

You place your hand on the free space, “Just letting you know, since this entire place is abandoned, the Capitol can sneak right in.” you look up, they’re puzzled, “The Capitol had enough room to drop me off and leave without anyone noticing--I walked for miles until I finally came upon one of your scouting groups. If you’re not careful, they can drop peacekeepers off behind you guys, and you might as well be extinct after that.”

“You’re from the Capitol?” Lyme asks, one of the guys by the window reaches for something in their belt, you can take a solid guess on what it is, even without the sight of it.

“I’m a little disappointed that you don’t recognize me, but I can point you two out even if your guys’ hunger games were ten to twenty years before mine.” you remove your hand from the map now, “As I’ve introduced myself a hundred times now, (Y/n) Rosecelli, District Two’s tribute for the Quell.”

Lyme’s face lights up, “I thought I knew you. You were in the Capitol?”

“Snow took Peeta, Johanna and I out of the arena. While he was ordering people to torture Johanna and Peeta, he put me in a ‘medically induced coma’.” you use the quotation marks, “Because of the spider venom in the arena. Today is my first day back to life, and I’ve experienced more than my fair share of shit today.”

“Welcome back.” Paylor says.

Paylor is a victor from District Eight, like six years or so before your games. She’s young, and really fucking pretty. You’re just a little dumbfounded on why she’s here in District Two, rather than ordering around her own district.

“Thanks.”

Lyme shifts on her feet, “You don’t look too bad.”

“I’ve got scars all over my body, they’re just not visible above the waist.” you shake your head, “And the only reason why I’m even in good condition, is because Snow wants me to calm down the rebels.”

“But you’re not going to.” There’s an edge to Paylor’s voice.

“No, I’m not. Instead, I want a ride to District Thirteen. That’s where Katniss and Finnick are, right?”

Lyme nods, but her face is scrunched up, “I can’t send a hovercraft there because I don’t have any. You’ll have to wait until Coin sends one here with supplies.”

“Coin?”

“President Alma Coin.” Paylor answers, “She’s the leader of District Thirteen.”

Great, another dictatorship.

“Alright, when’s the next supply drop?” you shift on your feet.

Paylor and Lyme share a look, clearly thinking.

“We got one a week ago?” Lyme asks.

“Not even that, a few days ago,” Paylor shakes her head when she looks back at you, “You’ll have to wait at least a week, maybe more.”

You laugh, but nothing about this is funny, “You do know the state of Peeta and Johanna?”

“We know about Peeta, he’s been televised a few times.” A guy says.

“Alright, well take the last time that he was on air, and worsen that by ten. They’re fucking torturing them, you realize that? Johanna had her head shaved and she was drenched in water, like they were waterboarding her.” you lean forward, “We need to get them out.”

“We don’t have an opening for that, much less know where they’re keeping them--”

“The training center.” you say, “And I know how to get to them, I was a door away from them, Peeta and Johanna saw me.”

“That’s the heart of the Capitol.” Paylor says, “Even if we did get the volunteers to do it, we wouldn’t be able to go.”

You raise your eyebrows, “You’re telling me that Beetee hasn’t tried to hack into the security already? Didn’t he work on it for them? He would know some secret window at least.”

They share another look, and Lyme tilts her head, “She has a point.”

“And then what? You think anyone would actually want to go in?” Paylor asks, “It’s a suicide mission.”

“Listen to me,” you lean forward on the table now, they look at you, “I have two weeks--maybe not even that. If Snow finds out that I was lying or keeping information from him, he’s going to come for me and I’ll end up like Peeta, Johanna and Tanith. And if I don’t help the loyalists, he’s going to kill Tanith.

“I am working on a strict time frame, and you guys bickering about this, isn’t helping. Contact Alma Coin or whatever, at least present the idea, and if she likes it and asks for volunteers, you put me at the top of that fucking list. I will lead as many volunteers as she wants to the others. The only thing I ask in return is a free ride to District Thirteen.

“If Tanith is out of his hands, and I’m in thirteen, Snow can’t do anything to me.” you raise your eyebrows, “He won’t be able to use anyone as leverage anymore, and you’ve gained another foot in the rebellion. But all that can’t happen without you at least suggesting the idea to your supreme leader first.”

Lyme rubs her forehead for a moment, before saying; “Get Coin on a call.”

“Want to sit?” someone asks, pulling out a stool.

“Thanks.” you sit, crossing your legs.

You watch as they set up the entire call and as it pends. You spend most of the time fiddling with the hemming on the bottom of the shirt, ripping the stitching out, and then pulling on the string.

Paylor goes back to what she was saying with the map and all before you came inside. She writes down that she needs to add people to scout behind her lines, and then plans the ways that they can get into the tunnel. You want to chime in some way, but you keep out of it.

You can help as soon as Tanith is safe. You need to get Tanith out of the Capitol first, because if you’re even taped being around Lyme and Paylor with no argument going on or anything, you’re going to be fucked. Snow doesn’t have any morals, as much as he hates to admit it. He’s heartless.

“The call’s gone through.” the one by the computer says, “Plutarch’s answered.”

He projects it onto the large blank wall in front of you, but Paylor has to turn around to see him.

“Plutarch… Heavensbee? The gamemaker?” you ask, “Why?”

“He’s the one that helped organize getting them out.” Lyme tells you.

Plutarch has a smile on his face, “(Y/n), it’s nice to see you healthy.”

“You got Katniss, Finnick and Beetee out of the arena?” you ask.

Plutarch nods, “With the help of Haymitch, yes.”

“Fuck you.” you spit, “You fucking left me there! I was right there--you could have gotten me and you let me be taken by the Capitol! You’re the reason why the Capitol has had me for the past couple of weeks, you asshole--”

“Calm.” Lyme comes over, placing her hand on your shoulder, “You can yell at him later, keep on track.”

“Whatever.” you shrug her hand off, crossing your arms.

Paylor picks up where you didn’t start, “She’s been in the training center with the other tributes. She knows how to get to them, and we’d like to try and revisit the idea of a rescue mission with the tributes.”

His face says no, but his words say otherwise; “I wish it was my decision, but Coin has already decided that now isn’t the time. Especially not after we were just attacked by the Capitol.”

“When?” Lyme asks.

“A couple hours ago, we haven’t gone to the surface just yet to make sure that it’s over.”

Your mouth drops open a little bit, “I was on that hovercraft.”

Paylor nearly breaks her neck from how fast her head whips in your direction, “You were?”

“Yeah--I thought it was odd that the space was filled with… bombs. I was expecting them to attack two almost immediately after I hit the city, but they just flew off, away from the direction of the Capitol.” You shake your head, “Before you ask; no, I didn’t hear anything while I was in there.”

There’s a moment of silence, before Paylor sighs, “Where’s Coin?”

“Making sure the systems are still running, I sent someone to get her, so she should be here soon.”

“Good.” you slide off of the stool, “Because when she gets there, you’re going to do everything you can to convince her to consider the idea.”

Plutarch raises his eyebrows.

“She means--” Lyme tries.

“I mean what I said.” you lean against the table, staring at Plutarch’s face, “If you were just attacked, they’re going to be expecting some sort of retaliation. So, you attack their defense systems using Beetee’s knowledge. You get them down long enough, and that’s when the hovercraft slips through. Beetee stops, and then when the hovercraft is heading back, he starts again, or whatever.”

“That’s not exactly how things work…” someone in the corner mumbles.

“Well, they need to make it work.” you stand again, “Because I will be getting them all out of the training center. Even if I’m the only volunteer, I’ll do it.”

Plutarch laughs, “Not hellbent on killing them anymore?”

“They’re strapped to chairs being tortured like animals. Even I know when enough is enough.” you back off after that, “If I come back in here in an hour, and her answer is no, you better start fucking praying, because I am much worse than the Capitol.”

#ilguna #finnick odair #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair fanfic #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair oneshot #finnick odair metanoia #metanoia #metanoia chapter twelve

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toosicktoocare · 5 years ago

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No one requested this-- I just really wanted to write it.

Set after Futaba’s palace when people are starting to really player hate on Akechi. (I don’t believe there will be any spoilers for P5R.)

It’s pouring outside when Akira hears what he thinks is a knock on the door, and he makes to brush it off, to blame it on the rapid, fat rain drops slamming down onto the cafe. He turns back to the dishes, but then he hears it again, soft but insistent, and Sojiro looks from his watch, frown playing at the late hour, to the door. Akira’s eyes follow his movements until he sees a dark figure at the door.

“Who the hell is dumb enough,” Sojiro starts with a sigh as he makes his way toward the door, “to come during a torrential downpour this late at-- Akechi?”

Akira’s hands stiffen around a plate he’s holding, muscles almost freezing mid-movement. He can see sharp tension pulling at Sojiro’s shoulders, and he takes a small step to the side, just enough to see Akechi standing in the doorway, drenched to the bone, hair hanging over his face.

“My apologies, Sakura-san,” Akechi mutters politely, a shy, uncertain smile playing at his lips, one that Akira’s only caught brief glimpses of in rare moments when Akechi’s deep in thought. “I hate to impose, but may I come in?”

“What?” Sojiro blinks rapidly as if forcing the pure shock alone away from his vision. “Of course.” He’s quick to move to the side completely, a silent invitation for Akechi to enter, and Akechi does, shoes squelching loudly in the otherwise quiet cafe, drops of rain pooling on the ground with his every step.

“I’ll get some towels.”

“Thank you,” Akechi mutters, relief pushing through his quiet tone, and Akira finally sets the plate back down into the sink and steps toward Akechi, keeping the counter between them.

“What happened?” Despite the heat and humidity of the summer storm, Akechi’s shaking, just slightly, his fingers digging into his arms as if to keep the shivers at bay. Akira raises a brow and cocks his head to the side, watching the emotions flick across Akechi’s features: anger, sadness, hesitance, reservation.

“I worked late,” Akechi starts, shuddering slightly. “I forgot an umbrella, but the station isn’t far from the office, so I made a run for it.” A light laugh slips past his lips, one that holds no warmth or heart, and Akira frowns slightly at this, leaning forward, elbows dropping to the counter, as he waits silently for Akechi to gather himself to continue.

“It appears my popularity’s diminished as the Phantom Thieves’ has risen,” Akechi says, a familiar, practiced smile pulling at the corners of his lips. “I had more foes than friends at the station, all waiting for the same train, so I opted to walk instead.”

“And you came here.” Akira pushes, eyes narrow. “In the pouring rain. With no umbrella.” No questions, but the fake, almost grating, laugh that echoes across the cafe tells Akira that Akechi is treating it as such.

“Leblanc’s closer.”

“I don’t think it is,” Akira fires back quietly, pushing, reaching to jab at all of Akechi’s buttons, to open him up, but Akechi stands firm with a television smile and a hand moving to rub at the back of his neck.

“Perhaps I don’t know my way around as well as I thought I did.” He shivers with this, an involuntary hiss slipping past clenched teeth, and he digs his fingers a little deeper into his bare forearms.

Akira debates on pushing further, but Sojiro’s walking back with towels in hand and a frown that’s typically reserved for his concern over Futaba.

“Dry off,” Sojiro says bluntly, but the worry coloring his eyes is loud enough. “Akira can lend you some of his clothes.” He takes in Akechi’s height, spares a brief glance toward Akira’s, and sighs. “Though, they may be a little too long...”

“That’s quite alright,” Akechi starts, reaching for a towel with a shaking hand. “I was merely hoping to wait out the storm then walk--”

“You’ll stay,” Akira spits out faster than his mind can process. “It’s late,” he adds a little too quickly. “Just stay the night.”

“I don’t wish to--”

“You aren’t,” Akira interrupts, voice stern with a hint of worry threatening to push through, and Akechi’s shoulders slump forward ever-so slightly as he nods.

“If you’re sure...”

“I am,” Akira says firmly, lips pulled into a flat line, as Sojiro grabs his hat and umbrella.

“I’ve got to get back to Futaba. Get him dry,” he mutters, nodding toward Akechi. “He doesn’t look so hot.”

Akira can tell Sojiro is almost hesitant to leave, and for a brief moment, he smiles at the parental warmth that bleeds off of such an uncharacteristic man, but then Akechi sneezes quietly into the crook of his arm, and Akira nods, already springing into action and guiding Akechi up the stairs so he can rifle through his clothing.

He pulls out a pair of sweatpants and a navy blue, long-sleeve pullover from his box of clothes, and he drops them in Akechi’s arms before motioning him toward the bathroom downstairs.

With Akechi downstairs, Akira starts rifling through more abandoned stuff in the attic, finding one, thick, wool blanket he spreads out onto his bed and one thin, long sheet that will work just fine. He snags a book and curls up under the sheet on his rough couch, and he’s four pages deep when Akechi comes back up the steps, small smile curling down to a frown.

“Kurusu, I cannot take your bed.”

“It’s warmer.” Akira says as if it’s obvious, which, he thinks, it is.

“It’s unfair to you.”

“Is everything about fairness to you?” Akira asks, glancing over his book with an arched brow. “Right and wrong? Just and unjust?”

“Kurusu, I--”

“Take the bed,” Akira mutters, not missing the small shivers wracking Akechi’s otherwise straight posture. “I’m not asking.”

Conflict colors Akechi’s tired eyes, but Akira’s stern gaze wins the silent fight, and he shuffles to the bed, thankful for the warmth and comfort his bones were yearning for. He pulls both blankets tightly around him, yet, even after silent minutes of self-reflection, he can’t stop shaking, and Akira eventually pulls his gaze away from his book once more, frowning toward him.

“You’re still cold?”

“Ah,” Akechi mutters, lips trembling slightly, “yes. My hair can hold quite a bit of water.”

Akira’s eyes find the darkened, wet strands still dripping with water. He follows the track of a single drop sliding from Akechi’s sharp jaw to his pale neck--

“Let me,” he starts, shaking his head slightly as he gets to his feet, book abandoned on the couch. He grabs one of the towels Akechi brought up and moves toward the bed. “Scoot forward.”

“I can--”

“Scoot forward,” Akira repeats, stressing each word, and Akechi quietly obeys, back and shoulders tense as Akira slips in easily behind him and begins working the towel through his wet hair.

“This really isn’t necessary,” Akechi starts with a light huff, and Akira rolls his eyes as he works gently but efficiently, ignoring the sharp look from Morgana, who’s been uncharacteristically quiet up to this point.

“You can drop the act, you know. It’s just me.”

Akechi’s shoulders slump forward, his body taking to a heavy feeling he’s been pushing back for the last few days.

“I thought that stuff didn’t get to you.” Akira breaks the silence that’s coated in fleeting tension, and Akechi offers a small shrug.

“It doesn’t, usually. I’ve just been tired, and to be honest, I wasn’t exactly in the mood to have jabs thrown my way for an entire train ride.”

“Busy?” Akira asks, hand slipping through Akechi’s hair to test if it’s suitably dry, at least, that’s what he tells himself.

“Terribly so,” Akechi groans, almost leaning back into Akira’s touch. “Between school, Phantom Thieves, and being the country’s most hated High School Ace Detective...” He laughs bitterly at this, and the laugh turns into a small cough, one that he covers with his fist. “Pardon me.”

Dry enough, Akira thinks as he quietly slips off the bed. “Do you have work tomorrow?”

Akechi runs his fingers through his hair, frowning at the tangles that catch against them. “No. Though, I should study--”

“--come out with me instead.”

“I’m sorry?” Akechi’s face matches his tone, a pale complexion painted in soft red and confusion.

“You look like you could use a break from everything.” Akira clarifies, words falling a little too quickly off his tongue, as if to cover for himself. “We can go to the movies if you want to go somewhere semi-secluded. There’s some musical playing Yusuke won’t shut up about.” He forces his mouth shut after this, watching, instead, as Akechi considers through quiet thought.

“I suppose I could manage that,” he says, and Akira tries really hard, but he genuinely cannot keep the soft smile from inching across his lips.

“A day off does sound rather nice.”

Nodding, Akira tosses the towel toward the pile of wet towels in the corner of the room. “That’s settled then. Get some rest for now.”

He turns off the light, not missing the glare Morgana shoots his way, as he gets himself as comfortable as he can manage on the couch. It’s too short for his long legs, the cushions to rough against his back, but he won’t complain.

“Kurusu?”

Akechi’s voice is beginning to sound a little rough, taking to a small rasp, and Akira can’t help but wonder if he’ll wind up sick after his venture in the rain.

“Hmm?”

“Thank you.”

#persona 5 #akira kusuru #goro akechi #akeshu #my writing #sickfic #(well part 2 will be sickfic)#p5 #whump #my persona 5 writing #sojiro sakura #p5r #p5 royal

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cpd5021 · 4 years ago

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The Thing That Works...

Hailey and Jay take on a case that affects them both, bringing up things from their past. This will be a two-shot (probably). Let me know what you think!

Jay sighed down at his phone when, for the second time, his call to Hailey went unanswered. It wasn’t like her to not pick up, especially a call from him, but then again it was supposed to be their day off. The team had spent the last two weeks working a grueling case so Voight had shown them mercy and given the two detectives the day off. It all sounded good in theory until Kevin and Vanessa had caught a case, resulting in the whole unit being called in. Vanessa had called him, apologizing when his gruffly voice told her she had woke him, and gave him a quick rundown of the case. She mentioned texting Hailey, but that she hadn’t gotten a reply yet and Jay told her not to worry, that he would get a hold of her. That was twenty minutes ago and now Jay sat in his truck, parked outside of her condo, staring at a blank screen. Maybe she was still asleep. He sighed again and shut his truck off, jumping out and making his way to her door. A mix of confusion and entertainment crossed his face when, as he approached her front door, he could hear music blaring inside. He chuckled to himself, not really pegging Hailey as a 90′s classic kind of gal. Jay knocked and when he realized she’d never hear him over the music, he hesitantly rang the doorbell. He listened as the music was turned down and could see movement behind the frosted window of her door. Suddenly, she was in front of him. A range of emotions flashed across her face, going from surprise, to a huge smile, and then what looked like mild embarrassment. Jay inhaled sharply as he took in the sight of his partner before him. Before he could stop himself, his eyes traveled down her body, which was glistening with sweat. He hadn’t really seen her in anything other than her usual jeans and a T-shirt or sweater, unless you count that one time she was quarantined in a hospital gown. But her currant attire had her body on full display. His eyes quickly roamed from her chest, covered in nothing but a tight black sports bra, down her sculpted abs and to her toned legs showing out of her small athletic shorts. His eyes met hers finally, his eyebrows raised in appreciation, his lower lip clenched between his teeth. He swallowed hard as he felt his face burn bright red, realizing that not only had he just totally checked his partner out but that he had done so in such an obvious way that there was no way he could back track it. He gave her a sheepish grin as he took in her face, a pink blush spreading across her cheeks that he hoped was from whatever she had been doing and not his blatant staring.

“Did we catch a case?” Hailey asked finally, clearing her throat to get his attention.

“Huh? Uh, yea...unfortunately.” He tried to play it cool but his voice came out huskier than he intended.

“Okay...” She trailed off slowly. “I’ll be ready in just a minute, I just need to grab a quick shower after working out.” She hesitated in the doorway for a moment before stepping aside and motioning for him to come in. Jay ducked his head down sheepishly as he entered her home, suddenly the air around him felt thick and he was struggling to focus with the new tension between them. “You can hang on the couch..or in the kitchen...I’ll be right back.” Hailey stammered the words out before turning to dart up the stairs. He risked a glance at her retreating figure and the sight of her toned behind did nothing to help his case. With another sigh, he rubbed his face and walked towards her kitchen. He sat down on her bar stool, taking in the space around him. He had been here many times before, but this was the first time he really took it in, trying to distract himself from the other thoughts floating around his head. The room was neat and tidy, save for a few empty beer bottles perched by her sink. The decor was light and simple, a contrast to her as a person, anything but simple. He jumped slightly when he heard her jogging back down the stairs and joining him in the kitchen. Now she stood before him, wearing her usual jeans and a cream colored sweater, her wet hair draping around her face and he found himself swallowing hard again. If she noticed his look this time, she chose to ignore it, instead walked around him to head towards her coffee maker on the counter.

“Want a cup?” She asked, back turned to him as she pulled a travel mug out of the cupboard. He found himself lost for words as the smell of her shampoo assaulted his nose when she had walked by. He always knew she smelled good, but that was the first time he had caught a whiff fresh out of the shower. He shook his head briefly as his mind started to wander again. Blinking a few times he realized she had turned to face him, waiting for an answer.

“Hmm, uh...yea...sure...please.” He stammered out his words, giving her a sheepish grin. Get a grip Halstead, he thought to himself.

Somehow, he managed to make it through the last few minutes and they were finally in his truck. He filled her in on the little he knew of their case as they drove to the precinct and found himself happy for the distraction. He couldn’t get the smell of her shampoo out of his mind, so it was either new or he just hadn’t been paying attention previously. Either way, it was his new favorite scent. They joined the others in the bullpen, Hailey giving Vanessa a quick smile as they were the last ones to arrive, Jay watched as the two exchanged an odd look, almost like a silent conversation between the two women, but his attention was quickly pulled away by Kevin starting to go over the case.

“Alright so, V and I were called in by patrol this morning. They were sent to a house for possible shots fired. When they made entry, they found mom and two kids shot dead. There’s a third kid, the youngest, who is in surgery at Med right now but it doesn’t look good. The husband/father is in the wind.” Kevin finished, pointing to a photo on the board showing a man in his thirties, dark hair cut close to his scalp and a scar on his left cheek.

“With all due respect, this sounds like a case for Homicide. Why’d we take it?” Hailey asked, taking a sip of her coffee.

“Because,” Voights gravelly voice came from his spot in his office doorway. “They were shot with a military grade assault rifle and the husband was dishonorably discharged six months ago.”

“Neighbors told patrol the couple was always fighting and he has PTSD from his time in.” Adam piped up from his desk where he was going through the traffic cameras from that area. Jay clenched his jaw then, fighting back his own military memories and his struggle with PTSD. He noticed Voight eyeing him from across the room, but diverted his eyes to find Hailey’s. Not surprisingly, she took was assessing the shift in his mood, knowing almost the full extent of what he had gone through.

“So right now, husband is our number one suspect. And we have no idea where he is.” Kim said, filling the sudden awkward silence.

“We’ll head to Med, see if we can get an update on the boy. Keep us posted.” Hailey stood from her desk and headed down the stairs, Jay close behind. Once settled in his truck, she turned to face him, her eyes trying to meet his while he actively tried to ignore her.

“Jay? You good?” Hailey pushed and he knew he wouldn’t be able to get away from this.

“Yea, I’m okay Hailey.” Jay started the truck and sped them out of the lot.

“You’re lying.” It wasn’t a question, but a firm statement.

“No, I....look a few years ago this case would have really got to me. And it definitely crossed my mind up there. But I’m good, promise.” Jay turned to give her a reassuring smile and he could tell it calmed her nerves. He wasn’t lying either and was finding himself all the more grateful that she had pushed him into therapy all those years ago.

At the hospital, they met with Will, who also eyed Jay at the mention of the ex-military husband. He told them the boy was out of surgery but that he was still in critical condition and it wasn’t looking promising. It would be a few hours before they would be able to talk to him, if he even woke up. Next, they decided to head back to the house and see if they could dig up anything that had been missed earlier. As they entered the home, patrol still perched outside, they slowly walked around the living room. Hailey picked up a picture frame, showcasing the supposedly happy family. Mom, dad, two sons and a daughter. Hailey couldn’t help but see her own family in the picture and wondered what was really going on behind their closed doors.

“Hey check this out.” Jay’s voice drew her back to the present, she set the frame down before making her way over to him. He pointed at the wall which appeared to have been recently patched, one spots paint not matching the surrounding area. “What do you think happened here?”

“Someone punched a wall.” Hailey shrugged, trying to shake off childhood memories.

“Yea?” Jay asked, puzzled by her confident answer.

“Perfect circle, this was a fist meeting drywall.” Hailey’s eyes were dark and he could tell she was somewhere far away. He debated questioning her on it, but decided it would be better to let it go for now. They searched the rest of the house but it came up clean, nothing indicating what might have caused the husband to attack or leave the family as a target for an outside attack. They walked back to the truck, feet dragging slightly at their empty-handedness from the house, when Jay’s phone rang.

“Hey Will, what’s up?” He shot Hailey a look and picked up his pace towards the truck. She got the hint and jogged right behind him. “Okay, we’ll be right there.” Jay hung up the phone as he climbed into the drivers seat.

Once at Med, the duo quickly made their way to the nurses station, meeting Will for another update. He informed them that the boy, Jackson, was awake but still pretty out of it. He warned them not to push the boy and that they needed to be quick, they both gave Will an understanding nod before heading towards the room. Hailey swallowed hard at the sight of the small body laying in the hospital bed, tubes coming from every direction and beeping machines all around. Her eyes met his and she could see the terror within. Hailey walked over to the bedside, pulling up the chair and giving the boy a warm smile. Jay leaned back against the counter and let her take point.

“Hey Jackson, my name is Hailey and this in my partner Jay.” She nodded in Jay’s direction and he gave the boy a small smile. “Do you mind if we ask you some questions?”

“Who are you?” His impossibly small voice asked, glancing between the two.

“We’re police officers and we just want to talk to you about what happened.” Hailey was trying to tread carefully and not upset the boy. She knew from his file that he was only seven so she wanted to keep this conversation as light as possible.

“Mommy’s dead.” His stated, brow furrowing. His blunt statement threw Hailey for a loop and she fought to quickly recover.

“Yes.” She nodded, somewhat unsure of whether that was a question or not.

“And my brother and sister.” The boy’s face remained eerily calm while he talked.

“Yes.” Hailey nodded again, wanting to see where he would go with this.

“Daddy’s gone. He was angry.” Jackson met her eyes then and in them she saw herself, as a child, uttering the same words. Daddy’s angry. She felt her eyes burn and blinked quickly to fight back the tears threatening to form. Jay picked up on her shift in mood but remained behind her, letting this play out.

“Why was he angry?” Hailey asked softly, hating how thick her voice sounded right now.

“He’s always angry.” Jackson shrugged, sending another wave of emotion through Hailey.

“Do you know what happened to your mommy and your brother and sister?” Hailey pressed gently.

“Daddy was angry.” His eyes gazed into the distance and Hailey could tell he was shutting down, still she tried to gather some more information.

“Did your daddy hurt them, today?” Her words were a whisper.

“Yes.” Jackson still looked away from her, his face emotionless.

“How?” She wanted to ask for details, to ask if he had shot them, but she knew she couldn’t lead his answers and needed to get him to say it on his own.

“With his gun. And then he left. He was angry.” The boy shrugged again, as if this conversation was the simplest thing in the world and she wasn’t setting here discussing a triple homicide with a seven year old. She swallowed hard again, throat tight with emotion. She had gotten what she needed from him and now they knew the father was their main suspect, which they had figured all along.

“Okay Jackson, we’re going to let you get some sleep now. I’ll come back to visit you if you want.” Hailey stood then, glancing at Jay before giving the boy a warm smile. She turned and they started to make their way out of the room when his small voice sounded out once again.

“Are you going to kill my daddy?” His question froze both of them in their tracks, neither sure how to answer him. Before either could verbalize a response, Jackson continued. “Because you can, he’s a bad man.” Hailey choked back tears and forced a smile on her face before turning to look at him. She wanted to say something to him, to say she knew how he felt, to explain that she had wished someone would hurt her father too and take away her pain. But this wasn’t the time or place for that, so instead she gave him a nod and left the room, Jay hot on her heals. Hailey didn’t stop her brisk walk until they were back at the truck. They climbed in, Jay’s eyes never leaving her face and he assessed where she was at mentally right now. He knew bits and pieces of her past and realized that this case would certainly be bringing some of those memories back to the forefront for her. He was trying to decide how to proceed when she beat him to it.

“I’m fine Jay.” Her words were cool, lacking emotion. He could tell she didn’t want to go there right now and he respected that, hoping they could talk it out later.

“Okay, we’ll head back and see what everyone else has.” He started the truck up and they headed towards the 21st.

Back at the precinct, the mood was somber while everyone sat around feeling somewhat defeated at their lack of leads on this case. Jay had gone over what Jackson had confessed, Adam had given some information on where the father might be hiding, but so far all the options had turned up dry. Kevin and Vanessa were still scouring over traffic camera’s when suddenly she stood from her desk, sending her chair flying backwards.

“I got him!” She exclaimed, pointing excitedly towards her screen. They gathered around her quickly, Voight radioed for patrol to follow him and they scrambled to get geared up and into their vehicles. Luckily, their suspect had decided to spot for something to eat and was still parked outside the small diner just outside the city when they arrived. The team had convened a few blocks away so they could set up the plan, Voight barking out orders and everyone hurrying to get in place. They would wait for him to come out of the diner, not wanting to start something inside with potential victims. Vanessa was sent to walk down the street, acting the part of a regular pedestrian so she could get a peak inside. She radioed that he was about to leave and continued walking around the corner so he wouldn’t be suspicious of her. They watched as he walked out, quickly closing their ranks to surround him, but his military training kicked in and he saw them coming. The man spun around quickly, taking in their approach from all angles as each member marched closer, guns drawn. Jay took the lead, hoping he’d be able to connect with him due to their similar history.

“Hey man, put your hands up. We’re not here to hurt you. We just want to help.” Jay’s voice was loud but had a calm tone to it as he stepped forward.

“That’s what they all say!” The man bellowed, his head twisting frantically as they continued to close in.

“You’re ex-military right? Me too.” Jay stretched both his arms up, gun still in hand but now pointing skyward. “We can talk this through, I can help you.”

“Help me?” The man laughed frantically. “You don’t know what I’ve done.” His voice broke then, his first real show of emotion.

“Yes, I do.” Jay remained calm and collected despite the heated situation.

“They’re gone! All of them! Because of me!” He yelled out, face reddened and eyes watering.

“Not all of them. Jackson is alive, he’s at Med. I can take you there.” The lie fell from Jay’s lips effortlessly. He had no intention of taking this man anywhere near his son but if it would help diffuse the situation he would use it. At Jay’s words though, the man spun to face him, suddenly drawing his own gun and aiming it towards Jay.

“Don’t lie to me!” He bellowed, taking a step towards Jay. Jay knew what he should do, the man could shoot him at any second and he needed to take him out. But he hesitated, thinking of his own PTSD and the time he had pointed a gun at Hailey, not recognizing her in the heat of the moment. He didn’t want to take him out like this, the guy definitely deserved to pay for what he had done but Jay had a hard time pulling the trigger on a fellow military Vet.

“I’m not.” Jay stated, voice still calm. He could feel his team around him, all ready to take the shot and end this scenario. He was hoping it wouldn’t come to that, but he didn’t get the choice to continue talking him down as the man lurched forward towards Jay and in an instant, Jay leveled his gun and took the shot. He watched as the man dropped instantly and blood began to pool underneath him. Adam and Kevin ran over, kicking the gun out of his hand. He watched Kevin kneel down to check for a pulse but he didn’t need the confirmation. A shot to the center of his chest was fatal, almost instantly. Jay holstered his weapon and turned back to face Hailey, standing wide eyed and seemingly frozen in place behind him. He wasn’t sure what she was thinking or if she was even there with him right now, her face impossible to read. While the rest of his team got to work securing the scene, Jay made his way over to her.

“Hailey?” His voice soft, not wanting to spook her.

“He could have shot you.” Her voice trembled slightly and she blinked, bringing herself back into the moment.

“But he didn’t.” Jay stepped closer, placing his hands on her shoulders. This wasn’t what they did, physical contact. It was somehting new. But in this moment he felt it’s what was needed, what she needed, to feel him and know that he was unharmed. They stood like that for a moment, her eyes searching his face, before they both seemed to realize their close proximity. Jay lifted his hands at the same time she took a step back, both giving the other a sheepish grin.

“We should....go help them.” Hailey nodded towards their unit.

“Yea...” He agreed, rubbing his neck awkwardly.

They eventually cleared the scene, Jay spent over an hour talking to the IA officer who had come to investigate the shooting, but finally they were back at the precinct. Hailey was in front of her locker when Jay entered the locker room, she gave him a quick smile before finishing up what she was doing.

“So much for a day off.” She joked lightheartedly but Jay knew better. He knew that this case had affected them both, in different ways, thanks to their respective past lives. He knew this would be a case where they ended up doing ‘their thing’ and he found himself thankful he had her to talk it through with.

“So, my place or yours?” He asked, sitting to untie his work boots. She turned to give him a quizzical look. “Our thing that works, I definitely need it tonight and I’m pretty confident you do too.”

“Oh yeah?” She challenged his last statement with a raised eyebrow.

“Yeah Hailey, I know enough now to know this got to you, at least a little bit.” She dipped her head then, unable to put up an argument because she knew he was right.

“I’ll get the beer if you’ll get the pizza?” She asked, biting her lower lip playfully and scrunching her forehead up in excitement over the thought of her favorite pizza place.

“Make it beer and tequila and we have a deal. I’ll even throw in some bread sticks.” He gave her a cheesy grin then, knowing she would be even more excited now.

“Jay Halstead, you spoil me.” She smiled at him genuinely and then shut her locker door. She gave him another look, he still sat perched on the bench working on a knot in his laces. “Chop chop! I’m hungry!” She teased before walking out of the locker room. Despite his hellish day, Jay couldn’t help the smile plastered to his face as he walked out of the precinct, calling in their pizza order.

#chicago pd #chicago pd fanfiction #halstead and upton #jay halstead #hailey upton #halstead #jay x hailey

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bibliodragon · 5 years ago

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Fic: Breaking Point

Sarah Palmer deals with the aftermath of Draetheus V

Fandom: Halo

Characters: Sarah Palmer, Tom Lasky

Rating: T

AO3

She checks the gun. Three shots left. Two targets, shielded. No, three. One of the hingeheads she put down earlier. Thought she put down. It staggers up, spitting curses. Usual stuff, about heretics and unholy. It’s shields would have recharged now. Dammit.

Spartan Sarah Palmer eyes the focus rifle lying discarded halfway between the remaining Covies and the rocky outcrop she’s taking cover behind. Two hingeheads, two jackals now: one with a shield. Smart thing to do is hold her ground. They’re holding back, they don’t know how much ammo she’s got left. But it’s only a matter of time before they split up and try flanking her. A grenade would be handy right now, the way they’re bunched up right now. No point wishing for what she doesn’t have.

What she does have is a gun with three bullets, a nagging pain in her side, and a dull buzzing in her ears. And four enemies in need of killing. Even if they very kindly turn their shields off and stand still for her, that still leaves one of them standing. Maybe one of the jackals could stand perfectly in line behind the other.

Bastards are moving now. Probably figured out there’s a reason for the lack of gunfire pointed in their direction. One of the hindgeheads barks out something while giving a sweep of his arm in her direction. She doesn’t need a translator to work that one out.

She kicks out from hiding, sending a spray of gravel up from her feet. Straight line, right at them. She stumbles, but keeps on going. The shield-less jackal squawks and flinches back, the other holds it’s ground. And the elites, her old friend aims a kick at the coward, while the other…damn, the other has spotted just what it is she is going for. Sword out, he’s striding out towards the riffle with a slowness that’s dammed insulting.

Her shields are crackling as she comes under fire. She doesn’t need an audience. One bullet to take out Shield-less. Second to finish the job on the elite. Third only catches the other jackal’s gauntlet. Crap.

She dives for the riffle as the elite reaches it. Bastard jackal continues to shoot. Elite brings down the sword. She hits the ground, rolls, grabs the riffle and upright again fires at the jackal, then twists round to shove the riffle in the elite’s face and pulls the trigger.

Nothing happens.

The elite actually slows its swing and she can see the amusement in its eyes. She heaves the useless riffle at the middle of its smug four jaws. She hates showboating. She feels a moment of satisfaction at the crack, before the elite punches her helmet with its other hand, sending her reeling backwards.

Bastard’s still showboating.

She can taste blood in her mouth. Alright then, draw on that front. She feints to the left, and then barrels straight forward before it can bring up the sword again. They both go sprawling. She has a knife, even if energy sword trumps that, but the damn thing refuses to make it easy for her. It’s snarling and spitting and truth be told she’s snarling right back. Not that it can tell. Punching it in the face gets the idea across.

It’s a scrabble of clawing, kicking, punching in the dirt. She is unaware of anything else. At some point she had gotten the sword from it, but that wasn’t important. She doesn’t need it. She’s managing just fine with fists.

Bastard kicks out, gets her in the side, the pain is enough that the next thing she knows is her back hitting the dirt, the thing snarling something but she can’t hear right. Not that it matters. She just needs to get up and hit it again, and then keep hitting it. As a plan it’s flawless. Pity she forgot about the sword. Pity the elite didn’t. Round over.

“Round Over!”

She fucking hates that thing.

“Run it again.”

Spartan Sarah Palmer pushes herself upright, ignoring the pain in her side which thinks it can make itself known again. She grits her teeth, allowing a wince of pain hidden by her helmet as she gets to her feet. She still has the sword; she watches it smoke for a moment before deactivating it and placing it on her hip. She still needs to stab something. “War Games, run the simulation again!”

“Non-Spartan personnel present; simulation paused.”

Hell there is! “And I told you not to let anyone else in!”

“Over-ridden.”

Hell with that. But she needs to rearm anyway. Her surroundings shimmer and give way to bare deck as she makes her way to the exit. She stares straight ahead, focused on her goal. Get the biggest, badest gun she can find and then go and shoot something. Such as whoever it is who thinks they can interrupt her. She knows full well who thinks they can interrupt her, but she really wants to just be shooting something right now.

“Better have a good excuse for being in here.” She doesn’t look up from the assault rifle in her hands. She checks and rechecks it, finding the familiar action soothing, even though not as much as getting to shoot something with it would.

“That’s the thing about being commander,” Tom Lasky says casually as he enters the room. “I don’t need an excuse.”

“Well, I’m sure that’ll impress the simulated Covies into not shooting at you.” The weight of the rifle seems off, somehow, even though the display says it is fully loaded, so she checks it again. Perhaps he’ll take the hint.

Of course, he doesn’t. “I’ll have you know I managed to shoot a few live ones in my time.”

“Feel free to help yourself.” She indicates the weapons locker with a curt nod. “Might last, what, two, three minutes.” The rifle’s still bothering her. Should have gone with the dual pistols, but she just…really wants to stab something with the energy sword.

“I think I could manage at least five.” He’s talking to her same way as normal, none of that kid-glove crap the others tried, and she’s grateful for that. Really. But he really, really needs to learn to take a hint. She can see him in her peripheral vision, standing there and watching her as she checks the gun again and again before unloading it once again and then slamming it back down. The crack of metal against metal remains between them even as she picks up another riffle and begins the routine once again. This one feels off, also. “Damn it.”

Alright, fuck it. She just needs the sword. More fun, anyway. She puts the useless riffle back, fumbling slightly. Definitely something wrong with it. She needs to get someone to check them later. And chew out whoever left them in this state. But she needs to stab something first.

“What was wrong with that one?”

Yeah, he’s not taking the hint. She’d glare at him, despite being hidden by her helmet, but that would involve turning her head. She glares at the guns instead. Not that they can see under the helmet, either. “Weight’s off. Apparently basic maintenance is just too hard for some people,” she says, bitterly. The dull ache is becoming sharper now.

Footsteps against the deck, and he’s beside her, picking up the gun she had just put down and hefting it. “Seems alright to me.”

“Well, feel free to use it!” She snaps, louder than she intended, and it causes her head to ring. She grits her teeth. She’s wasting too much time.

“Sarah…”

“Don’t!” She can deal with this, just so long as he doesn’t use that tone of voice. “Just don’t.” She’s stopped for too long as it is. She needs to be moving, doing. Killing something. She turns away from him.

“Is this helping?” He speaks softly. Before, when she was regular grade human, she would not have been able to hear over the metallic stomp of her own armour. But back then, being able to hear over a half ton of armour wouldn’t have been a problem down to lack of opportunity. She can ignore him, and go back to killing things. Would certainly be the preferred option. But for some reason she finds herself stopping, just for a moment.

“Yes. Yes it is. And it would help if you would get out of here and let me get on with it.”

“Get on with what? You can’t keep running the War Games until you pass out from exhaustion. Or worse. You know the medics can keep track of you, there’s a whole bunch out there freaking out about you right now.”

That gets a laugh, a short, sharp crack that jars at the back of her eyes. “Really? Well, I’m touched for their concern. Not enough to actually tell me that.”

“Come on, can you blame them?” The light scuff of his boot against the deck gives away that he’s shifted his stance, probably got his hands on his hips. Probably got that look on his face, the ‘oh so disappointed, but I am trying to be reasonable here’ one. “You’re pretty terrifying at the best of times.”

“Thanks. That makes me feel much better. Problem solved. You can go away now.” She can feel herself sway slightly. She needs to keep moving. But it’s harder to get going now, somehow. There is a heaviness in her limbs, as if she’s feeling the weight of the armour somehow.

He takes a step towards her, as if he can sense this weakness. “All I’m saying is that you can’t keep on like this forever.”

“I’m still standing.” And it would really undermine her point if she were to fall over right at this point. She needs to keep moving. And he really needs to get out of her way.

“So that’s the plan, is it? Just keep on going until you’re unconscious? Or worse? How is that going to help?” He sighs. “Look, I don’t know what-“

“Don’t!” She whips round, her hand up as if she can shield herself from the sentiment. “Just…don’t.” That isn’t what she needs right now. She just needs to shoot something. She just needs to keep shooting, and everything will be fine.

“You can’t think this is healthy? You’ve been in here non-stop since you got back.” She was right, he has got the concerned look on his face. “Look, you need to stop. This isn’t going to help.”

He’s sweet, but he has no idea what he’s talking about. She glares at him, the one that can send people running even with the helmet in the way. He doesn’t move. Of course he doesn’t. God damn, she’s tired.

He can sense the weakness. “You can’t keep running from this. You’re going to have to stop at some point, and it’s going to catch up with you.”

“But it doesn’t have to be now.” The weight of the armour is pulling on her. If he doesn’t get out of her way soon she’s likely to fall on him. “Don’t make me move you.”

He just crosses his arms and gives her a look. He’s figured it out how he just needs to wear her down by keeping her talking long enough. Clever bastard. The buzzing in her ears is getting louder, and she takes a step towards him. He continues to stand his ground. Of course he does.

She’s going to have to call his bluff. He can try and stop a determined Spartan in a half-ton of armour, or he can get out of her way. She takes her second step, and he’s still staring her down like he can stop her.

The third step’s too much for her. She stumbles, and he actually steps forward as if he can stop her falling. She catches herself before she goes further than one knee, and through gritted teeth hisses “really?” at him. He meets her gaze evenly, as if she wasn’t wearing the helmet. And as if he hadn’t almost gotten himself flattened.

“You know you can’t keep doing this.”

The quiet words cut through the sound of her heartbeat and the rasp of her breathing, echoing all around her. She pushes her fist against the floor, metal against metal. She can taste blood. She can’t remember a time when she didn’t.

She wonders how it would feel to punch the floor, to keep going until there is nothing left. But for the first time in a long time she is tired.

“I’m sorry.” He’s still so quiet, but for the first time she can see the worry in his eyes. But then he keeps talking. “It wasn’t your fault. A lot more people would be dead right now if not for you.”

“I am really not in the mood to hear that crap.” She looks down at the floor and considers trying to push herself back onto her feet. But the buzzing’s not so loud down here. “I did the job in front of me.” She barks out a laugh. “I got lucky. Other people didn’t. Isn’t the first time.”

But it is the first time, isn’t it. In the old days, in the meat grinder, fighting for the survival of the human race, she’d seen so many of her fellow soldiers snuffed out just like that. But she’s a Spartan now. Spartans don’t die.

She laughs again, a bitter sharp bark. Maybe she had bought into that bullshit after all.

He’s crouching down beside her now. “Just because it isn’t the first time, doesn’t mean you ever stop feeling it,” he says softly. “At least we can do that for them.”

He’s wrong, of course. You get them back as good as they got yours. That’s what you do for them. But she just can’t find it in herself to tell him that right now.

“Davis deserved better.” That’s the thing that’s been pushing at her, gnawing away at her. “KIA. That’s one thing. We all know that.” She laughs again. “And what a way to go right? There are a hell of a lot worse ways to go. Not that anyone’s allowed to know that. Classified information. And that’s fine.” The claustrophobia gets too much for her, and she pulls of the helmet. It drops with an anticlimactic clang. “But he deserved better than that!”

She must look like crap. She can tell by the way his eyes widen slightly. But he doesn’t comment on it. He just looks at her, sighs sadly, and shifts to lean back against the wall beside her. “I’ve had to leave people behind as well. I know how much it hurts.”

It’s the ringing of metal that tells her she’s punched the floor. She waits for the pain to follow. She needs it to follow.

“What happened at Ivanoff?”

He’s still there. He hasn’t moved. Not beyond the automatic flinch when she hit the deck. He’s still just looking at her sadly, and she wonders how much he already knows.

But he’s looking her in the eye at least. None of the others could manage that. But that feels worse, somehow. He has kind eyes. She hadn’t noticed that before.

“Better watch out.” She breaks from that gaze with a shake of her head. “Need to know, and all that crap. Don’t want you getting black bagged by ONI.”

But it hurts. It’s dragging on her, and it hurts. And Davis deserved better than that.

“He was calling for help. Before he died. He was calling for me. But it was too late. Some Forerunner bullshit. And what was left of him…” She stares down at her fist, still sitting in the small indent in the floor, as she finds reserves of anger deep enough to cut through the exhaustion. “I did not go through all that to bring him home for that!” Her fingers itch for the riffle, to squeeze the trigger until there’s nothing left, but it’s so far away and her bones ache. She’s tired, for the first time in a long time, but the anger, the rage, it sits on her, smothering her, while the bile rises up. “To be some…science project! For that…woman! And they just expected me to just hand him over.”

She had never seen Catherine Halsey move so fast. So very keen to get her hands on a new toy. And she had to just hand him over. Just another bit of Forerunner tech. And very much aware that she was under orders to hand him over.

To leave him behind.

She so badly wants to punch something again.

She pulls her hand up and gingerly flexes her fingers. The dent in the floor looks up at her accusingly.

“That’s fine. I’m sure there’s still plenty time to buff that out.” He’s still at her side. Still hasn’t gone anywhere. She laughs at that, or his lame joke, she doesn’t know. She’s glad he’s still there. That does surprise her.

“God what a mess.” She makes a fist, but just taps it against the floor this time, then pushes to her feet. It’s a long way up.

He’s beside her again, and this time he does touch her arm. She’s aware of it even through the metal. “Well, you certainly gave the War Games a trial by fire. If it can take that, it can take anything.”

“I’d like to see someone else beat that score.” She winces. It hurts to laugh.

“It’s ok to be mad at orders, you know. Brass asks a lot at times.”

She raises an eyebrow. “That’s downright subversive. Never would have thought you had it in you.”

“Well, there’s a lot you don’t know about me.” He’s smiling when he says it. “If you agree to let the med team look at you I can tell you about it.”

There’s a joke about wanting to get her out of her armour there, but she’s not quite yet in the right place to find it. It’ll keep. “Fine, but you’re buying the drinks.”

“It’s a deal.

#halo #sarah palmer #commander palmer #tom lasky #captain lasky #fanfic #aaaaaaaaaaaa #this thing has been on my back since 2014!#thomas lasky

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lumassen · 4 years ago

Text

Suomen Tasavalta

Unlike most other Nations, Finland chooses to live alone and limit his contact with humans and his people. Despite appearing cheerful and happy, Finn struggles with his immortality more than others might think.

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Cross posted from AO3. Includes lyrics from "Who wants to live forever" by Queen.

Words: 1,930

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There's no time for us,

There's no place for us,

It was too warm inside his cabin, and Finland felt a bead of sweat roll down the nape of his neck beneath his hair. He knew that he'd got carried away and put one too many logs on the fire that flickered away in the grate, but with no central heating in his house Finland always preferred it to be too warm than too cold. He couldn't help but smile a little though as his gaze fell upon Kukkamuna, his little fluffy companion, as she lay softly snoring out on the rug in front of the fireplace. He sat down on the couch to pull on his wellington boots and stuff his corduroy trousers into the tops. Beneath him, the red leather chesterfield was cracked and worn.

Like so many other things in his cabin, Finland hadn't changed, updated or replaced the couch since 1917 and instead just kept accumulating modernities as and when he needed them. His TV that he eventually treated himself to back in 2006 stood on an antique cabinet that he bought at a woodwork market when he first became independent and moved into this house, and the old refrigerator hummed loudly from the kitchen, the same one he’d always had. It would occasionally leak puddles of water all over the floor, but Finland made do, happy to mop up the water rather than replace the fridge. To him, not much time had passed at all, and the 1930's style fridge and all of his belongings were still relatively new in his eyes.

Tearing his gaze from the fire before he could get lost in thought, Finland stood up, turning his attention to the window to notice that the snow had stopped and the darkened sky was lifting as the clouds cleared.

It was mid December, and little over a week ago a new Prime Minister had been elected by the people of Finland. He eyed the letter on the side table that had arrived the day before last inviting him to meet with her, the edge of it torn accidentally from where he'd struggled to open the envelope with trembling hands.

What is this thing that builds our dreams,

Yet slips away from us?

Unlike the rest of the Nordics and majority of the other nations, Finland had lived in the same house all his independent life, far away from civilisation with no contact with humans apart from his government. He preferred it this way. Denmark teased, calling him a hermit, but he laughed it off, and Sweden always offered him a key to his house every time he moved into a new one, but Finland didn’t want it. He was happy enough by himself.

Happy, cheerful, Finland. That was him.

The cold air rushed in from outside, swirling around him in the entrance way like an old friend as he opened the door and looked out. A fresh layer of snow covered the ground beyond his porch, and had he not known that the lake was at the bottom of the hill it would be easy to overlook; now frozen over and covered in the same layer of snow. It would remain that way until the thaw. Taking in a deep breath through his nose, Finland found comfort in the way that the sharpness of the cold air stung his nostrils and filled his lungs.

After all he had seen and experienced, there wasn’t much in life that unnerved or scared him, yet when Finland had tried on his formal suit last night before he went to bed to make sure that it still fit and looked back at himself in the mirror he felt the dread building in the pit of his stomach. It hadn’t gone away, and instead had been building ever since, his insides churning to the point that he hadn’t been able to stomach breakfast this morning. Tomorrow he was to meet with the Prime Minister and stand before them as they shook his hand awkwardly, regarding him with either an expression of fear, apprehension or unease; sometimes even all three at once.

He didn’t blame them though, no matter how much it hurt him. He knew that it was strange for them to find out that the country that they had just become head of had a personification. Someone that wasn’t quite human, yet wasn't like anything else. Unexplainable, yet real. Living and breathing but unable to die, walking the earth for eternity.

Who wants to live forever?

Closing the door behind him, Finland stepped out onto the porch, the wind sending a chill up his spine as it found any hole or gap in his clothing to slip through as he made his way down the three steps at the front of his cabin and listened to the snow crunch beneath him as he sank his feet into it. Quiet. Tranquil. Only the sound of his own shuddered breathing that came out and danced in clouds around him, a visual reminder of the life within him.

Balling his fists, Finland took a step forward, then another, then another, until he broke into a run, his feet burying into the snow before he came to a halt, teetering at the very edge of the lake.

"Miksi!? Minä vitun tätä!!" (Why? I fucking hate this!)

Finland's voice echoed over the lake as he screwed his eyes shut and shouted from the top of his lungs, causing a flock of birds in a nearby birch tree to take to the wing, startled. He watched them through tear filled eyes as they flew to the other side of the lake before settling back down into the trees again.

"Miksi olen täällä? Mikä minun tarkoituseni on?" (Why am I here? What is my purpose?)

This time his voice was little more than a whisper as he swallowed the lump in his throat and looked down at the crescent shaped grooves that his fingernails had left in the skin on the palms of his hands from clenching his fists so tightly.

There's no chance for us.

It's all decided for us.

This world has only one sweet moment set aside for us.

He thought back to that moment in 1917 and could see himself as he looked out at the lake. His younger self was staring back at him as though he were a ghost, an apparition. He'd never felt as alive as he had then as he turned his back on Russia and finally led his people home to his land. To the Republic of Finland.

That had been the last time he'd interacted with them, choosing to live out his life as a free country with just the other nations for company. Sometimes he wondered if it were a mistake, but if the look on his previous Prime Ministers face when they had been introduced for the first time was anything to go by then he stood by his decision. He was a freak, born from the snow and evergreen, his first waking moments spent alone and cold with no idea why he existed or where he came from.

Who wants to live forever?

Who dares to love forever?

Oh, when love must die?

A branch snapped underfoot behind him, and Finland spun around on the spot, swinging his rifle around from where it was slung over his back to aim it in the direction of the disturbance and closed one eye to look down the barrel.

“I’ve already been shot by ya once before and don’t plan to be shot again, so put that thing down. It’s just me.”

Sweden was standing in the clearing just in front of where the trees stopped at the edge of the lake with his hands raised in surrender, yet there was a smirk on his face. Lowering the rifle, Finland flicked the safety on and slowly slipped it to rest across his back once more.

“Ruotsi?”

Taking a tiny step forward, Finland squinted as if it could be anyone but Sweden before him, the bottom of his unmistakable long navy coat dusted with a thin layer of powdered snow from where he’d walked through it.

“Suomi.” he said, stopping in front of him.

It had been a couple months since Finland had seen Sweden, let alone interacted with anyone but Kukkamuna for that matter. He noticed Sweden had cut his hair.

“What are you doing here?” Finland couldn’t help but narrow his eyes as he asked the question, wondering if they had plans that he’d forgotten about.

There was a small silence between them as Sweden reached out and hesitantly brought his hand to Finland’s face. At first he flinched at the touch, but Sweden’s hands were always warm, just as he remembered them as he ran his thumb over the stubble that had grown across his jaw.

“I know you gotta big day tomorrow, and that you don’t like humans.”

If it were anyone else, Finland would have felt the urge to defend himself and explain that he loved the humans and his people. Deep down he did, they were the reason that there was life in his veins, but they made him uneasy and Sweden knew this better than anyone.

“It’s not that I don’t like them, Roo,” he pressed as Sweden let his hand drop back down by his side, “because I do. I don’t mind being around them when they think I’m one of them, but tomorrow…”

Finland dropped his gaze to his hands as they fiddled with the small hole at the hem of his sweater from where he’d been meaning to mend it for the past 20 years.

“Wait, didja come all this way just for me? You’re not here on business?” he looked up again as the realisation hit him, and Sweden just nodded with a faint smile.

But touch my tears with your lips,

Touch my world with your fingertips,

“No, I just thought it had been a while since I saw a birch tree. I heard the best can be found here.” Sweden said as he knocked his knuckles against the trunk of the birch to his left and looked up into its branches wistfully before his eyes slid to look at Finland from behind his glasses, a playful expression on his face and Finland felt his jaw slacken.

“Course I came here for ya.”

Finland let out a laugh as his face crumpled and he wiped his nose that had started to run as a result of the cold on his sleeve, drying away the few tears that threatened to fall at the same time and hoped that Sweden hadn’t noticed them.

“You tried your suit on?” Sweden asked, his voice a little gentler now as he took a step closer to Finland. Finland nodded with a sniffle, feeling his stomach lurch as the thought of having to stand in a stuffy room tomorrow in a three piece suit, lily of the valley in his breast pocket, hair tamed and combed back just as his officials thought it should be.

“Then let's not think about it again until tomorrow mornin’.”

Draping an arm heavy around Finland’s shoulders, Sweden stooped and pressed the softest of kisses to the top of Finland’s head, clearly unfazed by the fact that he hadn’t washed his hair in three days.

“Kiitos, Ruotsi.” (Thank you, Sweden.)

“Ole hyvä, Suomi.” (You’re welcome, Finland.)

And we can have forever,

And we can love forever,

Forever is our today.

#aph finland #aph sweden #sufin #hetalia #aph fanfiction #hetalia fanfiction

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kittenshift-17 · 4 years ago

Note

Charloe #21 and #22 preferably in the same one, lots of angst! Love your writing btw!

Scared of Getting Good

https://archiveofourown.org/works/30754034

They ran hard despite the raging storm booming overhead, their clothes drenching quickly in the violent downpour. Charlie panted raggedly, slowing as they lost themselves deeper in the woods beyond where those who might’ve been dumb enough to follow them into the storm could possibly catch up. Monroe kept running, but she knew where she was supposed to meet him; knew the rendezvous point they’d agreed on; knew she’d be able to find it, even in the dark.

Slowing to a walk, Charlie tipped her head back, looking to the sky as lightning flashed in the distance before thunder boomed overhead. It felt good to feel the rain on her skin instead of the constant, dry baking grit of the Texas desert and the stickiness of her own sweat. It hardly ever rained in Texas. The stinging cold of it made her shiver, but Charlie had never felt more alive. God, how long had she been running? Fighting? Killing? Had she stopped since that day in Sylvania Estates when Captain Neville had put a bullet in her Dad’s chest and taken her little brother captive?

It didn’t feel like it. It felt like everything since then had just been about surviving. Even when she’d ditched Mom and Miles in Texas and gone off alone, it hadn’t felt like living. It was all just about surviving. She knew with sickening ease that the day her childhood had ended had been that day in Wisconsin when the Monroe Militia blasted her entire world to smithereens.

And what a sick joke that this moment, now, when she was trudging through a thunderstorm and pondering the value of her own life, she could already hear the president of that Republic running back for her.

“Charlie?” he called when he was close. “What happened? Were you hit? Why’d you stop?”

General Sebastian Monroe. President of the Monroe Republic. Running to her rescue like she fucking mattered to him. Like his men weren’t responsible for everything that had gone wrong in her life back in Wisconsin.

“I’m fine,” Charlie replied when he ran back to her, his hands finding her body even in the dark and beginning to wander it, cataloguing, his fingers looking for injuries his eyes couldn’t see. “Just wanted to feel the rain.”

His hands froze on her hips and she heard the strangled sound of fury he choked on.

“We’re in the middle of a thunderstorm and you wanna stop and feel the rain?” he growled furiously.

Charlie sighed, knowing he was going to make her run again. Knowing her moment of reprieve was already over.

“It hardly ever rains in Texas,” she reminded him.

“You take a few blows to the head in the fight, kid?” he asked and when lightning flashed overhead, she could see he was frowning at her.

Charlie laughed.

“Nah,” she said, shoving his hands away and pushing his chest lightly.

“You sure?” he asked, his hands returning, this time smoothing over her head, looking for bumps as though he might find something.

“I’m fine, Monroe,” she shook her head. “Just thinking.”

He was silent for a beat, one of his hands gathering the hair plastered to her right cheek and across her forehead, slicking it back and tangling his fingers in the dripping strands.

“About what?” he queried quietly, not stepping back or letting her go.

“It’s nothing,” she shook her head.

“Yeah, sure,” he sneered, and she could hear him rolling his eyes. “Everyone stops in a storm to feel the rain and think about nothing.”

Charlie kind of hated him.

“Thinking about Dad,” she confessed quietly. “And Danny. It used to rain like this in Wisconsin. And snow. We’d get so much snow in the winter…”

“Beats melting in fuckin’ Texas, I bet,” Monroe muttered.

Charlie nodded.

Lightning flashed again, illuminating him in the dark and Charlie met his eyes for that brief second, counting in her head until the thunder boom three beats later.

“Still blame me for what happened?” he asked quietly in the pattering rain that followed when the sky fell silent for a few minutes.

Charlie sighed, bringing a hand up and fisting the fabric of his shirt where it was plastered to his abs in the rain, thinking about the answer.

“Not really,” she admitted. “You didn’t pull the trigger yourself. I’ve learned enough since then to know that counts for something.”

She didn’t know how it could be, but she had let it go. All of it. She wasn’t angry at Monroe for the deaths of her father or her brother anymore. She hadn’t been for a long time. Not since he’d saved her life in Pottsboro and proved he was a complete gentleman when it really mattered.

“Been a long time since I stood in the rain,” he said after what felt like an eternity, moving closer and bending down to lay his forehead against hers.

“How long?” she wondered.

“Before the blackout, probably,” he muttered. “At least since I stood in the rain because I wanted to, not because I had no choice.”

“Why would you have stood in it by choice before the blackout,” she frowned. “Houses were better maintained back then.”

He laughed quietly.

“Better maintained but just as stifling, sometimes,” he told her quietly.

“Weren’t you in the Marines with Miles?” Charlie clarified.

“Yeah. So?”

“Did you even have a house?” she frowned.

“Real nice, Charlotte,” he grumbled, laughing quietly as more thunder boomed, lightning filling the sky. “Hit a guy while he’s down.”

“What’ve you got to be down about? If you’d had a house, you’d have long since lost it by now, along with everything else.”

“Such a ray of sunshine aren’t you, baby?” he teased, laughing, his hand untangling from her hair and cupping her cheek.

For a breathless moment, Charlie wondered if he was going to kiss her. She’d like that, she thought. Out here in the rain with no one to see them and no one to judge them, it might be nice, just once, to give in to the tension that always bubbled between them, just begging to boil over into something else. Something more.

Biting her lip, she searched his face in the dark, silently begging for more lightning so she might see those brilliant blue eyes and know what he was thinking and whether he wanted to kiss her too. She took a deep breath in, thinking that she should just go for it before the sound of heavy footsteps caught her ear.

“Someone’s coming,” she hissed, panic surging through her limbs as she jerked back from Monroe. “Come on. Let’s go!”

“What? You done feeling the rain?” he taunted, and it was like flipping a switch, the tender, private moment gone in a heartbeat and he was back to his cynical, snarky asshole self.

“Eat me, Monroe,” Charlie retorted, setting off at a run again, knowing that if anyone had dared follow them out of that town they’d assaulted, they would be fast catching up while they dawdled.

Monroe made her run ahead of him this time, refusing to go around her even though he was the faster of the two of them. He stayed right behind her, pushing her on, bending and scooping her back to her feet with his hands under her armpits when she stumbled over a tree root and skinned her knee through her jeans, pushing her forward and driving her to the foxhole where Miles and Connor would be waiting with the rest of their raiding party.

“Who goes there?” a voice shouted, one of their team already there ahead of them.

“Connor’s such a moron in the dark,” Charlie complained to Monroe as they both slowed their pace.

“It’s us, idiot,” Monroe answered his son. “Where’s Miles?”

“Thought he was with you?” Connor called back and Charlie stopped, looking over her shoulder, fear clenching her heart.

“The hell?” Monroe growled, stopping too and looking around in the dark like they might spot Miles in the gloom.

“He’ll be right behind us,” Charlie assured him.

“How’d you lose him, Connor?”

“He went left at that water tower on the far side of town, and I went right. Think he was going after you two...”

Charlie’s eyes narrowed when footsteps sounded in the dark again and for a terrible moment, she wondered if it’d been Miles out there in the dark interrupting her before she could kiss Monroe.

“Miles?” she called out hopefully.

The footsteps kept coming and Monroe hauled her closer to their bunker with one arm, while he swung his rifle around with the other.

“Miles?” she called again, knife in hand, ready to fling it at the invader if it was anyone but Miles.

“It’s me,” he grunted when he was closer. “Move. They weren’t far behind me.”

Relief flooded her and she charged into the shelter past Connor where he stood on watch, grateful for the light and the warmth when she descended into the basement and found Aaron, Grandpa and her Mom all inside.

“Charlie. Thank God,” her Mom said, drawing her into a relieved hug despite her wet clothes and hair.

“Get dry, kiddo,” Grandpa advised, favouring her with a warm smile to show his own relief. “You’ll catch your death in wet clothes like that.”

Charlie nodded, heading for her pack and digging out some dry clothes before slipping into the adjacent room and peeling off her drenched jeans. She was about to pull her tank top off too, but the scrape of boots followed by the rasp of a fly stopped her.

“Monroe,” she hissed, narrowing her eyes at him, scowling.

He looked over as he shoved his pants down his legs, uncaring that he was commando under them, and that she could see his junk.

“What?” he asked, and though he feigned an expression of concern as though worried she was upset about something, Charlie caught the gleam in those electric blue eyes that he knew exactly what he was doing.

Huffing, she turned her back and proceeded to pull the shirt off over her head anyway, viscerally aware of his gaze drinking in the sight of her.

“Oh, don’t play cute, Charlotte,” Monroe taunted quietly from behind her. “What? You’re gonna play the embarrassed and blushing virgin? C’mon. This is me.”

“The hell’s that supposed to mean?” she asked, well aware of what she was doing as she stepped out of her wet underwear and stood with her back to him, naked as the day she’d been born.

“I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice,” Monroe taunted, his voice coming closer until she would swear that she could feel his warm breath ghosting over her damp shoulders and feel the heat radiating from his body. “I know you wanted to kiss me out there in the rain…”

“You’re delusional,” Charlie retorted, grabbing the dry shirt she’d brought and pulling it on over her head before wriggling into dry panties even though her skin was still damp. The jeans would have to wait, she decided, turning to glare at Monroe, knowing she’d have a hard time getting the tight fabric up her legs as long as she was wet from the rain.

He was standing right behind her, still naked and Charlie’s eyes dropped to his chest, his abs, and then lower.

“Christ,” she muttered, taking a step back and drawing a smug laugh from him.

“Yeah,” he smirked. “That’s what I thought.”

“Put some pants on,” she rolled her eyes, even though she was having a hard time tearing her eyes off his dick. Had it always been that big? Shit.

“You sure you want me to?” he asked, his voice turning husky and damn him to the deepest pits of hell, no she wasn��t sure. She wanted to reach out and touch him. She wanted to sink to her knees and take him in her mouth right then and there, but Miles was coming and her Mom and Grandpa were in the next room.

“Monroe,” she said tightly, her hand twitching to reach out and run down the steel length of him.

He laughed knowingly.

“Take a good look, baby,” he murmured before the sound of Miles’ footsteps filled the air.

“Damn it, Bass!” Miles growled. “Put some damn pants on! Christ. I’m blind.”

Monroe laughed, never taking his eyes off Charlie, his eyes just daring her to do as she so desperately wanted, and to reach out and touch him. He bounced his eyebrows at her when Miles kept fussing before conceding to Miles’ demands and stepping into a dry pair of jeans.

“Christ, Charlie, you too?” Miles asked, horrified when Charlie stepped around Monroe in only her panties and her tank top.

“Like I’m gonna be able to get jeans this tight up my legs while I’m all wet?” she rolled her eyes, steadfastly not looking at Monroe when he shot her a knowing smirk about what kind of wet he imagined her to be.

“Just… I don’t even want to know,” Miles shook his head, ripping his wet clothes off quickly.

Charlie averted her eyes.

“Dude, niece still in the room. Hold it with removing those jeans,” she hurried to stop him before he could strip completely as Monroe had.

“Well, move it, moron,” Miles grumbled grouchily. “I’m wet and I’m cold and I want to be neither.”

Charlie shook her head, looking away from Monroe once and for all and trying to get the image of his dick out of her head even though she was pretty sure it was burned into her retinas.

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lovebitesimagines · 5 years ago

Text

Dangerous Love- Failure.

So...you guys are definitely gonna want to have some tissues at the ready when you read this!

Masterlist.

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Tag list: @happyhostforsymbiotes @namelesslosers @brianaisasongbird @crazymofos021 @lifetimeofadventue @itsmissdahliahayward @1opinionshared @unrulyhealy @frootloop311 @amywhatsherface @thinkingsofamadwoman @shadow-of-wonder @anytimebitches @crazyonesarethebest @christinawxxx @biba3434 @onlythechicagoway @zazasblogxx

Wanna be on the tagged list? Just drop me a message x

Warnings: VERY. FUCKING. EMOTIONAL. OKAY.

A confession comes hand in hand with heartbreak.

YOUR POV

Your eyes felt heavy, weighed down with slumber that seemed to avoid you whenever you got close. The small moments of sleep you had manage to snatch, had been plagued with nightmares. You would only blink, and suddenly you were faced with a man pointing a rifle right at you. You had no time to scream, given no opportunity to make a sound, before the trigger had been pulled. The memory of the bullet tearing through your skin, had brought you crashing back to Earth. Your screams would ring out through the room, as Alfie would wrap his arms around you, attempting to soothe your panic.

You were curled up on the armchair, placed within a darkened corner of the room. The shadows provided you with some form of solace, as your eyes wearily took in the goings on around you. Alfie sat at the dining table in front of you, the members of your family around him. Tommy had called a family meeting, and despite Alfie’s protests, you had insisted on being in the room when it took place. Although now, you had begun to regret it. Exhaustion had made your body feel more battered and bruised, than it already was.

A hint of a smile played upon your lips, as you took note of how out of place Alfie looked surrounded by your family. His shoulders where hunched over slightly, his large frame placed in between John and Arthur. You had noticed how your brothers had seemed to warm towards him, in the past few days, and for that you were grateful. You knew it hadn’t been easy on Alfie, seeing you in such a state. Pol had told you that they couldn’t get him to leave your side, in the days that you had laid asleep, his eyes forever watching over you. Guilt had continuously bubbled away in your stomach, since you had found out how much the shooting had affected your family.

It had affected everybody but one.

Tommy.

You knew that he hadn’t bothered to visit you after the shooting, instead opting to hide away in his office. It had hurt you, knowing that the brother you had thought so highly off, hadn’t made the effort to check that you were okay. He had changed, ever since the news of your relationship with Alfie had come to light. His moods where far darker, with even John and Arthur making every effort to avoid him. It was strange, the transformation in him that no one could help but notice.

A low hum of voices rang throughout the room, your ears catching a few words from the strangely polite conversations that were taking place. The variety of noises all mingled into one, caused your temples to dully throb, a lack of sleep catching up on you. You shifted slightly in your seat, wincing quietly as you felt the stitches stretch with your movements. You hugged your knees close to your chest, closing your eyes for a brief moment. Silence suddenly fell upon the room, causing your eyelids to flutter open in curiosity.

Tommy.Your brother had always held the power of commanding a frightened silence across the population of Small Heath. Strangers were often aware of his reputation, long before they had the chance to meet him. He demanded respect from everyone who crossed his path, the only exception to the rule being you and your family. The Shelbys’ had no issue with putting Tommy in his place, which was why the quiet that had cloaked the room upon his arrival, was unnerving.

You glanced at your family, a concerned frown beginning to crease between your brows. The tension that had manifested in the room was unmistakable, the air quickly becoming heavy with a thick hostility. Pairs of eyes followed Tommy as he made his way to the front of the room, each holding a similar expression.

Anger.

“S’pose you’re all wonderin’ why I called you here today” Tommy announced to the room, lowering himself onto his chair. His face held the same, cold arrogance that it always had, a feature that you had gotten used too. Yet there was something different in his eyes, his cold blue orbs possessing an uncharacteristic hint of worry.

“Just get it over with Tommy” Arthur grunted, his eyes focused upon the table in front of him.

“You may notice we have a new member here today” Tommy ignored Arthur, giving a curt nod in Alfies’ direction, placing a cigarette in between his lips to light. “Not that I had much choice in the matter”.

The frown upon your forehead deepened at Tommys’ words. His unjustifiable insolence was beginning to wear thin on you. You noticed Alfie shifting uncomfortably in his seat, the chair far too small for him to be placed upon.

“Thank ya’ for the invite” Alfie mumbled.

“Enough of the pleasantries. What did you call us here for Tommy?” John snapped, impatience clear in his voice.

“Alfie? What is it you wanted to say?” Tommy smirked, raising an eyebrow as his eyes bore into your fiancé. Alfie coughed slightly, rummaging in his coat pocket for a few brief moments, before pulling out a few fragments of silver metal.

“The bullet, yeah, that fuckin’ went through (Y/N) …” Alfie swallowed hard, allowing your family to witness a rare show of nervousness, before he continued to talk. “Had my fuckin’ name on it”.

Silence.

The quiet chilled your exposed skin, as Alfies’ words settled and disappeared into the air. You knew what this had meant, the unspoken meaning deafeningly loud. Your family glanced around the room, their eyes anxiously refusing to meet your own. Their chairs creaked, as they nervously shifted in their seats, grasping their sweaty hands. This behaviour was unusual of a Shelby, who never let their façade of confidence slip. The only person who seemed unmoved at what Alfie had to say, was Tommy.

They knew something.

“So, what you’re trying to say, is that our sister got shot…because of you?” Tommy jeered, his voice harshly shattering the silence.

“No. Of course I fuckin’ ain’t. I was just tryin’ to say that- “Alfie began, furiously glaring at Tommy.

“You were just trying to that you’re a fucking dangerous man, and our sister is not safe around you!” Tommy snapped, stubbing the cigarette out upon the table.

Angry voices began to rise, heated words thrown carelessly between the two men. Each word was intended to hurt the other, filled with poison and undeniable hate. They didn’t argue with their fists or weapons, but each word packed a powerful punch, bruising the other.

Fists slammed down upon the table, violently bringing the confrontation to a sudden end. Your head spun to the source of the sound. Finn stood there, red faced and breathless, his chair fallen to the floor behind him.

“I heard what you told Aunt Pol” he spat, his fists beginning to tremble as he turned to glare at Tommy.

“I know it was you that sent that bullet”.

*****************************************************************************************************

ALFIES POV

Alfie was never one to get his hopes up, never was one to look forward to anything. Yet when he found you, you had changed all of that. Suddenly he had a reason to live, something to get excited about. You had made him want to be somebody different, to better himself. You had made him realise that there was a life outside of the harsh London streets, that there was something else other than violence and crime.

Life always had a cruel way of reminding Alfie who he was, solidifying his fear that he just didn’t deserve you. The bullet fragments had weighed down heavy in his pocket, constantly taunting him of his failure. He had been unsuccessful in protecting you, when truthfully, he should have been there. He should never have let you walk out of that front door alone, then perhaps the bullet would have hit him instead.

The intended target.

Alfie had thought that revealing his findings to your family, stressing his concern about needing to protect you more, would have lifted a weight of your shoulders. He had assumed that this would have magically made everything okay. He couldn’t have been more wrong.

Alfie should never have underestimated Tommy Shelby, and that was the second mistake he had made. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he had known that it was your brother who had sent the bullet. He had repressed the idea, refusing to allow himself to believe it. Your irresistible desire to see the best in everyone, had somewhat influenced him.

Tommys’ confession had changed everything. After Finn had outed him, the room had erupted into chaos. Alfie had watched as you stood up too quickly, tearing your stitches in the process. His heart had broken as he witnessed the tears spill down your cheeks, your skin paling you struggled to hide the agonising pain that you felt. He had stood back, as Polly led you out of the room.

He was a coward.

Alfie sat on the edge of your bed, his fingers playing with the edge of your blanket, the strands of material frayed around the border. The breeze coming from the open window, caused goose bumps to rise upon his exposed arms. His mind was a tornado of anxious plans, each one making less sense than the last. In the midst of it all, he knew what he had to do.

He looked up at the sound of the door opening, a soft smile playing upon his lips as he watched you enter the room. You looked beautiful, hell you always had done. He would never understand how you could have possibly fallen for somebody like him. Tendrils of wet hair snaked down your shoulders, as you turned your back to him to open your closet.

Alfies heart sank, as he watched you search for a dress to wear. He knew what your intentions where- to hide the scar that had formed upon your skin, shouting loudly to the world of your brother’s betrayal. He stood up slowly, watching you pull out a light blue dress, one that you had worn a few times already that week. He couldn’t help but notice the way your shoulders drooped, as your fingers caressed the material of the other dresses in your closet. He knew you longed to wear them again, to feel like a woman again.

“Ya’ know, I think ya’ look fuckin’ beautiful in whatever you wear” Alfie whispered, desperate to make you feel better. You turned to face him, suppressing the hint of a smile that began to twitch upon your lips, as you slid into the dress.

Silence had been a common feature between you both, neither of you knowing what to say to the other. It fractured Alfies’ heart, each quiet second that dragged by, sending another sharp puncture through him. The air around you both was heavy with the words he wished he could say to you, anything to make this better. But he couldn’t.

He had failed you.

You sighed softly, moving back towards the bedroom door.

“Wait” Alfie mumbled, reaching out to gently grasp at your arm. “We need…we need to talk”.

Alfie was aware that you knew what those four words meant, watching you slowly turn back around to face him. Your eyes gave everything away. That was something he loved about you, how you always openly expressed your feelings. Now the feature he adored, was slowly breaking his heart. Pools of tears begin to form in your (Y/C/E) eyes, droplets slowly spilling out onto your cheeks. Alfie longed to brush them away, to take back the words he was about to say, but he knew. He knew that he needed to do this, to protect you.

“I can’t do this anymore. Knowin’ that your family will forever fuckin’ hate me. Knowin’ that you fuckin’ got shot…because of me” the words spilled out of Alfies’ mouth, a torrent of excuses that he knew you would fight against.

Your mouth opened slightly as you began to talk. Alfie shook his head softly, placing a finger upon your lips. He knew this would be the last time, that he was lucky enough to touch your soft skin. His mind frantically tried to come up with something, anything to make you let him leave.

“I don’t love ya’” Alfie stated, trying his best to hide the truth from you. He watched as you stepped back, your face falling at the words he said. If he could take it all back, he would have done, but it was too late.

He was doing this to protect you.

Alfie made his way towards the door, pausing briefly as he placed his hand upon the door handle.

“(Y/N) …” he whispered, beginning to turn to face you.“

Don’t. Don’t you fucking dare” you murmured.

Alfie pulled down upon the door handle, beginning to make his way out of the room, when he felt something sharp hit his back, clattering ominously against the floor. The fallen diamond ring glinted in the corner of his eye, symbolic of everything he had just let slip away. He swallowed hard, attempting to ignore the heartbroken sobs that began to tear through your body. He closed the door behind him, leaving the ring to lay sadly upon the wooden floorboards.

As Alfie made his way out of the house, the realisation of what he had just done began to sink in. He had left somebody, who had loved him endlessly, despite the countless amounts of flaws that he possessed. He had never expected to fall for you, yet he had found himself falling hard. He had left you out of fear, a cowardly action that he believed would protect you.

If Alfie had noticed the eyes that where watching him in the shadows, he would realise just how wrong he was.

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