#but he’d absolutely be getting cold feet on abducting you

[2-dsimp]

The Boss would be insufferable to be around, always sighing and mourning over not getting his latest dosage of pure perfection on his phone screen. If he wasn’t already lazy before you’d mistake him for being the embodiment sin of Sloth.

“It’s been 1 day, 6 hours, 24 minutes, and T-minus 30 seconds since they last posted anything...”

Danny droned, as he stared longingly at past pictures and video clips of his darling. His slender fingers trailing across the digital contours of your figure with a needy trembling pout of his chapped lips.

“that’s the same amount of time my life started to fail in having any meaning”

He finished with a stray crocodile tear collecting ruefully within his nonexistent tear ducts. That dried up from pulling all nighters obsessing over your page and any anime fandoms that could take his mind off you (to which none of them did).

All of the remaining hitman members merely eyed their leader in either exasperation, amusement, or just plain old disappointment for being such a sad waste of space.

It got so bad to the point where he’d just be found around random spots in the hideout glued to the floor like a dead corpse.

His phone clutched within a death grip as he was surrounded by picture posts that he printed out from your social media. Almost as if he was preforming a self sacrificial ritual to evoke your page to give him an update on what you were doing.

To be blunt Danny would just be a sad sap without you, leaving his team to pick up the slack and set out individually to bring you back. If only to shut up their Boss from whining depressive monologues about how he was useless without his darling to fanboy over. And get his ass to start working like an actual decent human being.

#Danny the boss #yandere imagines #yandere male x reader #yandere x you #yandere drabble #yandere male #yandere scenarios #yandere oc #yandere x reader #yandere blurb #yandere hitman #yandere boss #💜 anon #yes he would be the type to have a weeb shrine of you #but he’d absolutely be getting cold feet on abducting you #it’s not the kidnapping part that puts him off it’s the part where you’re awake leaving him to try a bring you up to speed with why you’re #currently stranded in an unfamiliar setting that you’re mot accustomed to #The thought of you just staring at him in pure silence makes him sweat bullets and gets him nervous to the point where he’d rather stick hi #head under the ground like an ostrich since he doesn’t have the ability to deal with being bombarded with numerous questions and demands

[d10nsaint]

YANDERE ALPHABET

—ft. Dion Agriche.

➛ Warnings ! — Possessive behavior, mentions of abuse & unconsentual things, (Maybe rape, being locked up) Starving, major yandere themes. Viewer discretion advised.

affection — how do they show their love and affection?

･｡ ⁺ ✦— He shows his affection through pain.

blood — how messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

･｡ ⁺ ✦ — He’d kill His maids, His siblings, His father, all for his darling. Nobody is as important to him as they are, and he who disrespects her is as dead as he would come.

cruelty — how would they treat their darling once abducted?

･｡ ⁺ ✦ — He’d force you into submission, using pain and manipulation to get his absolute way.

darling — aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will?

･｡ ⁺ ✦ — He has you tied up in the Agriche basement, with nothing but a maid bringing you three meals a day and two snacks. If you’re on good behavior, he’ll tie you to the bedpost in his room.

exposed — how vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

･｡ ⁺ ✦ —It’ll take awhile, but once you become obedient and tame him, he’s at your feet and doing whatever you ask. He has no moral compass at that point, but can still deduct when you try and deceive him.

fight — how would they feel if their darling fought back?

･｡ ⁺ ✦ —He finds it funny. You should know that he is now your home and you can’t escape his grasp, because once he has you.

game — is this a game to them? how much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

･｡ ⁺ ✦ —He’s up to toying with you and pushing you to the edge(the point where you feel that you need to escape) but the moment you do, he’d watch you. He has the stealth and strength to enjoy watching you run like you’re free. But the farthest he’ll let you go is the border, due to the fact that during the night the woods near it get dangerous.

hell — what would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

･｡ ⁺ ✦ —every experience with dion is a bad one. He makes the process of obtaining you painless and silent, but once you get to your chambers, it’s a different story.

ideals — what kind of future do they have in mind for their darling?

･｡ ⁺ ✦ —He has a future planned where you carry his child as his wife. God, he’d love to see you round and plump with his children, with nowhere to run.

jealousy — do they get jealous? how do they handle it?

･｡ ⁺ ✦ —There’s no way for him to get jealous. He keeps you locked away, far from others.

kisses — how do they act around or with their darling?

･｡ ⁺ ✦—He acts cold and harsh, as per usual. He can’t find a reason why he should be smitten with his darling when he knows his ‘affections’ will go to waste.

love letters — how would they go about approaching their darling?

･｡ ⁺ ✦—He first doesnt approach by talking to you—he observes.

mask — are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?

･｡ ⁺ ✦—Not at all. He’s normally very cruel, and you are no exception to his behaviors.

naughty — how would they punish their darling?

･｡ ⁺ ✦— He makes you cry. It’s a form of pleasure for him, and having you suffer because you disobeyed him is oddly a big turn on for him.

oppression — how many rights would they take away from their darling?

･｡ ⁺ ✦—Every right, almost down to talking and walking. You’re his pet, and you need his permission to do almost everything.

patience — how patient are they with their darling?

･｡ ⁺ ✦— surprisingly, sometimes very patient . He had patience when he tells you to do something and you dont get it right on your first try, but when you disobey him, it ticks him off.

quite — if their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

･｡ ⁺ ✦— His life goes back to normal, its like you didnt exist.

regret — would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling?

･｡ ⁺ ✦—Not at all. He doesnt feel guilt—or anything else that would make the average person cry.

stigma — what brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)?

･｡ ⁺ ✦—His curiosity of human emotion has made him so cold and brutal. Watching you smile makes him curious—curious about ways to get rid of it.

tears — how do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

･｡ ⁺ ✦—He loves it. He finds it as the most euphoric thing ever. He could get off from it, in fact. just the idea of his darling screaming and crying for any reason is pure pleasure to him.

unique — would they do anything different from the classic yandere?

･｡ ⁺ ✦—Hes much more cruel. He has no objection to blatant torture—and pain is his to-go resource. You disobey? he cuts your wrist. You say something he doesn’t like? he cuts your thigh. He likes seeing the healed cuts as a reminder of your time together.

vice — what weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

･｡ ⁺ ✦—none. He has no care for his life other than to play around with things. Without you, his life is just a muted gray.

wit’s end — would they ever hurt their darling?

･｡ ⁺ ✦ —he’d hurt you as his first resort. he knows nothing of calamity and giving thinks a rest.

xoanon — how much would they revere or worship their darling?

･｡ ⁺ ✦ —After some time when you finally open up to him and accept that you can’t change him he'll worship the ground that your feet bestow.

yearn — how long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

･｡ ⁺ ✦ —He doesnt do much pining. The moment he realizes his feelings, hes finding a way to obtain you.

zenith — would they ever break their darling?

･｡ ⁺ ✦ —he'd break you the moment he got his hands on you.He may love you, but he also loves his women when theyre obedient.

#manhwa #saintspeaks #leigewrites #manhwa x reader #x reader #the way to protect the female lead's older brother #dion agriche #the way to save the older brother of the heroine #dion agrece #leigetalks

[alexa-crowe]

Rewriting Season Eight

My coffee from earlier has yet to wear off so I decided to line up all the season eight fics that I’ve written so far in some semblance of chronological order based on when they’re set. My love/hate relationship with this season’s jumping out! You can find all of these fics on my blog under their titles here but I won’t be linking them onto my blog because I change my URL somewhat frequently. Probably best to just use the AO3 links on this post to get to the fics the fastest!

Left Behind (302 words) — “Requiem” If he were here, he’d embrace her from behind and wrap his arm around her, hand splayed on her abdomen.

Presumed Dead (261) — General Early S8 She’s read Doggett’s report three times already, but she can’t remember anything from it in detail. She’s stuck on a particular phrase: presumed dead.

Seven Weeks (455 words) — General Early S8 I don’t even know why I’m writing this. I’d rather tell you in person, but it’s all eating me up alive and I need to get it out.

Nightmares (390 words) — “Deadalive” “How?” Scully asks tearfully. “It’s our baby, Mom. Every little thing will remind me of him.”

Two Miracles (315 words) — “Deadalive” Scully watches him process the words and sees the exact moment that Mulder lights up.

Anybody Miss Me? (864 words) — “Deadalive” And Scully knows he’s expecting her to chuckle through the tears but she can’t hold it in anymore—all the grief and fear and stress clawing their way out. “Yes,” she sobs, burying her face in his chest. She swears she hears him give a breathy, “Oh,” as her tears soak into his hospital gown. “We missed you so much.”

A Piece of You and Me (403 words) — “Three Words” A piece of you is inside me and I’m wearing your coat. A piece of you is inside me and you’re going to be a father. A piece of you is inside me against all the odds, Mulder. A piece of you is inside me and I need you to love me.

Confront (1242 words) — “Vienen” “We need to talk,” she says over the phone, and normally he’d sigh and lie with a strained, I’m listening, but running off to take over Doggett’s investigation on an oil rig wasn’t nearly as thrilling or putting-his-life-back-together-ing as he’d expected.

Reacquaintance (1157 words) - General Late S8 “Mulder...” he heard Scully murmur, her ass against his cock as she wiggled back so she was pressed against him, shoulders to feet.

The Physics of Waddling, Colds, and Pizza (1493 words) — “Empedocles” Scully didn’t walk anymore, she waddled, and it was absolutely adorable.

Blossom (1628 words) — “Empedocles” They haven’t seen each other naked since the night before they left for Bellefleur. He’s seen glimpses here and there, when Scully will lift up her shirt to moisturize or when she accepted his help when she came home from the single autopsy she was tapped to do before her hospital stint.

Liminal Spaces (822 words) — General Late S8 They’re in that liminal space between actually having the baby and the baby still developing.

Decipher (680 words) — General Late S8 “I was settling in nicely, but it all feels a bit fake—a bit surreal.”

Domesticated (284 words) — General Late S8 She giggles (oh, her giggle) and resumes her lint rolling.

The Nuances of Breakfast and Shopping (818 words) — General Late S8 Scully gasps and appears around the corner of the aisle at the same time as Mulder does from the other side. “Look!” She holds up a little onesie depicting an alien spaceship abducting a cow. “It’s so cute!” She lets her arms fall, revealing her dazzling smile.

Home (385 words) — General Late S8 They’re unpacking Mulder’s boxes of knickknacks when the phone rings, disrupting their banter.

To Build a Crib (232 words) — General Late S8 Scully sighs. “Not this again.”

Baby Shower (804 words) — “Essence” At some point, Scully ended up between Mulder’s legs, opening her gifts with his arms wrapped around her abdomen.

“Help Them” (1691 words) — “Existence” “Scully,” he says, arms half wrapped around her and their baby, who’s pink and wailing—healthy in the lungs and very human, he sees. He smiles for a brief moment but it flies off his face when she doesn’t respond.

#txf #fanfiction #mine #long post #late s8 fic

[raphael-simp]

Two Years Ago - Raph x Reader

You never liked talking much.

Never really knew why, you just didn't. Of course, you would still carry a conversation to be polite, but the answers were short and spoken barely above a whisper. There were many times where you tried to change this about yourself, but the attempt didn't last for more than five minutes before you shrunk back into yourself again.

Then how the hell were you friends with four, loud and rowdy mutant teenage boys?

You didn't even know the answer to that one.

And to be honest, the memory of how you met the four of them was still slightly hazy. Of course, Donnie told you what had happened to you, but you personally didn't believe it. Why would robot alien beings want to kidnap a random girl walking home from her night shift? It still didn't make sense to you, nearly two whole years after it happened.

You were fourteen going on fifteen when you first met the four.

You worked at the convenience store not even two blocks from your apartment building, and you had switched shifts with your co-worker Abbigail so she could attend a funeral, which meant you now had the night shift.

It wasn't that big of a deal to you; she asked, you agreed, nothing more was said on the matter.

You texted your parents to inform them of the shift change and told them not to wait up for you, which they obviously denied much to your annoyance.

The shift ended at ten o'clock, but you still needed to do till and make sure the money count on the register matched with what you'd counted. That process alone took you about half an hour, so you really didn't leave until ten thirty. You made sure you switched off all the lights and locked all the entrances before you put the store keys in your jacket pocket and began your short walk home.

It was nearing winter, so the weather was beginning to turn cold, and you weren't exactly the best at dealing with temperature drops. You stood tensed as you speed walked towards your apartment building, wanting to get out of the darkness as fast as you could. There was one building near the end of the street that you almost always completely ran past; a run down looking, white parking garage with the paint peeling and chipping everywhere. It creeped you the hell out, mostly because there were always these two guys that stood at the old entrance, their stare boring into your back as you'd run past. Every day you expected them to run after you or shoot at you, but they never did anything.

Until tonight.

When you looked you didn't see them anywhere, and although you thought it would soothe you, it just made you more anxious.

'Where are they...?' You thought to yourself, nervously glancing around, trying to find the two.

Let's just say you didn't have too look far.

A large white van came screeching around the corner, running over the curb and nearly into you before it lurched to a halt. The back doors flew open and three identical looking men filed out and made their way towards you. In fact, they looked like the men that would always watch you at the entrance to the parking garage...

You literally froze. You didn't scream, move or look away until one picked you up and threw you over his shoulder. After that, you screamed absolute bloody murder, praying you'd get the attention of someone- anyone -that could do something to help you. Thankfully, help came rather quickly, just not in the way you thought.

You fought as hard as you could to at least get the man to slightly falter his grip around you; you punched, kicked, pounded- you even bit him, but it hurt you more than him.

You flailed like a fish out of water and kept screaming, even louder if possible as you got carried closer and closer to the back of the van.

Your voice was cut off when you landed harshly on the ground, trying to use your hands to catch yourself but only hurting yourself even more. You were a shaking mess, trying so hard not to cry but suspectingly failing, bursting into tears and sitting down properly, hugging your knees tightly to your chest as you cried into them. You were absolutely terrified out of your skull.

When someone tried to touch you, you screamed again, though it came out more as a strangled cry than anything else. You'd hurt your throat badly from all of your screaming and had no doubt lost your voice because of so.

"Well we can't just leave her crying in the streets, dudes. We gotta do something!"

You heard hushed voices talking a bit in front of you, but didn't bother to look up or fight. You wouldn't do that unless they actually did something, and that was what you were waiting for.

You cried to yourself, waiting to either calm down or for whoever was in front of you to do... whatever.

But they never did anything, they were quiet for the forty five minutes you were crying and calming yourself down.

"You're gonna be okay, alright?"

You slightly looked up from your knees, and honestly at this point, four giant turtles standing in front of you didn't phase you right now.

One of them was kneeling in front of you, it was wearing a tattered red mask and looking directly at you, with electrifying green eyes.

It looked up at one of the others, but you didn't bother to follow his gaze, your eyes were too tired.

"Don, do you need t' look at 'er?"

"I don't see anything major wrong with her, I think it's just shock right now... to be safe I wanna take a look at her, if she'll let us of course."

It looked back at you, the one with the red mask, and you did your best to keep your eyes open and listen to what he had to say. You were just so tired...

"My brother wants t' take a look at 'cha t' make sure ya weren't hurt too bad durin' that whole thing, okay? You alright with that?"

You barely nodded your head and lied it on your knees, involuntarily passing out.

When you woke up after that, you started freaking out and tried to scream, but found you barely had a voice. You were achy and sore all over and you could barely remember why.

Of course, you properly freaked out when you saw the four turtle figures again, but the ones in red and purple- who were the only ones in the room with you at the time- explained everything that had happened.

Donnie had picked up radio chatter that the Kraang were going to abduct another test patient that night, and the turtles rushed to the location that was shared, and ended up there just in time to help you and destroy the Kraang bots.

You hadn't been too badly hurt; bruised arms and shins from pounding on the metal robots, scraped hands, scraped knees, and a possible emotional blackout, to explain why you didn't remember what had happened to you.

You merely nodded along, trying not to stare too much at the two creatures in front of you, who introduced themselves as Raphael and Donatello.

"(Y-Y/N)...." you stuttered out, thinking that they at least deserved to know your name, after all they've done. Your voice was barely above a whisper, so the boys had to listen carefully to hear your name.

Raph and Donnie smiled, glad to hear that you at least trusted them to that extent.

You asked what time it was, and nearly flipped shit when Donatello told you it was almost 1:30 in the morning. Your parents were going to absolutely lose their minds on you! You scrambled to stand up and nearly fell over, thankful that Raphael had caught you.

"I-I need to get h-home." You breathed out, avoiding eye contact and trying to hide your face behind your (H/C) hair, to hide the fact you were red. Why you were red-faced?

You had no clue.

"I'll take ya. There ain't no way in hell you're goin' alone after this." Raphael stated, standing you back up on your own two feet. You would've fought him on it, had you not have agreed with him. If those Kraang guys still wanted you...

you didn't want to be left alone again. So you just nodded and let him walk you out. You didn't see the other two brothers while you walked out, so you assumed they were somewhere else.

Raphael led you around the systems of the sewer and helped you out of the manhole cover, and once out you took a deep breath of fresh air and closed your eyes in an attempt to clear your thoughts.

"I know you've had a rough night doll face, but we should probably get going."

Your eyes snapped open and you felt your face go warm, and instinct brought you to hide your face with your hair and jacket sleeve. You avoided his gaze and just nodded, speed walking to the sidewalk until you realized:

You had no idea where you were.

"Wh-where are we...?" You wheezed out, slightly turning to face Raphael.

"Just a couple blocks from where we found ya. We gotta take the roofs though... can't really walk out in th' street lookin' like I do."

You nearly asked why until it hit you like a brick. Again, you just nodded and climbed up the fire escape after him. You took notice how some of the roofs were pretty far apart, and hoped to God he didn't expect you to jump over them. Thankfully he didn't, and tried to stick to a route that involved just taking a step across. But for those that involved jumping, he just lifted you onto his shell and jumped across before setting you back down again.

Each time he did so he'd ask if you were okay, and you nodded in response hiding your face. And each time, he'd smile and mutter a small "cute," under his breath, which he didn't know you heard.

Once he brought you to where he and his brothers had found you, he told you to lead the way to your apartment, and you pointed him in the right direction. "So," he started, "Kinda wish we coulda met under better circumstances, (Y/N)."

You nodded in response, keeping your gaze down and stepping over a wooden plank. How the hell'd that get there?

"...You're shy, aren't cha?" Raphael asked, and again you nodded. Not only that, it hurt to talk, but he assumed correctly. He chuckled and lightly nudged your shoulder with his.

"Ya don't gotta be 'round me, I don't bite... much."

You looked up at him with both confusion and shock written all over your face, and it just made him laugh.

"Relax (Y/N), I'm kidding... just a little though."

You rolled your eyes, and yet you couldn't help the small smile that danced across your face.

The both of you walked Ina comfortable silence until you saw your apartment building across the street and elbowed Raphael's arm, pointing to it.

"This is my stop." You whispered, not daring to bring your voice above that. He nodded and hoisted you onto his shell, having to go around the roof tops to avoid going down to the streets. He set you down on your apartment roof, once again asking if you were okay.

"I'm fine, Raphael." You responded, pushing your hair behind your ear. He smiled at you and slightly tilted his head.

"Call me Raph, doll face."

You bit the inside of your lip and looked down, nodding your head. You didn't want him to see your warm and red face, it was extremely embarrassing for you.

"Hey," Raph's voice made you slightly look up, since he wanted your attention. He handed you a folded piece of paper with a number scribbled on it- wait, was this his phone number? Was a guy giving you his phone number? To your face?

"You don't gotta, but if ya don't wanna walk home alone again I'm available if ya need it."

You completely lifted your head to look Raph directly in the face, and he took pride in one thing; making you smile like that. You have him a single nod and held the paper with both hands.

"Trust me, I will.. Raph."

Now it was his turn to smile.

The two of you just stood on the roof for a couple minutes, staring and smiling at each other before something on his belt beeped. He jumped a bit in surprise and glanced at it.

"That's my brothers- I gotta go. You'll be okay?" He asked, taking a small step back.

You nodded, putting the paper in your pocket. "I'm home now. Go."

His smile grew and he backed up towards the edge of the roof.

"Try not t' get into trouble doll face! Just save a little to give me an excuse t' save ya again!" He shouted, just before jumping to the roof next to yours and taking off, eventually disappearing.

"I think I like that. Doll face..." you thought to yourself, still smiling like an idiot. You stood on your roof for God knows how long more before you came to your senses and carefully climbed down your fire escape and slid through your window.

.

"Was that really two years ago...?" You thought to yourself, flipping a pen between your fingers.

Yup. It was.

Two years ago these four boys saved your life, and two years ago you met the boy that kinda saved you, in a way.

It took him time, but he got you to slowly expand your comfort zone. You didn't stutter every time you spoke anymore, and you didn't respond with simple gestures anymore and used actual words that really carried a conversation. And at the same time, you helped him.

You kinda found out about his anger the hard way, having him lash out at you when he was beyond pissed off, and though it did hurt, you didn't blame him. In fact, you made it your goal to try and help him with it.

He'd expressed to you before how he'd never liked his short temper, and so you helped him. You showed him ways that he could release stress and repressed emotions, like actually using his drum kit and playing when he got pissed, or just sitting with you and either talking, or just sitting in silence.

Coming up in December would actually be a year since Raph had asked you out, too.

It didn't really come as a surprise to most, since the both of you were pretty open about affection with each other even before you two decided to make it official, just because.

The two of you would always sit close together, hold each other's hand, cuddle each other and he'd even kiss your cheek every now and again. Every movie night, you bet that the two of you would sit or lie with each other, and Raph would play with your hair or lightly trace an invisible pattern on your arm.

All in all, it wasn't really a surprise to Raph's brothers, April or Casey when he'd asked you out. The only person it surprised was you, but even then you'd accepted in a heartbeat.

And to this day, he still calls you doll face.

Two years later, the boy's nearly eighteen and you the same, you've found a new family.

And a new love.

"(Y/N), doll face, cmon we're headin' out with or without ya!" You rolled your eyes and smiled, shoving the pen in your jean pocket and getting up, grabbing your jacket.

"Yeah yeah, I'm coming Raph!" You called, walking out of his room and slipping your arms through your jacket sleeves as you jogged out to the entrance to meet the boys.

About a year ago, after you'd actually learned how to properly, they let you join along on some of their patrols. Raph made you carry a small dagger though. Just in case you got separated and something happened to you.

Speak of the devil, he heard you coming up behind him and turned around smiling. He extended his arm to you, waiting for you to end up at his side before putting his arm around your waist and pulling you close to his side, kissing the top of your head.

"All ready and fashionably late, doll face?"

You scoffed and rolled your eyes, shoving him while failing to hide a smile of your own.

"Shaddup Raph, I was doing important things." You said, zipping your jacket up.

He just chuckled and raised his arms in mock defence.

"Alright, alright, I'm sorry baby." He said, lightly pressing his lips to the side of your head and cheek in chaste kisses. You turned your head at the last second to catch his lips in a quick kiss. While he smiled and put an arm around your shoulders, Mikey mock gaged.

"Yup, think I'm gonna hurl-" he said, making a queasy face. Raph reached out with his free hand and punched his baby brother in the shoulder.

"Oh shut it Mike, not like ya don't see it regularly." Mikey hit Raph's arm back, which quickly escalated into an arm punching war. You tried not to laugh too much, looking over to Leo and Donnie, who were trying to do the same thing.

"Alright alright alright guys, that's enough!" Leo called, laughing a bit to himself.

"We gotta get going before it gets too late, we gotta take (Y/N) home by midnight. Let's move out!"

With those words, the five of you took off running towards your normal exit to the top world.

//////

gUIS IM IN ABSOLUTE L O V E WITH THIS ONE SHOT I LOVED WRITING IT SO GOD DAMNED MUCH AAAAAHHHHHHHH

PS THIS WAS WRITTEN AT LIKE 11 pm - 2:30 am SOOOOOOOOO

#tmnt #tmnt raphael x reader #tmnt raphael x fem reader #raph tmnt #tmnt 2012 #tmnt 2014 #tmnt2016 #tmnt raph #raphael imagine #raphael tmnt

[delimeful]

hold my body down (2)

chapter 2 of this fic!

warnings: arguing, mild violence, cult mentions, mild gore mentions

-

Virgil stared at the man, his mind blank. What?

“That’s-- great?” Roman tried, his voice cracking in the middle with bewilderment. The human beamed, beckoning with his hand. Roman reached out and Virgil slapped his hand back, glowering at him.

“What have I said about accepting help from random friendly men?” he hissed, eyeing the stranger warily. Roman flushed, shoving him slightly, but notably didn’t try to move forward again.

The man-- Patton’s smile didn’t falter, but his hand dropped slightly. Virgil refused to feel bad. For once, he was completely sure that his level of paranoia was necessary for the situation.

“Oh, that’s okay,” Patton said, folding onto his knees to sit on the edge of the bag’s opening. “I can just explain from over here. I would come to sit in the bag with you, but last time I did that I got held hostage and Logan put a ban on interacting with terrified strangers without his direct supervision.”

“That, uh, seems rather fair,” Roman offered, still wildly out of his depth. Virgil rolled his eyes, a hand on the hilt of one of his daggers in case the stranger made any sudden moves.

“Who’s Logan?” He asked, eyes flickering up to what little he could see through the opening.

“Oh, he’s the one who rescued you!” Patton said cheerily. Virgil broke out into a cold sweat immediately.

“Rescued?” Roman echoed in disbelief. “Are you talking about the giant? Because I’m pretty sure he just abducted us against our will.”

“No, no, it’s not like that!” Patton insisted, only confirming Virgil’s theory that he was probably brainwashed and/or had Stockholm syndrome. Or both. Or a variety of other, worse options, such as yet another cult member or another giant in disguise.

“Easy, Virgil.” Roman laid a hand on his shoulder, grounding him. “Uh-- Patton, was it? If we’re not being… y’know… kidnapped and imprisoned, do you think you could back up so we can get out of the bag?”

“Of course!” Patton answered, popping back to his feet. “I’ll be right out here, take your time! I’m sure the last couple of hours have been rough.”

Virgil tried not to snort. Rough was one word for it. His amusement died a quick death when Roman began moving towards the opening. He latched onto the other man’s arm like a steel trap. “I don’t trust this.”

“You don’t trust anything,” Roman retorted automatically before softening. “It’s okay, I’m just checking to see what’s out there. Won’t even get out of the bag, on my honor.”

Virgil reluctantly followed him, grabbing onto him tightly as though he could keep anything out there from hurting him by yanking him back into the bag.

Roman ducked his head back under the cloth a moment later. “Okay. Bad news, there is absolutely a giant still out there. Good news, he’s all the way over across the room, reading a book. He is steadfastly ignoring both us and Patton, who waved at me.”

“What.” Virgil clutched at his hair. “What is going on?”

“I suspect we’ll have to ask Patton that. If we want answers, we’ll have to go get them,” He said, patting Virgil on the back encouragingly. “Don’t worry, my Dark and Stormy Knight, I’ll keep you safe.”

“My job,” Virgil grumbled, not releasing his grip on Roman’s wrist as he led the way out of the bag.

Everything was huge. He should have expected it, seeing as this was a giant’s home, but it still threw him off. They were on a huge table, in a huge living room, and the giant was indeed across the room with a huge book, pretending like they didn’t exist. From this distance, Virgil could actually take in all of him without feeling like he was going to pass out.

Patton was sitting a few feet away, and beamed at their approach. Virgil barely tore his eyes away from the giant long enough to nod distractedly at him. “Hi again! Are you guys okay?”

“We’re… fine,” Roman said, uncertain. “I think we’d just like to know what’s going on?”

“That’s totally understandable!” Patton replied, sympathetic. “I was pretty jittery after Logan first brought me here, too!”

“Oh, great,” Virgil muttered to Roman. “Serial kidnapper.”

Roman shot him a look before turning back to Patton. “He brought you here? Could I ask… why?”

“The same reason he brought you two here! I was in danger.” Patton glanced over to the giant with a fond smile before leaning in secretively. “To be honest, I think he was even more worried than I was! I was sort of stabbed at the time, though, so I guess that makes sense.”

“How were you ‘sort of stabbed’? You’re either stabbed or you’re not!” griped Virgil, who was possibly feeling more snappish than normal after one of the most stressful experiences of his life.

“My goodness, you were stabbed?” asked Roman, who had always been a sucker for a dramatic tale.

Patton tugged up the edge of his shirt, displaying a nasty-looking scar that curved around his side and stomach. In Virgil’s professional opinion, there was nothing ‘sort-of’ about a wound like that; it had been meant to kill. “Yeah, the people you met in town, they’re a cult! And they wanted to do a blood sacrifice for the monsters in the woods, and I wasn’t exactly well-liked, so…,”

“They stabbed you and left you for dead?” Virgil finished, a bit of anger leaking into his voice despite his determination not to sympathize with this guy.

“But I didn’t die!” Patton waved his hands a bit as though in celebration. “All the monsters in the woods had already been scared off when Logan moved here, and so he was the one who found me and helped me recover!”

Roman glanced over at the giant again, a speculative look in his eye that Virgil absolutely did not approve of. He scowled, his grip on Roman’s wrist tightening slightly.

“Right, and he just did this out of the goodness of his heart?” Virgil snorted dubiously. “I wouldn’t believe that from another human, let alone someone with a literally huge advantage over us. If your story is true, why didn’t the cult try to gut us? For that matter, if he’s not into human sacrifices, why wouldn’t your buddy over there just tell them to stop? Or, y’know, not kidnap us in the first place?”

“Well, hold on--,” Patton tried, but Virgil was on a roll.

“How do we know that this isn’t some elaborate setup? If he has the magical capabilities to heal a mortal wound, then wouldn’t it be easy for him to enchant a captive into believing that he’s just doing what’s best for him? Before, you said there were other people brought here-- what happened to them? Do you even know?”

Across the room, there was a sharp clap as the giant firmly snapped his book shut.

“They left,” Logan said firmly, the first words that they’d heard from him. “And if you continue to harangue my housemate, I will ask you to do the same.”

“Logan,” Patton said, a little exasperated.

Virgil felt a chill run down his spine at the sight of those huge, dark eyes locked onto him, but he plastered his best snarl on even as he dragged a protesting Roman partially behind him. “We’d be glad to leave, but someone put us on a table ten times our height!”

“Virgil,” Roman tried, but Virgil didn’t have the luxury of not paying attention to the pissed off giant in front of them.

“There’s a staircase down to your left,” the giant informed him coldly, “so if you are intent on watching your companion die from organ combustion, you have my utmost permission to leave.”

Logan!” Patton chided, a lot exasperated. He turned back to them. “He doesn’t mean it like that, I promise.”

“Really?” Virgil snapped, crowding Roman back further. “Because it sure sounds like he just outright threatened to kill us if we leave.”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake.” Logan pinched the bridge of his nose before rising easily from his chair and reminding them all just how big he truly was. “This is why I let Patton handle the talking. I don’t know why humans always insist on making this more difficult than it needs to be.”

Virgil’s heart jumped into his throat as the giant approached, a thousand potential ways they were going to die flashing before his eyes. Behind his back, he flashed Roman a hand sign that meant ‘run for it’, and then released his friend’s wrist to draw one of his knives threateningly.

It was a pointless effort, but he’d known since setting out with his prince that one day he’d die for him.

Sure enough, the giant moved with that same uncanny speed he’d shown in the clearing, and simply grabbed Virgil’s forearm between his fingers as easily as one might scruff a cat, preventing any stabbing.

When Virgil immediately went to grab for another knife with his free hand, he found himself abruptly lifted and maneuvered, and couldn’t help letting out a startled yelp. The giant had essentially flipped him onto his front and settled one hand on his back as a weight, leaving him pinned and the giant firmly out of stabbing range.

More concerning was the fact that he could now see Roman, who hadn’t moved more than a few steps, and not just because he was a stupidly loyal, headstrong idiot. The prince seemed almost dazed, his skin shiny with sweat as he glanced between Virgil and Logan. Something was wrong. “Roman--!”

“You’re beginning to feel it, aren’t you?” Logan said, his cold tone thawing slightly as he looked down at Roman. “The cult of that town has only grown more... inventive with every cruel sacrifice they attempt. Rather than physical injuries, they’ve turned to blood curses, which has made my life exceedingly difficult.”

“Blood-- Blood curses?” Roman managed, looking more pallid by the moment.

The giant set a free hand down, palm up in offering. “I can reduce the effects. If you give me sufficient time, I can unravel the curse entirely, though brewing a countercurse will likely necessitate a drop of your blood.”

“Why go to the trouble?” Roman asked haltingly, meeting Virgil’s frantic gaze for only a moment. “What do you want in return?”

Logan sighed. “If you insist on applying such intentions to my actions, you can call it compensation. It is because of my presence that the cult continues to leave ‘offerings’, and thus your current state is my fault.”

“Then why not just do it?” Roman asked, staring at the offered hand with clear suspicion. Virgil was almost proud.

“Patton has gone to great lengths to teach me manners for interacting with smallfolk,” Logan replied dryly. “The first of which being ‘don’t grab.’”

There was a brief moment of silence as they all looked to Virgil, who was still pinned and sorely wishing he was in biting range of Logan’s hand.

“Manners don’t apply if someone is trying to stab me,” Logan added, a beat late.

Patton waved from where he was half-hidden behind Logan’s arm. “It’s true, my lessons did make an exception for stabbing!”

“Let him up,” Roman requested, his voice lacking its usual bravado. He still appeared concerningly ill. “He won’t stab you, right Virgil?”

Virgil grumbled something uncomplimentary under his breath, before sighing and going limp. “All I want is to protect my prince. If you actually mean to help him, I won’t stab you.”

“Now that stabbing is off the table, I’ve gotta say, it’s knife to meet you,” Patton chimed in, his grin audible in his voice.

“Patton, please,” Logan groaned, lifting his hand off Virgil to instead massage his temples in exasperation. “You’re going to disturb our guests.”

“Aw, are you sure? I think my jokes are stabsolutely hilarious!”

Virgil ignored the ridiculous byplay between the two of them to scramble to his feet and hurry to Roman’s side, ignoring the way Logan moved his arm slightly to be between him and Patton. “Roman, are you okay?”

“Are you? You’re the one who just got gently tenderized by Bignoramus over there for the second time today,” Roman countered, matching Virgil’s whisper.

“Fine, stupid question, clearly neither of us are okay. Are we really doing this, though? We could still run.”

“I’m… not sure we can, actually.” Roman’s hand hovered over his chest, face drawn tight with pain. “They definitely did something to me, and I doubt either of us will figure out how to fix it or get aid in time. … Look. This may be my only option, but you don’t have to--”

“Can it, Princey,” Virgil cut in, dragging a hand through Roman’s hair roughly and ignoring his resulting squawk. “Where you go, I go.”

“Even there?” Roman asked, tilting his head toward Logan’s palm somberly.

Virgil looked over to Logan, watching the attentive way he was listening to Patton speak and contributing words of his own. The giant could have done away with any of them at any point, and he hadn’t. That wasn’t enough to really trust him, it could still all be part of some scheme, but... it had to count for something.

If it was the only thing that could help Roman, Virgil could push aside his fear and his anger.

“Even there,” he answered, and led the way onwards.

#sanders sides #sanders sides fic #sanders sides g/t #ts virgil #ts roman #ts patton #ts logan #hmbd #hold my body down #g/t #my writing #writing #man its been ages since i posted the first chapter of this huh #surprise!

[the-last-kenobi]

Hi, how are you? Hope all is well) Can you please write "Where have you been" with Anakin and a very very depressed and sad Obi?

Of course!

From this various prompts list.

I admit I wasn’t sure exactly which angle you were hoping for, but this is the one my brain liked, so here we are.

_

Anakin’s hand shook slightly as he ran the cloth over the glass mug, turning it in his hands. Water beaded up in the wake of his first attempt, so he went back again a little slower, making sure he left no smudges behind. Then he carefully placed it in the cabinet where it belonged, each shelf lined with different mugs, most of them glass, a few of them seemingly random — porcelain, wood, something that looked like clay, a deep red crystalline substance.

Anakin knew that the ones that weren’t glass had all, once, belonged to Qui-Gon.

They were used rarely. Carefully. Cherished like treasures.

The rest, the glass, those were Obi-Wan’s.

He liked the perfection of glass, its transparency, the way he could watch the teas he brewed and steeped changing, colors swirling and fading beneath his fingers.

Anakin found them difficult to maintain and hard to clean.

His hand shook again, and he quickly put down the towel and set aside the next mug, turning away from the still untidy kitchen.

His gloved metal hand raked through his hair.

It was late.

It was very late.

He walked to the window and brushed aside the curtain with one hand, confronted first with his own ghostly reflection, and then focusing on the view outside. It was pouring down rain. A rare enough occurrence here on Coruscant, and tonight, of all nights, when Obi-Wan could be out there.

He could be anywhere.

Anakin didn’t know.

Obi-Wan had been missing for twenty-nine hours.

He had walked out of their shared quarters while Anakin was visiting Padmé, sometime in the early evening yesterday, leaving his cloak behind, leaving his lightsaber behind.

And then he was gone.

Anakin had searched all the usual places. He’d reached out to Dex, and alerted Mace Windu and Healer Che, and sent Ahsoka to check with the crèche and Initiates dorm in case he was there playing with and teaching the little ones. He’d contacted Bail and Padmé, and gained permission after the twelve hour mark to examine the security holos.

There was nothing.

It was as if Obi-Wan Kenobi had stepped over the threshold of their door and just fallen out of existence.

Anakin watched rain lash against the window, scattering his pale reflection into twisted fragments, and tried to remind himself that he had already been searching for twenty-five hours straight. That he hadn’t slept or eaten. That Master Koon had forbidden him from going out into the storm to search, when they already had rested and armored troopers doing a steady sweep of the Temple perimeter, even when they didn’t know if Obi-Wan had actually left the grounds.

The Temple was massive.

He could be hiding in an unused wing, or in the depths of the dustiest levels, or in the back of the Archives, or the towers.

No, not the Archives. Master Nu had already searched there and that woman would never miss so much as a hair out of place in her domain, much less a High Councilor.

Anakin had heard Master Mundi making noises about a possible trap or an abduction.

And while that was bad — nightmarish — to contemplate, Anakin had his own fears, and they felt much more realistic, much too close for comfort.

Anakin flung himself down on the sofa with his head in his hands and tried not to admit that he was frightened.

He had seen Obi-Wan like this before. Back when they were a new partnership and Qui-Gon was dead but there was still so much of him living in the Temple, like the mugs, one still the on the countertop with a faint imprint of his lips staining the rim, or his spare cloaks and boots, and the trinkets and potted plants that filled every available space. And Obi-Wan had...

Well. Whenever he thought Anakin wasn’t paying attention, he was so quiet. He barely slept for days and then slept too much. He hardly ate and then ate random things at random times. He hardly smiled.

He wandered off.

Alone.

The worst time had been when Anakin was six months in to his apprenticeship. He had woken up with a terribly bad feeling to find his Master missing from his bed, and with the unerring instinct of a worried child, he had shot off in search of Master Yoda, who had quietly raised the alarm amongst the older Masters. It was Master Windu who had found Obi-Wan, quiet and shrunken and apathetic, concealed in one of the many gardens, letting the life of the garden conceal his dimming force signature from view.

Anakin had clung to him like he was about to disappear, and Obi-Wan hadn’t seemed to really process that he was there...

Eventually he had pulled out of it. Anakin didn’t know how.

But this...

Anakin had been worried since Geonosis that he would lose his Master to death on the battlefield. Then there had been Ventress and Jabiim and Grievous and Dooku and Maul — Maul — and suddenly it felt like Obi-Wan was never safe. The war and his enemies chased him everywhere.

But Obi-Wan had lost friends and peers and younglings he had once taught or cradled in his arms when they were so very small, and his Master’s murderer had come back like a resurrected demon to plague him, to threaten his life and sanity and everyone he loved — and Satine had already paid with her life.

Others might.

And when Anakin had come racing back home from 500 Republica when he’d heard the news, it was already too late, and Obi-Wan had gone off all alone stars knew where.

That was enough.

Anakin leapt to his feet, his body trembling with fear and nausea, determined to ignore orders.

Damn their kindness and responsibility, damn the fact that he’d probably only get soaked and miserable, he was going out searching again.

Anakin strode towards the door on shaking legs.

It swung open before he neared it, and there was Obi-Wan.

Anakin gaped at him.

Obi-Wan stared blankly back. “...Anakin?”

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin breathed, staring at him, taking him in. He was without his cloak and lightsaber, as he had known he would be, and was soaking wet — completely sopping, as if he had swum in a lake rather than wandered about in a rainstorm.

“Obi-Wan,” he said again, his voice strained. “Where have you been?”

His Master continued to look blank. “I went out.”

“You went out? You’ve been gone for well over a day!” Anakin cried out. “Where have you been?”

Obi-Wan shrank away from the shouting. His blue eyes flickered around the room as if looking for an answer, or perhaps an escape, and still his expression was utterly detached. “I... I don’t know, really. Here and there.”

A pause.

“Was I really gone for so long?” he asked. He sounded distantly, disinterestedly bewildered, and Anakin broke.

“Yes!” he shouted, his face screwed up in anger, in an attempt to hold back childish tears. “Yes you have! You disappeared! There are people looking for you, and the Council was worried you’d been taken, and I was so— I was — so — I— you can’t do that to me, Obi-Wan, please, I was losing my mind!”

Obi-Wan’s blank expression finally shifted.

A look of confusion and worry built behind the vague blue eyes, and Anakin launched himself at his friend like he had all those years ago, locking his limbs around him in a fierce hug.

For a long moment it was like hugging a statue. A very cold, very wet statue that shivered ever so slightly.

But Anakin held on, determined to keep Obi-Wan right here, to keep him safe and warm, to make him understand that he was needed, that he could also rest, that it would all be okay if he just stayed. Stayed like he had before. His tunics began to absorb some of the icy moisture coming off his Master but he kept holding on, his face buried in Obi-Wan’s shoulder.

And slowly, Obi-Wan came to life.

His hands inched upwards to rest against his Padawan’s back, and he tilted his head so that he was leaning against Anakin’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice muffled. “I had no idea you’d be so concerned.”

“I wasn’t concerned, you absolute idiot, I was scared,” Anakin hissed, the confession both bitter and relieving on his lips. “How would you feel if I vanished with no word? For thirty hours?”

A long silence.

“Well,” Obi-Wan said thoughtfully, “I would be impressed with Padmé for not getting bored of you long before that.”

There was a dead silence.

Then a spluttered, incredulous laugh, and it took Anakin a moment to realize it was he who was laughing. His shoulders shook with it, with shock at the revelation of what Obi-Wan knew, that he wasn’t angry about it, that he was cracking stupid, mean, dumb jokes about it when Anakin was trying to be mad at him.

Obi-Wan chuckled quietly, and Anakin laughed harder, delighted that his friend was smiling, if only a little.

“You’re not off the hook you know,” he mumbled, guiding Obi-Wan to his rooms, planning on forcing him to take a hot shower and drink warm tea and maybe pull out one of Qui-Gon’s old cloaks, because that always helped.

“Neither are you,” Obi-Wan mumbled back, and squeezed his hand every so briefly.

~

When Plo Koon dropped by to check on Anakin, very early the next morning, he found him sleeping soundly on a chair, snoring quietly, his feet propped on the arm of the sofa, where Obi-Wan was fast asleep with an old cloak that was far too large for him draped over his body.

It was easy to forgive them to forgetting to inform the Guard to call off the search.

Mace could pretend to yell at them during their next Council meeting, during which, he was sure, the two friends would stand side by side, mischief in their eyes.

~

#star wars fic #my writing #prompt fill #star wars #obi wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #obi wan and anakin #qui gon jinn #master & padawan #more hugs needed #tw depression #tw disassociation #angst and fluff #everyone loves obi wan #literally everyone #mace pretends to be cranky with them but mostly he’s just #amused #and tired

[hood-ex]

This is a fic written for @stxleslyds! The prompt was: a fic with Dick, Roy and Lian spending time together in the Outsiders era. Thanks for the donation, Tati 💙.

Important: This fic takes place a week after the events of Outsiders (2003) #19.

“We could use you here,” Roy says. Even with his voice coming directly through the comm, Dick almost doesn’t hear him say, “I need you here.”

A soft wind blows through Blüdhaven, ruffling through Dick’s sweat-matted hair. What a filthy night it is for a Friday. Thunder rumbling in the distance with hot, humid air filling Dick’s lungs. It’s the kind of air that isn’t natural for a place like the ‘Haven. It’s here for whatever reason, and it’s no better now that the sun has been replaced by pink and purple neon lights flashing across the strip. It’s nights like these that Dick can admit to missing his red tunic and green shorts. It was shit to wear them in the winter but an absolute godsend in the summer.

Dick sighs deeply, moving away from the ledge of the building and away from his view of the herds of drunk people whose laughter echoes between the bars and casinos. There’s a tall HVAC unit in the middle of the building that he walks over to and sits against. The fabric of his suit rubs against it, and he squirms a little at the uncomfortable position. He bears it because this is a conversation that requires a little support.

“Dick.”

“I know,” Dick mutters.

He should be under the streets of Brooklyn the same as all the other Outsiders should be. Considering the circumstances, it’s no surprise that some of them have deserted the ship for the time being. Licking their wounds in private so to speak. Dick’s not proud of it. He tacks it onto his mental bulletin board of shame where it sits up there all torn and ugly like the rest of his deplorable moments.

“I’d feel better if you were here to watch Lian when I step out of the room,” Roy says in Japanese. Dick’s brow furrows. Either Lian is in the same room as Roy and he doesn’t want her to know they’re talking about her or there’s an Outsider nearby that he doesn’t want listening in on his personal issues. “She hasn’t started therapy yet and her separation anxiety is still high.”

“High for both of you,” Dick points out. He thinks back to a few days ago when Roy had called him in a panic because he’d left all of his groceries in the middle of the store after his paranoia got the best of him and had him running back to the base to check on Lian.

“Tell me about it,” Roy laughs dryly. “I feel like I’m going fuckin’ nuts, dude.” The strain in his voice sends a full body shiver down Dick’s spine. “All I can think about is whether she’s okay and if the base is protected enough, and if I can really trust everyone here. You and Kory are the only ones I feel okay leaving her with.”

You shouldn’t trust me like that, Dick thinks bitterly. Lilith and Donna trusted me with their lives and look where they are now.

“Everyone else is… I trust them as teammates. I trust them with my life. But I can’t—"

“Trust them with Lian’s,” Dick says, knowing how much this whole situation has fucked with Roy's ability to trust anyone and everyone. Except him and Kory, apparently. Probably Ollie and the rest of Roy's family too.

He thunks his head against the HVAC unit and stares up at the dark sky. Not a single star up there, he thinks, and something like guilt burns in his chest. You took them all with you, didn’t you, Donna? Put them in your pockets and faded away. “She might not be comfortable with me there,” he says after a moment.

It pains him to think that Lian could be scared of him. Scared of him because he looks similar to one of the blue-eyed, dark-haired kidnappers who murdered her babysitter and then branded her like cattle. That type of trauma association doesn’t go away after a week.

“Kory told Lian you might stop by, and you know what Lian asked her?”

Terrible things flash through Dick’s head. Things like words born of fear or disgust. He hugs his arms around his knees and squeezes them tight.

“No, what did she say?”

“She asked, ‘Is Uncle Nightwing gonna bring Blue’s Clues with him?’”

A smile tugs at the corner of Dick’s lips and his eyes start to sting. He can’t believe that’s the first thing she thought of. It only seems like yesterday that he was watching Blue’s Clues with her in Titans Tower. Sometimes he would pause the show and ask Lian questions about each of the clues just to hear what kind of outlandish answers her kid brain could come up with. Other times the detective in him couldn’t help but steer her towards a logical answer. Roy used to always roll his eyes and tell him to stop trying to turn her into a mini Nightwing.

“That doesn’t mean she’ll be okay seeing me in person and you know it,” Dick reminds him.

Roy’s sigh is soft and muffled in his ear. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

Dick’s not one to wait around.

“Let’s cross it now.”

“You’re coming over?” Roy asks, and even though he mostly sounds neutral, Dick can hear the disbelief hidden under it all.

If there was an award for the world's most shitty friend, Dick would probably be in the lead to receive it. Here Roy is dealing with the fact that his daughter was abducted and almost trafficked, and what’s Dick been doing for the last few days instead of sticking by his side? Working himself to the bone in Blüdhaven, that’s what. Hiding away from the fact that he almost lost another important person to him. Trying to avoid the crushing weight of failure that clings to him like a second skin.

Pathetic. Some safety net he is.

“Yeah, give me an hour,” Dick says.

The commute from Blüdhaven to Brooklyn isn’t bad at this time of night. Most of the traffic is packed downtown where all the bars are lined up. Dick takes the highway to avoid the worst of it.

The roar of the city dies off once he goes underground. Down here the HQ looms over him in all its steel glory. Dick’s always thought of it like one giant elevator. It’s all hard angles and sleek, silver walls. Hardly a place one would describe as homey, but it was home to a few people nevertheless.

Dick goes inside after getting his eye and hand scanned by the computer. He heads down the hallway, keeping his footsteps light and quiet out of habit. So far there’s no sign of Jade, Indigo, or Rex in any of the rooms he passes. They’re the most likely to be here around this time. From what Kory told him the other day, Grace has been spending most of her time clubbing, and Anissa has been staying with her dad. He hates to admit it but it’s almost a relief that he doesn’t have to worry about running into either of them.

He ends up finding Roy and Lian in the rec room. Lian is sitting on the leather couch in the middle of the room. She must have had a shower not too long ago because her hair is a little damp and she’s wearing a pair of purple pajamas with unicorns on them. A Cinderella blanket is strewn across her lap and a stuffed rabbit sits discarded on the floor by her feet.

Roy looks small squatting in front of her. His pants are the only sign of his Arsenal gear, and it makes Dick feel slightly out of place since he’s still decked out in full mask and suit. It’s the first time Dick’s seen Roy in person since they brought down Tanner’s operations a week ago. He looks how Dick would expect any parent to look after being targeted by a major sex trafficker: stressed and exhausted.

Those tired eyes of his shift to the doorway where Dick stands, and Dick can see the way Roy looks him over from head to toe, assessing Dick’s condition. He can look as hard as he wants, but he won’t find anything. Dick keeps his face blank and unreadable.

“It still hurts,” Lian whimpers, and both Dick and Roy's attention immediately snaps back to her.

She wraps her arms around her stomach and bends over her lap like she’s going to throw up all over the floor. Roy doesn’t move to try and avoid any possible bouts of vomit. Nothing happens as the seconds tick by. No retching or anything. There’s only the sound of Roy’s hand rubbing up and down Lian’s arm.

“Me and your Uncle Nightwing are gonna get you feeling better soon,” Roy assures her in a gentle voice. “And guess what?”

Lian makes a questioning sound in the back of her throat.

The look Roy shoots Dick is somewhere between caution and amusement. “He’s been playing quiet mouse behind you this whole time.”

Dick braces himself as Lian shoots back up like a rocket. “He’s behind me?” she asks, twisting around in her seat. Dick’s heart starts jackrabbiting because what if she’s scared of him? What if he accidentally triggers her PTSD? What if— “Uncle Nightwing!” Lian shrieks.

Relief shudders through him because she sounds happy to see him. Not scared or angry or disgusted like he feared. She’s looking at him like he just told her he brought her a bag of candy, and that revelation is enough to make him take a breath and finally enter the room.

“Hey, kiddo,” Dick says, hurrying over to the couch so that she doesn’t have to get up. “I missed you.”

Lian reaches for his hand and holds on to it. It’s not like the hug Dick usually gets from her and maybe that’s because she doesn’t want anyone touching her back after the incident. Dick will take anything he can get. His much larger hand closes over her own and he swings them back and forth lightly.

“Me too,” Lian says. She squeezes his hand three times. “Why do you still have your gloves on?”

“My hands are cold,” Dick lies. “Why were you bent over like an accordion just a minute ago?”

“Her tummy’s been hurting,” Roy says with a frown.

“It’s because tigers used to try and eat people,” Lian tells him matter-of-factly. Roy looks like he’s about to correct her but she quickly hurries on. “My brain says there’s danger and it makes my tummy stop working.”

A lightbulb goes off in Dick’s head as he realizes that she’s describing anxiety. A simplified explanation of how the digestive system shuts down and sends blood to other parts of the body when there’s danger.

“My tummy does that too,” Dick says after a pause. “I get a lot of anxiety sometimes. Do you want me to show you how I try to make it go away?”

Lian scrunches her nose. “Do we have to take medicine?”

“Nope. All we need to do is sit up straight and breathe. Breathing really deep helps our brains calm down and makes our tummies feel more relaxed,” Dick explains. He sinks down on the plush couch and demonstrates how she should be sitting. “Now move back until you’re sitting like me.”

Lian does as she’s told and scoots back until she’s resting against the back of the couch. Dick only remembers how short she is when he notices how her feet stick out straight in front of her instead of dangling over the edge of the couch.

“Now tell your daddy to get in position.”

“Daddy,” Lian slaps the free cushion beside her, “sit next to me.”

“Magic word?” Roy prompts.

“Please,” Lian pouts.

“That’s better.” Roy’s knees pop when he shifts out of his crouched position. The whole couch rocks when he falls back against it. “What’s the strat here, Wing? We need to close our eyes or what?”

Dick wants to ask him why he’s acting like he’s never done this before but the playful words stick in his mouth like glue.

“We’ll close our eyes in a second. Lian, I want you to watch how your daddy and I take really deep breaths, okay? Then we’re all going to do it together.”

“I can take really big breaths!” Lian insists. She scrambles out of her pose and gets on her knees. Her little fingers wrap around Dick’s bicep as she leans in close to him. “I can take one million breaths as big as an elephant!”

The tired and apathetic part of him tells him to ignore her kid logic and to get back on track. The uncle part of him is another story. It wants him to be fun and helpful. To distract Lian from the worries and fears she has.

In the end, he does what he always does best: puts on a performance.

“Oh yeah?” Dick challenges with a grin that hopefully doesn’t look as strained as it feels. “I can take five billion breaths as big as a planet.”

“Elephants are bigger than planets,” she says.

“I think maybe the elephants are only bigger in your dreams.”

“Yeah, they are,” Lian agrees because she’s a typical kid who will support anything that proves she’s right in some capacity.

Roy looks amused when he puts his hands on Lian’s shoulders and steers her to sit back on her bottom. “Alright little missy, no more talking. We’re gonna do what Uncle Nightwing says now, okay?”

“Okay,” Lian agrees, looking over at Dick expectantly.

Coaching Lian through the exercise is easy. The most important part is making sure she’s taking breaths that are deep enough to make her stomach expand like a balloon. Dick has her place her hands on top of her stomach so he can see them rise when she inhales.

Roy follows along and Dick can tell that he’s taking advantage of the exercises for his own benefit. His face looks peaceful and relaxed as he follows along with Dick’s instructions to suck in a breath on the count of one and exhale up until the count of ten.

“Keep focusing on counting,” Dick tells them while they exhale. “We don’t want any other thoughts in our heads. No bad thoughts or funny thoughts. Only think about counting to ten.”

They run through a few more cycles. Dick’s pleased when he hears both Lian and Roy’s stomachs grumbling as they exhale. It’s a good sign that the deep breaths are massaging their organs and decreasing any kind of stomach pain.

“That’s it,” Dick says. “We’re all done.” He opens his eyes and sees Lian slumped against the back of the couch. Her hands are still resting on her stomach, but she looks languid instead of tense like she was when he first saw her.

“I’m tired now,” Roy says. His movements are slow as molasses when he slides forward to the edge of the couch and bends over to rest his arms on his thighs. He looks at Lian. “How about you, princess? You feeling any better?”

“Mhmm. My tummy doesn’t feel really uh…”

“Tight?” Dick offers.

“Yeah, it’s not so tight anymore.”

Roy pushes a strand of hair behind her ear. “Good. Mine feels a little better too.”

“Can we do Uncle Nightwing’s breathing thing again tomorrow?” she asks through a yawn.

“Sure thing,” Roy nods. His attention shifts to Dick. “Are you gonna still be here to lead us through it?”

This isn’t some kind of test but it feels like one. It feels like if he says no then he’s only proving that he’s a bad friend. That he can’t be relied on. He doesn’t want to give Roy that impression because it’s not true. Roy can rely on him the same way Dick relies on Roy. He hopes showing up here tonight is proof of that.

“That’s the plan,” he says, voice soft.

Roy leans over the couch and squeezes Dick’s knee gently. “You sure?” he asks, and his eyes roam over Dick’s face like he’s trying to find evidence that Dick is lying.

“Yeah, I’m sure.” He pats Roy’s hand reassuringly in the same way Alfred's done for him and Bruce a hundred times. It's only now that he realizes it's a habit he's picked up.

Lian suddenly leans into Dick’s side and presses her weight against his arm. She pats both his and Roy’s hands.

“I’m sure too,” she says, and this time Dick can’t help but smile.

#Dick Grayson #Roy Harper #Lian Harper #tw: mentions of sex trafficking #tw: mentions of past kidnapping and child abuse #my fic #fic commission

[papercupids]

cat and mouse - agust d.

pairing - yandere!agust d x gn!reader

summary - it's a fun game for him.

warnings - yandere themes, psychopathic behaviour, mentions of tied up, bruises, wounds.

word count - 1.6k

a/n - had an mv marathon at 3 am where i was accidentally hit with this idea, also i do not condone such behaviour. proceed at your own risk.

Straight up doing things for the fun of it.

Of course, he was. But weird was an understatement.

Of course, he was. But weird was an understatement.

That man was a psychopath. Completely driven by passion, anger and raw emotions.

Consequences be damned.

He saw it fit to abduct you because he was so deeply in love.

He saw it fit to tie you up because he was that angry on you.

He also saw it fit to isolate you because he became jealous quite quick. Something he hadn’t experienced yet with you and you hoped he wouldn’t because he would be feral beyond control.

He was an absolute sweetheart for a moment and literally trying to see how much it took to tear you apart the next.

If you began to count how much mental disorders this man could be a victim of, you’d lose count.

And you were angry, of course. But you found yourself sympathizing with him a number of times, trying to figure out what exactly was wrong with him.

But his mood swings made it hard to not hate him.

So you stuck with being indifferent to his advances now. Not flinching when he waved his knife up on your face threatening to cut something if you don’t respond. Not crying when he shouted numerous insults at you, all directed to cut through your heart. And they would have if you didn’t steel yourself against him.

For his betterment and yours, you had to escape from here.

Escape so you could have the upper hand in helping him.

As he sat in front of you, hands tangled in his own hair, you promised him softly to help him out. No matter what it takes.

Because you knew you could.

-

he fiddled with his car keys while you grew increasingly restless. Of all the time you were kept here, you had never been left alone.

Call it agust’s fear or just plain not wanting to go outside.

He’d make hoseok run errands for him, but even then, you’d never seen hoseok.

As your thoughts progress more, you wonder how long it’s been since you actually talked to someone.

Someone who didn’t have a dangling knife on your head.

And suddenly, agust was here, taking his car keys, wallet, and stuff.

If he was afraid of you running off, he didn’t show it. He just tried to play it as if he’s just driving to a grocery store nearby.

Your features displayed a questioning look, but either he didn’t notice or he just knew that’d be the case.

Either way, after making sure he had everything and had covered every inch of his body part in black, he went out, slamming the door on his way out.

You count. You count the seconds. 10, 11, 12, 13.....

There’s no noise outside, he’s really gone.

And the silence that greets you is nothing like the one you’ve experienced these past few weeks, with him just breathing down your neck for some reaction.

Its strangely uplifting, even though you know he’s going to be back in a matter of minutes (or you at least assume that) you’re filled with a breath of fresh air.

But it hits you again of how you can’t escape...

That is until you spot it.

A whiskey glass just around a little distance from you on the center table of the room.

and your limbs tied up burn inside. If you could just move the chair enough to break the glass.

And you did. The ropes cut through your skin slowly and even though you couldn’t look at your wrists, you were pretty sure they’d be a pretty shade of purple and red now.

But you didn’t stop, trying to move the chair, inch by inch.

Your freedom was just a push away.

And as you mustered all the strength in you and pushed the table enough to bang it whole down, a large clinking noise shook the whole house.

Of both the table and the glass.

For a moment, you sat frozen, heart pounding with fear, even though you believed he was gone, it was hard to believe it.

But since no one barged into the room with a maniacal smile on their face which reflected of how glad they were that you messed up, you continued your process.

The next step was to spot the suitable size of the shards, to help you cut the rope.

And you brace yourself for impact as you divert all the pressure of your body downwards, making the chair fall behind and the blood rush to your face.

And your hands cut through the shards, and you find that it won’t be easy getting the one you wanted so you settle for something that fits in your wrist and is similar enough.

There are small bruises on your palm that you know will pain the next time you wash your hands but you’d take a thousand bruises for your freedom. Anything, actually.

And thus begins the process of you trying to tear apart the tight rope. Fear kept a hand on you, and you were startled by every small noise because you knew what would happen if he found you like this. Disobeying his first, foremost and main rule.

And you’d actually prefer death over it, but trying not to think of getting caught, you try your best to cut off the ropes without slashing yourself.

And you can feel your wrists being a little free slowly and painstakingly and with another rub of the glass against the rope, you’re free.

You’re free.

It settles like some powder in water, slowly but surely.

And you get up from the chair, but as soon as you do, you hear the voice of the lock.

The car, locking.

No, no, this can’t happen. You’re so close to actually escaping!

To being free, to make choices of your own, to see your family.

And you decide in the moment that you’ll fight him. You can’t back down from this.

So you take the rope from the familiar drawer you’d seen agust getting it from, and hide.

Fear still ensnares you but you try to not pay attention to it.

Its suddenly come to your attention that the house is as still as stone and hence why you can hear agust’s boots against the stairs, fueling your anxiety greatly.

And as he opens the door, a part of you wants to slam him in forehead with something, but unfortunately predicting something like this to happen, agust had eliminated his house of stuff like that. And another part of you wanted to bawl out loud and apologise to him, take the punishment, be like a bird in a golden cage your entire life; you suppressed that part greatly.

He looked around slowly, not spotting you sends him in a frenzy, but he also knows that the house was locked from the outside, so there’s no way you’ve actually escaped.

And his feet thump slowly against the floor, you can almost hear his soles make a squeaking sound and the keys of his car jingle slowly.

You’re hiding behind a sofa, which is at the opposite end of the room from the chair you were tied up on, and knowing agust, he knows this is the only place you could hide in, so you set your face up, bracing yourself to attack.

And you see the white ceiling, LED lights shine from it, dim but illuminating enough.

And then a shadow falls upon you, the grin that you despise with your whole being.

“found you,” he says almost nonchalantly. As if he wasn’t just about to have a breakdown of how almost everyone in his life just leaves.

But you’re fast and you gather all your hate, all your anger for him and land a straight punch on his jaw, breaking his smile.

And you hear a large thud. Similar to the table falling on the floor but less violent.

And you expect him to get back up and this time chain you up or something; but he doesn’t.

You don't even hear him getting up.

So you convince yourself to get up and check.

And he’s put cold on the floor, you take a good look at your fist and to him; to your fist and to him and squeal out loud.

What in the actual heaven-

And you move his body up on the chair, tying him up just like he didto you, your tears blurring your vision, and a grin, just like his, plastered on your face.

After you’ve made sure he’s tied up, you take a last look and run.

Run like you never did in the physical education class, like you never did in that one marathon your friend dragged you to.

-

flashback.

while you were zoned out reminiscing about what your life used to be while being a shell of your former self, agust was....bored.

He was losing his patience. He was nothing if not a sucker for emotions.

Emotions he could play with, reactions he could muster from you.

He loved you and all but everybody needs a kick in life, don’t they?

He kept on thinking, thinking how he could absolutely crush you into pieces and join them himself.

And he found the perfect thing.

He knew you’d try to escape the first chance you got so he set up his toys just in order for him to be ready to play.

And it was a little painful, but he enjoyed it. He enjoyed knowing you could put up such a fight.

-

And alas, even after making sure he was tied up, you forgot the glass pieces right there and agust just blinked awake.

#tw yandere #prism.nw #agust d #agust d x reader #suga #suga x reader #suga x y/n #suga x you #yandere!suga #suga imagine #agust d imagine #yandere!au #yandere!yoongi #yandere!bts #yandere!yoongi x reader #yandere yoongi #yandere bts #yandere kpop #yandere x y/n #yoongi x reader #bts yandere #bts suga #yoongi x you #yoongi x y/n

[hotchnersbiitch]

Hands of Another

A/N: I’m absolutely in love with this request. I hope you guys are too!! Buckle up my friends, its a long one. 

Request: @jojosgirlkat1dluvr

Pairing: Derek Morgan x Reader 

Category: Angst and fluff 

Warning: kidnaping, violence, cursing 

Word count:  2,003 ~ 8min

-

“Good morning good lookin,” Derek says cheekily as you walk into the bullpen, you chuckle as you make your way to your desk, Derek close on your tail. 

“Good morning Derek,” you say with a sweet smile setting your bag down on your desk before flattening down your blouse. 

“I need everyone in the briefing room, we got a case.” Your boss Aaron Hotchner says sternly as he walks into the meeting room. 

“I’ll see ya in there sweet thing,” Derek says with a smile before turning to head to the briefing room, classic Derek you thought to your self. You would never admit it out loud but you had the biggest crush on your coworker and close friend Derek Morgan. You knew better than to think that you had a chance with him, you were nothing like the other girls he has dated in the past. There’s no way in hell he’d ever look at you as anything more than friends. You walk into the briefing room sitting next to Spencer. 

“Hey, Spence.” You say as you sit down patting his back. 

“Hi Y/N.,” he says with a smile as he hands you the case file. When you open it you couldn't help but cringe. You knew this was going to be a tough one. 

“Our unsub is abducting women in St. Louis Missouri, between the ages of 20 and 30, he tortures them before killing them by strangulation. He’s dumping the bodies behind local hospitals.” Hotch says explaining the case to his team. 

“It’s almost like he’s feeling remorse by dumping them outside the hospital,” Emily states looking at the crime scene photos. 

“How would that show remorse, they are already dead the hospital can’t do anything,” Derek says. 

“He thinks that by dumping them at the hospital gives them a ‘chance’ to be saved. He is clearly feeling remorseful after the fact.” You state before Spencer joins in. 

“It is not unusual for unsubs to drop their dead or nearly dead victims outside of healthcare faculties, it makes them feel less guilty by thinking that they are going to be able to be saved making the unsub feel like he’s almost doing the right thing.” Spencer elaborates and you nod in agreement. 

“Either way we have a killer on our hands and we need to hurry before he kills again. Wheels up in thirty.” Hotch says before walking out of the room. 

“Let's go catch this guy team.” You say before heading to your desk to get your go-bag and head to the plane. 

When the plane lands in St. Louis you and the team head straight to the police station to get to work, the whole team knew there wasn't much time until he strikes again. There wasn’t much done besides addressing the profile and checking out the crime scenes. 

“This guy is good Hotch.” You say standing next to him as you both survey the scene.

“Yeah, but we’re better. We better head to the hotel, there's not much we can do, and we're running out of daylight.” Hotch says in his signature authoritarian voice.

“I’m going to stay behind and look around some more, we are missing something, I just know it.” You say, your boss lets out a sigh before nodding, he knew better than to argue with you. You were just so passionate about every case, you could never sleep on a case until it was solved. Hotch gathered the team, before everyone left Derek came up to you. 

“You comin’?” Derek asks placing a hand on your shoulder, you could almost feel yourself physically melt under his touch. 

“No, I told Hotch I’m going to stay behind and look around some more. There's something here we're missing, I’m going to find it.” You say and Derek chuckles, shaking his head. 

“I know you will, you're good at what you do. Be careful, call me when you get to the hotel okay?” You smile a soft blush forming on your cheeks at his sweetness.

“Of course,” you say before Derek walks off and your team heads to the hotel for the night, leaving you alone with the other officers that were still cleaning up the scene. You walk around the scene surveying different areas behind the hospital. By the time you made it to the other side of the building the cops were gone, they offered to wait but you insisted they went, you had your gun and your SUV was only a few yards away. Besides, you weren't afraid of this guy you knew he was a coward.

 You walk up to a dumpster, you don't remember you or anyone else checking it out earlier you went to step up to look into it when you felt something cold press your back. 

It was a barrel of a gun. 

You closed your eyes knowing exactly who it was, your unsub. 

“T-take your gun out and put it in the dumpster. N-now!” the man demanded, you knew better than to argue with him. 

“Alright, alright,” you mutter as you slowly pull the gun out of your holster before reaching up and dropping it into the dumpster. 

“I’m going to l-lead you to my car, you scream or try to run your d-dead.” the man stammers out, he was nervous you figured he would be, this isn't what he's used to. He’s becoming bolder you knew he would kill you if you resisted him. He pushes you to the car jabbing the gun into your back to hurry you up. Once your in the back seat he pistol whips you, then everything went dark. 

Back at the hotel, Derek was waiting for you to call or at least text him to let him know you made it to the hotel. It wasn't unusual for you to stay behind at a scene, you always felt like you could see things clearer when you were alone. And most of the time it did work, you'd discover something you missed before, it was almost like a sixth sense to you. Derek nervous about your whereabouts got up and went to Hotch’s room knocking on the door, he promptly answered looking tired as always. 

“Did Y/N come and get her hotel key from you? She hasn't texted me she's here yet so I didn't know if she got her key and maybe fell asleep forgetting to let me know or something.” Morgan explained, Aaron could tell he was worried. 

“No, she did not. Call her.” Hotchner ordered feeling much more alert now at the fact he didn't know where one of his agents was. 

“Straight to voicemail Hotch, this isn't like her,” Derek said running his hands over his head. 

“Gather the team...now!”

You woke to ice-cold water being poured over you, you gasped and quickly sat up shocked. You looked up and saw the unsub standing over you, an evil smile on his face. Out of nowhere, he yanks you up by your hair, you yelped in pain, you tried to fight back but to no avail. Your hands and feet were bound, the man laughed before dropping you on the floor, you take in a deep breath, you didn't want to fall apart in front of the man. You didn't want him to know you were scared and make him feel powerful. 

“My team is going to find you!” You yell but only to be silenced by being kicked in the face, you could taste the blood in your nose and mouth. 

“No they won’t, you're all too stupid to find me. I sat there and watched you all search the scene and no one even noticed me. You'll end up just like the rest of them.” He says that evil smirk still plastered on his face. 

“Fuck. You.” You state looking him dead in the eyes, his face filled with pure rage at your words. He immediately started beating you, kicking you in the stomach and back repeatedly, stomping on your head, punching you in the face. You tried to take it for as long as you could but the pain was becoming too much, tears started running down your face, mixing with your blood. The man smiled grabbing you by your face making you look at him. 

“Not so tough now huh? Bitch.” he said before spitting in your face and kicking you in the head, you were out like a light. 

You were awakened again, but this time by the man's hands around your throat. You panicked, this was it, you were going to die. You didn't know how long you were out or how long you have been here. Hours? Days? Weeks? You had no idea, all you knew you were scared and wanted out, you tried to squirm under him but he only tightened his grip on your throat. So tight you could feel your trachea being crushed under his grip, you felt like you were about to pass out.

“FBI! Step away from her!” You instantly recognized Aaron's voice, thank god. Your relief was cut short when the man ripped you off the floor and put a blade against your throat. You were gasping for breath your eyes wide as you stared at the wonderful team before you, they were your family, you didn't want to die in front of them. 

“Let her go!” Emily yelled stepping closer to you and the unsub, bad move. The man pressed the knife harder against your throat, he was about to drag it across your neck before gunshots rang out and you fell to the floor again. Derek rushed to your side cutting off the rope that was keeping you bound together, you were still gasping for breath from almost being strangled. 

“MEDIC! I NEED A MEDIC IN HERE NOW!” Derek hollered before looking down at your battered face. 

“You're okay pretty girl, you're gonna be okay.” He said tears stung in his eyes, you started crying clinging to him as EMTs rushed to your side loading you on to the stretcher. 

“Morgan you ride with Y/L/N and we will meet you at the hospital,” Prentiss instructed and he nods running after you, getting into the back of the ambulance with you. Derek held on to your hand as the EMTs addressed your less serious wounds and hooked you up to a morphine drip. 

“I knew you guys would find me.” You say your throat feeling incredibly sore, Derek nods kissing your knuckles, you blushed but you didn't care you were in pain. 

“I wouldn't ever leave until we did. I promise to make sure you're never hurt at the hands of another again. I promise.” Derek says tearing up, you were honestly quite shocked at his reaction.  

“Derek, why are you so worked up. It is okay, I’m okay. They got me hooked up to drugs, I feel better already.” You say with a small chuckle trying to lighten the mood but Derek didn't budge. 

“No Y/N I’m serious. I love you so much and I’ve been too much of a coward to admit it to you. Then he took you and I was so worried I was never going to be able to tell you how I really felt.” He says tears now streaming down it his cheeks, you were flabbergasted at his confession, you started crying too squeezing his hand that was still holding on to yours. 

“I love you too Derek. I’ve been afraid to admit my feelings also.” You say softly and Derek smiles kissing your hand. 

“I’m going to protect you, I'll never let anything like that happen to you again. I promise.” He says standing up in the ambulance and placing a soft kiss on your busted lip before sitting back down. You just smiled at him, you knew he would. At that moment you knew that Derek would love and protect you to the best of his ability, and you promised to do the same for him. 

#criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds one shots #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagines #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner one shot #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner #spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagines #spencer reid x y/n #derek morgan #derek morgan oneshots #derek morgan imagines #derek morgan x reader #derek morgan x y/n #emily prentiss #jennifer jareau #david rossi #luke alvez

[quinncupine]

Obscured Chapter Ten: We Can Rest When We’re Dead

Chapter Word Count: 6,004

Relationship: Izuku Midoriya X Female Reader

Previous Chapter: Nine

Next Chapter: Eleven

MASTERLIST

Warnings: angst, blood, major injuries, language, hospital settings, lots of crying, and trauma (and if anyone is worried, NO major character deaths)

Notes: this one gets a bit angsty but thats nothing new😼. There's lots of medical talk so forgive me if I got anything wrong. I hope you enjoy it!

...

"-which means sunny skies until Saturday when the cold front starts to move in. So make sure you grab a coat and bundle up this-"

Click.

"-part of a complete breakfast with Froppy Flakes now with frog-shaped marshmallows-"

Click.

"-annual gala is sure to be a special one. This year the former number one hero All Might will be giving a speech to commemorate-"

Click.

"-just outside of Eridu General now where the number one hero Deku has been taken after suffering serious injuries three days ago. There's still no word on exactly what happened, only that-"

Twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty. You counted to yourself, pausing for an instant to check for signs of life. None. You started again. One, two, three...

"Midoriya." Someone was trying to speak to you, but you ignored them in favor of counting. "Midoriya!"

A hand grabbed your own, forcing you to stop. You ripped it away with a growl, ready to shove whoever was getting in the way of saving your husband's life. It was Haru. Of course, it was Haru.

"Midoriya," he managed to grab your hands and pull them away. "Let them hook him up."

Juichi, one of the younger nurses who you had been training, knelt next to you and cut open his bloodied shirt. The knife had cut deep and left a giant jagged stretch of a mess across his abdomen. Dark red gushed from the hole and two other nurses were quick to clean and wrap hasty bandages over it. That was only a temporary solution, the issue ran much deeper than that.

The most important thing was getting him breathing again, so you let them handle the wound for now. An Ambu bag was placed over his mouth while someone connected an EKG. A few weak marks flashed across the screen. Ventricular fibrillation. You only had minutes at best before he would fall into asystole, something he wouldn't be able to come back from, a permanent flatline.

Haru grabbed the paddles and leaned over him. "Clear!"

Juichi made sure to pull you back as the first shock jolted through Izuku. His back arched before falling limp. Everyone looked at the monitor, still V-fib. Haru cursed and increased the voltage, shocking him again. You dared the machine to give you bad news.

"Dammit," Haru growled and upped the voltage one more time. "Come on. Clear!"

"-and just a few days ago he and his wife Y/N Midoriya were targets of an attack on Eridu bridge. Two weeks prior, Y/N was abducted from their home by three villains, only to be rescued by Deku the following day. Now, the police haven't confirmed whether or not these attacks are connected, but-"

Bakugo snatched the remote out of your hand and shut off the T.V. leaving the room in stiff silence.

"Hey," you tried to grab it back, but he lifted it out of your reach. "I was watching that."

"You don't need to be watching that shit." He muttered and leaned against the wall. "It's all garbage anyway."

"Jerk." You huffed and glanced back at the bed you'd been sitting next to for hours.

Three days. That's how long you sat in this room: waiting, praying, hoping. The only good news was that he'd finally been weaned off the ventilator. Now, you were just waiting for him to wake up, but no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't get the image of him lying on that Emergency Room floor, covered in blood, with no heartbeat out of your head.

You ignored the pain in your hands as you squeezed them together, watching the lines on the machine start to spike. They successfully rebooted his heart, but he was far from safe. He could still crash any minute. They needed to work fast to stabilize him.

"Get him on the gurney!" Haru dropped the defibrillator and stood, yelling out orders. "Juichi, call O.R. They've got incoming!"

Juichi gave your arm one last reassuring squeeze before she rushed to the desk. A gurney dropped to the ground and you reached out to help, but Haru grabbed your shoulder.

"They got it Midoriya." He said quietly.

You smacked his hand away and stood, almost immediately falling over. Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, everything was starting to catch back up to you. Your head buzzed and your stomach seemed to be in some sort of internal war with itself. Every inch of your skin tingled as waves of nausea overtook your senses and you dropped right back to the floor again. Both lungs struggled to take in air and the noises around you were getting to be too much.

A hand rested on your shoulder and a deep voice spoke next to you, but you were too focused on trying to stop the world from spinning to even notice.

"Y/N." That voice. You knew that voice.

With shaky eyes, you looked at the man kneeling in front of you. Shoto. When he got here, you weren't sure, you were just glad that he was. He locked eyes with you and he looked so calm, so steady. How was he so calm when the world was closing in around you?

"Take a deep breath." He spoke softly, so different from the absolute chaos happening around you. "It's okay, you did it. You're safe now."

Izuku, now secured on the gurney, was rushed away. The last image you saw was his unconscious, bloody form.

Pale and lifeless. That's what Izuku looked like, laying there, hair covering his eyes, and bandages covering his hair. All those surgeries coupled with healing sessions drained his stamina to dangerous levels. The knife had pierced his liver and nicked one of his lungs. The blood that filled his punctured lung nearly drowned him before they even made it to the O.R. They did all they could do with what they had, now it was just a waiting game. He's been through worse, which meant he would make it through this, he had to. That's what you kept repeating, over and over in your head.

"You've known him longer than I have." You whispered, staring at his unconscious form. "Do you think...do you think he can move past this?"

Bakugo glanced at Izuku, his lips in a thin line. "Deku has always been a bundle of insecurities, I'm probably the reason for most of them." He muttered. "I think he'll have a fucking shit time dealing with this."

That wasn't what you wanted to hear, but it was Bakugo you asked, so you should've expected something like that. With a sigh, you looked down at your bandaged hands.

"But," he crossed his arms, glaring at the remote in his hands before looking up at you. "He's also faced horrible shit all his life and somehow always found the annoyingly optimistic side to things. That was some messed up shit she pulled, but the damn nerd is stubbornly resilient." His voice dropped. "And he has you, so he'll be fine."

Your eyes jumped to him. "What?"

He rolled his eyes and looked out the window. It was quite a dismal day outside. "You heard me, so shut up."

Yup, that was a Bakugo compliment if you ever heard one. It brought the slightest smile to your face to see him so disgusted by what he said. He threw the remote on the table and stomped to the door.

"I'm getting coffee." He grumbled and threw the door open. "Hey, you two!" He yelled at the two officers stationed outside. "Don't let anyone else in until I get back or I'll have your heads. Got it?"

They nodded meekly and he slammed the door shut, leaving you alone with Izuku. It wasn't the first time they left you alone with him, but you still got jitters in your stomach every time they did. You were positive the drug had been completely flushed from his system, but that wasn't the real problem here. The problem was you and your stupid brain still trying to pull a fight or flight, leaning heavily on the flight. It was a ridiculous notion that he would ever purposely hurt you, but your body was telling you otherwise and you hated it.

"Stop it." You growled to yourself, jumping to your feet. "You're fine. It's fine. Everything is fine.."

Maybe if you said it enough, you'd actually start to believe it. Once he recovered, it was going to be a long rocky road back to normal. No, who were you kidding, nothing would be 'normal again. Well, at least for now. Right now, you both just needed to focus on healing and everything would follow suit...hopefully.

A small noise caught your attention and you whipped your head to the bed. Izuku's face was scrunched up like he was in pain and his fingers twitched every now and then. Ever so slowly, he was waking up. You glanced at the door. Bakugo hadn't returned yet and a nervous dread was creeping through your stomach.

His eyes fluttered open slightly but closed just as quick. A small puff of a groan blew past his lips. It was a slow process, painfully slow, but after a few minutes, he finally managed to open his eyes and keep them open, staring at the ceiling in confusion.

"Izuku?" You stood near the end of his bed, stiff as a board.

With a slow blink, his eyes drifted down to you and through the haze of drowsiness he was caught in, he recognized you with a slight smile. A wave of relief washed just a bit of that dread away. You thought you'd never see him smile again.

"Are you- how do you feel?" You wrung your hands, guilt eating you up when your feet refused to move to his side.

His mouth opened and closed again. He did that a few more times before he managed to speak, his voice so hoarse that the words died in his throat. A frown replaced that small smile and his hands came up to rub his face. The motion must have pulled on his wound and he gasped, curling around his midsection.

That finally got your feet moving. You rushed to his side and pulled his hands back down. "Don't move so much yet, you're still pretty banged up."

"Y/N..." he coughed out and you grabbed the water on the table, helping him take a few sips. "Y/N," it came out much more clear this time. "What happ..." The words faded out as his eyes grew wide, searching your face. "No...did I- was it...please tell me it wasn't real. It was just a hallucination...right?"

You couldn't meet his eyes. "You're alright now." Turning away, you set the cup down. "We're alright now."

It was obvious he was still fighting the grogginess from the drugs he was on, but he was apparently lucid enough to remember. You had been holding out hope that he wouldn't be able to remember, like what happened with Kirishima, but this drug was different. Ikari had said it was made specifically with him in mind, something to not just torture him physically, but psychologically as well and it worked. It even seemed to slow his recovery time. Taking this long to even wake up was worrying on its own.

His eyes darted around his room and he tried to sit up. Heavy breaths turned into frantic heaving. "I tried to...I- oh my god." He made it halfway up before collapsing back on the bed with a pained choke. "No, no, no, I can't-"

"Izuku." You gently laid a hand on his chest and he stopped squirming long enough to glance at you. "Stop moving before you hurt yourself more."

"But-"

"No, just...please." Your own bandaged hand squeezed the fabric of his hospital gown so tight it was on the verge of tearing. "I need you to be calm."

He was anything but calm. In fact, he was nearing a complete breakdown if the horrified expression glued to his face was anything to go by. Watery eyes scanned over every inch of you, probably trying to catalog the damage he'd done. You were grateful for the scarf wrapped around your neck, concealing the ugly truth. Seeing that wouldn't do him any good.

"I know how you must be feeling." Staring at your hands was easier than looking him in the eyes. "Well, maybe not exactly but..." Wow, you had no idea what to say.

Ever since he was wheeled away practically knocking on death's door, you'd been thinking of how to handle this. Nothing seemed right. This was an entirely new experience. Something you'd been having a lot of lately.

Biting back a groan, he pushed himself up and leaned against the headboard. The man was covered head to toe in bandages. It was, unfortunately, a sight you were quite familiar with, but that didn't mean it ever got easier seeing him so beat up. This time though, this time was different; his body wasn't the only thing damaged and you weren't sure how to go about repairing this, or even if you could.

Hands covered his face as he tried to even out his breathing. It took everything he had to calm himself down. "I-"

"What do you remember?" You cut him off.

He wiped the trickle of tears from his cheeks. "I remember what I did." His voice was barely audible, but even so, you could hear the utter anguish and guilt lacing it. "Most of its fuzzy, but I-I... you're okay, aren't you?" His eyes dropped to your bandaged hands that you quickly hid behind your back. "I'm so sorry Y/N, I would never-"

"I know Izuku." You cut him off again. "I know. Please don't blame yourself, this isn't your fault."

"But it is." He narrowed his eyes, gripping the sheets. "I'm supposed to be better than this. I'm supposed to be a hero. I'm supposed to protect you. I wasn't good enough and- and you almost died!" He met your gaze. "It is my fault."

"You always do this!" The sudden outburst surprised even you. "You're always the first one to throw yourself under the bus." With a shake of your head, you turned away to pace the room. "I learned to deal with a lot of things that come with your heroics. I learned to deal with the late nights and the last-minute calls in. I learned to deal with all the bruises and injuries that come with the job. I even learned to deal with all the fucking politics involved with this." You stopped to look at him. "But the one thing I can't deal with anymore is this self-sacrificial role you always jump headfirst into as if there wouldn't be anyone left to deal with the aftermath!" You were yelling by this point, but you didn't care. "But you have people who still need you here! I still need you here! Don't you get that?"

He sat there, completely still, staring at you like you were the scariest thing in the world at the moment. "Y/N-"

"No! I want you to get it through that fucking head of yours that you are worth it! I can't lose you...I..." You were quickly losing steam.

A hand rested on your shoulder as someone said your name. The touch freaked you out so much that you practically leaped to the other side of the room with a scream.

Standing where you had been was All Might and Inko, along with Bakugo who was lingering in the back with his arms crossed. They were all staring at you like you were the crazy one. Were you acting crazy? Everything was flying at you too fast. All the thoughts in your head were too fumbled to even form anything coherent.

Air. You needed air. You couldn't stay in this room any longer, not when you were suffocating like this.

Without so much as a word, you bolted from the room. Guilt fought the fear in your stomach as you raced down the hall, not even sure where you were trying to get to in such a hurry, just that you needed to get there. After sprinting down a few halls, you found an open door and ducked inside. It slammed shut behind you and you backed into a corner trying to catch your breath. A few items fell off the shelf and clattered around your feet. Your legs gave way and you slunk to the floor, staring at a few of the cleaning bottles lying around you.

A lone bulb swung overhead, creating moving shadows that danced just outside your vision so you closed your eyes and curled in on yourself. You stayed that way until a faint knock on the door startled you so much that you hit your head on the shelf behind you and a few rolls of paper towels clattered to the floor.

The door cracked open and you figured it was Inko or even All Might that had come to talk, but instead, Bakugo slipped inside. He didn't say anything as he sat on the floor and leaned against the door, staring at you with that same cold expression as always.

After a few silent minutes, you collected yourself enough to finally meet his piercing vermillion gaze. "What do you want?"

"What do you want?" He repeated back. The question didn't make sense to you so you just shook your head. "He obviously didn't say what you wanted him to say, so, what do you want?"

What did you want? Well, you wanted everything to go back to how it was, but that was never going to happen. You wanted Izuku to stop risking himself so much, but that was a choice he made a long time ago and something you agreed to when you first started dating. You wanted to have a happy, carefree life, but that was damn near impossible with a hero. You wanted to be strong enough to handle things the way Izuku could, but you weren't a hero like him. You wanted so many things that were too far out of reach.

"I just...I want everything to be okay." You sniffed, feeling the sting of tears trying to escape your eyes. "Is that too much to ask for?"

Bakugo was silent, his eyes never leaving you.

"I want him to be okay. I want us to be okay." With a huff, you curled your legs up to your chest to rest your chin on. "But it's not. How can anything be okay when I'm just scared of standing in the same room? How is that okay? What kind of horrible person am I?" You searched his eyes for an answer. "He's in there hurting all kinds of ways and I'm just hiding in a utility closet. I want to be in there with him, but I can't make myself go. How can I face him like this?"

"What happened was fucked up. That much everyone can agree on, but you're not afraid of him, you're afraid of what happened. There's a difference." His voice had a softness to it that you'd never heard before. It was strange, but also kinda nice.

Maybe that's why you laughed. Heavy drags of giggles burst out and you dropped your head. It built up to a full-out crazed cackle, but nothing could stop the choked laugher that seemed to bubble up from some dark abyss with no end in sight. Finally, after a few huge gulps of air, you managed to calm down enough to look back up at him.

"Well, tell that to my stupid brain." You huffed.

"What do you want?" He asked again.

"Why do you keep saying that!" You grumbled. "I already answered your dumb question!"

"Because you don't believe it yet." He leaned forward, narrowing his eyes. "So, I'll ask again, what do you want right now?"

You went back to staring at the mess of cleaning supplies surrounding you and picked up a roll of paper towels to squeeze between your fingers. "I wanna be in there with him."

"Why?"

He caught the roll you threw at him as you gave him your best 'you're an idiot' glare. "Because I care about him. I love him."

"Then you'll find a way." His face scrunched up in disgust when he realized what he said and threw the roll back at you. "Ugh, don't tell anyone I said that."

His playful attitude was enough to shock you out of the somber state you'd locked yourself away in, if only for a minute. "What? That love finds a way?" A trace of a smirk crossed your face. "I didn't take you for a sap Bakugo, it's ruining your bad boy image."

That fiery glare you knew all too well quickly took its rightful place back in his eyes. "Tell anyone and you die." He stood up and held out a hand. "Are you coming or not?"

After a moment of hesitation, you grabbed his hand and he pulled you up. "Hey Bakugo," you said quietly as he turned to the door. "Thanks...for being here."

"Someone needed to straighten your dumb ass out." He grumbled and opened the door.

The two of you made the silent trek back. As much as it surprised you that Bakugo was the one to come find you, it also relieved you. If any of the others found you, they probably would've wanted to have a deep talk, something you just weren't ready to have yet. He kept his space, which you were grateful for. The man was surprisingly intuitive when it came to all this emotional stuff, no matter how much he might try to deny it. No wonder Izuku never lost faith in him. He was, deep down in his heart, a good person, despite the rather abrasive exterior.

When you neared the room, Momo and Shoto who were standing off to the side having a quiet conversation saw you and rushed over.

"Y/N, are you alright?" She asked, hands hovering in front of her as if trying to restrain herself from grabbing you.

"I'm fine Momo, just needed some air." You mumbled, hating the way her eyes frantically fretted over you. "I promise, I'm alright." The door to his room was closed and you couldn't help but stare. "Is he?"

She glanced at it too. "All Might and Inko are talking to him now. We thought it best to give them some privacy."

All Might was probably the person he really needed to talk to at the moment. You freaked out on him and bolted. It wasn't the most encouraging thing to wake up to. This was good. All Might was his father in all but blood. If anyone could help him, it was those two.

"Um, how's Ochaco?" You looked back at her, needed something else to focus on. "She was released this morning, right?"

"Yes, she's recovered enough, although the Chief is speaking with her right now." She said. "But, she should be on her way over soon, especially now that he's awake.

"Good." With a sigh, you rubbed the hair out of your face. "I hope this is almost over."

The door opened, drawing everyone's attention. All Might's lanky form stepped out with Inko in tow. They both looked haggard and grim. Inko was red-faced and sniffling. It was obvious she had been crying but looked like she was trying to keep it together for appearances.

"Hello Y/N." He greeted quietly.

"There you are." Inko pulled you into a hug. "You were gone when we got back."

"Sorry Inko," you loosely wrapped an arm around her. "How is he?"

She pulled back and messed with the tissue in her hand, glancing at All Might. That practiced smile strained to stay on his face.

"He wants to speak with you if you're up for it." Those dark eyes bore into your own.

"Yes," you glanced back at the door, fighting the jitters in your stomach as you forced your feet to move.

Bakugo was right. You weren't afraid of Izuku, you were afraid of what happened. Differentiating the two was just a bit difficult for your body to understand, but it helped knowing.

"Y/N just..." All Might held out his hand, but thought better of it and simply shook his head. "Nevermind."

You cracked open the door and peeked in. Izuku was sitting on the edge of the bed, bare feet scraping against the floor. He was hunched over, messy hair hiding his face. Each deep breath he took ended with a slight pained gasp.

"Izuku?" You called out as the door shut.

He jumped and immediately regretted it, groaning as he doubled over, nearly toppling off the bed.

"Careful!" You rushed over and caught his shoulders before he could fall. "You shouldn't be moving around yet. They could only heal so much with the state you were in."

"I'm sorry." He whispered. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." He refused to look at you, head stubbornly bowed. "Y/N, what I did...It's unforgivable." His voice was so hoarse, you could hardly hear him.

"Izuku," you stared down at the man trembling under your grip. "Please look at me."

He did, albeit, hesitantly. Your grip tightened on his shoulders and you forced yourself to look into his eyes. They were swollen and bloodshot. He'd been crying, hard. This was also a version of him you were quite familiar with.

There had been so many days when he came home from a long day of work, covered in dirt and grime. He would just collapse in your arms and drain the horrible sorrows of the day through tears. You never shamed him for it, it was just another thing that reminded you of how human, how fragile he was, despite what the public might think. He always felt things ten times the amount his heart should've been able to handle. It was part of the reason you fell in love.

"I don't blame you for what happened. You know that right?"

"That doesn't change the fact that it still happened, that I let it happen." He sniffed and shook his head. "I'm supposed to protect you, not be the reason you're in danger. You put your trust in me and I failed you."

Even after years of trying to show him how great of a hero he was, it was never enough. Not for someone who spent most of their childhood being told they were worthless. That part of his personality, while it had dulled, would never go away, you knew that better than anyone.

You pulled the chair over so you could sit in front of him. "I do trust you Izuku. You were under the control of that psychotic drug. That wasn't you who did that, I know the real you." Your hands drifted down to his own. "I'm sorry for running out earlier. I, well, I don't know. I guess my nerves are still a bit shaken."

As gently as he could, his fingers lightly wrapped around your own. "I love you. The thought of even...are you sure you're alright?"

Alright didn't even come close to describing how you were. No words could describe your emotional state at the moment. It was all still too fresh and you were still too high strung, but now that he was back, things could start to feel better.

"I..." you paused, not quite sure how to say it. "There was a long moment when I really thought that was it. That...that I wouldn't make it out of there."

Izuku covered his eyes, lips trembling. All those tears he was trying to suppress came flooding out. "Oh my god, Y/N, I-"

"No, stop." It was hard to pull his hands from his face. "Please, I'm not blaming you. I could never blame you. I...don't even know why I told you that. I just don't want to keep anything from you."

He stared at you, vision way too blurred with tears to make you out properly.

"Izuku, if the roles were reversed, if I was the one drugged up and turned on you, would you want me to feel the way you're feeling?" You shook your head. "And I know I probably couldn't do much damage, but the fact that I would've tried, would you hold it against me?"

"No, of course not!"

"Then why would I hold it against you?" Tears flooded down his cheeks and you brushed them away with your thumb. "Izuku, you've protected me countless times. Even when you were in that state, you still held back. Look at your fingers." You held up one of the bandaged ones. "I know what you were trying to do. I know you were doing everything you could to hold back. And we both know if you had the slightest inkling of wanting to hurt me, I wouldn't be here right now."

He opened his mouth, but you spoke over him. "And even under that drug, you still took a knife for me." You pressed his hand against your face. "Please don't ever do that again. That was the scariest part of all this. I was afraid I was going to lose you for good."

"I..." He was at a loss for words.

Your eyes drifted down to his gown where a growing red stain was spreading across his chest. "You pulled your stitches." With a sigh, you lifted the gown to get a better look. The bandages were saturated and starting to leak. "Come, lay down, I need to change them."

He did as you asked, wiping the rest of the tears from his splotchy face. The room was silent as you cleaned and redressed the angry red wound. This one would leave a pretty big scar running down his abdomen. He already had so many and you hoped it would just blend in with the rest over time, but the memory would always sting, there was no getting rid of that.

After you gathered all the soiled bandages and stripped your gloves, you pulled his gown back down and looked at his face. He had a few butterfly stitches above his right temple from that glass bottle you threw at him. It was a minor injury, so it wasn't at the top of the list to heal. You carefully reached out and lightly ran a few fingers over it. His eyes never left your face as your hand wandered down to cup his freckled cheek.

"Izuku honey, I love you." Gently, you sat on the bed. "What happened was terrifying, I won't lie, but the most terrifying thing was the thought of you dying. I knew the risks when I married you and I know them now. I made a promise to you years ago. No matter what, I'm not going anywhere. You're stuck with me, hero."

He leaned into your hand on his cheek and closed his watery eyes. "I don't deserve you Y/N."

"Nonsense." You rested your forehead against his. "If anyone deserves anything, it's you Izuku Midoriya." He sniffed as you brushed back his frizzy bangs and kissed his forehead.

A hint of a smile finally found its way back to his face and for just an instant, everything seemed right again. Then a knock at the door broke your little moment as the others filtered back in, this time with Ochaco.

"I'm glad to see you on your feet again Ochaco." You stood back up to greet everyone.

Frowns seemed to be contagious around here and Ochaco wasn't spared. She came over, grabbed your hands, and bowed her head. "I'm so sorry Y/N. I wasn't able to protect you."

"Not you too." You groaned. "Would everyone please stop apologizing to me? I'm sick of it and it's making me feel worse, not better." She blinked and you patted her hands. "I'm not angry with you Ochaco."

She straightened up and nodded. "Okay, I'm sorr- um, I mean are you feeling better?"

"Yes, I'm fine." It was an automatic reply by now, but as long as it got everyone off your back, you would stick with it.

"Izuku, I'm glad you're awake." Shoto walked in behind Momo. "Y/N, we're sorry to interrupt, but there's an urgent matter we need to discuss.

Glancing between the three heroes, you noticed All Might or Inko didn't come back in. He was probably keeping her busy while the heroes talked. Were they going to kick you out too? There was no way you were getting left out of anything, not after everything you'd been through.

"Ikari?" Izuku narrowed his eyes.

"Yes." He stood at the end of the bed. "After what happened, she managed to slip away."

"But," Momo spoke up. "She left behind a crucial piece of evidence. A small pouch containing the powdered drug. I've analyzed the components. Now we're just working on an antidote."

"Tsukauchi is tracing the drug now. He'll find it." Shoto finished.

"Wait," Izuku shook his head. "What day is it? How long have I been out?"

"Three days," Ochaco said.

"Three days?" He tried to sit up, only to freeze with a grunt. "That means- we don't have much time."

"Time?" Shoto cocked his head. "What are you talking about?"

"The gala."

"The ga- you're not seriously worried about the gala, are you?" Of all the things, you never expected him to be worried about something so trivial in light of recent events.

He turned to you. "Yes, the gala. It makes sense now."

"The gala." Momo's eyes widened. "You think she's going to strike there?"

"Think about it," he looked at each of them in turn. "It's one of the biggest events of the year and most of Japan's heroes will be there. The timing adds up, I think this is what she was planning all along."

"Wait, if she was able to mass-produce this drug," Ochaco grabbed her chin, "and if she manages to release it at the gala then-"

"Then we'll have a full-scale terrorist attack on our hands." Shoto summed up.

"Not just terrorists." Momo set a hand on his shoulder. "She'll have turned the heroes against each other...into villains."

"We need to shut it down!" Ochaco pulled out her phone. "The gala is tomorrow!"

"Hold on, if we shut it down, she might slip away again." Shoto held out his hand. "This is our best opportunity to catch them."

"You're willing to risk all those people?" Momo turned to him. "Have you forgotten the serious trouble we're already in? Our licenses are on the verge of suspension."

"Momo, this might be our one chance to stop her. We'll know when and where. We-"

"No, Shoto!" She snapped. "We already put one innocent life in danger, I'm not putting more at risk for just a chance to catch her. There has to be another way."

"Everyone's already in danger. She's always been five steps ahead of us." He glared down at her and gestured to Izuku. "I mean, look what's already happened. She managed to take Deku down. He was our powerhouse! We only survived because she decided to leave. Not retreat, but leave. We didn't win, we lost- miserably."

"Let's just calm down for a minute," Ochaco tried to interject. "Let's think this through."

"If we don't do this then she might target somewhere else. We'll have the advantage. We can control this." Shoto turned to Izuku. "What about you? What do you think?"

Izuku had gone silent, eyes darting back and forth as he thought it through, quietly mumbling to himself. Some things never change. "Any decision we make is risky. We need a plan that minimizes those risks." He pinched his bottom lip.

"You have an idea, don't you?" Shoto crossed his arms.

"Maybe," he looked up at him. "But pulling it off in a day is going to be a challenge."

Taglist: @miriobaby @dorki-time @thecindy @sailorstupidsblog @awilddreamerwrites @kehlaniwwe @kenmaskitten10 @slytherintothedms @chanyeoloml @tanakasprayer @kiyoobi @peachsenpie @amive2567

#izuku midoriya x reader #deku x reader #taken series #bnha #mha #deku #my hero academia #midoriya izuku #izuku midoriya #pro hero deku #boku no hero academia #angst #katsuki bakugou #inko midoriya #all might #todoroki shoto #momo yaoyorozu #poor baby Izuku #he's having a rough time right now #blood #major injuries #language #hospitals #izuku really cant get enough of those hosptial beds can he?

[gaycrouton]

post-one breath

scully angst | 2.5k | ao3

scully is having a hard time feeling normal after returning from the hospital after her abduction.

(these were written for my five times exchange story, prompted by the always wonderful @mmeadowlarkk, but I wanted to post them here too!)

It was usually one of two things that woke her up: the sound of a drill or feeling like someone was shining a light into her eyes. Neither was actually happening of course, but she'd start up in bed, sweat covering her body and a scream caught in her throat.

It had been like that since she returned home. Granted, that was only five days ago, but even in the hospital her sleep was always restless. In total, she'd been out of her coma for two weeks, but it was hard to tell with how trapped she felt in her own body.

"Are you okay?"

I'm fine.

"How are you?"

Fine.

"How's recovery?"

Going fine.

Fine was all she could manage during the barrage of questioning she received every day from seemingly everyone in her life. It seemed to placate her mother, her sister would smile in response, but Mulder's eyes would bore into hers while he searched for the real answer within their depth.

It was when he looked at her that she realized just how absolutely not fine she was. While her family and the doctors saw a shocking story of recovery, Mulder could see she was struggling. The title of survivor had been bestowed on her before she could even process the extent of her victimhood. She didn't even have a full understanding of what she was a victim of.

With a shaky hand, Scully drew back the dampened covers and sharply inhaled as her bare feet touched the cold, wooden floor. She padded over to the bathroom, flicking on the light before discarding her sweaty clothes. When she turned, she caught sight of something she'd been avoiding for a while now: her reflection.

However, in the soft lighting of her bathroom and the full length mirror precariously tucked in the corner, she couldn't look away when she caught sight of the woman on the other side, for surely that couldn't be her.

Walking over on unsteady legs, she stood on uneven ground with one foot on the linoleum and one foot on the plush bath mat as she took in the sight. Her skin was ghostly pale barring the ruddy flush of her cheeks. She could see the blue spider web of veins spreading like a grid underneath her skin, cobwebs in an empty shell.

Her face looked different than it had for the past few months, as if her slight, lingering baby fat had been taken from her but her face had yet to compensate for its loss. She was thinner when she came back, she knew that when she looked at her chart. Within three months she'd lost enough weight that the doctors had to monitor her intake so she didn't overdo it and make herself sick with the sudden adjustment.

Even though she'd lost the weight, her stomach looked slightly different to her, slightly swollen and tender to the touch. There had been a sharp pain in her lower belly that over time had become just a dull ache.

It felt like a menstrual cramp, like her uterus was screaming at her.

Like every other aspect of her life, she wasn't certain if her menstrual cycle was still regular since she had yet to get her period. Scully hadn't gone back on birth control since her return, partially because the dull pain was concerning to her and she didn't want any dependent variables taking away from her ability to monitor her body's recovery.

She knew from the test run by her doctors upon her admittance that she wasn't pregnant. It was a relief, but it was only one concern addressed with a hundred others still unanswered.

After admitting her discomfort to the doctor at the hospital, they'd both reached the conclusion that, while odd, nothing appeared to be wrong. He offered to do a more in-depth pelvic exam since they'd been too worried about keeping her alive when she first arrived to try and gather evidence of anything, but she refused. She didn't want anyone else touching her.

And she knew she had been - much like her hair had been maintained to stay the same length over all these months, her pubic hair had also been trimmed, a detail she'd kept to herself.

Scully felt a wetness on her sternum and she looked up to see she was crying with a shell-shocked expression on her face. She raised a shaky hand and smeared the tear into her skin and rubbed her eyes.

She was alive. Scully knew she should be grateful for that miracle, but she'd lost a lot more than three months when she was abducted.

A sob escaped her throat as she flicked the lightswitch off and walked over to her boudoir, grabbing an old grey sweater with "FBI Academy" embroidered on the space above her left breast. It was slightly scratchy from being mass produced for all the Quantico trainees, but it would have to do. Her favorite University of Maryland sweater was retired to an evidence bag covered in Duane Barry's blood - another loss.

She slid the matching oversized sweatpants up her legs, satisfied when her body was shrouded and hidden from her own view. An irrational part hoped the polycotton blend could act as a metaphorical cocoon, and when she shed it off later maybe she'd come out a different person. But she knew from past nights' experience that it wouldn't happen.

Knowing she was too worked up to go back to bed, she made her way to the living room. While she knew it hadn't been a drill or blinding light that woke her up, she couldn't help but hear the similarities between her nightmare and the storm currently brewing outside. The wind sounded sharp against the side of the building, and every two Mississippi's the cracking of nature's whip would follow a bright lightning strike.

It hadn't stormed this hard since-

"Mulder! I need your help! Mulder!"

The sound of glass shattering ricoheted through her mind, and she took a sharp breath as she told herself that no one was breaking in. It was just in her head. Looking over, she could see the spot it had happened, the weather outside macabrely setting the scene.

Scully felt her heart hammering in her chest as what once was her sanctuary quickly became her mental prison. She wanted to be better. She was tired of this affecting her in this way, but she couldn't help it. For what felt like the thousandth time since she'd been back, she felt the overwhelming, albeit irrational, panic that someone was going to come and take her again. She didn't feel safe.

She hadn't even processed she'd moved. One minute she was breathing heavily in the middle of her living room, and the next she was pressing her back into the crevice where two walls met while she held her phone in trembling hands. She was rubbing the number two with the pad of her thumb, and in her state of hypersensitivity, she felt like she could feel the grooves of her thumbprint catching against the silicone of the button. The printed numerical "2" felt like braille against her thumb, but it also felt like a life preserver and she was drowning. If she pressed that and the accompanying nine other digits she knew by heart, she knew she'd be safe.

Mulder would answer.

She looked down and pressed the buttons, the key tones sounding deafening in the silence as the pitch went up and down with the different numbers.

202-

The sound of something tapping against her window made her jump and she looked up and saw a shrub outside was being knocked against the glass in the storm. Mulder had gotten the windows replaced while she was gone, and it would be nearly impossible for someone to shatter them as easily as Barry had. He'd invested in her safety because he knew it would come in handy for when she returned. Because for Fox Mulder, it had always been a matter of 'when' and not 'if'.

Her eyes were drawn to a blinking red light on the opposite side of the room, and she realized it was past three in the morning. Her confidence in her plan faltered as the landline started beeping from the rest of the number not having been entered.

She was too late.

During one of the first times Mulder visited her at the hospital, she'd been chatting with her mom while Mulder and Melissa sat in seats against the wall. Apparently she'd gotten too wrapped up in the conversation because by the time she looked back to Mulder, he was out cold, slouched in his seat next to Melissa who was trying not to laugh at the way his mouth gaped open with his head resting on her shoulder.

"Mul-" she'd started, intending to wake him up only to be hushed by her mother.

"Let him sleep, Dana. I'm quite certain that man didn't sleep once while you were in your coma," she chided.

"I don't think he slept since you disappeared," Melissa corrected, her eyes widening comedically as Mulder snored loudly.

When she asked him how he'd been doing a few days later, her insomniatic partner even himself said, "I've been sleeping better this past week than I have my whole life."

Because she was safe.

Scully couldn't bring herself to call him and shatter that illusion. She couldn't think of him laying sound asleep on the other side of town, only to be woken up to her sobbing, causing him to rush across town to be with her. Because that's exactly what he would do and she knew it. Mulder was concerned about her now, but she played it off as him worrying too much. If she confirmed his fear and admitted that an hour hadn't gone by that she hadn't been scared, he wouldn't be able to rest until she felt better. She didn't know if she could promise she ever would.

Part of her considered calling her mom or Melissa, but the same concern was still there. They wouldn't be as relentless with the information as Mulder would be, but she knew if she called them now at this low point, she'd have to field questions down the line. She'd have to be fine even more than she already was.

Heat started burning uncomfortably on her face as she thought of someone she wanted to call who wouldn't have made her feel fragile. Who would have told her Scullys can get through anything, and she was one of the toughest of the bunch.

She wanted her dad to hold her and make everything better.

A hot tear slid down her cheek as she felt more alone than she had in her entire life. Every sniffle and whimper she made echoed against the walls of her large apartment and it made her feel small. She'd come back to the people she loved and she was too stubborn to let them in.

Her chin trembled as she made her way to her couch, tripping slightly when plastic caught her foot. Scully regained her balance and looked down to see she'd gotten caught on the brown plastic sack Mulder had given her. Bending down, she took out the VHS tape that lay inside. Superstars of the Super Bowl.

A small smile erupted on her face, her cheeks protesting as the tear tracks that had dried against her skin shifted uncomfortably. She stood up with the bag and VHS in her hand, popping the latter into her VCR. Scully listened to the clicks and whirs of the machine starting as she turned on the television, basking her couch in an indigo blue haze.

Scully pulled a blanket from the back of the couch and wrapped it around her, sitting cross-legged on the middle cushion while the roar of an audience filled the empty space, making her feel a little less alone. Her hands found their way back into the plastic bag as she sifted through the miscellaneous other presents Mulder had brought to her over the stint at the hospital.

She chuckled as her hand came in contact with what she was looking for, and she pulled a bright pink Hostess Snoball out of the bag. These were her favorite treat to indulge in, and during one particularly long road trip with Mulder, fueled by period cravings, she'd picked up three at a gas station and eaten them all within an hour. Mulder had been so tickled by it that any time he picked her up for a road trip, he grabbed her a pink fluffy cake to go alongside her rootbeer. When she lamented that she only could indulge once in a blue moon, he'd scoff and tell her she deserved to have one every day if it made her happy.

The memory lightened the thick miasma that had brewed around her, and she wiped the remaining wetness from her cheeks. The coconut ball had been dented by the corner of the VHS tape, but it was delicious all the same. Scully watched as men wearing various colors of spandex ran around the field. She didn't even know what team Mulder rooted for, she thought he was more of a baseball or basketball guy if anything, but watching this silly tape he probably pickled up at a bodega made her feel close to him. She reached back into the bag to pull out another snack, but as her fingers grazed the bottom, she felt something had spilled. She scooped it up in one hand, pulling it out and looking at her palm. Sunflower seeds, little tokens of Mulder left in his stead.

Scully picked one up between two fingers and brought it to her lips, the salt burning the part of her lip that was raw from her worrying it between her teeth. She moved the seed around her mouth tentatively, not having the same dexterity Mulder did. After a few seconds, she cracked the shell and the meat of the seed fell onto her tongue.

She continued that with the next few seeds and she started to find a groove with it. Her worry and anxiety started dissipating as she got lost in the comfort of the game on television, she felt like she was just a member of the crowd like the people on screen. It made her feel less alone than she had backed against the corner of her living room, despite nothing really having changed. Mulder was just somehow able to make her feel better, even without physically being here.

For an hour, she continued imbibing in Mulder's brown plastic bag of gifts, and she felt connected to him in a way she hadn't anticipated, and it made her feel strong and unafraid. After all, he had been brave for three months, she could be brave for tonight.

#x files #one breath #msr #scully #angst #x files fanfic #fanfic

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Whumptober 30 + 31: Internal Injury and Left for Dead

CW: Blood, just like a whole lot of violence, organ removal, more than mild arson, whumper turned whumpee, character death, dissoci@tion, mild vampirism, some brief threatening pet whump and dehumanization + a noncon reference

TIMELINE: Begins immediately following Possession, end of the Bad Arc. One year after Danny is abducted for a second time.

Nate tastes blood on his tongue, thick in his mouth, but he’s tasted blood before. Bram’s skin is cold but it is always cold, and his panting breaths are heavy against Nate’s ear but he knows Bram’s breathing better than almost anything else, better than he knows anyone’s breathing but Danny’s.

Abraham Denner has been breathing in Nate’s ear, down his spine, inside his mind for seven very long years, and Nate is about to ensure he can never do it again.

Bram groans in pain, like so many other sounds he’s made against Nate’s ear before, whispering, I love you, you’re mine as Nate cried and fought and screamed and didn’t cry and moaned and gave in to him, to his eyes and his love, again and again and again-

Nate pulls back, his teeth and tongue black and red, blood smeared thick like oil around his lips and down his chin, and Bram’s eyes meet his, wide with rage. 

Nate isn’t scared of Bram any longer.

His wrists burn from tearing free of the ropes, the scent of new and old blood is thick in the air around them. His hands close around Bram’s neck, a collar of skin, and he closes his grip slippery-red, thumbs pressing down on the windpipe of a man who will not die from this, because he already died centuries ago.

Ryan is in his mind and in his hands, guiding their strength, Ryan is darkness and white teeth sharpened to points. Ryan is glowing yellow eyes that stare out from Nate’s own. He is not alone inside himself, and they are the same, and if Danny is dead then Nate will make sure Bram follows him-

He’s not dead, Ryan’s voice whispers inside of him, and Nate bears his thumbs down harder just to hear Bram’s gurgling, rasping chokes, to feel his hands press against Nate’s bare chest and then claw there, digging in but Ryan is between Nate and the pain, pressing up against his skin, a barrier between Nate and true sensation. He’s not dead. We can still save him.

Nathaniel Vandrum’s life has been narrowed, day by day, month by month, year by year. He spent years under Bram’s spell, eight months a hunted animal. He spent four years keeping Danny alive, he spent a year and a half helping him learn to be human again, spent a year watching Danny suffer from a place too far for him to follow.

He has spent a year watching Danny bleed, and scream, and cry, and slip away inside himself with only Ryan there to bring him back out.

He is tired of watching Danny suffer.

He is tired of this.

He is so fucking tired.

He feels no pain from his broken right hand - Ryan stands between him and the pain there, too. He can feel Ryan twisting inside him, pushing him to close his hands tighter around Bram’s neck, staring down into his eyes. The things that move there thrash with desperate desire to survive but Nate has no mercy left in him.

He should be horrified by someone else being inside his body with him but he can’t be, he can’t let it sink in that he is moving as two people working together inside one skin, or he’ll slip. It takes one mistake and Bram will have him again, and if Bram gets him again he’ll be done, he’ll die before he’ll hurt anyone, but Bram would make him hurt so many people.

“N-Nate-” Bram’s voice is husky, but the anger boils inside it, and he grabs Nate by the shoulders finally and throws him off. Nate slams to the ground on his side, groaning and moving to scramble to his feet just as Bram, blood still pouring in thick black waves from the wound Nate tore open, stands and kicks him hard.

Something snaps in Nate and Ryan isn’t fast enough to take the pain. There’s a burst of it, an ache that overrides him, and he’s still for too long. Only a second... but too long. 

Bram drags him to his knees by one arm and slaps him, his palm slamming into Nate’s cheek sending him back to the ground. Back up to slap him again, the other side. Kicked again and Nate coughs out air before he can find more to inhale.

Ryan is gone from inside him, collapsing onto the ground where he’d been standing before he stepped inside Nate’s skin, dark skin glowing faintly with the same yellow as his eyes.

Somewhere, Bram’s sister runs from her own mistakes, but Nate stares up as Bram walks towards him and thinks that Bram has never needed his sister to keep his puppies in line before, and he doesn’t need her now.

“You would… refuse the gift?” Bram’s voice is laced with his disbelief. He raises a hand to touch the uneven skin torn apart at one shoulder, looking at the blood there with something like wonder. “You’d try to kill me? After everything I did for you? After everything I gave you?”

“After-...” Nate coughs again, trying to get back on his feet, but as soon as he’s on all fours Bram kicks him again and sends him back down. His eyes move to Danny - limp on the ground, blood welling up around the blade buried in his back. Danny’s eyes are open, wide and so so blue.

So blue, and so empty.

Danny’s gone.

“No.” The voice is from Nate but it’s not his voice. It’s a whimper. A whine. Barely a protest.

Too late.

“I gave you the puppy,” Bram says, stepping between Nate and Danny, blocking him from the sight of the man he loves most in the world. The only thing left that he loves in the world. “Now I’ve taken the puppy away.”

Nate’s heart does not twist with fear. He doesn’t let himself grieve yet. Instead… he lets his head drop to the ground, into his arms, and he starts to weep. If the tears are anger, not sadness, Bram doesn’t notice. He chuckles, satisfied, and pulls Nate back onto his feet again. One hand gripped tightly around his arm, the other hand cups Nate’s cheek, gently pressing his jaw to tilt his head up, get him to look Bram in the eyes.

“I w-wanted to save him,” Nate whispers.

Too late, Vandrum. Always too late.

“I know,” Bram says with unnerving tenderness, and when he leans in to kiss Nate, the man doesn’t fight him. Bram’s lips are cold. 

He spent half a year, once, being the perfect lover. He can do it again, for just a few minutes. 

For long enough.

Bram licks his own blood off his lips when he pulls back, smiling now. There’s blackish red on his teeth, staining his pale pale skin. “You can’t save anyone, Nate,” Bram says, reaching up, running his fingers back through Nate’s hair. “You’re mine. Mine, forever. For the rest of fucking time, Nate, you’re mine. Mourn him if you want, but you were never meant for the puppy. You were meant for me.”

“Yes,” Nate says, and pitches his voice to be slightly faint and empty, the voice he used when Bram would wipe him away from himself. He looks into those colorless eyes and, like every day since Bram once forced a muzzle on Danny for months and nearly took him from Nate for good, he feels absolutely nothing.

“Bring Faerie Boy inside,” Bram commands with effortless certainty. “I know how to take care of his kind, too. Then we’ll decide what happens next.” Bram looks carelessly over at where Danny lays crumpled in the dirt. “Faerie Boy can bury the body.”

The body.

Nate has to steel himself with every ounce of willpower not to make a sound in response. He only nods and, making his expression blank, he limps over to Ryan, dragging Danny’s brother to his feet. Ryan’s skin feels like an open flame under his hand, far hotter than human skin ever should be, but the glow in his eyes is dulling. He’s too tired, too new at this. His strength is already waning, Nate thinks, he pushed himself too far.

“Danny’s n-not dead,” Ryan says in a croaking, cracking voice. “He’s, he’s not-”

“I know,” Nate responds, forcing him to move. He knows Danny is dead, though, and that this is just Ryan trying to convince him not to give up, give in, and let Bram rebuild his family - with his true love and his dog - with Ryan in Danny’s place. Bram is behind them, ensuring they go where into the house, and Nate half-drags Ryan up the steps. “T-trust me. I h-h-h… I’ve got a plan.”

Ryan laughs, dry and hopeless, but he allows himself to be moved. His neck is a ring of bright red agony, his wrists look the same. He’s skinny, after a year earning bites of food with obedience to torture, bony under Nate’s hands. His hair is dull and brittle, dried and tangled frizz instead of curls. “Sure… hope so.”

“When I m-m-move,” Nate whispers, barely loud enough for Ryan to possibly hear, just hoping he understands, “grab his l-l-legs to s-slow him down, and then c-c-come back… I’ll l-let you in.”

Nate deposits him on the floor next to the kitchen table without waiting for a response, letting him drop more roughly than necessary, pretending he is still in thrall as he pulls out a chair and sits. 

He’s going to have one chance at this.

Bram pulls out a chair and sits across from him, giving Nate a smile. Brilliant, and shining, and loving, even as the love of Nate’s life is bleeding to death in the front yard. Nate might not be able to save Danny, now - but he can save Ryan, he thinks.

He hopes it’s enough for wherever Danny will be after he’s gone.

He hopes it will somehow settle Danny’s soul, to know Nate gave everything to save his little brother, after watching Danny break himself again and again to hold Ryan together.

If we’re damned for loving each other like they told me, Nate thinks with an all-consuming grief and conviction, I’ll see you in hell soon enough.

“We’ll have to go somewhere new,” Bram says, gripping Ryan by the hair, jerking him backwards. Ryan bares his sharp, inhuman teeth, and Bram snorts, ramming his head directly into the edge of the table, making Ryan cry out and slump.

Nate doesn’t flinch.

“I’ll dedicate you. Make you one of us. I’ll finish the dedication and then you’ll understand.” Bram’s hand is still gripped in Ryan’s hair, tightening on the curls until he hisses in pain, but it’s a faint and faded sound. “We’ll take the puppy with us and go find my sister. You know I never like to leave a puppy, Nate.”

Those eyes are back on his, and Nate gives Bram a slight smile - as if pulled out of him unwillingly, as if he’s falling into the depths of his eyes all over again. As if, without Danny to fight for, he has no fight left.

Danny might be dead - Nate’s mind skips from that truth, runs from it as fast as it can, circles around it endlessly - but Ryan isn’t. Danny would want his brother saved, and Nate… 

He can do this.

He has to do this.

“Y-yes, Bram,” Nate says, soft and as empty as Danny’s open eyes. “I c-can help t-t-take care of Faerie B-Boy.”

At his feet, Ryan lets out a choked-off sob. Whether he’s only playing the part, or drifting into pure hopelessness, Nate isn’t sure. He can’t risk a look, can’t risk giving anything away for a second. Instead, he moves to lay his hand over Bram’s on top of Ryan’s head. Bram’s hand is cold under his.

Danny’s hands get cold, too, his long fingers feel like ice sometimes in the morning when he wakes Nate with a hug. He pulls his hands into the sleeves of his sweaters, tugs them constantly down to cover the scars on the backs of his hands. His eyes are warmer than his hands can be, as Nate holds one of his hands in both of his, rubbing at them to warm up those cold fingers while Danny smiles-

Danny’s dead. You can save his brother. Focus.

“I l-love you,” Nate says, softly. He knows how to twist his tone just right, to make his voice foggy like the power of Bram’s eyes has once again papered over Nate’s will, his very self, to remake him in Bram’s image.

If there is a heaven, it will be Danny that I beg for forgiveness, not God.

“I love you, too.” Bram smiles, letting go of Ryan to hold Nate’s hand. Cold dead fingers. Nate forces his smile to widen, softens his expression. “My black-haired prince. Red got in our way. But it’s just us all over again, isn’t it? Just you and I.” He smirks, pale lips smeared with drying blood. “And the puppy.”

Nate nods, and pulls Bram’s hand up, to press a kiss to the back of it. Smooth, scarless.

Not the hand he wants to kiss at all.

“That’s why you had to watch it all, you know.” Bram sighs, content in this moment. There’s still blood running from the wound in his shoulder but he doesn’t seem to notice it, and the wound is closing before Nate’s eyes, skin knitting itself together. He won’t die, even if Nate kills him he won’t die. There’s only one way to be sure. Only one way to keep him from coming back.

“Wh-what? Why?” Nate tilts his head, closes his eyes so Bram won’t see he’s disgusted by his touch, plays it off as shivering desire, maybe. Somehow, somewhere back there, he gained the ability to hide some of his unhappiness from Abraham Denner.

They lost with their first attempt.

There’s only one more chance.

“So you would get used to it again.” Bram pulls his hand back and away, lays it palm-down against the back of Ryan’s neck, and Nate tries not to watch Ryan shiver where he kneels on the floor. Bram scratches his fingernails through the red, irritated skin, reopening old wounds from the iron collar. Ryan whimpers, whines with the pain, and Nate fights the memory of Danny’s scream behind his muzzle, jaw straining as the wire mesh cut in deeper and deeper. 

Bram took the muzzle off - the new one remade, but it might as well have been exactly the fucking same - before Ryan and Ora came out. It’s still out there, isn’t it? Lying in the dirt, bloodied. 

Nate almost loses his iron grip on his own emotions at the thought of Danny’s body in the dirt so close to the tool of torture that hurt him the worst. Not from grief, no - he still has that locked up inside his head, he will mourn Danny when he has saved Ryan, when it’s over, when it’s done. But the fury that comes with the realization that Danny’s eyes, still open and unblinking, will be staring right at the muzzle.

He catches himself. Holds the anger down. Gives Bram a soft, sweet, loving smile. “Used t-to it?”

“Right. Used to it, and… maybe a little bit appreciative.” Bram laughs, his high-pitched hyena’s laughter, smacking the wound he reopened on Ryan’s neck just to hear him cry. His eyes glow such a brilliant, bright yellow they turn nearly white, like staring into the sun - and then falter again, fade and go dull. 

He needs to be strong enough to do one more thing, and Nate isn’t sure if he will be. But he’s going to try, anyway.

“I’ll l-learn,” Nate promises, and runs his own hand through Ryan’s dirty, greasy curls, catching in the tangles. He looks down, cold green eyes locking on Ryan’s dulled yellow, back to the color of old, cloudy honey, and uses his good left hand to tilt his chin up, rubbing his thumb over his lower lip. “You’ll b-b-be good for m-me, puppy, won’t you?”

Ryan’s eyes widen, just a little, flicker in the dim kitchen lit only by the light coming through the window over the sink, and through the open inside door. Outside the closed screen door, down the steps, fifteen feet away, Danny lies in the dirt. 

“Oh, that’s good,” Bram says, rubbing at Ryan’s back. “What do you say, Faerie Boy? Can you be as good between us as you’ve been for me so far?”

Ryan’s lip trembles under Nate’s thumb. Nate smiles at him, the same soft loving look he’s been giving Bram. He is the personification of what Bram can do. He is the perfect vision of Bram taking control and making him someone he’s not, as he did for years with power, manipulation, and threats. “Bram asked you a qu-... a question, p-puppy,” Nate whispers. “Wh-what’s the r-r-rule?”

Ryan’s eyes well with such human tears. “Al-... always answer Abraham’s questions, never hes… hesitate and neh-... never lie.”

“So wh-what’s your answer?”

Ryan looks up at him, pleading, but Nate keeps his eyes, his face perfectly steady. I’m sorry. Just a few more minutes...

“I...” Ryan’s voice catches. He’s exhausted, struggling to pull threads of himself together. Whatever it is Ryan is, whatever it is he can do, it takes too much out of him. “I c-can be good for you,” He whispers.

“B-B-Both of us?”

Ryan’s eyes close tightly. “Both of you.” He has to spit out the words.

“Good b-b-boy.” Another rub over his lower lip, his skin is rough and chapped against Nate’s thumb. “Do you w-w-want a d, a drink, Bram?” He raises his eyes, lets his hand drop, but not before he taps twice on the front of Ryan’s neck next to his Adam's apple, deliberately spaced apart to make it clear it’s a message. “I th-think I remember how you l-like it.”

Bram smiles, twists a curl around his finger, yanks on it until Ryan winces. “Sure. Whiskey sour. Red made sour mix, it’s in the fridge.” He sighs, mournfully. “I suppose Red won’t get to make me my drinks anymore. Pity, he was always better at it than Faerie Boy.”

Nate swallows. He won’t cry for Danny yet. 

Not yet.

He pushes himself to his feet, walking away and moving to the fridge. Slow footsteps, careful and solid. He feels strange, as though he’s far away from himself, watching his body go through these motions from a distance. Open the cupboards until he finds a glass, pull it down and add some ice cubes. Find the whiskey in a different cabinet, expensive small-batch distillery in Portland, he notes absently, pouring a shot, and then two, into the glass.

He pulls the sour mix, stored in a pitcher, out of the fridge and tries with every ounce of strength he has left not to think about how Danny’s fingers were the last to close around the handle, and now they never will again.

Not yet not yet not yet.

Cry when Ryan is safe. Until then, be for Ryan what Danny cannot be any longer. He owes Danny that much and more, he owes everything he could ever give. He pours in the sour mix, adds a cherry from a jar in the fridge. Picks a lemon up from a basket, staring down at it, and then his eyes move to the knife block, but he’s careful not to turn his head to make it obvious. 

One chance.

He picks up not the chef’s knife but the smaller, sharper paring knife, and he feels Bram’s eyes on his back as he cuts three identical lemon slices, struggling to do it gracefully with his broken hand throbbing again, fighting him with every step. He drops the lemon slices into the drink, gives the whole thing a quick stir. Closes his eyes and breathes.

I’m sorry, Danny.

He turns around and throws the drink in Bram’s face.

Ryan is moving before Nate has even finished his own motion and he grabs Bram around the legs as he starts to stand up, slamming the man into the ground as he’s knocked off balance, pale eyes widening in surprise as Nate falls on him with his teeth bared and the knife in his hand, bringing it down over Bram’s heart.

There’s resistance, and pain, and Nate doesn’t care about either anymore.

Ryan’s eyes flare, glowing brilliant with one last spark of energy, and the shadows press like velvet against Nate’s back, overtaking all the light but Ryan’s. The kitchen is pure and perfectly black as Nate feels Bram’s blood bubble up cold around the handle of the knife as he forces it down.

Cold hands grab onto his like a vice, and he opens his mouth to scream-

Let me in.

Ryan is in his skin in his heart in his head, pressing the knife down harder, dragging it back towards himself, cutting into Bram’s skin as he fights them but Ryan is stronger than Nate and the two men working in one body open the emptiness inside of Abraham Denner and Nate shoves his hand inside.

It’s cold, like everything about Bram is cold, and it has a little give under his fingers. He grips as tightly as his hand will allow and Ryan is gripping alongside him as they pull backwards. Bram screams, the first true scream Nate has ever heard from him, high-pitched. Windows crack around them as the scream carries on and on and on, Nate’s head is pounding but he can’t feel it. Ryan takes it for him, presses himself along the length of Nate’s body, underneath his skin, against his eardrums, layers himself over Nate’s mind.

He is protected.

He uses the blade of the paring knife to cut the veins and arteries. Cold black blood coats his hand as he pulls out Abraham’s Denner ancient heart.

The shadows recede - or Nate can see through them now, he doesn’t know, the whole world seems strange and disconnected from him - as he pushes himself to his feet.

Nate-

“It’s not d-d-done,” Nate says to the voice inside his head of his dead love’s little brother, and he turns, dragging one leg as he moves out into the sun outside.

Danny hasn’t moved, but Nate didn’t expect him to. 

Dead people usually don’t, unless they’re Bram or Ashley.

He is nothing but blood now, and the heart in his hands is still beating. Soft contractions of muscle with nothing to push through, no blood to rush through old veins. But still the heart beats. It’s not over.

There’s a burn pile over by a shed, covered with sticks and trash, and Nate walks to it with Ryan still inside him. The two of them look out of one set of eyes. 

Burn it?

“B-burn it,” Nate confirms in a fierce whisper.

There are no tears.

Not yet.

He lays the beating heart down in the burn pile and walks away from it, moving to a shed to open the door. He stares, blankly, at a skeleton that faces him against the back wall, rotted away by now. It’s been a year. Death is still in the air but neither of them can smell anything any longer but Bram’s blood. Nate ignores the skeleton and finds a can of gasoline - Bram is predictable, always predictable - and carries it back out to toss about a third of the can into the sticks, taking special care to ensure some of it splashes over the disembodied, beating heart.

Left here, Bram’s body would eventually reform and wake back up.

Like Ashley.

Nate will not lose anything else to them ever again.

“I’m not your b-b-black-haired p-prince,” He says to the heart, and lights a match.

The gasoline catches immediately, flames rising with the sharp pungent smell. Nate doesn’t wait - he picks the can up again, sloshes it around to see how much is left, and looks to the house. “Go s-s-say goodbye to your b-b-brother,” He says. “I’ll come, t-too, when this is o-over.”

Danny-

“Go s-say goodbye.”

Ryan is out of him in a flash, and Nate is oddly lonely inside his mind as he makes his methodical way back to the porch. Ryan kneels next to his brother, hands out but not quite touching, as Nate moves inside. He passes Abraham’s body without looking at it. He lets the gasoline trail - a little here and a little there, splashes on the curtains, splashes on the rug.

With his leg throbbing, he moves upstairs with gasoline trailing on the steps. He pours a little on the bed, staring at the bloodied ropes tied to the headboard a little too long. Outside, he starts to hear the crackle of the fire catching outside. Good. The heart will burn.

Just like his.

More gasoline for the curtains - he’s getting low, he needs to conserve. He has to be sur the whole house will burn.

Then he stops in front of a room with no door, a room he’s seen in Bram’s texted photos and videos, in a few of the livestreams he watched. He watched them all, desperate for clues. Danny and Ryan had managed to tear the paper that covered the window once and before Bram had cut the video, Nate had been able to pause - and see beyond the rolling fields to a water tower in the distance.

One of his first clues.

In this room there are manacles attached to the wall, a broken chain of iron on the floor, pools of drying blood. Nate pours a little gasoline into the pool, watching the change in texture as it thins and goes oddly shimmery.

In the closet, he finds half-drunk bottles of cheap high-proof alcohol. He lets the trail of gasoline lead to those too, and opens them all.

Done with his work, he drops the now-empty can and walks through the house, reeking of gasoline and blood, and goes downstairs and past Bram’s body one more time without looking down or looking back.

His heart beats steady and calm inside of him as he lights a match and lets it fall onto the porch, to find the first thin trail of liquid.

He stands long enough to watch the flames lick into the kitchen, over Bram’s body. He stares long enough to watch Bram’s long wavy pale hair begin to darken and curl. He watches the flames find their way from kitchen to living room. He watches the curtains burn.

Then he turns and walks down the steps.

His hands have started to shake.

Ryan, kneeling on the ground next to his brother with his wrist torn open and pouring blood, pressing it against Danny’s mouth, speaks to him but Nate doesn’t hear it, turning from Danny’s body - too late too late too late too late - and going back to the other fire, to see Bram’s heart burning, turning black. It will be ash soon, and nothing else.

Nate doesn’t cry, no.

Still, he doesn’t cry.

Not yet.

The wind blows warm over his face and Nate takes in a breath. The world is blood and smoke and his failure to save the most important person in his life. The world is the empty feeling underneath his skin. The world is the grief trying to claw it way back up his throat to make him scream-

“Nate!” Ryan’s voice is right next to his ear and he jumps as Ryan grabs at his arm, spinning him around. The yellow eyes are dull, shadowed, bereft of power - but they still dance. You can’t torture the beauty out of Ryan Michaelson.

You can’t kill the light inside him, or the things that live there.

He smells like green hills and a rainy season over waving grasslands. He carries the scent of a predator that hunts at dusk and at dark. Blood soaks the hills, pours down the river, threads into the homes of sleeping people at night.

He’s smiling.

“Nate, he’s not-... Nate, listen to me!”

Nate jerks back into himself, blinking rapidly as his strange disconnect ends. There is fire all around the two of them, and Nate realizes for the first time that the shed will burn, too. It’s already dangerously close to catching. The air is starting to heat around them. “What? Wh-what, Ryan, I-”

“Danny’s not dead! I-I can’t-... but he’s not dead! He’s still breathing! We still have time!”

In the distance, the first faint sound of sirens. Nate raises his head, staring. “Who c-c-called the c-cops?”

Ryan lets out a peal of wild, half-hysterical laughter, and the sound is beautiful. “Whoever saw that bigass cloud of fucking smoke, Nate! Someone’s-...” He swallows, suddenly, sways as his knees buckle, and Nate catches him, arms around him, keeping him upright. “Someone’s... coming for us. Someone’s coming to h-help, someone’s... someone’s coming...”

“Someone’s c-c-coming,” Nate agrees, softly.

Ryan turns to look at him, then slides his arms around Nate, hugging him, burying his head in the side of Nate’s neck.

“Someone fucking came,” He whispers. “And Danny’s not dead.”

Nate’s eyes move over to the tall, thin body sprawled out on the ground, and watches as empty blue eyes blink once, slowly move to meet his.

He’d seen emptiness and thought it was death, but it was someone else buying Danny - buying Nate - some time.

He gently pulls away from Ryan and moves to the muzzle, picking it up in one hand. Someone else is still watching him, blue eyes following his movements, and he holds it out. “Never ag-again,” He says, softly.

Someone else doesn’t move. Just keeps watching as Nate drags himself to the fire and throws the muzzle in.

But when he turn back again, tears are running down Danny’s face, his lips twisting with the agony, and he whimpers, “Nate, h-hurts-”

Nate and Ryan both run to him at once.

When the fire trucks arrive, they find the three of them together on the ground, Nate and Ryan each holding one of Danny’s hands.

---

@slytherynjolras, @whump-it, @bleeding-demon-teeth, @finder-of-rings, @burtlederp, @whumpywhumper, @18-toe-beans, @pumpkinthefangirl, @special-spicy-chicken, @swordkallya, @astrobly, @slaintetowhump, @moose-teeth, @untilthepainstarts, @whumpiary,  @lave-whump @raigash @cupcakes-and-pain

#whumptober2020 #no. 30 #internal injury #no. 31 #left for dead #daniel michaelson's story #blood tw #implied referenced noncon #organ removal #captivity #freedom #rescued whumpee #defiant whumpee #death of whumper #arson #vampire whumpee #whumpee turned whumper #dissociation tw #dissociated whumpee #grief tw #brief reference to homophobia #dehumanizing language #dehumanization #pet whump

[greenroseunderglass]

To Your Hands : Fanfic - Star Trek TOS (Gen)

@sicktember2021

@sicktember

Prompt# 14 - Aches and Pains

Summary: Jim Kirk rescues himself from a hostage situation, of course, but he doesn't do it unscathed. His friends want to catch him even if he refuses to fall.

2 Parts: Bones and Spock

Bones

They had been taken after a pitched battle in the transporter-shielded Hall of Commerce, Kirk and five junior officers from security, and one aide from the Federation Ambassador's party. They had been held three nights and well into the fourth day before Kirk led their escape into an absolute deluge. There had been so much communications interference, natural and man-made, Spock never should have beamed them aboard, not from a planet of shapeshifters, but something had made him certain of their identities, and they'd avoided imminent capture for the familiar corridors of the Enterprise. With a thousand things to do, Kirk hadn't been the most cooperative patient until Bones had nearly shouted him down in front of the main ward in Sickbay. He'd gone with what grace he could still find after that. Kirk would have admitted only if asked twice that he did feel better once he let himself change into soft, dry sweats and the nurses put warm re-hydrating fluid into his arm. But then, it took Bones about seven seconds to be back over once that was set up, so he didn’t get to enjoy the simple pleasure of it for long. McCoy was a healer, though, a real doctor when he had a real patient. Once Kirk stopped resisting he slowed down, his grumbles softening, his voice finding a quieter, deeper register that radiated authority and safety in a way that affected even someone as familiar with him as Jim Kirk. The doctor went over Kirk with his big, warm hands after he stopped whirring at him with the scanner. He was careful, and thorough. Everything hurt, either when touched or when moved, but those hands left bruises and strains feeling not only cataloged but better somehow as McCoy passed gently over them. Kirk started yawning, though, as McCoy moved over him again, this time with a protoplaser. He made himself go up on his elbows as McCoy reached his shins, and that was the end of the idyll. “You just lie right back down there and go to sleep," McCoy snapped. "All the other hostages are in for a night of observation, and it won’t hurt you for once.” Kirk just yawned again and smiled at him to prompt a suspicious look, because getting Bones annoyed early over nothing in particular was always good tactics. “Oh, I plan on being asleep, soon. I do have some things that have to be done first, though. And-“ "You are not-" Without pause, Kirk repeated himself, enunciating over McCoy’s objection, “And. It will be done sooner if you cooperate. Send Rand and Johann in here, and Sumani. “ He stretched a little and squirmed. “And another couple of pillows, so I can recline in state.” “Back still bothering you?” McCoy asked, small whirring scanner immediately back in his hand. "You never let me spend enough time with the protoplaser when you have deep bruising like this. You must still be sore all over." “Yes," Kirk said dryly. "Every thing I own is bothering me, doctor.” He huffed a laugh, dismissing it. “I am tired, and I've been told sleeping on stone floors is not good for me. But unless you plan on running one of those things over every inch of me at every depth, I think I'll just have to sleep it off.” No, sleeping on cold stone floors was not good for him, McCoy thought, or good for his aching body. Neither was three nights in clammy damp, or an hour getting soaked through during their escape, or the slight fever Kirk was running from the cold he was definitely coming down with. McCoy huffed back at him, frustrated. He would be laughed at if he suggested Kirk spend some time in one of the hot spa baths, and that was really the only prescription he had at the moment, for all his training. He couldn't give any of the hostages much in the way of pharmaceutical pain relief, not after their captors had drugged them so extensively. And Kirk was right, damnit -- he would end up resting more quickly if McCoy let him work unhindered for a little while. The doctor stiffly left the room, but he did grudgingly call the Captain’s yeoman and left her to manage the rest of it. He forbid her from giving Kirk the fresh uniform she turned up

with, but decided to look the other way on the coffee. It took less than an hour after that for Kirk to fight himself free, of the fires in his command and the solicitude of the nurses. He had a lot on his plate in about ten hours, but being involved with a planet with deeply held taboos about actions taken in the night hours, and sitting in geosynchronous orbit above its capital, had its advantages. Caught up and feeling human again, Kirk leaned against McCoy’s office door to wave his way out, but McCoy peremptorily pointed at a seat while finishing a consult with M’Benga. Finally McCoy sat behind his desk and pulled a bottle and two glasses from the cabinet behind him. Kirk took the rich brown liquid he was being offered and breathed deeply over his first sip, settling gingerly back in the hard chair. “Oh, that’s good,” he said, then set it neatly back on the desk to turn his head and sneeze lightly, twice, into the crook of his arm. McCoy tch’ed at him and tossed him a box of sickbay ‘tissues’. “I should have made you a hot toddie, if you’re going to start that. I should put you back on the biobed. ” Jim gave another of his wry, dismissive laughs at that, but his voice was probably more serious than he meant it to be. "You can't confine me for the common cold, Bones, and you can't treat it anyway." "Can't cure it. You've already had a shot to make sure you're not contagious, and one to shorten the duration. There's another one that will help stop inflammation in your sinuses and your chest, but that one makes you sleepy, so you only get that when you're actually leaving." "Which is at the bottom of this glass," Kirk told him. "And yes, I'm actually going to bed." He hesitated, and looked into his drink before taking another sip, then, "They are all going to be all right, Bones?" "Yes," McCoy said simply. "The ambassador's aide--" Kirk held up a finger and raised his voice slightly. "Ambassador Goddard, join us, please." The man had been loitering in the corridor, half eavesdropping and half nervous about disturbing them. He was there for an update on his aide, who was doing well physically but would probably need some trauma counseling. After earlier arguing on the Bridge that the Captain's party not be beamed aboard, citing security risks, Goddard did not feel he should linger around any of the officers at the moment. He drank off his whiskey like a good diplomat and was leaving as quickly as he'd come, but paused to watch when the Captain started to stand also and was pinned back into his chair by a vigorously pointed finger. "You, you wait until called for." Kirk wobbled his head in apparent amusement and eased back down. He saw Goddard watching him and grinned. "Never cross a CMO during a multiple casualty event, ambassador. Rule number three of Captaining a starship." Goddard was a beat slow, but training kicked in and he obligingly asked what the first two rules were. He couldn't believe how lightly Kirk seemed to be taking the whole situation, even his own abduction. He couldn't imagine how to talk to the man about his legitimate concerns, but agreed to join a debriefing at 0800. Kirk was 'called for' minutes later by the formidable First Officer, which made Goddard wish he hadn't dawdled. Spock arrived just as Kirk was saying something about his aide's fortitude during the escape, and Spock apparently took that to mean the ambassador was grilling Kirk. "Surely, gentleman, there is nothing about the hostages' escape or confinement that can't wait until the 0800 debriefing." His voice was even, his face was mild, and Goddard felt a wall of solid dislike hit him like a burst of steam. Vulcans were only touch-telepaths, that couldn't be a real energy he was feeling, but he exercised the better part of valor, made his goodnights, and fled anyway. He caught a glimpse of Kirk glancing after him with a look of surprise as he went. "What did he do?" Kirk asked, sliding to the edge of the chair in preparation to stand as McCoy returned and went to get the hypo on his desk. "I cannot imagine what you

mean, Captain," Spock said evenly, then offered his arm to help Kirk up. He didn't need the help -- he was sore and achy, not impaired -- but he bit down on his pride and accepted it, just to get himself on his feet. Spock needed to feel like he was doing something, too, however small the gestures. McCoy glared at them both and gave Jim the shot in the shoulder. "That's going to be a little sore, sorry, but it'll keep your cold from becoming a misery. Now you just have to get him to bed before he starts tipping over," he addressed Spock. Anger flashed and was forcibly cooled in Kirk's mind. On a normal day the two of them thought he needed a keeper, but this wasn't a normal day, and he had no right to the familiar annoyance. He'd been lost to them for almost ninety hours this time. As his friends, they had a right to manage him a little. He'd keep allowing it. Tonight.

Spock

As he and Spock walked down the corridor, Spock still in possession of his arm, Kirk began to be glad he'd been so high-minded about the whole thing, because he was definitely beginning to sway. In the turbolift he said, "McCoy wasn't kidding about that shot," just as he sneezed and his knees tried to give. Spock moved to catch him more firmly, but Kirk waved him off. "I'm all right. I only have to get to my quarters." His cabin was cozy with two in it, if luxurious for a Starship – he patted Spock away by catching hold of the screen divider and clinging. “Shower first, then bed. Despite McCoy’s solicitous comments, I will actually be all right from here.” He smiled and waved Spock back toward the door. Spock gave ground, but only to the other side of the desk. His expression was determined, yes, but mostly… unimpressed. Kirk surmised he must look about like he felt. Spock could always see through him, anyway. Before he could even plead his case, Spock said calmly, “I am aware that the only active attack on your health at the moment is from a simple cold, which is not a serious affliction. However, the depth of your exhaustion makes any further impairment concerning, and I will not feel I have complied with the Doctor’s orders until I have seen you to proper rest.” Kirk gave him a bit of a side-eye. “You’re going to stay here until I fall asleep, whether I like it or not?” “Might I suggest you allow my assistance in certain matters, strictly for the sake of expediency?” God, he was so, damn, tired. And he had spent three nights as a captive, the better part of four days slightly ill and soundly beaten and responsible for crew and civilian lives despite his helplessness to secure even his own. He had managed to get them all to safety, but he was. He was so tired, and there was a gentleness waiting in Spock’s hands if he would just give in, the expression of feelings his Vulcan friend could never express any other way. And he trusted Spock, didn't he? Spock could take the watch, he could take the burden, for a little while. When his knees wobbled this time Spock caught him and carefully peeled him off the divider to sit him on his bed. A quick hand ran through the hair of his bowed head, a gesture they would both deny. Spock helped him out of everything he could get off while sitting, then went to make sure the water shower was a good temperature. Kirk got a look when he toddled into the bathroom unassisted and naked, but Spock merely reeled him in with one long arm and made sure he was steady in the shower before turning his back to give him privacy. Kirk woke up enough to realize he really was out of it enough to be worrying the Vulcan, and regretted it. No words could fix the situation, either. Spock didn't need reassurances. He just needed to see Jim cared for and at rest. He turned his face up into the hot water and groaned with pleasure. That didn't sound like such a bad idea at the moment, at that. He washed quickly but let himself soak slowly. The steam-filled stall and hot water pouring over him reached into him, soaking out the cold of the day and easing the bone-deep ache from the creeping chill of three days in the cellars. When he shut off the spigot he still felt exhausted, he still felt slightly sick, he still ached all over, but it didn’t feel like it could take him to the floor, now, none of it. His muscles felt looser and his joints less stiff -- maybe he could actually sleep. He set the cubicle to hot air cycle, which was almost as nice as the hot water had been, as targeted forced air wicked the water from skin and hair, until some inner threshold was quite suddenly crossed and he found himself caught in a flash of over-heated ill-feeling and sudden dizziness. He shut off the dryer and cracked the door. Thankfully, the relatively cool air in the small bathroom cleared his head again. The patiently-waiting blue-clad back finally turned to offer him a towel and a promise of steadiness if he couldn’t find it himself. Kirk smiled a little, appreciative and too tired not to be warm about it,

gave his hair one last good towel and went to find sleep pants and a shirt, and an over-shirt. He made it to the over-shirt before sleepy dizziness sent him to sit on the side of his bed with the warm garment in his lap. He took a long breath, curled in on himself and shuddered, once. He let his eyes stay closed for a moment, just a moment, to clear his head and steady his breath, before straightening out very slowly. For Captain Kirk, this level of pain was a blessed relief. For exhausted, depleted, off-guard Jim who just wanted desperately to sleep it was almost more than he could handle. “Captain,” Spock said very quietly from right behind him. A gentle hand touched between his shoulders. "Jim. Allow me to help you, so you may rest.” He put his hands on Kirk’s shoulders and dug carefully into muscle with his long fingers, thumbs tracing downward in mirror arcs. “Let me help.” Spock was capable of spectacularly effective back-rubs, the kind of shock-and-awe attacks that annihilated knot after knot efficiently and then gentled it just enough before moving on. That was not what he was offering now. No painful return to function. This was an offer for comfort. Kirk’s head immediately dropped forward in pure animal desire for release from pain. “You’re needed –“ the protest was less than half-hearted. “I’ll be contacted if I’m needed, Captain. We’re in a unique position, with the Ariz’ strict adherence to daylight-only activity. We have a minimum of ten point two hours before we may expect movement from those in the capital.” Just the tips of Spock’s fingers dug in all across his back, and Kirk arched his back and tried to remember what he was saying. He mostly wanted to groan, already.

Kirk closed his eyes and gave himself up to the shoulder rub, at least, almost falling asleep within perhaps a minute before he woke himself with a light sneeze and decided to give in completely. He shifted, and Spock did most of the work in pulling back the covers and settling Jim full length on his front, hugging a pillow. Jim murmured something he knew would have embarrassed them both if they'd been face to face, but he was utterly giving his body into Spock’s hands now. God, so much strength in those hands, to be so careful with him. Jim had been trying not to be too vocal in his appreciation but he couldn’t repress a long, quiet noise as something at the base of his neck - that had been tied directly into a pounding in his temple for the last two days - let go all at once. The momentary pinch of pain in the muscle was skillfully rubbed out. He was drifting toward sleep, and closing his eyes again seemed like the natural next step. Spock had him, and the ship, and he could sleep for awhile. The occasional sharp kneading ceased. Now Spock was applying just enough pressure to keep him wanting to groan, all over him in turns, and Kirk could feel pain he’d become so accustomed to he barely noticed it rise into consciousness just long enough to be soothed away. Oh, Spock was good at this. Finally, the long-fingered hands came to rest on his near forearm, just above his hand. Spock pushed Kirk's hair back from his face and asked quietly, "Are you awake enough to eat something off your meal card? The doctor did say you should take nourishment. Then you can rest." He found one of the tissues in time to sneeze into it as he rallied on autopilot, “I refuse to accept chicken noodle soup as a prescription.” Spock ran a hand through his hair again as he stood up, plausible deniability in that it made it easier to see his face, then folded his hands behind himself and looked down on Kirk, who made some effort to look awake. He couldn’t seem to care enough to succeed under Spock's carefully stoic expression -- Jim could feel the warmth and fondness radiating out of it, in the little quirk at the corner of Spock’s lips and in the soft brown of his eyes. "Yes, Captain. Something warming, though," he hmm'd. "You've done enough for tonight, Spock." Kirk smiled at him, warm, god, how could cool Vulcan skin have gifted him with such a sense of positive warmth? "I can synthesize my own cup of soup. If I can move at all." Kirk smiled and gave a low groan as he stretched himself to feet on the floor and himself more or less sitting up. "Captain --" Spock demurred. "The doctor did insist on this." So he let Spock synthesize him a cup of soup without too much grumbling -- Vulcan aureg, thank you, not chicken noodle. And Spock did more or less end up putting Jim to bed, when he couldn't seem to coordinate his limbs anymore -- exhaustion, release of stress, sleep deprivation, ha! Jim was blaming it on McCoy's injection. The lights dimmed and he could feel Spock sitting on the side of the bed. After a moment he felt a cool hand pass through his hair again, rest for a moment at the nape of his neck, then Spock rose quietly from the bed and walked away. The moment after that, Jim was asleep. End

#sicktember2021 #sicktember #Aches and Pains #Star Trek #Fanfiction

[writingsbychlo]

put her together again (03)

word count; 6472

summary; after you’re making steady progress, mitch takes you on a trip to jog your memory, and you have quite the reaction to it.

notes; this is a really emotionally intense chapter, so take it easy. I cried while writing it AND while proof reading it.

wrnings; mentions of gore, murder, underage drinking, child abduction, breaking and entering, abuse, criminal activity, and child abuse.

The name revelation had been a snowball, one that had continued to roll and tumble until it had become a crushing avalanche of success and progress within your mind and personality.

You were making big and little breakthroughs within yourself, sometimes it was a sudden realisation about what your favourite colour was, and sometimes it was bigger. Sometimes memories came filtering through - good and bad - and he’d come to learn the tells of what each one consisted of. You’d taken to writing them down or drawing them, your doodle pad becoming more like a journal now, and you shared more with him. On the happier days when the memories you were able to now recognise as ‘good’ came through, memories of times on assignments when you’d soak up the sun, or a butterfly would land on your arm, you would tell him all about them, describing in in vivid detail as you relived every moment with him, and made sure to give so much detail he felt like he was sitting there himself.

Sometimes, on the days when something came to the surface that now made you shiver, it would have a different effect. Those were the quieter days, the days when he’d make you a hot cup of tea and give you a tablet for something herbal to soothe your anxiety, and would choose to sit beside you on the couch instead of working in his office, reading a book as he waited for you to be ready to talk about it. Sometimes, those days took a physical toll on you, you wouldn't eat or move, and there had been multiple times when he’d had to hold your hair back as your body was racked from head to toe as you emptied your stomach into the toilet bowl while shock and horror washed over to you.

The progress you were making was incredible, but not all the emotions you were finally tapping into were something to be celebrated, it was just something that had to be done.

The cold and emotionless version of you was something that was rapidly slipping away, and he could barely even compare you to the person you’d been when he’d first taken you in so many months ago. The way your face had been permanently stoic and lifeless was something he could barely picture now, you were never without some kind of expression, a lot of which made him laugh, or made his own chest blossom with warmth when you did. It was hard not to, watching you come into yourself, your smile was contagious, enough to light up the room when you’d knock on the office door with a wide grin and another story to tell him, or a joke you’d read in a book that you wanted or share, and the way he’d have to suppress his laughter as he watched your face change when you read.

You weren’t even aware you did it, your face flicking between joy, despair, judgement, horror, shock, with every word you read, letting yourself get immersed in the words that created a new world for you, and sometimes it was enough to distract him from his own work, simply to watch you.

In the first few weeks after you’d realised what your name was, he’d caught you mumbling it to yourself as you went around, written on the back of your hand, or on every page of your notebook as you tried to familiarise yourself with it. You did your best, and he felt like his heart had both broken and been strengthened as he found the open page of your name written, scribbled and scrawled in different handwritings, colours and types of writing tool as you tried to work out how you best associated with your own name.

You spoke it on a loop and left it written everywhere you could as you began to grow more comfortable with it, but after a month had passed, you had seemed to begin to find a connection within it. He did everything he could to help, making sure to say your name to you as much as he could, to reinforce it in your mind, and he had felt himself light up like the fourth of July the first time you’d said his name too.

You had said it so simply, a false argument that two of you had been having about a book you’d read and whether or not you agreed with the choices taken, and after you’d made a valid point, he’d used his foot to nudge the book out of your hand from where he sat at the opposite end of the couch, stretched out across it. You’d chastised him by using his name, laughing under your breath as you found the item under the coffee table and flicked through it to find the page, having not marked it before losing it at his shove.

Sometimes, you still messed up, when you were particularly tired or you’d had a nightmare, you’d slipped back into accidentally referring to yourself as unit eight in the mornings, a somber feeling following you around for hours until you snapped out of it, often with his help, when you watched a movie and had a hot drink to soothe you, or listened to the music he’d begun to introduce you to.

It was a long road, one that the pair of you were struggling with together, and every day you seemed to be gaining miles, faster and faster. What had once been like a dam - tightly locked and making sure to allow only enough in and out to hold strong and survive - was now beginning to crack. Water was dripping through, little by little as the break widened and pebbles fell away, and as each little piece fell away from the barrier it was expanding more and more, gaining ground faster with each progression. One day it would burst entirely, there would be nothing left to hold you back, because the concrete would crumble away to let everything beautiful within you that was locked up so tight be allowed to roam free, instead.

Upon coming into yourself, though, had brought several troubles for him. The first of which was your curiosity, he no longer had to guide you in finding hobbies and telling you what to do, but instead, you were all but bouncing off of the walls while locked inside, desperate to get around to your weekly walks at night when there were fewer people on the streets and less of a risk to you, and so they had become more and more frequent, the two of you venturing out almost every other night, now.

With your arm linked through his as you strolled along, wrapped up in one of his coats that was too big for you and some sweats, he was certain that the two of you had walked every possible route around the neighbour over fifty times now, and that had led him to another issue. You wanted to explore, you wanted more, the searching on the laptop did no good, because you’d seen so many aspects of the world on the job, so much more than he had even, but you’d never experienced it.

You wanted to see the world, but you weren’t ready to be a part of it yet.

You were a killer, a trained mercenary, you knew more languages than he did, and you could use a spoon to kill him in more ways than he could kill someone with a gun, you knew the entire periodic chart by heart and you could do a backflip on the spot - something which the two of you had spent upwards of a week trying to teach him how to do, and failing. He couldn't contain the overwhelming sense of pity he had for you, though, because while you were such an incredible person with limitless talents and skills, you had absolutely no idea how to do basic things like set off a dishwasher or put through a load of laundry.

On a day when he’d been trying to assess your skills, you’d taken him down ten times in a row at sparring without even breaking a sweat, but he’d found you crying in the laundry room as you tried to figure out what all the buttons and symbols meant, and so his latest hobby had been teaching you the things that mother’s taught their kids from youth.

His investigation into your past hadn't ceased either, he would work with every fragment of memory you gave him and every tiny detail he could pick up from a story you told him, never wanting to push and risk upsetting you, or having you close back in on yourself.

You were becoming a seamless part of his life, taking you to the store and watching you sniff at shampoos and laundry detergents, or debate the health benefits of certain vegetables over others was something that he was too quickly becoming used to, and wandering around the library and holding your stacks of books for you while you chose a new week’s worth of reading was beginning to become the highlight of his Saturday nights.

The domesticity of it all was overwhelming, never in his life had he held this kind of life in the palm of his hands, a happy little setting that was nothing but serenity and peace when he was home. The old him used to go to pubs and bars, Katrina in a cute little dress on his arm as he wore tight skinny jeans and spent more money on drinks at clubs and hockey games than he did on rent. Half of his existence was hangovers and headaches, from booze or college textbooks, and he was looking a long and dull but successful office career in the eye, his sporting being something he’d keep up as a hobby until work hours got longer and he got that promotion that ‘everybody wanted’ and ‘it was a real honour, everyone was fighting for it’ and so he’d spend more time behind his desk instead of at home, gain a little weight, fuck his secretary when Katrina started to make eyes at the gardener instead, because he was still young and hot.

It was someone he wasn’t, he’d never seen himself before this as being the guy who was happy to read books quietly with his girl when her feet were in his lap or toes poking at his thigh like you did on a bold day, or cook recipes from a book you’d picked up as one of this week’s editions, the two of you trialing different meals from all over the world, because you couldn’t actually go there to get them.

With the more expanding into society you’d done, the more he’d invested in you, no longer being able to wrap you up in his own clothes as much, especially not with the looks the two of you received when you were in public places, and so he was left to buy you clothes. He didn’t know much, likes sizes or measurements, but he tried his best, and so with heated cheeks and a scowl, he’d pushed some bags into your hands after returning home from a midday excursion.

Leggings, sports bras, simple cotton panties, and a fair amount of pyjamas, because those were your favourites. He went for the basics, leaving you to roam around in his hoodies and shirts, but it was an improvement, to say the least, making you look a little less like you were still a project, and more like you were finding your place in a society you didn’t understand and had never been a part of. You’d managed to dig up a packet of hair elastics he’d had from his time when he had longer hair and couldn’t be bothered to cut it, and so you’d begun to style it like you read in books or saw in movies, ponytails and braids and buns.

Slowly but surely, everything about you was becoming less robotic and more unique, and he was simply along to watch you bloom like a flower in the sun, now.

“Do you want to go out somewhere today?”

“Somewhere like the library? Because we only went a few days ago, and we still have lots of food in the fridge.” You glanced up at him as he leant on the door for the kitchen, and Mitch couldn't help the grin that took over his face as you looked at him curiously, twirling a pencil between your fingers in patterns that confused him and yet you seemingly didn’t even know you were doing it, and the wondering as to whether you could do that with something like a knife flitted across his mind, but he shook it free. “Anyway, it’s only eight minutes past two, it won’t be dark for at least five hours yet.”

“I was thinking we could switch up the routine today.” You raised your brows at him, lips pursed as your eyes flicked over to the paper stuck up on the fridge, and he pushed himself up from the framing to take the seat across from you instead. “You mind that?”

You let out a dramatic sigh, pouting a little as you placed the pencil back into the case before you and zipping it up. “I suppose for you an exception could be made.”

“Wow, don’t I just feel honoured?” He grinned, watching as you giggled a little bit, before pushing your chair out, excitement taking over as you came to stand beside him, rolling on the balls of your feet a little bit. 

“We’re going out now? During the day?”

“Yes we are.”

What was almost a squeal left your lips as you nodded your head, hands clenching and unclenching from fists as your gaze faded away from his. “I’m gonna’ wear the black jeans!”

You were gone from his view before he could say anything else, dashing away towards your room and clicking the door shut as you left in a whirlwind of coloured pencils and fluffy socks that you’d dug out of his drawer, and he scooped up all the papers to tidy them away, placing the glass you’d been drinking from into the sink and getting rid of them.

He had been researching, using every bit of information that he’d heard from you to build a case, trying to find out who you were to try and help you expand on the life you’d lost, everything that you’d forgotten or been forced to suppress. How many girls at about age three could go missing with your name, from a state he was certain he’d hear you mumble in your sleep, from a house that matched all the pictures you drew?

Three-hundred and twenty-two. That’s how many. 

But only eighteen of them had been cases that were still open or never solved, and only one of them had the mysterious circumstances that would match you, and was exactly what he was looking for. He was confident in the decision, in his own sleuthing, and so the decision he had been pulling over for the past few days on whether or not it was actually a good decision, had taken over this morning. It was like a band-aid, it just had to be ripped off, but it was a lead on who you were supposed to be, not who they forced you to be, so he was willing to take it.

Luckily for him, and you, by some kind of blessing, it wasn’t actually that far away, only one state over, a few hours driving at the max, and so like some kind of emotional therapy or purge, you’d be able to go to the place you once lived, and find a piece of yourself. If his detective work had been accurate, that was.

It hadn't taken you long to change. You were flying out of the room excitedly while pulling up your hair to secure it back as your laces were still undone, waiting eagerly as he put on his own shoes and jacket, taking a little longer to pat down his pockets and find his keys just to tease you, as you hovered in the doorway, anticipating the journey out into broad daylight that you’d be venturing into. Everything seemed different to you in the daylight, he could tell, from the was you took anxious steps, buzzing slightly as the two of you chose to take the stairs instead, avoiding the security camera and the busy people shifting from different floors in the elevator, still trying to keep you as safe and secreted as possible. 

He’d parked the car close to the building on the last journey, and so it was barely a walk to get to it, blacked out windows hiding your identity much better now that you were venturing out into the light. He had already programmed the location into the SatNav in his car, only a few hours away to be taken to, and you settled into the seat, reading the back of the latest CD he had, and mumbling about getting a burger on the way there if it was far away, before the journey was beginning, and Mitch was doing his best to push down his anxiety.

The house was still just as it had been left, a little unkempt and the garden overgrown, the cobblestones leading up to the front door had become unstable with some missing and some just out of place. The weeds had taken over, mud and grass with thistles that had overruled it all, everything trampled down by kids who had wandered over the area. One of the windows had broken and there was graffiti along the walls, the front door kicked in and there were marks around the frame where repairs had been made, new locks and wood being put on, but it had only continued to happen. 

It had never been repurchased, it was a little town that the two of you had pulled up in, and you’d gone silent from all the chattering you’d done on the way over as you stared up at the building, unaware of the neighbours eyes peering on at the two of you as you sat in the large sleek vehicle. Rumours had spread quickly, he’d barely had to dig into your history before articles and news about your family were popping up, rumours about the things your parents had been involved in before tragedy had struck and the littlest member of the family had gone missing, a cold case that was never solved. 

Beer cans and burnt ashes were in the garden, but there was no movement inside currently, and so releasing the lip from between his teeth from where he’d been nibbling, Mitch rounded the car, opening the door for you and giving you the most reassuring smile he could as your gaze left the house to find his, and you stepped out of the car to stand beside him. You didn’t question him, or yell at him, but you lingered by his side, your shoulder brushing his for comfort as you shoved your hands into the front pocket of your hoodie, and followed him up the pathway when he took the first step. 

You paused by his side halfway up the garden, looking around anxiously, and that same blank look that he hadn't seen for months was back, and suddenly, the weight of the moment came crashing down onto him as he realised the weight of the mistake he must’ve made. The panic that he’d triggered something bad within you was crushing, that you might close back in on yourself and freak out, that this act may have been your entire undoing. 

Then, he was able to process the look on your face. It was recognition. You knew where you were, you knew what it was you were looking at. The blank look wasn’t you closing in on yourself, it was you protecting yourself, and he closed the distance between you both with a few quick strides, tipping your chin up towards him before placing a comforting hand on your shoulder and squeezing, fixing you with a look of questioning and security as he waited to know whatever you were okay. 

“I think I used to have a pink bicycle.” You looked over his shoulder, glancing along the broken pathway as you traced your gaze across the garden. “It had training wheels that lit up in all different colours.”

He could see it now, the fear in your eyes, and it was an emotion he'd never seen on you before. You were scared, but the cogs were turning in your head as the final part of you clicked into place, finding your roots and being reunited with your home, a shaky breath leaving you, before your eyes were searching to catch his own once again, and you gave him a weak smile, but he was sure it was the strongest you’d been able to muster. 

“Can we go inside?”

“Are you sure you can handle that?” 

You hesitated in giving him your answer, but there was determination washing over the fear, and you nodded, pursed lips and slightly trembling shoulders, but he could tell you were absolutely adamant in your decision. You were moving before he was, taking quick and steady steps up the front porch, and lingering by the front door, waiting for him to catch up, peering through the glass and past the ripped and yellowing fabric, that was covering the slip of glass, only an outline of the interior revealed to you. 

A simple nudge of his foot was enough for the door to swing open, the wood creaking under the strain on its hinges as it wobbled a little, scraping the wood flooring in motions that were clearly ingrained from a lot of breaking and entering. He lingered back, letting you take the first step, and it was like walking into a piece of your history, he didn’t want to invade, so he gave you your time to observe the place. 

It was a little torn up, massacred from the graffiti and break-ins, smashed glass and covered with damp and mold, peeling wallpaper that had yellowed and snapped or broken furniture. There were burns on the walls and floors from where kids had come in to smoke and set fires, broken bottles and crushed beer cans, litter and lost belongings, but it was still the place that used to be your home. 

The first room was the living room, couches that were torn, flat cushions with rusted springs and missing stuffing, but the faded pattern was almost still visible. There was a clear place where a television had once been, almost everything of value having been stripped from the room, and other furniture rearranged to make places for youths to sit around and talk, but it was enough for you to be able to put the jigsaw puzzle pieces together. You wandered around, running your fingers lightly over everything, and moving onto the dining room. You’d dragged the chairs back through, arranging them around the chipping and wobbly oakwood table, and adjusting the photo frames on the walls, even though the glass had shattered. 

The kitchen was a mess, broken cupboard doors and a leaky tap, the backdoor completely kicked in and the panels on the back porch broken, but you didn’t seem to care, a small smile flickering on your face as you crouched down, peering into the oven, despite the fact that you couldn't see through the glass of the door. “I think my mother used to bake cookies.”

“Yeah?”

You glanced at him, hands on your knees to push yourself up from your crouching position as you nodded your head. “Yeah. I just got the overwhelming urge to eat cookies when I walked in here.”

“Well, it won’t be the same, but when we go home, we’ll swing by the store and try and whip some up, if you’d like?” Your shoulder bumped against his as you walked through the room, before looking back, offering him a soft nod, and making your way across to the staircase, leaving him to follow you. 

“I would like that.” 

His offer was seemingly well accepted, and he was happy to have made a suggestion that was something positive for you. The stairs groaned and squealed under each step he took, and for a second the worry that the wood may actually give way underneath you both passed his mind as he felt each plank tremble under your weight, the disarray of the house entirely different to the upstairs.

The upper half of the house was more well-kept than the lower half. Less graffiti and broken furniture, it seemed far more well preserved, and Mitch would be willing to bet good money that kids just weren’t bold enough to try and climb stairs that screamed out in fits of protest at the first simple steps to be placed upon them. It brought a different mood, too. The downstairs was cheery for you, filled with sweet memories and happy times, thanksgivings at the dining table and christmas’ by the fireplace in the living room, but the upstairs was different. The first real room that you’d come across was that of the younger version of yourself, pink walls, pink furniture, everything must’ve once been bright and covered in glitter, and it seemed perfectly reasonable for a three-year-old girl’s room. 

Children’s toys still covered the floor, a tiny bed with a little desk, colouring crayons and old teddies that had become weathered and ugly, slightly torn apart but not entirely disheveled, and Mitch held his breath once again as he waited for your own reaction. There was no smile, or look of fond memories, only that of sadness and shock, his body reaching for you as you jumped and twitched with every eerie squeak of the flooring under your feet or the wind rustling through the open windows of the upstairs. 

It was dark, and unsettling, watching a grown woman relearn the room she’d been ripped from as a child, and something in the back of his throat burned at the thought as he wondered whether this was the last room you’d been in while holding your freedom, before being snatched up and cast into a life of horror and abuse. He watched as you moved around, kneeling down on the floor with an open plastic tub, picking up the toys on the carpet and tidying them away, before putting the glittery crate back where it belonged, the scratched off paint on the side revealing a part of a butterfly with purple wings and blue spots, and he had to look away from it all for a second.

He wanted to ask if you knew that you were tidying, or whether something instinctual had kicked in and taken over when you did so, but he didn’t have the heart to break what you were doing. Once you were satisfied with the straightened sheets and lines of rotten bears and plush toys along the pillow, you were kneeling down, brushing your fingers along the planks of a colourful wooden box, faded paints that had once been a rainbow, and your fingers lingered on the latch, but you didn't open it. For the first time, your lips flicked up at the corners, and you placed your hand flat on the wood, pushing it back into place but continuing to stare at it.

“Bumblebee dress.”

He cursed under his breath, listening to you mumble to yourself about your favourite costumes that lay inside, and he turned away to wipe at a droplet that had strayed from his eyes, blinking back tears on burning eyes as he tried to control himself. You were more composed than he was, but he couldn't help it. In the few months he’d known you, he had grown to care so much, you barely even knew yourself but he felt like he knew you inside and out, and he didn’t want any unhappiness for you. You were like the sun to him, warm and welcoming and loving, every day you became more and more like a star to brighten up the sky, but this was a significant dull moment in your history.

If he hadn't thought it could get any worse, he was severely mistaken. 

At least your childhood bedroom was preserved in its purity, you hadn't been harmed and perhaps you’d put up a struggle - the best struggle a toddler could - but that was not the same story in your parents room, and he felt himself stiffen up beside you at the same time your entire body had turned to one of stone.

It was a mess, the walls were spattered with blood in different angles and torn up yellow tape reading ‘crime scene’ was still hanging from some places on the walls, with white tape on the floors marking stained carpet. There was more of a visible fight put up in here, gunpowder shadows on the walls and furniture that was tipped over. The drywall was littered with dents and holes, and splintered wood still covered the floor. It was haunting, nothing seemed to be disturbed, and he wasn’t surprised, because even small town kids who broke into ‘haunted houses’ for fun had enough respect not to disturb the place a person took their final breath.

“My mother must’ve died here.”

Your voice made his head snap over to you, and he hadn't even noticed that you’d taken a few steps away from him, staring down at the dark mark on the carpet, taped off to avoid it having any disturbance from the people who would have been wandering around while it was still a fresh crime scene and open investigation. He barely had time to process your words, swallowing down the lump in his throat that felt like cotton as everything in his mouth felt dry, watching as you moved away, your shaking voice extending on again;

“This was my father’s side of the bed. I think he died here.”

Everything about being here with you was making the absence of his own parents feel like a raw and fresh wound, his eyes lining with tears once again as all of that pain came rushing back to the surface in his weakened state, and he wondered how you were still holding yourself together so well as you stared down at a bloodstained bed, the covers still pushed back as though he’d simply gotten up for a second to nip downstairs or to the bathroom, before coming back to bed. 

Just as he was thinking about it, your jaw dropped, head snapping up so that your sights could catch his own as your calm demeanour was washed away to be replaced with a horrified look, startled and tensing up as you came to some kind of revelation. “I’ve killed people. I’ve killed people who could have been other little girls’ parents.”

He knew where this was going, a familiar rabbit hole that he’d worked hard to pull himself out of before, his mind feeling slow despite how hard he tried to think about what to say as he watched the pain take over, and he could barely get his feet to move, feeling like he was trying to run through wet cement with every movement. 

“I’m a monster. Just like the ones who killed my parents.”

He couldn't take it, shaking his head as he finally managed to click into place, pushing away his boundaries as you stared at him with tears streaming silently down your cheeks. His hands found your shoulders, smoothing down until he could hold your waist, before pulling your body into his own. It was the most affectionate touch he’d ever given you, and he wasn’t sure if it was welcome, all he knew was that you needed it right now, and so he had no hesitations in tugging you in closer to him, arms wrapped entirely around your body, and your face was pressed into his shoulder, salty tears washing over his skin as you sobbed silently into the crook of his neck.

“I don’t think you’re a monster, it was beyond your control.” He lifted a hand, feeling you shake underneath him, and weaving his fingers into your hair. He detangled the strands delicately, running his fingers through the locks and scratching at your scalp lightly as you remained wrapped up in his arms, his own eyes sliding shut as he rested his cheek against the top of your head. “I think you’re lovely. You’re incredible, sweetheart; you are.”

Your arms came up to hold him back as he spoke, mumbling into your hair to reassure you. Your hands bunched up in his shirt as your legs went weak, a loud cry in distress leaving you as you held onto him, and his knees buckled a little, before he was leaning down. Scooping you up and into his arms carefully, Mitch made the decision for you that this little excursion was over, you didn’t need anything else, you’d had everything from this house that you could possibly get. With tentative footsteps he carried you through the halls and back outside, freeing up one hand to open the car as your trembling body clung to him, seeking comfort and affection to soothe your broken soul. 

Placing you down in the car seat, the whimper you let out when he pulled away was enough to break his heart, but you soon realised your location, fingers unwrapping from his jumper enough to let him round the car, and find his own seat. The drive home was silent, the radio playing softly as you tried to calm yourself down, his hand in yours at every time he could as he smoothed his thumb over your knuckles to ease your pain, and you had snoozed off for almost an hour towards the end, letting him gently wake you as you arrived back at his apartment building. 

Your hand remained locked in his own as you wandered slowly up the stairs, pushing the door open as he twisted the keys, and he didn’t miss the relieved breath you let out as you stepped back into the place you were now calling home. There were no blood splatters and trauma, no bad memories that you’d have to hide from, just the warmth he’d tried to surround you with, and you shook his hand off of your own in order to take off your shoes, before you were collapsing down onto the couch, pulling a cushion to your chest and resting your chin atop it as you pulled up your legs, creating a ball out of yourself as you tried to work through fragmented thoughts.

Wandering to the office, the box that was hidden on the very top of filing cabinet was layered with dust that he brushed off, the label reading clear to him ‘another life’ scrawled in shaky handwriting that he’d completed while swiping thing sinto a box at three in the morning as a desperate bid to clear himself of the lost life. 

He braved it, though, and brought it back through to you, your head twisting to look at him as he carried it out and took a seat beside you, placing it down on the coffee table before you both and taking a deep breath. 

“I want to show you something.”

You didn’t move, just nodded, and he lifted off the top, a musty smell coming out as a pain burned in the back of his throat once again. The first items up before you both were his medals and certificates, sporting achievements that he showed you and explained each one to you, accolades from both college and highschool, things that had made him who  he used to be. Next up was a photo album, and he was shaking a little as he held it out to you, flicking through the pages and pointing out family memoirs to you, water splashing on the plastic when his parents stopped showing up. 

You had moved across the cushions a little closer to him, your arm pressing to his as you looked on with interest, and his heart felt like it was rebreaking when the pictures of a fresh-faced college kid with a beautiful blonde on his arm came into view, and the pain and longing for the simple life of who he used to be was enough to make him feel as though he couldn't breathe.  

“When Katrina died, I was so overcome with rage and jealousy. I hurt a lot of people, and I was ready to just slaughter hundreds until I got my revenge, before the CIA found me. I’m a monster, too.”

He let out a weak sound, trying to clear his throat to cover it as he left the book discarded on the table, and you shook your head, letting out a disapproving noise that prompted him to look up at you. “You’re not a monster. “You saved me.”

Your arms circled around him, holding him just as tightly, mumbling the same words into his hair that he’d used to try and placate you only hours prior, to calm you own when you’d bene in his position only a few hours ago, a cracked and watery laugh leaving him when you squeezed him in tightly, letting him rest his face in your neck as he held onto you just as tightly in return. You had made a breakthrough of earthshaking sizes today, and while it make him sad, to know that he had nothing else to offer you, that he'd made you into someone who could go out into the world as a real person now, and that he'd have to report your progress to his superiors, he didn’t have to do it tonight. 

He was more than willing to be selfish for the rest of the evening, shifting you to pull you to sit across him as your fingers weaved through his hair, holding one another in silence as the weight of the day threatened to crush you if you didn’t bear it together. “Do you want to watch a movie?”

“Yeah.” His breath washed over your skin and back into his face, warm and suffocating, but he liked having someone to hold so close again, to have even a snippet of emotional comfort once again, and not having to carry everything on his own, for the first time in a long, long time. “You choose us a film, and I’ll order us a whole bunch of takeout.”

#mitchtober #mitch-tober #mitch month #put her together again #PHTA #mitch rapp x reader #mitch rapp/reader #mitch rapp #dylan obrien mitch rapp #dylan obrien #dylan o'brien #dylan obrien american assassin #dylan obrien x reader #dylan obrien/reader

[lifebeginsbyleaving]

You Gotta Fight... For Your Right...

TO PAAAAAAATAAAYYY

Stiles was about to take the three hundred year old tome, that Deaton told them to be extra cautious with, and lob it right at Derek's little furry werewolf balls.

"I don't see why this is such a big deal Stiles!" Derek's eyebrows twitched with annoyance.

Stiles gaped and threw his arms out. "Oh, of course. Of course you wouldn't see the importance of being invited to a super cool exclusive party. Not you mister I have sex in my really cool car with my hot ass leather jacket on and could probably seduce anyone living with an eyebrow raise! Sorry some of us are lame and need to pander at Danny's feet just to get laid!"

All of the earlier annoyance dropped from his face and a cold blank one appeared. "I wasn't aware that was the situation."

Stiles scoffed and started pacing as the pack shot each other unsure looks. "Well, yeah man. In case you're just tuning into the Stiles show, I'm undesired as hell! So, I am absolutely going to this party. Summer heat wave and unpredictable omega passing through be damned."

Stiles started to walk away like he got the last word, but Derek grabbed his arm. "You have to stay to protect the pack."

Stiles rolled his eyes. "What, you don't think you guys can handle one weak omega? Are you slipping? Unless you need protection from the heat, in which case you'll have to deal. No matter how useless you all think I am, I have more self respect than to fan you all with palm branches and bring you iced drinks in a toga." Stiles yanked his arm back and gave Derek a sharp look before storming towards the door.

Derek growled lowly at him.

Stiles turned back and sneered right in his face. "Oh you know what sourwolf, eat me! I barely ask you all for anything. And after months of nonstop threats, multiple abductions, and getting an accumulative five hours of sleep a week because of research I think I deserve a break! One party. Marcus's weekend long bashes have been legendary since freshman year and a year after school this is the first year I'm invited to it. I'm going! End of story. And you-" Stiles jabbed his finger into Derek's chest. "Can fucking deal, or find a new fragile human."

That shocked Derek enough that Stiles had enough time to storm away and slam the loft door. Even him cursing as the force nearly dislocated his shoulder didn't snap him out of it. Derek only slammed his palm into the wall once his Jeep door closed.

He turned and the pack all had shocked looks. He took a moment to calm down. "There's a rouge omega out there and he's thinking with his dick!"

Lydia hopped of the counter with a huff. "He'll be fine, Derek. He could handle one omega with his hands tied."

"What about stupidly drunk too fucking busy with some preppy asshole?!"

She shook her head. "He's resourceful and perceptive, so probably. If you're worried about him being drunk though, Marcus makes sure everyone is safe. You have to hand over keys and phones at the door. Marcus has someone to drive if someone wants to leave."

He raised a judgemental eyebrow at her. "Him not being able to contact us is supposed to make me feel better?"

Erica hopped into the conversation, "There's a landline. He'll call if he needs us. Chill. Unless there's another reason he shouldn't go to a party with a bunch of drunk, attractive, and popular people?"

Derek turned away, but could still see her smirk.

Lydia had to put the final nail in the coffin. "Besides, Danny will be there. He'll take care of him. Really well."

Derek closed his eyes so they wouldn't see the red glow reflect off the window he was staring out. "Fine. Leave. Pack meeting over. Stiles can do whatever the hell he wants."

Derek would never understand why they all seemed so enamored by him. The entire pack loved him. It made Derek's skin crawl. Even when the sheriff met him mid supernatural fight and Danny took a moment to introduce himself he immediately loved him. He exclaimed about how there was finally a teenager with manners. Derek couldn't figure out if it was the hawaiian charm or what, but everyone on God's green earth that met Danny Mahealani seemed to frickin adore him. And somehow Derek's rare disapproval got out. Mrs. Thurnbury took him aside in the supermarket and patted his arm and said, "That Danny boy is a good egg. He helped me with my groceries. Be a dear and don't murder him with your eyebrows of discontentment." She winked and left and all he could think was he helped her with her groceries first god damnit!

They started to trickle out.

Peter stood up. "Oh, nephew mine?"

Derek sighed.

"Would your objections have anything to do with the Mahealani boy rejecting your offer to join the pack? Or maybe the corrupting and subsequent poisoning of the token human's liver that you find fault with. Or maybe the pounding that Stiles could get fro-"

Derek's fangs joined his threatening growl.

"From that rouge omega. Only if it were to show up to that party. Small chance though, as we said." Peter smirked. "So nothing to worry about really."

"Get out before I show you out. The third story window."

Peter gave him a consoling look as he passed. "No need to get so worked up over the boys rejection. He simply wants to stay out of supernatural matters as much as possible. Besides, I think he's got all that he wants from this pack." He dropped his voice lower even though it was unnecessary. "I would suggest figuring out if you do before it is no longer available. Or rather, he isn't." Peter looked smug as he sauntered out.

Derek looked up with relief to see that only Scott was left in the loft. Scott sent him a consoling look. "Don't take it so hard dude. It's just a party."

Derek felt frustration bubbling up. "Exactly Scott. It's just a party. And he goes and acts like that." Derek shoved his hands towards the door he had slammed like he was still waiting behind it. "He challenged our decision and the advice of the pack over a stupid party."

Scott smiled. "I've known him since I was four, alphas or not it was not our decision. It was his."

"He could get hurt. We were worried and he did that!"

"Did what Derek?"

Derek roared back, "He said he'd leave the pack! He said it like it was nothing! He said it because of that boyslut that makes him think he's not good enough! I'll never get why he-"

"Why he what Derek, wants to have fun? Blow off some steam?" Scott nodded pointedly to Derek's clawed and balled fists.

Derek unclenched them, realizing how out of control he was getting.

Scott went over to the table to sit down and Derek followed.

"Why do you think Stiles became friends with Danny?"

Derek deadpanned, "To get laid."

Scott gave him a crooked grin. "Besides that?"

Derek shared none of his humor, but offered silence.

Scott was undeterred and used to it. "Because he's fun. Danny has this way of putting people at ease. Like no matter what, if you're with him, you're going to be alright. He's fun and easy."

Derek snorted and nodded.

"He shows people how to be carefree and enjoy themselves."

Derek grew irritated. "Why are you here then."

Scott looked sad. "Derek, why do you think Stiles became friends with Danny? I think it's because maybe he needs that. He needs fun and carefree. He needs blackout drunk and mistakes you won't remember in the morning. It's a way he can lose control without risking anyone's safety except his own. Dancing to music till it's light outside might still end with your muscles burning in the morning, but it comes with less trauma than running for your life in the woods." Scott looked devastated. "He just wants something fun Derek. My best friend just wants to be a normal teenager for a few nights. I think he just wants to remember what it's like to be okay. To be carefree. And I don't know about you Derek, but I can't find it in me to fault him for it. Not after everything he's been through."

Everything wiped off Derek's face except bare grief and guilt.

"Do I still worry about him getting home, and if he'll watch his drinks enough, and what if he's too drunk and someone is too insistent yes I do. But at the end of the day he deserves a break. From the craziness, the supernatural, the constant looking over his shoulder, the responsibility, the hurt, and yes ultimately also the pack. He's earned it. With all the research, the sleepless nights, the-"

Derek closed his eyes. "I know how much he's sacrificed for the pack. I'm sorry I didn't realize."

Scott shrugged. "I'm not the one you have to apologise to. But then again if I know him, you don't have to apologise to him either." The heaviness was gone from his face, just that lightness that Scott's unending hope brought. "Couldn't hurt though, right? He'll spend the weekend worrying about worrying you."

*** Derek had procrastinated until the very last moment. He knew Danny would pick him up soon, but Derek couldn't leave the Camaro and walk the last final blocks for some reason. He heard a car coming up the street and his eyes snapped to his mirror expecting to see Danny. He huffed and swung open the car door.

Derek opened the window silently and stepped in without a sound. He inched closer to Stiles' turned back.

He froze as Stiles started to speak out loud. "Should I pack an extra shirt sourwolf?"

Derek was silent.

Stiles turned. "No opinion?"

Derek softly mumbled, "It's always good to be prepared."

Stiles smirked. "Oh I bet you looked adorable with your eyebrows and sash asking old ladies if they needed help to get your community badge."

"What?" Derek asked confused.

"Don't worry, I won't ask Cora for pictures in your little uniform. Scout's honor. " He held up the Vulcan salute.

"Pack the extra shirt Stiles. And a sweatshirt. In case it's cold."

Stiles' face melted to a smile. "Aww it's almost like you care." He turned back to his bag. "But it is summer. Ya know, hot as balls out?"

"You get cold easily. A slight draft and you're shivering like you're naked."

"Considering the limited amount of activities I do while naked, I'm usually very hot when I'm naked."

Derek scoffed, but turned away from Stiles to keep from taking off his clothes in his mind to picture him with a slight heated blush like the one Derek had right then.

"I do hope you didn't come here to argue or try to stop me."

Derek shook his head, but then spoke, "No."

Stiles zipped his bag and turned. "Well, that clears everything up. Is it the omega?" He was still playful, but a hint of worry worked it's way in.

Derek turned quickly. "No. If we have to, we'll deal with that. I-I just came to wish you a good weekend." Derek attempt a small smile.

Stiles raised an eyebrow and put what was in his hands down. "Are you alright? Do you smell toast? What's that thing you're doing on your face? Do I need to call Deaton? I'm sure he's got like a magical milkbone that could fix whatever's wrong with your face."

Derek's face changed to a genuine smile and Stiles' eyes gleamed as the corners of his mouth also lifted.

"I'm sorry."

Stiles turned back away. Derek would take that as a bad sign, but he knew how well Stiles knew him. He knew Derek wasn't good with apologizing. He was giving him space. "It's okay sourwolf. I'm sorry too."

"For what?" Derek looked at the hands nervously folding and unfolding a flannel.

"You know what for. I should never have said that. I knew how it would effect you. You know I would always fight to be a part of the pack."

"And you know you would never have to. We know and appreciate how much you do. Even if we forget to show it."

Stiles turned back with earnestness in his eyes. "Thank you sourwolf. It means a lot."

Derek forced himself to look back into his wide brown eyes. "You mean a lot. To the pack. For all that you do."

"I would do anything, for the pack." His lips stretched into a lazy smile. "I have to finish packing." He made no effort to move away.

"I should head back." He hesitated slightly before heading to the window.

It was a few moments after Stiles heard him jump down, but he knew he would hear him. "Thank you Derek. Have a good weekend."

***

Derek was not having a good weekend.

He didn't even want to talk about yesterday and today wasn't going much better.

He sat on his couch reading a book and listening to music. After he flipped each page he'd check the time in his phone. Normally he'd be busy with something, but he had already made supper, did a long workout, and showered. Usually he enjoyed his down time, but it was too quiet. He flicked on the TV and turned his page just to turn it back to actually read what was on the page this time.

He sighed and scrubbed a hand down his face after having to reread the first paragraph for the third time. He laid his head on the back of the couch and stared up at the ceiling.

The door flung open and a loudly laughing Erica walked in and Derek had enough.

"Just for one night can I have some peace! You haven't let me focus all day! How can three people be so loud!"

He finally looked over and his harshness faded seeing their shocked faces and arms filled with bags.

Isaac meekly spoke, "Uh Derek, we've been at the mall all day."

Derek closed his eyes. He vaguely remembered being home alone all day. "Right. Sorry."

Erica recovered the fastest. "Okay grumpy pants what's got your tail in a twist?" She shoved the bags onto a chair and plopped down beside him.

"Nothing. I'm fine."

She raised an eyebrow. "Right. And yelling at three pups who have done absolutely nothing wrong all day qualifies as okay? Maybe a couple years back, but not now. Spill the kibble."

He raised an eyebrow back at her.

She rolled her eyes. "Okay moderately nothing wrong. Stop deflecting."

"The omega still isn't dealt with and S-"

"Stiles is at a party?" She looked amused.

"No. And Scott's approach of giving them the benefit of the doubt and allowing them to pass through isn't exactly comforting."

"Right, sure. I completely agree that is what's wrong with you." She got up. "Boyd, come and have a conversation with mister ignore the real problem till it goes away."

Isaac piped up, "He'll do it when he's ready guys."

He dutifully walked over and placed a hand on his shoulder from the other side of the couch. "Go and see if he's okay if that's what you have to do." He walked away.

Derek hated his betas some days. Erica because she was so smug, Boyd because he was so correct, and Isaac because he was so supportingly encouraging.

He mostly hated Erica though.

***

It was another twenty minutes and they had all settled in. Erica had put on new pjs and commendered the TV. Isaac had turned off his music and Boyd had asked him about his book and he just tossed it over. He couldn't even remember the title.

He heard them before they slid the door open and didn't bother to move. As soon as he saw their expression though, he stood quickly. "What happened?" His heart was thundering already.

"The sheriff found a body. He wants us to check it out. Before he rules it an animal attack." Scott gave him a concerned look.

Allison spoke up next from where she was linked to Scott's arm. "The sheriff will probably call you soon."

Derek calmed slightly. "Take them with you. You and Allison can check out the body, see if you can figure out what happened, then if you can find a trail. The betas will fan out from the crime scene and see if they can find anything else."

Scott nodded. "And what are you going to do?"

Derek's phone started to ring and he eagerly checked the screen. "If you were an out of control omega and were lost in the woods, what would you be attracted to?" He answered the call and headed to his room to get changed. "Hello sheriff."

Scott muttered mostly to himself. "The loud party in the middle of the preserve with a bunch of drunk people."

Scott and Allison waited for the three of them to get changed, but Derek was grabbing his jacket on the way out before they were ready.

Derek was reaching for the door when Scott put a hand on his shoulder. "He'll be fine. We'll call with any information."

*** Despite Scott's reassurance he broke every speed limit on the way there. He had been searching the mass of sweaty dancing bodies for several minutes, unable to make his way upstairs yet in case of what he might interrupt. The bright flashing lights were already making him nauseous.

He got a phone call and made a break for the kitchen. He still had trouble hearing the call over the booming music, but he managed to gleam that Allison identified the body as a hunter. One with a tentative understanding of the code at best. They figured the omega was being tracked by the hunter and it was self defense. Scott called the betas and asked them to check and make sure the omega was okay, but they were no longer looking at a bloodthirsty killer and just a scared omega.

He ended the call with some relief, till he realized he had no reason to be here anymore. No reason to take Stiles back.

He took a cup from the kitchen, and despite knowing it wouldn't do anything chugged it.

If he was here he might as well check in on Stiles and let him know what happened.

He shoved his way back into the main dancing area knowing that was the best place to find him. He was near a corner when someone approached him from the side and grabbed his arm. He tensed and turned ready to strike, but not obviously.

It was Danny and somehow that made him bristle further.

Danny shouted into his ear, "Are you looking for Stiles?"

Derek clenched his jaw and nodded.

"Is it serious?"

Derek shook his head.

Danny's face morphed to a flirtatious smile. "Then stay awhile." His hand started to tighten slightly around his bicep. "Wanna dance? Or not dance?" He looked towards a dark hallway that made Derek finally grateful to not be able to hear.

Derek yanked his arm back. "I don't know if Stiles would like that." He paired it with the most murderous brows he had.

Danny's eyebrows furrowed. "I didn't think you guys were-"

"We're not. You are."

Danny laughed. "Yeah, we messed around in the beginning. Now we both decided we're better as just friends."

Derek still remained cold. "I have to find Stiles."

"Are you sure, because he looks a little busy." Danny pointed to a spastic drunk yelling and surrounded by laughing preppy vultures. One particular asshole was practically stuck to Stiles' back as they writhed to the music. He was very handsy and Stiles didn't even seem to notice. Danny spoke again, but Derek didn't turn. "We could be busy too. I'll even let you keep up the bad boy gruff act, I like it a little rough big bad alpha."

At that Derek turned back and took threatening steps forward till Danny pressed himself against the wall with a smirk. Derek flashed his eyes and bared his fangs. Danny's smirk fell and fear flashed across his face. "It's not an act. Thanks for the offer." Derek stalked to the other side of the room careful to avoid catching Stiles' attention.

"Whooooo! Body shotssssss!" Stiles' missing shirt and already sticky collarbones told Derek this was probably not anyone's first shot. A girl with messy red hair started pouring liquor into the divots above Stiles' collarbone. The crowd around them started chanting the word shots. The redhead moved to one side and handsy asshole moved to the other. As soon as they started to lick out the alcohol the crowd cheered. They both started to kiss up the sides of Stiles' neck and as Stiles relaxed his shoulders a few droplets rained down just like the blood from Derek's palms. They were clenched so hard his claws dug into them as he watched the two strangers lay claim to Stiles' neck.

Handsy asshole started to move down Stiles' body to a stray drop that was making its way towards Stiles' nipple. Derek was across the room before he even realized it.

Stiles' look of enjoyment and pure glee faded to one of confusion. "Derek? What are you doing here?"

Stiles pushed both people back to allow them room to talk and put his shirt back on. Derek instantly shoved into the space handsy asshole had previously filled. "I have to talk to you."

Stiles sobered. "Is it about the pack?"

Derek looked at those around them and handsy asshole trying to worm his way back over. "Not here."

Derek looked down and saw Stiles intertwining their hands. "We went through the crowd to get a beer three hours ago and I haven't seen Danny since. You can hold my hand for like two minutes sourwolf."

Derek nodded and just as they turned to leave handsy asshole grabbed Stiles' other arm. "Heyyyy where ya goin? We're havin fuuuun."

"I'll be back." Derek couldn't help narrowing his eyes at those words.

"What iv I wanna nother shot?" He threw in a look that supposedly was seductive. Derek thought it looked like he was taking a shit while looking directly at the sun.

Stiles let go of Derek's hand. He smiled at the man and kissed him. The man was so enthusiastic and fond of ass groping Derek looked away in disgust. "Then find Hannah till I get back."

Stiles grabbed Derek's hand again and started to pull away, but the man nearly yanked him out of Derek's grip. "But I want you Mickyyyy!"

Derek pulled Stiles behind himself and growled right in his face, "That is NOT his name!"

The man just scoffed and looked towards Stiles. "This your boytoy Micky? Hes rude, and wrong." His voice went to a stage whisper. "He doesn't even know your real name. How imporant can he be? Staaayyy!"

Derek turned with a sharp look towards Stiles. "You told him your name?! Him!?"

Stiles looked to be searching the air around him. "To be fair I got here around ten and they greeted me at the door with three shots of vodka. I don't remember the hours between twelve and two yesterday. If someone asked I probably would've told them my social security number. Today is strictly beer and a slight buzz day."

Derek held firmly to Stiles' hand as they moved away and handsy asshole started to object, "You said you'd blow me upstairs you shit!"

Derek put his hand flat on the front of his face and shoved him back with enough force that the high top table they had been using as a bar wobbled and the glass bottles on it clinked together when he made contact. Derek growled threateningly and flashed his eyes and teeth.

Derek got a small amount of pleasure from the scent of fear coming off the man. He was yanked towards the stairs by a hand that was gripping his tightly. Stiles finally found an empty room and shoved both of them in it. "What, the absolute hell, was that!"

Derek rolled his eyes. "Oh I'm sorry for taking offense for you, since you obviously didn't care."

"Of course I care! And of course what he said was totally gross, but he was drunk! What's your excuse for wolfing out like that huh!?"

Derek looked away. "Damn it Stiles! He shouldn't have treated you like you were just a fuck!" Derek once again flashed his eyes and snapped his fangs, but Stiles just growled back and snapped his human teeth back at him.

Stiles huffed out a short laugh. "That's kinda the point Derek."

Derek turned to him with squinted eyes.

"Here I want to be just a fuck. I want to be dancing in the lights and have someone desire me. Maybe I want to feel like, no matter anything else, someone wants me."

Derek objected, "You have people that want you. You don't have to do this, the pack-"

Stiles shook his head and interrupted while pacing away from him, "Not like that and you know it. I don't care if all he wants from me is a fuck. That's all I want from him, so it'd be pretty hypocritical of me. Why should you care?"

Derek gave him judgemental eyebrows. "Well sorry for hoping you had self respect. Next time I won't get in the way of you getting dick."

Stiles went stock still and turned towards him with rage in his eyes. "Derek. Are you slut shaming me right now?!"

"Well if th-"

Stiles steamrolled right over him. "Because I don't give a god damn fuck who you think you are, you do not get to tell me what I do with my body! My relationships are my business! Who or how many I have sex with is my business! And alpha or not you don't get to make those choices for me! Because last time I checked you're not my fucking boyfriend! Last time I checked you hardly ever pretend to even like me! So back the fuck off and learn what place you have in my life before you lose it!" Stiles was fuming and yelling right in his face by the end of it.

All of his need to argue flooded out of him and Derek put his hands up. He tried to put his hand on Stiles' arm, but he pulled away and stalked to the other side of the room with his arms crossed. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that you were a slut."

Stiles squinted at him with malice.

"Okay, maybe I implied you were a slut, but I was mad and didn't mean it. I am sorry. I am pro slut power. Seriously, I raised my eyebrow at Laura sneaking back in come morning time and she yelled at me for two hours. Then she made me wear a shirt that said slut power for a week."

Stiles snorted and sat on the bed. Derek slowly approached and sat beside him. "You're pack. I want you to have someone that cares about you, but if that's not what you want I have to respect that and I'm sorry I didn't. I'll stop trying to stop you from going out with Danny."

Stiles nodded and was quiet for a moment.

"Derek? Why do you hate Danny?"

"Well Stiles, I believe you yourself said it was because of my complete lack of ability and hatred for doing anything fun."

"Be serious."

"Maybe for the way he makes you feel. Like you aren't good enough and you should be grateful just to fall at his feet."

Stiles hummed. "I don't think that's Danny. I do it with you too, I do it with everyone. I think that's just my own insecurities that I need to work on. I need to stop comparing myself to others. It's just hard you know? I'm a human in a pack of werewolves and badasses, it's hard not to feel inadequate. My best friend is a true alpha, and two of the people I have in my life are Danny Hawaiian god Mahealani and Derek Greek god Hale, so there's my self image shot." Stiles played it off with a laugh, but Derek frowned.

"Stiles. You aren't a human in a pack of werewolves and badasses. You're one of the badasses. I have seen you bash in a werewolves skull with a wolfsbane laced baseball bat. I mean sure you did throw up after..."

Stiles knocked their shoulders together with a chuckle.

"But it was badass. And about the god thing. I think you're-" Derek started to hesitate. His resolve firmed. "If anyone is a Greek god it's you. They say Aphrodite appeared both male and female."

Stiles gaped at him and Derek looked away.

"You couldn't be more wrong! I'm totally-"

Derek's embarassment turned to determination at Stiles' persistent doubt. "No. You really are-"

"Athena." Stiles insisted.

"Beautiful." Derek muttered breathlessly.

"Oh." Stiles cheeks colored.

Derek tried to deflect. "What were we even taking about?"

"Why you really don't like Danny."

"I don't want to talk about that."

Stiles squinted. "Implying that we didn't already, and that there's a different reason."

"No."

Stiles was silent still and Derek sighed. "I don't know. I think I just do for the way he exists."

Stiles snorted. "Harsh dude."

"Don't call me dude. And I just mean everything he does just seems so easy. He exists like it isn't hard, like he wakes up everyday knowing everything will be okay." Derek considered for a second. "He's like Scott like that."

Stiles shook his head. "No. Scott doesn't wake up every morning knowing it's going to be okay. He hopes it will be. Scott has seen and knows bad things can and will happen, he just eternally hopes they don't."

Derek nodded. "Yeah I guess so. And with Danny I think he's just never had anything touch him. He had a popular best friend, he was popular, attractive, likeable, good family, he gets nice things. He just goes through life like it's the easiest thing and nothing is hard. He lives like it's easy."

Stiles put his hand on top of Derek's. "And you envy that. So do I. I think that's what attracted me to him. We're both so used to having to fight so fucking hard just to have one good thing, and he just seems like that's all he has." Stiles laughed. "You know how we ended up kissing for the first time?"

Derek's hand twitched under Stiles. "How?"

"I was looking into his eyes and I just blurted out how much I wanted to kiss him. And he just looked at me, smiled, and then kissed me like that was the only logical thing to do. Like it was that easy. But Derek, sometimes it is just that easy. Sometimes we get a nice thing if we just tell ourselves there is more to life than pain and we deserve it. We deserve to go to parties and kiss people that we won't remember in the morning. We deserve to love people and be loved by people. Just because we can handle pain doesn't mean that is all we deserve." Derek turned to him and Stiles looked right into his eyes. "We can have easy and happy things too."

Derek's eyes started to go a bit shiny and he felt the urge to pull away, but he didn't. Stiles smiled at him and Derek's eyes tracked the stretch of his lips and before he could think of all the ways it was supposed to be difficult, he just leaned forward and kissed him.

There were a terrifying few seconds that Stiles didn't respond, but then Stiles' hands went into his hair and Derek tasted beer and something sweet. Derek put his arms around him and fisted his hands into the material on Stiles' sides. Derek started to think that maybe he could get a buzz from just kissing the beer off Stiles' lips when he moved one hand down to get under Stiles' shirt.

Stiles went still and pulled back with wide eyes. Derek instantly felt a pit in his stomach.

"Why did you do that? Oh God, why did we do that! Fuck Derek this isn't what I meant!" Stiles pushed his arms away from his sides and sprang up from the bed.

Derek felt like the action ripped a piece of him out. "I- I'm sorry. You are drunk and I shouldn't have done that anyway. I just-"

"I am not drunk. My decision making skills are quite intact, and- and I kissed you back. So I did it too. Even though it was a bad idea, I did it anyway. It's okay though."

Derek shook his head and got up and quickly started towards the door. "No it's not."

Stiles eyes went wide and he moved after him. "No. Please. Please Derek! It has to be okay! We have to be okay! Fuck I didn't mean- I didn't mean for this to happen!"

Stiles tried to catch him, but he moved out of the room and made it through the downstairs quick enough he was backing out of the driveway by the time Stiles got to the front door.

***

Derek got home and woke Isaac back up just to lead him to Boyd and Erica's room. He flopped down in the middle of their bed and soon enough they were all curled around him.

"You smell like a frat house and you're still wearing your jeans." Erica said irritably.

"I don't think Stiles and I will ever be friends again and I'd like to sleep so I don't have to think about it."

In the small amount of light she could see her face contort with sympathy before moving to annoyance. "You two are idiots."

"I'll be an idiot in the morning. Now I'm just hurt, and I need you."

Erica smiled softly at him. "I'm so proud of how far you've come. We've always been here for you-" She snuggled into his chest more. "Now I'm just glad you know it."

*** After a summary of the night before Erica once again declared him an idiot, but at least this time it was over breakfast and coffee.

They all moped with him all morning before heading out for some mystery errand. As soon as he heard Roscoe clunking closer he cursed out his betas and gathered some things before he sat on the couch to await his doom.

Stiles nervously paced outside his door for several minutes before cursing and speaking to the hallway, "You can hear me can't you?"

Derek set his mug down. "Come in."

The door swung open and Stiles walked in with wild hair. Like he had been running his fingers through it nonstop. A small part of Derek wished that he'd used the time he had to run his fingers through his hair. Just so he knew what it was like at least once. "I figured you'd want that." He nodded to the mug and pills on the coffee table.

"You are a god amongst men Derek."

Derek smiled, but then it turned bitter. "And I thought you said you didn't drink that much last night."

Stiles looked sheepish as he downed some coffee with the pills. "I hadn't. Not until you left. After that I probably drank half a kegs worth of alcohol. Definitely feeling it this morning though." He let out a weak chuckle.

Derek spoke softly. "Why are you here Stiles?"

Stiles sat down lightly on the couch. "I didn't like how we left it last night."

"Neither did I."

"Look, I didn't mean to give you the impression that that's what I wanted. Because I don't."

Derek tried to not break at that.

He really did try.

"I don't want to have you be a fuck. I don't think I could do that with you."

Derek smiled as genuinely as he could. "It's okay Stiles." He said it even though Stiles kissing him while he thought it was a happy thing they both deserved and Stiles thought it would just be a fuck did not make him feel okay.

"I'm sorry that you wanted that and that I gave the impression that I also wanted you to just be a fuck."

Derek's eyebrows went up marginally as he said that, but he quickly schooled his expression. Maybe they could salvage their relationship if Stiles thought Derek had just wanted sex.

Unfortunately, Stiles' face filled with shock. "Unless you thought it was more than a fuck."

Derek got up from the couch and turned away. Stiles quickly scrambled up as well. "Derek! I-"

"It doesn't matter."

"It does."

Derek shook his head and continued staring away. "It doesn't. Not if I want to be your friend."

"It does. If you want to be more." Stiles pulled on his arm till he turned to face him.

Derek's face looked openly hurt and broken. "It doesn't matter what I want because you don't want me. Stiles we don't get easy." Derek's hand started to lift, but it hesitated infront of Stiles' face. "We don't get happy." He smiled as his eyes held pain.

Stiles grabbed his hand before it could fall and pulled it to his face and Derek's hand instantly cradled it. "It's not that I don't want anything from you, it's that I want everything. I wasn't going to say yes last night not knowing that in the morning we would still be happy. And yes. We do get happy. And you know why sourwolf?" Stiles pulled him into a statement making kiss. He pulled back a little breathless. "Because we deserve it."

Derek looked at him confused and his hand dropped. Stiles rolled his eyes. "I don't want to just have sex with you. I want to be and make happy with you. It might not be easy though, but I'm okay with that if you are."

"Are you still drunk?"

Stiles pinched him.

"Ow! Okay I had to make sure."

"You jerk! I just asked you to be my boyfriend, the least you could do is say yes!"

Derek grinned wide. "Fine if I must."

Stiles matched his smile. "You're such an ass."

"Like you aren't annoying too."

"But now you're stuck with me." Stiles stuck out his tongue. "No take backsies."

"Nuh-uh. I'm yours, but you're not mine yet. I haven't asked yet."

Derek just stared at him till he scoffed. "Before I'm dead sourwolf."

Derek's eyes just filled with mirth and a gleam. His hand once again found the side of Stiles' face. His amusement died down and genuineness and love filled it instead. "Mieczysław Stiles Stilinski will you do me the honor of dating me?"

The perfect pronunciation had a lump forming in his throat and tears forming in his eyes. "God when did you even practice that." His voice was choked up as Stiles thought of him practicing his real name over and over till he could say it properly. "And that was so stuffy and proper. Like God what's next are you going to ask my dad if you can court me. Really it's just-"

Derek kissed him sweetly. "I believe the standard response is yes or no."

"We're difficult, remember?" Stiles laid their foreheads against each other.

"Still not an answer." Derek nudged their noses together.

"Do you really need one?" Stiles looked at him with clear love and adoration.

"Do you really not want to give one?" Derek asked smugly.

Stiles bit the inside of his cheek and held out for ten seconds. "Yes. God yes. I want to have your little sourwolfie babies. I've been in love with you since you slammed me into my wall. Or maybe since I saw your car, or your jacket, or your ass, or your face, or-"

Derek cut him off again. Stiles pulled back blissfully. "Or maybe the moment you did that."

"And I fall in love with you every time you open your mouth, and somehow even more when you shut it."

Stiles pushed him away. "Rude!"

Derek smirked then started to study his face. "I won't mind if you still go to parties with Danny."

Stiles squinted. "Thanks, but I'm sure I'm a one sourwolf kinda man."

Derek's eyebrows looked flat. "No, not for that reason. Just, if you want to go have some fun. To blow off some steam and forget other things, I trust you. I know you would never do that. If you need a break to chill out, I get it."

Stiles smiled softly. "Thanks, but I'm good."

"Stiles yo-"

"Derek do you know the reason why I would go to the parties? Other than to get laid."

Derek's eyebrows furrowed. "To have fun. And to be happy while being safe from the supernatural."

Stiles shook his head. "No. I went to forget that I wasn't. I wasn't happy at any of those parties because I was alone. And I wasn't safe there because I was alone. I just didn't have to care there. But here with the pack on movie night? I'm actually happy. Here with you I'm happy. The only thing that made me unhappy was that as soon as I left I felt like I was alone because I didn't have the relationship I wanted with you. Here with you I am and feel safe.   There's a difference between being happy and feeling safe and just forgetting that you aren't. You make me actually feel those things."

"I'm notoriously no fun though, I guess you can't have everything."

"Oh I don't know, you can be fun. Sometimes. On occasion."

"Once in a blue moon one could say."

Stiles laughed. "Very rarely."

***

"Stiles come on, the party is inside." Derek pulled his fiance off the picnic table.

"I know, I know. It's just..." Stiles looked at the front of the restored Hale house, and Derek hugged him from behind. "This is my favorite view."

Derek took in the awe and pride in his eyes. "Mine too."

Stiles looked into the eyes already on him and rolled his own. "Could you be anymore sappy and cliche."

"We've got the rest of our lives to figure it out."

Stiles groaned. "Ugggh make it stop." Stiles dragged him towards where their pack was celebrating at the party inside.

Right when they got to the front door Derek pulled him back and into a kiss. "I'm so happy we're here together."

Stiles hugged him tightly. "Me too sourwolf, me too." He pulled back and looked into Derek's teary eyes. "Hey, hey. We deserve this Derek. We do."

Stiles opened their door to a laughing and happy pack celebration.

Of all the parties he's been too, staring into the eyes of the man he loves, Stiles decided this was by far the best one.

A.N. Well I read through this once and did absolutely no editing because these last few weeks can eat me so here's this shit. Dldr. Much love💜💜💜

                                             Carter😊

#Sterek #stiles #stiles stilinski #teen wolf stiles #stiles and derek #derek x stiles #Derek #derek hale #teen wolf #carterpostsshit #ssweek2020 #stereksummerweek2020 #sterek summer week 2020 #a very sterek summer #eternalsterek #averystereksummer #avssparty #everybody loves danny #derek does not #jealous derek #stiles is totally hot and doesnt realize it #totally original right #stiles likes drinking to destress #derek likes aggressively worrying about danny putting the moves on stiles to destress #derek hale deserves nice things #stiles stilinski is a nice thing

[delimeful]

or set your teeth against my throat (1)

warnings: vampires, blood, injury, violence, abduction, non consensual blood drinking, depressive thoughts, mild hypnosis, murder mention

-

Vampires, Roman was finding, seemed to have an even more shit sense of hospitality than he’d previously assumed.

Maybe it was ungenerous of him, considering this was the only coven he’d interacted with up close and personal, but he wasn’t really feeling particularly generous at the moment. When he’d been cornered, isolated from the rest of his pack, he’d expected a quick and valorous death, fighting to the last. Not… this.

Another rock made contact with the bars of his cage, the clang of stone on metal vibrating around him. His ears twitched down to flatten against his skull without his input, and he snarled low in his throat as a jeering laugh rose from the crowd.

As if it wasn’t bad enough, being taken hostage for whatever nefarious purposes they had in mind, bound and muzzled like some common animal, no, they had to parade him through the streets and batter his cage with pebbles and glass and whatever other projectiles the bloodsuckers thought fitting to torment their captive audience with.

None of it could get through the enchantment on the bars, so he wasn't struck, but it was still rough on the ears. And his feelings.

Not that they cared. That was probably the point, actually.

Gathering his resolve, he forced himself to remain still and unflinching as another shard of rock hit the cage and spun away, clenching his hands to keep them from trembling. None of this mattered. It didn’t matter what they did to him, because he would not break. He wouldn’t tell them a single thing about his pack, not one scrap of information.

He would die first, and without regrets.

-

As it turned out, the coven-- Kin of Æternam, they called themselves-- didn’t seem to care for information. Not a single vampire spoke to him as he was moved further and further into the town, and he couldn’t exactly initiate a conversation himself with a gag in his mouth.

Instead, he watched, and found to no surprise that he didn’t like what he saw.

He’d known many vampires were nomadic, but it was one thing to distantly know and another thing entirely to see the human town around them, half the houses smoldering and the other half looking uncomfortably ransacked. He could see the dark splatters of dried blood along walls or among the dirt, though mercifully it seemed like it had been long enough since their invasion that any remaining human bodies had been cleared away.

Roman didn’t risk interacting with humans often. He knew the tales that were spread about werewolves, and the last thing his tiny pack needed was an angry mob on their tails. Even with his reservations, though, he would never wish something like this upon them. Upon anyone.

The Æternam vamps walked among the ruins casually, as though this was everyday scenery, and Roman supposed that for them, it probably was. Simple routine; find a human settlement, feed to their unbeating hearts’ content, hold revel, and then depart again. Rinse and repeat.

It was enough to turn his stomach, and he was almost grateful when his view of the town was blocked off by their entry into the large stone fort that loomed over all else. Almost.

His opinion of the place went downhill as soon as he saw the ostentatious throne and the vampire sprawled across it, both placed on a literal gilded pedestal. Dark raven hair, corpse-like skin, and glowing red eyes painted the picture of the archetypal tyrant vamp. He found himself strangely disappointed by the lack of originality in the man’s presentation. If he was going to die to a bloodsucker, couldn’t it at least be one with a sense of style?

One of the attendant vamps pulled the door of his prison open, and Roman lunged against his restraints with all his might, snarling past the muzzle. The attendant flinched back, but the iron cuffs that bound him held firm no matter how hard he strained. The vampire on the throne laughed, the way one might at a child throwing a tantrum.

“Oh, you are a spitfire, aren’t you? All the better.”

Roman tried to convey how much this guy’s villain aesthetic sucked with his heated glare alone. He was pretty sure Virgil could have created a better evil persona than this guy in his sleep. At age twelve. While feverish. It was sad, really.

The platitudinous prick-- Roman instantly decided to alternate between very clever and very rude nicknames for the guy in his head-- beckoned, and the attendant unlocked the chain keeping him bolted to the floor of the cage. They proceeded to grab the connecting bar between the cuffs locked around his arms and maneuver him up the steps to the pedestal with probably more force than strictly necessary.

Roman had been riding in that cage for hours, and as such, had time to prepare for a lot of potential scenarios. He grew more and more tense the closer he got to the trite enthroned bastard, mentally readying himself for what was likely to be at best an assault on his person and at worst, a horrifying and gory death.

Instead, he was steered to the side of the throne, and then shoved to his knees, at which point he realized that a horrifying and gory death might not be so bad after all. Because now the attendant was locking his cuffs into a new platform, one that was designed to force him to stay hunched over and kneeling at the side of the throne. He growled, prying at the restraints, but there was little give in the cuffs. He was stuck like this, practically on display for the world to see.

“Perfect, right where a mutt like you belongs,” Vlad the Contemptible smiled sharply, as though proud of his pitiful insult.

Were all vampires this insufferably smug? Like, was it part of the package, along with the dumb looking fangs and the tacky glowing eyes? He was glad that werewolves had eyes that merely reflected light, like the respectable, well-designed creatures of nature they were.

It was possible that Roman was rambling, mentally, a little bit. He wished desperately that he could protest the indignity of it all, denounce these freaks and their humiliating tactics, but in this state, there was little he could do but glare impotently.

The bloodsucker seemed entirely too content to ignore him and his glaring hatred entirely for the next few hours, which confused Roman at first. Clearly, he was still alive for a reason, and he felt as though he’d done more than enough waiting to learn about his fate at this point. Plus, his knees hurt.

At the very least, the pain in the neck on the throne next to him seemed like the type to gloat, so why wasn’t he?

As dusk fell, Roman got his answer. More and more vamps filtered into the wide stone hall, filling the space with their corpse-cold bodies and idle chatter. Once the last bit of sun had faded over the horizon, the Toothed Tyrant slowly straightened up in his seat, drawing all the eyes in the room to him. This was what he’d been waiting for.

What was the point in gloating about your evil deeds without an audience to lavish you in praise for it?

“Kin of mine. As I’m sure many of you have noticed, we have a... guest with us this evening.”

Roman shivered as those icy, glowing gazes moved towards him, jeering or morbidly curious or hungry. He pulled at the chains once more just to have something else to focus on, the shift and clink of the metal drowned out by his rapid heartbeat in his ears. He wondered if the vamps could hear it, too.  

The pitiful excuse for a villain was still talking. “... fullest potency once the full moon hits, and our hunt will decide who claims such a reward.” His half-lidded gaze slid over to Roman. “A beast like this one has engaged in plenty of hunts before, I assume? Though, probably not as prey. I’m sure it’ll get used to the sensation eventually.”

Even with the gag, Roman could snarl as fierce as any wolf, and the rumbling growl emanating from his chest made some of the closer vamps lean away.

It didn’t seem to have any effect on the worst human leech of them all. He just smiled in a satisfied sort of way before rising to his feet. “What a rebellious spirit. Perhaps you should save that for the hunt, mutt?”

Think up some new nicknames, you absolute bore, Roman thought at him, just in case those rumors about vampires reading minds were true.

The vamp walked closer, until he was at the edge of the platform and Roman had to crane his head back to see his face.

“Let’s give us both a taste of what’s to come, then.”

Without pause, there were suddenly hands on his shirt, dragging him upwards until the restraints threatened to dislocate something. One moment, he was nearly face to face with the vamp, meeting those eye-searing red pupils. In the next, his vision blurred as sharp pain shot through his neck.

The vamp had sunk its nasty fangs in on either side of his jugular, not deep enough to kill him, but enough that it would only take the slightest twitch of the head for his throat to be ripped right out. His body kept frozen even as he began to choke, his mouth tasting of iron and salt.

There was nothing he could do. He couldn’t escape, couldn’t attack, couldn’t even die until these monsters allowed it. The more he fought and resisted, the tighter their grasp on him would become, and the more he would suffer. It would be better to just give up now, save himself the trouble.

(Why am I… That’s not right--)  

Roman only realized the vampire was withdrawing when those sharp teeth finally pulled away carelessly, causing a new wave of pain to roll through him. He automatically tried to reach for his throat, to stem the bleeding, but his bound hands could barely rise a few inches. He bent his head down instead, his pride stinging silently as a cacophony of mockery sounded all around him.

Once his fingers touched flesh, however, he could only feel shallow cuts rather than the gaping wounds he knew should be there. He coughed wetly, and red splattered across his hands, but he could breathe once more. However bad the bite had been, it had healed near instantly.

Of course. It was beginning to sink in that they wouldn’t let him perish that easily.

The vampire king was speaking again, eyes brighter than before, and his words blurred together and slipped away from Roman’s understanding. He could only notice the smear of deep red on the vampire’s face, and shudder where he lay as a chill set into his bones.

-

Time passed in a haze, marked by the constant flurry of vamp activity in the fort around him, the occasional meal to keep him alive, and his connection to the ever-waxing moon.

He felt a faint sense of concern about the way days seemed to slip away, and also about how far away and hard to grasp the concern itself felt. There was something seriously wrong when the growing light of the moon felt more like an approaching deadline than a relief.

The one other thing marking the time, he would much rather forget. Every night without fail, no matter how he fought, the same vampire would drag him up and plunge dagger-like teeth into his throat, leaving him drained and weak on the cold floor afterwards.

Roman wasn’t a fool; he knew that the bites were the reason he felt so exhausted and fuzzy. He just couldn’t do anything about it. The feeling of helplessness only grew stronger and stronger after each night, and slowly, he began to lose the will to fight the dreary feelings off.

By the time the night before the full moon hit, hope was hard to find.

He was slumped awkwardly against the ground when the door to the chamber creaked open, and the noise jolted him out of his dozing as quick as anything. His muscles went rigid and tense.

The head vamp hadn’t drank from him yet today, having left in the middle of the day with an  extensive entourage for… something. It had probably been mentioned in earshot-- they weren’t very careful about what he did and did not hear-- but Roman hadn’t been paying enough attention. Maybe they were scouting out new territory?

Regardless, he had sort of been hoping it would keep the bloodsucker out of his hair for long enough that he could recover even just a bit before… before he ran out of time. So much for that.

To his surprise, there was no trace of the vamp’s normal arrogant strides. In fact, there was barely any sound at all. Roman could only tell that someone was approaching by the shifting of shadows and that dusty undead smell.

Suddenly, there was a cold palm on his arm, and he jerked up with a jagged snarl, his mind screaming at him to do anything to prevent being bitten again. The palm was yanked away instantly, and Roman could see the silhouette of the vamp before him.

It definitely wasn’t the head vamp. Smaller, and with curled hair that reflected the torchlight. He couldn’t see his expression, and his mind still screamed dangerous. His growl increased in intensity as the vamp extended a hand again, but he’d called Roman’s bluff: he had no way to defend himself in the restraints. Whatever the vamp was going to do, he couldn’t stop it.

The vamp’s other hand rose, and Roman couldn’t stop himself from flinching.

It made it all the more surprising when he heard the clank of a key in a lock. His eyes shot open, and to his disbelief, the chain connecting his cuffs to the platform went loose, no longer attached. A moment later, the vamp’s hands were on his cuffs, but rather than grab them and drag him, there was another clank.

For the first time in days, fresh air grazed his wrists. His hands were free.

A surge of adrenaline hit him, and he twisted quicker than the vamp could react, pinning him to the ground with a knee to the abdomen and a hand over his throat. It would keep the creature from getting enough air to call out an alarm. With his other hand, he immediately tore at the muzzle, his nails going claw-sharp to tear through the straps. He spat the remnants of the wretched thing out, and turned his attention to the vamp.

Cold hands curled over Roman’s own, like he wanted to pry the hand off his throat, but other than that, he wasn’t struggling against Roman’s hold. Oddly enough, his chest was rising and falling in an uncanny mimicry of panicked breathing, and even his eyes seemed oddly dark for a vamp. Roman would have thought him a human if not for the unmistakable fangs.

His grip tightened at the reminder. “You’re not getting any more blood out of me,” he growled, his voice rough and crackly. His whole body felt out of practice. If he stood up and bolted, he risked falling flat on his own face, and if he turned and the vamp lunged…

No. Easier to just… just vanquish the vamp so he couldn’t do anything. One less thing to worry about during his escape.

He lifted his other hand, claws pinched together as a makeshift stake. The vampire twitched once, his mouth opening briefly as though to speak, and then seemed to slump. His hands stopped tugging at Roman’s fingers around his neck, and he pinched his eyes closed, bracing for the blow.

Roman frowned. Was this a ploy for sympathy?

He could feel the way the vamp trembled under him, unnaturally lifelike.

… It was an effective one. Shit.

He lowered his hand slowly, loosened his grip, waiting for the moment the stranger dropped the ruse and lunged. It didn’t come. He just kept waiting for Roman to hurt him.

He abruptly felt a little sick to his stomach. He let go of the vamp’s throat. The guy opened one eye slowly, like he thought it was a trick.

“If you get up from this spot, if you even twitch before I’m out of this building, I’ll make sure you regret it,” Roman threatened, a growl under the words and his lip curling up slightly to bare his teeth. “You won’t get mercy twice.”

The vamp’s expression did something complicated (Confusion? Relief? Disappointment?) but when Roman scuttled back, he stayed laid out on the floor, not moving a muscle. Roman let a breath out slowly, some of the tension fading from him. “Well… good. Keep doing that.”

He could practically hear Virgil sighing as his awkwardness overwhelmed any menace his threat might have instilled. It wasn’t his fault he was off-script, okay? This vampire was… weird.

Roman shuffled back a few more steps on weak legs, and then, once he was sure he was far enough away, he let the shift wash over him like a warm breeze. Four unsteady legs were better than two, and if he leaned a little on his instincts, his inner wolf would make his gait mostly smooth. It was a small but invaluable aid as as he sprinted down long, musty halls until he was finally, finally out of that cursed fortress.

Roman was so relieved he could have cried. He was still weak, and his head was still foggy, but he didn't stop until there was finally trees around him and dirt under his feet. As he collapsed, the night air still tasted like victory.

#sanders sides #vampire au #fantasy au #ts roman #ts patton #blood tw #violence tw #hurt/comfort #more comfort next chapter lol #writing #my writing #bthb #or set your teeth against my throat #osytamt #werewolf au #this ones a little dark and sad at first but this is only the first chapter! #murder mention #ok i think thats everything #im tired im taking a break for the rest of the day