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the-last-cuddlebender · 3 years

Text

When Aang Was

When Aang was hurting, he became a walking wound. His reflection turned into a stranger. His smiles got a bit bigger—his magician’s one-liner to hide his slight-of-hand—, but he couldn’t keep himself above water forever. Even he sometimes forgot that he lost everything and everyone, and forgetting turned remembering into daggers through each of his lungs. It stole his air—his element, his last connection to them.

...the Gaang have a few things to say about that.

And Aang’s family would be damned if they let him bleed alone.

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A/N: The Gaang will walk backwards into hell if it means they can give Aang a hug when he needs one. This was HIGHLY inspired by this beautiful photoset by @imreallyhereforkataang💕 because Yin and Yang make me soft for the airbean I stg. (also special thanks to @demigodseameg16‘s fic request for putting orphan!Aang on my mind!) (also, also, this is my first time writing Mai so ya-hoooo)

Rating: T

Words: 5,074

ArchiveOfOurOwn (AO3)

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When Aang was happy, he talked really fast. His master’s tattoos lost meaning. He tripped over his own feet—graceless but playful—and laughed like giggles were more vital than breathing.

He was an airborne contagion that no one could escape. His family were patient zero, and, almost four years after the war, his quest for world domination was nearly complete. Peace was proven with the smiles he nurtured in others, and his empire of friends and friendly acquaintances circled the globe a dozen times over.

Their symptoms of Aang were chronic—their cheeks always hurt, their middles never stopped aching, he hid their breath behind hurdles of giggles and slap-fights about the absurd...

The list went on and on, just like the peel of his laugh and the warm feeling he left in his wake.

If only the world could see him when he curled up like a cat in its favorite sunny spot every time he lounged across the fuddy-duddy Firelord’s lap. If only the world could see him when Suki caught him using her good makeup—the expensive kind she saved for formal occasions—and the monstrosities he made of his and Sokka’s faces. If only the world could see him when he sent messages to Sokka saying they were from Toph demanding a rematch of whatever they were practicing lately.

Mai didn’t exactly help. She graded his antics with a rubric and gave him feedback, to boot. She refined his nonsense like a blade on a grindstone for greater impact and outcome every time.

The world definitely saw him when he and his lifeline went out in public. He guided Katara down an invisible red carpet every time, and he announced his befuddled Moon’s presence without having to say a single word. He adored getting her flustered—his Mighty Katara—and seeing the beautiful color she turned into. He especially loved the sharp smacks she swatted his shoulder with. He adored her puffed cheeks and her face’s valiant attempts to scowl at him. She hid in his arms from something that wasn’t embarrassment, and Aang kissed her hair at another mission accomplished.

But even if they were ever ‘cured’ of him, his family knew they would never be rid of him. Aang was a master of his craft. His hugs were blue ink, his understanding was his steady hand, and his shoulder to lean or to cry on was a thousand fine needles. His tattoos were unseen but brighter than the sunset’s reflection when the Ocean was in a good mood.

To the world, he was a cure, but, to his family, he was a vice. Neither his better half nor his siblings could shake his grip on them, no matter how hard they rolled their eyes and shooed him away. He saw their pursed lips and grumpy looks as something they wore and that he could take off of them. He found the cracks in their armor like he was a thief turning lock tumblers, and he dug his hands into where they hid their joy.

He was a purple pentapus in airbender robes clinging to their arms, their legs, and their backs. He was their goofy little brother and their grinning parasite, and they wouldn’t have him any other way.

They loved his smile, despite how badly it crippled them. His joy was so second nature that his good feelings became as essential as Mother Nature. The flowers weren’t pretty if Aang wasn’t smiling. He was their greatest weakness—the biggest, happiest, dorkiest chink in their armor.

May the Spirits help the next person who tried to kill him.

Katara would not be held back a second time.

Toph would find someone who needed some punishment if she was left out of ‘the fun’ again.

(Sokka tracked the bastard down, and Suki caught him without—just barely without—snuffing him out)

(Zuko held Aang’s head in his lap while Katara patched up what was broken and tugged his bleeding spirit back into him)

(None of them knew what to do when his fever hit critical. He started talking to people—children, mentors...family—who had been dead for over a century. The six of them were worse than lost when their seventh begged for his old family to talk back to him. He was sorry. He was so, so sorry. He missed them so much—please, he missed them and he missed home so much—)

(When Aang was conscious two days later, Mai sat him down and taught him all that he didn’t want to know but all that he needed to learn about poisons)

...

Four years of healing were four years of silly smiles and cozy camp-outs in the Palace courtyard. Four years of new family were four years of new brothers and sisters discovering, together, what family really meant.

Four years of new family were four Fall seasons where and when nothing (seemingly) happened. Four years and four seasons of dead and dying things came and went like they were never there.

Four Fall seasons became four bundles of dead branches burned between Summer and Winter. A pile of ashes became a memory barely remembered and a nightmare never forgotten.

Four years and four fires were four times he slipped away, unseen, from the anniversary of the war that they ended. Four times he slipped away were four times left by himself with a feeling that was worse than alone.

Four temples and four Fall seasons were nothing more than marks on a map and a calendar.

In the room that Aang used to call his in the home that he used to call theirs was where he kept all of the ‘counts’. At first, he marked the things they missed, just tallies and names on the wall.

Four years and four Fall seasons meant four-thousand names and smudged scribbles of forgotten faces and places they might have thought were pretty. His hands wouldn’t stop shaking and what was left of his heart wouldn’t stop breaking as he carved chalky tattoos, like unhealed scars, into the wall—the one with the window overlooking the places where he struggled to remember playing before.

He didn’t know he was forgetting them until he started having trouble remembering them. The tallies were lives lost, the dashes were shadows without faces, and the names of his family—the names of his old family…—decorated the head of the bed that he used to call his.

He left them notes like they could read them and asked them questions like they might respond.

Four years and four Fall seasons meant nothing to him. He lost everything and everyone in the blink of an eye.

Aang tried not to stay at the temple, especially if he was alone. Thinking alone was dangerous. His thoughts were wild and threatened to burn him.

He made the mistake, once, of walking past the hidden hall that he and his friends—his old family...—used when they sewed chaos into the weave of their home. The hall was stuffed with fond memories but so poorly constructed—so narrow—that it only allowed enough room for a one-way direction to and from the outside.

It was a charred hole with a sooty-black throat that greedily swallowed his shadow. The blackened stone was melted—glassy—and smelled like the instinct to run.

It wasn’t until Aang got back to his family—his new family…—that he imagined his newest nightmare.

It wasn’t his new family’s fault. They weren’t the ones on the festival ride just to his left and screaming into his ear.

Aang’s empty stomach turned inside-out, and he dry-heaved so hard that he couldn’t breathe. It was a strange feeling, struggling for air, having his element all around him but kept just out of his reach.

Those few seconds of breathlessness turned the ground black and the sky into dirt, but someone caught him before his knees buckled. Someone else was patting him from head to toe with tender touches that left no part of him unturned.

His family were worried sick—sicker than he felt. They asked him in a million different ways and in a million concerned voices if he was okay.

Aang struggled to smile for them. It took him four or so tries to get it right. He couldn’t do anything about his shaking, though.

“Can...Can we go home, now?” He whispered his trembling words like they were secrets never meant to be said aloud. He looked at them like a wounded animal limping back to its master—a stray tucking its tail but crawling closer, desperate, with a broken smile peace-offering and a fit of flinches at any sharp sound. The beating was inevitable, but he pleaded for the chance to feel something soft before he was kicked again. He leaned into Katara’s hand, and he flinched and pressed harder when she was warm and real and didn’t move away from him.

He was their goofy little brother and their grinning parasite.

Aang fought his struggle to smile for them, and he trusted his big brother to carry the whole of his weight. Zuko was warm and familiar, and his gentle squeeze was a promise to not let go; Katara’s worried touches and soft kisses were safe, and she swarmed around Aang like a mobile shield.

Aang sensed their tensing. They were his family, after all. He always had two fingers on their happiness’ pulse.

Their questions were a distressed tidal wave.

He didn’t stop smiling even when he closed his eyes.

He couldn’t tell if the hushed voices he heard were from his new family in front of him or from his old family behind him. Aang remembered...

Aang rearranged his lips into what he remembered a smile felt like.

“Please? C’n we...Can we g-go home?” He opened one eye and found both of Katara’s waiting for him. She was horrified and concerned to tears, and she wasn’t the only one.

Aang almost sighed. His strength was bleeding out of him along with everything else. He struggled to keep smiling for her, and he struggled even harder to keep his eyes open. He flinched from the kicks that were their heartbroken looks, but he tried to give them a reason to smile.

Zuko was really warm, though. And Katara’s hands felt really nice on Aang’s face.

The flame of his consciousness flickered—a candle left out in the rain.

“Please, K’tara?” He spoke without meaning to. It was an impulse, an instinct. It was the orphan and the last airbender crawling through the carnage and finally having a spot on the stage to speak.

Cold sweat beaded his brow, and frozen shivers shook his insides. He just wanted to go home, wherever or whenever that was. Everything was too blurry. He couldn’t remember anymore.

Even his new family’s faces were blurry, now, and Aang’s element was torn out of him when his first choke on everything and everyone he lost freed the Oceans behind his eyes.

He just wanted to go home...

“...Please?”

Aang’s voice was the last of him to break, and his family all flinched like they could feel it. His shattered pieces fell all at once and shredded everything he knew and loved.

He curled his fingers into Zuko’s robe to keep himself above water. He shook like something dead about to be churned to ash and carried away—a forgotten memory—on an indifferent passing breeze.

...

When Aang was scared, he talked too fast. His sunshine-warm smile lost meaning. He hugged like he was trying to hold onto something, and he laughed a sound that rang hollow—distorted—like an echo returning from far away.

Toph was the first to notice. His heartbeat was...off. He acted like he was surprised by their group hugs, but the evidence of feeling anything was only skin-deep.

Aang was never happy. He didn’t get happy, either. Aang was happy. He and the word meant the same feeling like how the sun would always mean warmth.

Katara noticed it next—nearly in the same moment. She had no seismic sense, but his kiss wasn’t laden with giggles and his heart didn’t try to beat out of his chest to get to hers when she hugged him.

Suki saw it but didn’t tell the others. She was an elite warrior trained for years in the art of stealth. Aang was the White Dragon and White Lotus tile all in one, but he had a terrible poker face.

Five years marked the start of a new quartet and the shedding of all things old to welcome all things new. They knew Aang loved the festival of the anniversary of the war that they ended, but something was different this time.

Sokka’s instincts saw it coming. Zuko’s hearing picked up on it, too.

Toph won him a prize—a plate of pastries trying to be fruit cakes. Aang greedily ate them and said that he loved them.

His shoulders shook and said that he missed them.

His lip trembled and said that they scared him.

Suki touched between his shoulders and guided him towards something called ‘volleyball’. It was a three-on-three game.

None of them realized until they picked teams that Aang was no longer with them.

It was a three-on-three game.

There were seven in their family.

Mai cursed and cut the net before it could become a fire hazard, and she was barely fast enough to save the netting from turning to kindling when Zuko pulled his hair and charred the sand.

They found him an hour later by following the echoing huffs of Appa’s soft sounds.

Appa held him like he had to chase and pin him down, but Aang held him back like he could never hold on tight enough.

…

Hawky was a master navigator and a tool of military purpose.

Hawky was also distracted when he stopped in the Fire Nation Palace on his way to Aang’s room.

Hawky had never seen a turtleduck before. He was domestic and curious even though the mother turtleduck chased him off like he was a massive predator.

And that was exactly how Sokka found his old bird—soaked and waddling for his life.

There was a message in his pack.

Toph threw open her door to find whoever was about to die from such a fast heartbeat just as Sokka ran past, grabbed her, and sprinted them to the others.

Toph would have fought him if she wasn’t so confused.

Sokka didn’t cry that hard even at that time of year when some girl name Yue had to go away.

…

Hey, Gyatso!

I guess it’s been a hundred years, huh? That’s so weird to think about.

I’ve been meditating just like you taught me. Well, I think I’m doing it right. It’s hard to tell, anymore. I sit in front of the mirror to correct my stance, but it hasn’t felt right in a long time. It’s okay, though! I’ll figure something out. I’m sure there’s a prayer statue in one of the temples that’s still in one piece. I could always check in the mountains, too, but I don’t I can’t I’ll try to check the temples again, first.

A good friend told me yo the Air No all of the Guru Pathik said you’re not really gone, and I believe him.

It’s cold today. It rained, before, so new plants should be growing soon. You would really like it here.

Do you I I miss you. I try not to, but Guru Pathik said to let my emotions flow. He’s gone with you, though. It’s been two years, now.

I wish he He left befor Could you give him a hug from me when you see him?

I hope you don’t miss me, Gyatso. Missing people hurts a lot. I really hope you’re happy, Gyatso. I really, really do.

Please, please, please, don’t miss me.

I miss loved love you!

…

Hey, Gyatso

I have more family, now! You’d really like them. Katara could beat you at Pai Sho, for sure. I tried to show them how you swirled the gooey center of the fruit pies, but I don’t think I did it quite right. It’s hard to tell. I tried it a few times in the mirror, but, when I remember you doing it, I can’t see your hands anymore.

I’m trying, though! I’m trying!

Toph helped rebuild the statues in the temple. I don’t really know how, though. Mai and Zuko convinced me to stay with them and teach the schools how to host a dance while the others left on Appa.

The statues look great. They look almost life-like.

It’s been a hundred years, huh? I try not to That’s so weird to think about.

I can’t thi I don’t kno Please don’t miss me, Gyatso. I’ll write to you more so you don’t miss me. I promise. It’ll be okay.

I can’t s Please, please, please, don’t miss me, okay? Please?

I loved y

My fathe

I loved you, Gy

…

Wet scars like blood splatters littered the letters by the dozens and made Aang’s handwriting nearly illegible.

Katara couldn’t make herself read any more.

She was the last one to break.

Sokka had been the first.

The second she sat next to where their family cocooned him on the bed, he hugged her like she was the only thing keeping him from falling.

She had seen her brother cry before.

But Katara had never seen Sokka weep.

Missing fathers and fathers missing were scars that never quite closed.

Katara choked on years lost and years alone, and she barely felt their family huddle around them, blanketing them, protecting them from what they couldn’t see.

Sokka’s hand left his grip on her to search for someone who wasn’t there. Katara beat him to it, though. Her empty hands pawed her brother’s back and were only mildly tamed by Suki’s tighter hug.

Aang...

The worst part was the helplessness. It wasn’t like they could bring back the dead.

The second worst part was the guilt. He had been alone even when he was right with them.

The third worst part was admitting that they couldn’t heal him. He needed something stronger than stitches to mend his heart.

Sokka tensed and tried to get up with that bullheaded air of setting his mind on something, but he only collapsed further into Katara’s arms. Zuko held them tighter and hushed the both of them. He tried to distract them with a strategy or a plan of what to do.

“...What can we do, Zuko?”

Zuko shut his mouth. Suki held them tighter. Toph sniffled and fisted Sokka’s and Katara’s shirts.

In the too-far-off distance, Appa groaned a series of soft sounds.

They all paused. They all broke.

Suki was the last to start weeping.

…

Clumps. The beast was easy enough to track.

Appa recognized Mai well enough to remember Aang being happy—trusting her—when he hung upside-down from her shoulders and laughed that happy sound that made Appa’s world of no bison feel full of new life.

He let her pass but not without groaning a hurried list of what she had to do to help his buddy.

Mai patted Appa’s nose.

Aang was a pathetic bundle of orange in the far corner of the cave. He was a mountain breaking apart, but his tumbling boulders didn’t make a single sound. His words were cut. His voice was obsolete. He pressed himself into the wall like he might get to something better if only he could come out of the other side.

Mai was a shark fin cutting through still water, and she sunk to a seat right beside him. The ground was cold and damp, but he burned so hot that she could feel the licks of his fever from here.

Her sitting down was the placing of a needle onto a spinning record, and his sounds of sorrow finally broke free of him. They bubbled in his throat like blood threatening to drown him, and he coughed when the instinct to survive overrode his waning will to keep breathing.

Mai closed her eyes and emptied her lungs. She touched the bare skin of his back. He flinched like she had struck him, but he didn’t duck away from her.

Mai let her presence fill his silence. Even he didn’t know what he needed, but she kept doing what seemed to be working. Her hand rode the waves of his choked sounds in long, looping circles that lasted as long as the time it took to take two breathes.

His hiccups dulled to whimpers. His sniffles quieted to shivers. He dug his nails out of his arms and scowled like he was struggling to remember.

The apex of her hand’s circle was his inhale, the bottom of the arch guided his air out. She unwound him in every way and through every layer until he released himself and uncurled enough to show some of the yellow of his robes.

Aang bobbed his head like a metronome.

Mai kept scratching long, looping circles on his back.

He huddled into himself with a ghostly small smile and a barely-there hug, and Mai would have startled if she was a weaker woman.

Aang started to hum.

His vibrato was something within him thinning and threatening to break.

When he started to sing, that thing within him frayed.

It broke when he got to the upturned chorus. It was supposed to be a happy song.

Mai hugged her knees with one arm and scratched his back with the other—keeping him alive like a broken music box from a hundred years ago that lost its key and was fighting fate from becoming obsolete.

…

Aang wore his smile like it was something he could take off.

The Blind Bandit ripped it off of him.

The Blue Spirit broke it in half.

The Kyoshi Warrior tossed it into the fire.

The Painted Lady threw its ashes away.

The Swordsman melted it down and forged it into something protective.

The Dangerous Lady kept its daggers in her sleeves and dared someone to hurt him again.

...

Toph sat across from him and didn’t let him be alone.

Zuko walked past his room to remind him that there was a way out.

Suki brought him books with pictures to show him how to feel again.

Katara was his shadow, his shield, and his favorite dancing partner, coaxing his smile to come out and play with hers.

Sokka told him jokes and laughed hard enough for both of them.

(Mai sat with him and listened to everything she didn’t need to know but everything she wanted to learn about his loss.)

...

When Aang was loved, he couldn’t talk fast enough. His past and his future lost meaning. All that mattered was his family right in front of him and the smiles that bellied their every feeling.

They were tattoos that he could never wash off, not that he would ever, ever try.

Five years of wanting were five Fall seasons of feeling lost. Five Fall seasons of searching were five Fall seasons of feeling alone.

Five friends and one love were six members of his second family.

Two brothers a foot taller and three sisters twice as strong as him meant Aang rarely won when they wrestled.

Sokka was safe and familiar as he sat on Aang’s back. Katara shoved him off. Toph laughed and took his place.

Aang walked, almost skipping—so giddy that he was going to spill over—next to them. They went slow on purpose to stretch out the precious journey home, but he didn’t mind. He told them all about his first family and everything he loved about them.

“—it, Zuko! He rode a dragon, once, too! Oh, Katara, you wouldn’t believe—“

Five years and five seasons of dead and dying things meant nothing to them. They almost lost him in the blink of an eye, and they wouldn’t look away ever again.

They were each a stretch of ink tattooed around his heart. They were stronger than stitches. They were a part of him.

They shooed him away so they could pull him closer, and their smiles were challenges to the size of his own.

...

When Aang was hugged, all he knew was love. All of his wants and needs lost meaning. Everything that mattered to him was everyone who held him, and everyone who held him were always there for him before Aang even knew that he needed them.

Their hugs were surprises like finding out the dead were alive.

They surprised him every time. He flinched, however, like he had never done before.

He was trying, though. He was trying.

Him missing family and family missing him were scars that would always be tender.

Tender was okay, though.

The secret was the gooey center.

“...Sometimes...life is like this...t-this dark tunnel,” he told his swallowed shadow, “...C’n’t see the light...but if...if you just keep going...”

His family were already in the prayer field. They looked at him with faces armed with smiles and arms loaded with hugs.

Sokka waved and said something he shouldn’t have and that, even though it made their family laugh, compelled Katara to shove him into the fountain.

The water was cold.

Sokka screamed.

Aang froze for a small century. He didn’t breathe for a longer eternity.

...And then Aang laughed.

And Aang cried.

And Aang laughed so hard that he cried.

All Aang cared about were the arms now around him, and all he knew were their soft words spoken over and over.

“We love you.”

“It’s okay.”

“Sokka, you’re a dumbass.”

“Oh, shut up.”

The muted smack of a backhand sounded too much like Mai’s for it to be anyone else’s.

Aang laughed a little harder.

He didn’t want to go home, anymore. Home was a memory. Memories couldn’t feel like this.

In their arms, he was finally where he was meant to be.

In their arms, Aang was happy.

In their arms was what home should be.

And when they held him tighter, Aang never felt more wanted in his entire life.

...

And when next Aang needed to speak with him, he found a way.

“Hey, Gyatso,” Aang said, speaking to the person in the mirror who was once a boy, then the Avatar, and now a young man trying to make himself into something that his memories would be proud of. “Did you miss me? You won’t believe this, but Katara lost to me at Pai Sho this morning. She got me back with the fruit pie, though. It even had sea prunes in it...”

Aang talked some more, and he talked fast. The breeze wound into and through the folds of his robes like it was a lounging cat curling into the warm rooms of a new home and new favorite sunny spot. He smiled something brighter than joy and welcomed the windy hugs that could always hold him just tight enough.

When Aang talked to his father, his master’s tattoos lost meaning. The tattoo Gyatso had left behind was so bright that Aang’s eyes watered if he looked thought about it too much.

He talked and talked and cried and talked until he left himself breathless.

It was a strange feeling, being breathless.

His element was suspended away from him, but nothing felt out of his reach.

A body or two (or three) threw themselves at his door.

“Twinkletoes!”

“You better not have my lipstick again! I bought you your own for a reason!”

“Hurry up, Avatar, we’re going to be late!”

Aang laughed just as the—the wall opened?

Katara lassoed his neck with her arms and threatened to kill him with a kiss that yanked him above the clouds and dropped him into free-fall.

“What...” He blinked. “...I mean I...I-I mean I don’t...” He turned a color and temperature that made Katara smile like he hadn’t seen her do in far too long of a time. “...What do I have to do to get another?”

“Ugh.” Mai rolled her eyes and pointed down the wide hall of the secret passage. “Just don’t do anything stupid. And don’t be late for the fireworks.”

Aang smirked something evil, and Katara couldn’t help but smile.

The firelilies only looked pretty when Aang had two dozen in one hand and her hand in his other. He kissed her knuckles, offered his arm, and escorted her down the invisible red carpet. She hid her face in his arm and trusted him to keep her from walking into anything.

He laughed.

His empire breathed a sigh of relief.

The anniversary of the new world they built was familiar, but none of them felt home until they met together on the hill.

And nothing felt right until their sickness started acting up again.

“Aang! Get back here!”

“Aw, c’mon, Sifu Hotman! Where’s your sense of fun?”

None of them realized the fireworks were over until the sky got a bit darker and it was time to go home.

Aang was tired. And when Aang was tired, he dragged his feet and spoke in slurred songs. His lyrics found every lost feeling and forgotten meaning. They were long lists of pretty names and precious things, tender to the touch and still healing.

He was tired, happy, and teary-eyed as he sang a diary-entry of their day to the breeze dancing around them.

Four seasons were six loves and two families that would never let him slip away into the season of dead and dying things.

He was their goofy little brother and their grinning parasite. He was a candle left out in the rain.

So they built a fort around him. And they hugged him like they could never hold him tight enough.

And when Aang was at peace, he didn’t say a word. Words were meaningless. They were a constraint. They only meant a certain something.

So he laughed.

And he laughed.

He laughed even when his family cried, and he laughed harder when they learned to laugh with him.

Six years of found family were six years of found love.

And all six members of his family would never—never—let him Fall again.

***************************************

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bellamyblake · 3 years

Text

In a faith forgotten land

When Bellamy and Kane are captured by Azgeda in 4x05, Bellamy gets tortured for information and after when they're safely home, Clarke finds out and gets angry but not before making sure he's fine and patching him up!

“Where is he?” Clarke asks Monty as she’s striding through camp, making it hard for the kid to follow her-her hair was spilling in every direction, annoying the shit out of her but this was the last thing on her mind.

The first was Bellamy.

They had just come back from the negotiations with Azgeda after Roan kidnapped him and Kane. She had not noticed all the way from her spot in front of their small army that he had been hurt, it was only when Kane called her name out in a begging manner, urging her to do something and when the guards roughed them up on their feet, that she realized Bellamy buckled over and almost toppled down on the ground.

Kane had tried to shove himself under his body, support him, even with his own hands wrapped in tight ropes but the guards quickly tugged them off and she saw Bellamy stumbling on his feet, falling on his knees and then standing up again after one of the guards hit his back with what looked like the hilt of a sword.

Her heart had trumped so loudly in her chest she almost felt like passing out and she knew there and then that any thought of not agreeing to whatever Roan wants was lost.

She had to get him home and fast.

During her negotiation with Roan when she asked if Bellamy and Kane had been hurt, he had only said he considered it fair they ruffled Bellamy up as he was her right hand man and had the most information, though apparently they used him not just because of her, but to push Kane too as it was clear he cared for the boy.

Here Bellamy was-two people loving him and bringing him pain and she could bet, he didn’t even bat an eye when they did this to him.

So much was made clear by Roan as well.

“Medbay-your mom and Jackson are already trying to help him out.”

“Is he-”

“He’s alive.” Monty assures and she grunts almost frustrated that she could think otherwise, that the possibility of him being dead crossed her mind at all.

“Pretty badly hurt, though.” at that she suddenly stops and Monty almost trips over at the abrupt change of pace “Kane said they beat him with sticks, cut him and kicked him until he passed out.” she bites her lips at that and tries to force herself not to break down right then and there in the middle of camp.

“Was he conscious?” she knew Monty was driving the rover on the way home, she was the one to pick him for the job herself, not trusting anyone else to bring Bellamy back safely but him.

She had to stay behind and negotiate with Roan for Arkadia and giving the Ice nation half of their spots in the ship, which meant that Bellamy, whatever condition he was in, and Kane had to wait for the whole ordeal to be done kneeling on the ground surrounded by guards.

She couldn’t accept that, so she told Roan they’ll talk only if he releases her prisoners, to which he answered that he could attack at any moment and she just smirked daring him to do it.

She had won and watched from afar as Monty, Harper and a few other guards helped Bellamy up, practically lifted him on the back as he seemed pretty much barely conscious and that only made her fury towards Roan burn harder.

“Yeah, kept saying he’s fine but he coughed blood.”

“Shit.” Clarke curses as she starts striding again and Monty struggles to keep up with her once more.

“Clarke, wait-” he tries but she’s already in the Ark wreackage they called home, making a turn to the left towards medbay “Your mom said-”

“I don’t give a damn.” she waves her hand at him and the kid just huffs louder.

“Of course you don’t.” which makes her turn and shoot him a look, wanting to make him feel embarrassed that he ever let it out loud but Monty just shrugs unapologetically and follows her inside, completely unimpressed by her behavior.

Still, he adds a weak “He’ll be okay, Clarke” touching her arm gently just when they end up in the big medbay hall and she turns her head left and right trying to find them.

She spots a commotion on the left, down on the last bed in the rows, which must’ve been Kane’s idea of giving him some privacy though the place was full anyway with patients recovering from the first black rain that hit just a few days ago, so she doubted anyone would care much if someone else screamed their guts out. By now it was a common sound around base anyway.

The few nurses were too busy taking care of the wounded and the only doctors they had were currently fussing over one very unhappy patient.

“What’s up?” Clarke asks when she approaches them and finds Jackson keeping Bellamy’s leg down by the ankle while her mom was trying to push him by the shoulders. “What can I do?”

Bellamy was trying to get away from their grips, mumbling something unintelligable and she fully sees him now when she pulls the white curtain around the bed away and steps in closer-Kane was by his upper right side expression somewhat angry and her mom and Jackson trying to talk to him, though clearly the stupid idiot had no intent to listen to them.

He was gripping the hem of his shirt down, his jacket was just half unzipped so she couldn’t see any of his actual injuries but it was enough to sneak a peak of his face that was busted-there was a cut on the left corner of his head that had painted his face and left a trail of bright red in it’s path, his eye on that same side was swollen shut and his lip was bruised and split open.

That was just some of the many other smaller cuts and bruises he had there that went down to his neck where Clarke could see the boot mark of someone who had pressed so hard on him, it had surely hurt his wind pipes.

Judging by his inability to actually speak out loud, she would say she was right.

“I’m fine-” he said hoarsley as he fought against her mom “Please, just let me go.”

“Bellamy, you coughed blood, Kane said they beat you up until you passed out, I am not letting you leave until I check everything!” her mom argued releasing her grip a little which only let Bellamy push up forward and almost sit up.

“No-no, I’m-I’m alright, I promise!” he tried again voice just barely there.

Clarke rolls her eyes unimpressed at his behavior and instead reaches out and puts her hand on his chest herself, pushing him back and bringing his attention to her. She doesn’t miss the way he groans when she does this which meant he hurt-he hurt all over.

“Bellamy-” she says voice calm and collected “Will you stop?” and as if she waved a magic wand he simply listens, falls back on the bed and rests his head on the thin pillow, breathing heavily.

“Clarke-” he manages and his one open eye grows sizes when he sees her-there’s relief on his face, calmness washes over him and she realizes up until this point he was afraid.

She had noticed him avoiding people’s touches before too.

It all started happening after Mount Weather where whatever torture he endured changed him in a way she had yet to find out more about.

He had even shivered the first time her fingers reached for his but he had endured her touch and then relaxed into it.

Then it got worse after Octavia beat him up-after that, he wouldn’t let even her get close to him but when on the third day of the beating his cuts started oozing red and she realized that the redness of his cheeks was because of the fever running through him, she had sat him down by the river on their way to Polis and made him sit still until she cleaned him up-she simply gave him no room for debate-he had to be helped and he had to let her help.

He trusted her and so he complied though unwillingly and somewhat scared at first.

She had to do the same now. She needed to, if she wanted him to live.

All of this now-her mom, Jackson, Kane-it must be too much for him, it send him back right in that mountain, right back to his sister’s punches, making his body shiver with fear and panic.

“Unbelievable.” Abby says almost annoyed at her daughter for having such an effect on her patient as she pulled her arms back and crossing them over her chest “We’ve been trying to undress him for fifteen minutes.”

“He won’t let you check him up?” Clarke asks making sure to lower her voice so she doesn’t scare Bellamy any more than he already was.

Her hand slides from his chest to his hand and covers it carefully though he doesn’t move it away from where he’s gripping his shirt.

“No. And he really needs to because he keeps coughing blood and he can’t put weight on his left leg.” Jackson adds just as annoyed as Abby is. She can’t blame them, they’ve been dealing with a lot of patients for long hours in the past few days-they were tired. And Bellamy surely wasn’t making it easy for them.

“How bad would you say it is?” Clarke says turning to her mom. She keeps glancing at Bellamy who doesn’t dare close his eye in the presence of all these people who want to prod and touch him but he seems to be calming down a little.

“He couldn’t walk, leaned on his left, so I assume his knee is bad considering he couldn’t bend it and judging by the way he cradled his side, I’d say he surely has bruised if not broken ribs.”

“The wound on his head?”

“The cut doesn’t seem too serious but it’s from yesterday as Kane explained so it needs to be cleaned up before it gets infected. Stitches too.” Abby explains already reading her thoughts and seeing through her plan-that this will be just her helping out and no one else.

“Do you think the blood coughing could be from internal bleeding?”

“For that I need to actually take a look at him which he won’t allow-” Abby says a little too sternly and Bellamy almost whimpers under her scrutinizing gaze and grips his shirt harder, shaking his head and mumbling quiet "No"’s.

“Hey, it’s alright.” Clarke promises but it doesn’t do much to calm him down this time and he keeps glancing at them all like a trapped animal. “Could it be from his ribs?”

“Possible. But again I need to actually check on his injuries to know.” Clarke nods once more and squeezes Bellamy’s hand, throwing him a soft, warmer look for the briefest of moments before she meets her mom's tired eyes once more.

“I’ll do it.” she announces.

“Clarke-”

“He’ll only ever let me anyway, mom, there’s no point in arguing about this.” Abby rubs her forehead tiredly as she bows her head down in quiet defeat.

“Clarke, you’re not fully trained for something like this.”

“If I need your help, I’ll get you, I promise.” she assures and she really will-she knows what she can diagnose and what she needs help with.

Her mom was right-she wasn’t a doctor, she only ever finished her medical internship training and she hadn’t done anything too serious since Finn was hurt which felt like another lifetime ago.

“Fine. Jackson can get you some bandages and moonshine but I don’t have anything for the pain I can spare.” Abby explains and Clarke nods. She’s pretty sure that even if she did, Bellamy wouldn’t agree on taking them “I can get an IV though.”

“No-” Bellamy mumbles proving Clarke just right. “I’m good.”

“I swear he’ll be saying this on his death bed, the stupid kid.” Kane huffs annoyed but it just makes Bellamy smile a little just as Abby and Jackson take off unimpressed by his behavior, making Clarke think he repeated that at least a hundred times before she stepped in.

The older man tries to leave too but Clarke reaches for his hand and stops him.

“Can you tell me what happened?” he smiles sadly and sits back on the metal chair, seemingly not surprised that she needed a debrief now-that’s who Clarke was after all-always working for her people.

Or was she maybe desperate for information now because of how hurt Bellamy was? Was there a glimmer of revenge he could see in her eyes? He had no doubt she’d buldge the eyes out of the soldiers who tortured Bellamy and feed it to them on a spoon but that was dangerous for both her and him.

Yet it was also something good.

It was love.

Even if the two idiots couldn’t see it.

“They needed information.” he explains the obvious “We wouldn’t say anything but then they hit him first and I...made the mistake of acting out, so-”

“They figured he’s your weakness and just beat the crap out of him.” Clarke finishes his thoughts and he nods, bowing his head down shamefully.

“I tried to stop it, begged them to hurt me but they only ever hit him harder.”

“It wasn’t...that...bad.” Bellamy joins in on their conversation and Clarke shoots him a deadly look for trying to downplay it again “I don’t even hurt that much...Can I go home?”

“No!” both Kane and Clarke cut him off and exchange annoyed looks which just makes Bellamy sigh and relax against the pillows.

“How bad was it?” she asks again and Kane looks away once more.

“Pretty bad. They came to our cell every two hours-he took it all without so much as a grunt and at night they strang him up to the ceiling but he was passed out already.”

“Shit.” Clarke curses and looks at Bellamy “What about that, Mister Not-a-big-deal?” which just makes him groan frustrated but even that exertion cause shis ribs to hurt and he covers them with his hand, moving it away from his shirt now that Abby and Jackson weren’t a threat anymore.

“They cut him some, not deep but enough to hurt him and put salt in his wounds.”

“If I knew that I wouldn’t have agreed to any deals with Roan.” she says angrily crossing her arms over her chest and sighing “Thank you, Kane. You can go now.” the older man nods and stands up but still squeezes Bellamy’s shoulder before he leaves and mumbles a quiet “I’m sorry” looking more guilty than Clarke had ever seen him before.

Considering how bad the relationship between the two of them were just months ago this seemed like something from another world.

Then again, it seemed that is how things worked on the ground.

Once alone, she sits by his side and he meets hereyes, though not too willingly.

“I suppose I don’t need to tell you what an idiot you are?” he huffs and rolls his good eye. “What you did was very stupid, Bellamy.”

“Like you wouldn’t have done the same thing if you were me, princess.” he spits out hoarsely coughing a little after and wincing from the strain he put on his throat.

“That’s not the point.”

“Oh, it sure is the point. Why can you do something but I cannot? Thought we were doing this together or are we back to hating each other?” she’s surprised that he has the strength to fight her now but judging by the way he moves up in an amost sitting position only to slide back on the cot weakly, tells her this is pure stubborness and maybe anger for being left behind again, for her not coming to them sooner.

“I never hated you, Bellamy, why would you say that?” he just shakes his head and closes his eyes refusing to deal with it.

“I did what I had to. Like always.” he insists “Like you do.”

“At the expense of your life.” he laughs and the effort makes him wince and she pushes him down when he attempts to move again, angry that he’s being so stubborn.

“Oh because you don’t risk yours at every turn?” he counters raising his eyebrow.

“Fine, you made your point, now let me look at you.”

“It’s okay, I told you that I’m-”

“You won’t be leaving medbay unless you let me check your injuries.” Clarke says crossing her arms over her chest again “I can sit here all day, Bellamy.” he finally groans and lets his hands drop to his side in quiet defeat.

It’s clear that he hates this and Clarke is grateful that Jackson swings by with the trey of bandages and antiseptic before they’ve started undressing him because she’s pretty sure that would’ve taken another hour of convincing.

She pulls the curtains back around the bed and helps him sit up and let his legs hang off the edge.

Her mother’s right-there’s something wrong with his knee because she could see it’s swollen and his pants were torn up and bloody just under his kneecap. First she had to take care of his torso, though, so she reaches for his jacket zipper and starts pulling it down.

He grabs her hand midway and looks at her.

“Clarke-” he keeps his eye on her for a long moment trying to tell her everything that’s going through his head without actually speaking it out loud. And she sees it, she dives into his brown warm ocean of vulnerability and sadness and understands.

She gets now why he didn’t want Abby and Jackson to look at him-he was ashamed.

Which meant it was bad.

“It’s okay, we’ll go slowly, alright?” she suggests and after a moment he releases her hand and let’s her take his jacket off.

Her breath gets stuck in her throat when she sees the bruises and cuts on his arms before she’s even taken off the paper thin pale brown shirt but she keeps her expression as neutral as she can because she knows he’s looking at her and he doesn’t need her pity or her anger.

Just her help.

“You good?” she asks when she grabs the hem of his shirt and he manages a small nod.

This time she can’t help but clench her fists so tightly in the soft material of his shirt that she rips some of the cloth in her anger without so much as realizing it.

His body is covered from the neck to the waistband of his pants with nothing but angry dark, purple and yellow bruises but that wasn’t all of it-long cuts starting from his side and going in a semi-circle to his stomached mapped his body-three on each side, six total or so she thought before she forced herself to check his back and found four more there, deeper and swollen in a red angry puff.

Those on his chest and somach were older it seemed as they had already gathered yellow pus, some of them were leaking probably from the strain of his body being jostled in the rover on the way home.

“You call this fine?” she finally says when she pulls back, his shirt still fisted in her hands.

“Easy, I only got two of those and you’re already ruining this one.” he says nodding at his shirt and that just makes her even more angry.

She huffs, drops the shirt on the floor unceremoniously and pushes the metal trey table to his side, picking up a pair of gloves and grabbing the meager supplies they’ve given her.

“Lie back.” she instructs.

“Why?”

“Because to clean these cuts I’ll need to dig in deep and it’ll hurt too much for you to keep sitting.”

“I can-”

“Don’t!” she cuts him off angrily “Just stop fighting me and do as I say, okay?” he rolls his eye but lies back down and she picks up the clean pieces of cloth her mom’s spared, dozing them in moonshine.

“Bossy, princess.” he mumbles.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

“I thought so.” she presses on the first cut up under his heart and he hisses, gripping the side of the bed and forcing himself to remain still as she dug in it and took all of the grime and wooden pieces out.

“Do you want something to bite on?” she asks but he shakes his head and she doesn’t seem impressed by his stubborness at all. “If you start moving too much I’ll have to call someone to help me, though.”

“I won’t, I promise.” she sighs and just focuses on cleaning him up as best as she can. By the time she’s almost done with his front, sweat beads his forehead and he breathes so shallowly that she’s afraid he’ll pass out, so she stops to give him a moment and grabs the cup of water from the bedisde drawer, carefully lifting his head up and helping him take a few sips.

“Let’s take a moment before I move to your back, okay?” she says and he agrees with a slow nod. Her hand reaches to swipe away the sweat from his forehead but then as if on instinct moves down to cup his cheek.

She’s almost surprised by her actions and about to pull away and apologize when he leans into her, pushes his swollen bloody cheek to her small cold fingers and he looks so young and innocent in that moment that she never wants to let go of him again.

“You scared me.” she says finally and he moves his hand up to wrap around her wrist and squeeze in quiet understanding. “You have to understand what you did was stupid. Risking your life like this...letting them beat the crap out of you...it’s extremely reckless, Bellamy.”

“Would you have rather I told them all about our plans?” he asks barely opening his eye again but not letting her hand go.

“They found them out anyway. Someone’s been spying on us. I think Roan did this just to show me he can.” she shakes her head “None of it mattered.”

“Little ever does.” he agrees. “I’m glad you’re fine, though.” she chuckles out a sad laugh at that-how could he worry about her when he was the one barely breathing lying on a cot in medbay after three days of constant torture by one of the most vicious clans in the coalition. “When I saw you in that gorge, I thought you’d do something stupid to get us back.”

“Well I did, I gave him fifty of our spots.” at that both his eyes even the swollen one open up and she sees the blood and grime there too-he could get a really nasty eye infection that’ll worsen his sight if she didn’t clean this up as soon as possible.

She stands up and dips another rag in clean water, reaching to press it to his eye, making him hiss and throw his head back but she puts her hand on his other cheek and forces him still.

“Could be worse.” he finally lets out when he catches his breath.

“Worse how? Are you telling me you’re looking up to the prospect of sharing the same room with Azgeda warriors for the next five years?”

“I won’t be living with them, because I won’t be inside.”

“Yes, you will be.” she says stubbornly and he just smiles at her making her want to swipe that stupid idiotic self-sacrificing smirk off of his face. “You will be, Bellamy!” she adds again and he looks at her seriously now.

“I won’t close these doors with you on the other side, do you hear me?” when he doesn’t say anything she finds his hand and grips is hard “Do you, Bellamy?”

“Fine, I do.” he lets out pretending to be annoyed but under her angry look he adds “I hear you.”

“Good.” she nods sternly “Now let’s get that back of yours cleaned up too. I’ll have to stitch your cut and check your knee as well.”

It’s hard for him to sit up but she doesn’t really have a choice in the matter and for his benefit as much as it hurts him, he manages to keep it together and only tense when it really hurt him which was basically the entire time.

By the end he has sweated from the pain and the little droplets were slowly falling down right into his cuts, making it even more painful.

She manages to negotiate some of the sea wood ointment they had made following Lincoln’s instructions from Jackson as well as more bandages with which to wrap his torso but by the time he comes back, he’s trying to hold onto the side of the bed so hard that his body is shaking from the effort.

“I’ll be quick, I promise.” she says when she applies the seawead paste and starts wrapping his ribs. He is so out of it by that time that she’s not sure he even realizes what’s happening.

When she pushes him back down and checks on his knee, she finds that the cut there is much deeper, probably from a sword and that there’s as much grime and dirt there as in his other ones, if not more.

It takes her another hour to clean and stitch it up, wrap his leg in a bandage before moving finally to the one on his head.

At some point he had passed out, she knew because the pain had been too much and his body had gone slack-he looked peaceful, almost as if he was just sleeping but even in his unconscious state, he arched his back when she touched a nasty cut or bruise or winced and hissed.

“Clarke-” he mumbles when he feels her there up on his face and he cracks his good eye opened.

“Hey.” she says softly “I’m almost done, okay?” he doesn’t register her words and she furrows her eyebrows at his confused expression.

Her fingers press against his forehead and she finds it burning-damn it, he already had a fever. It was normal, she told herself, trying to reason with her panic-his body’s been through a lot and some of the cuts were infected but he’d be okay in a few days.

Unless-

No-she scolded herself.

He’d be fine. He had to be.

“My sister...is she-is she...here?” he was so delusional and out of it that it broke her heart when he asked that but she also couldn’t lie.

“Not yet.” she manages as she plasters a bandage on his cut and cleans the blood from his face away “I’m sure she’s on her way, though.” he smiles and shakes his head as if depsite his condition he still realized that she’s lying to him.

“Right...yeah...she probably is.”

A tear rolls down his eyes and she can’t stand it, can’t bear seeing him in so much pain, so she just brushes it off with her thumb and grabs his arm, carefully turning him sideways.

“Here, don’t move, you need to let the wounds heal, so no lying on your back.”

“Aye-aye, princess.” he says in pretend joke, probably trying to make her feel better which doesn’t work-all he does is sound sad and broken.

She grabs the blanket from the bottom of the cot and throws it over him which he seems to like because the fever made him shiver really bad and he felt cold. Then she circles around, sits on and takes her boots and jackets before sliding right behind him, moving her tinier, shorter body up so that she was spooning him, sneaking her arm expertly under his and pushing his back to her chest as her head nestled above his.

“What are you doing?” he asks surprised, body tensing at the sudden contact.

“Making sure you don’t roll on your back and ruin all the work I did to fix you, what else?”

“Clarke...you have other stuff to worry about.” it sounds like a fight but he’s too weak and on the verge of sleep to make anything out of it. Not that it would matter to her, she wasn’t going anywhere.

“No, I don’t.” she says finding his hand and intertwinging his fingers with hers “The only thing I need to takecare of now is right here.” he looks up like he can’t believe what he just heard-that someone was chosing him over the world, that someone would lay down and hold him just because-no reason but himself, his well-being.

She can’t help herself-her free hand swipes the curls from his forehead and she leans down to kiss his clammy skin.

“Sleep.” she says, commands more really because he’d fight her on it otherwise for sure and he relaxes into her embrace, letting himself be weak and vulnerable, hurt and small just to her and no one else.

She watches him fall and tries to command her heart to breat slower but no matter what she fails and she can’t say that she minds because for once it feels like all her love is spilling out of her just for him, in waves, in little touches, small kisses, her nose buried in his curls breathing his scent, her worry over his every hitch or wince making it skip a beat or tense but that’s okay.

It was okay.

Because she realized that even if the world was ending, even if the radiation wave came in and swallowed them whole right this minute, there’s nowhere else she’d rather be but here-lying in bed, holding him up, feeling peace and love like never before in her life.

Bellamy stirs a little in her arms and she pulls the blanket up their bodies when she notices him shiver, then kisses the top of his head and rests her chin on his soft curls, allowing herself the sweet pull of good deep sleep that she could only ever achieve whenever he was around.

#bellarke fanfiction #bellarke #bellamy blake #clarke griffin #hurt/comofort #injury #spooning #tw torture #post 4x05 #bellamy gets tortured by azgeda #so this is clarke freaking out #my writing

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ilguna · 3 years

Text

Lacuna - Chapters 9-12 (f.o)

summary: they say the odds tend to favor those who need them. well, they were wrong.

warnings; swearing. MURDER, GORE.

wc; 12.1k

NOTES; I give reader a last name to fit the world.

–

-- CHAPTER NINE --

Most tributes would trade off with one of the others when they get tired. But there’s three problems when it comes to that, and they’re all very valid in your situation.

The first one is that you aren’t tired. At all. You feel like if you got up right now, you’d be able to run around the entire arena twice before you’d feel tired. Sure, you’d break a sweat but besides that, you’re wide awake. The adrenaline is pumping, and it doesn’t seem like it’s going to stop anytime soon.

The second reason why you won’t wake any of them up, is because you don’t trust them. Mainly Trink, Eytelle, Allio and Lennox. Thyme is absolutely loyal, you know that. She would have survived just fine on her own had you not convinced the others to let her in. But she’s under some sort of safety net for the meantime. If you wanted to run off, you’re sure that she’d stick along, because you had offered her this chance at safety.

You’re not too entirely sure about Finnick anymore, which is a disappointment in itself. The fact that you can’t trust the one person that you were hoping to count on during this entire event. You two would lean on each other, and you would support him as best as possible. Keep each other from dying in case one of you get hurt, want to kill one of the careers or get sick. All the possibilities of being together through the tough shit and it’ll never happen.

There is a partial chance that Finnick is playing it up with his friends already, but he hadn’t mentioned it to you. He didn’t bring it up to you in the chance that he had, when the both of you were talking a couple of hours ago. To be fair, you hadn’t mentioned the same, but with Trink and Eytelle. But he’s always been honest with you, you just thought that he would go first.

Maybe you’re relying on him too much. You’re forgetting how to stand on your own feet because you’re thinking he’s going to support you. Is that why he’s keeping things from you?

The third reason is that you’re wide awake because you’re worried about three. When three will show up, what their intentions will be. If you’ll be allowed to wake up and take Finnick and Thyme before he tries to kill all of you. If he’ll think that two others is too much, since all you did was spare his own life. Unless there was more with him, but you had only seen him.

It’s hard to fall asleep, you’ve tried, but there’s always sounds going on in the woods. Branches snap, leaves get turned up out of nowhere. Birds will chirp, even though you’re sure that they should be sleeping like the rest of the forest. But it seems to have come alive in the nighttime, exactly what you don’t need. You hope that the gamemakers won’t send anything towards you guys. They have a reputation of sending things during the night when the tributes have fallen asleep.

You need the sleep as much as the others do. It’s been a couple of hours, you’ll force yourself to fall asleep, it doesn’t take very long. As much as you hate to say it, Finnick will probably be comforting enough to soothe the mind. You’ll be out like a baby in less than thirty minutes.

Of course, with that thought, you yawn. You struggle to keep your eyes open, and then you succumb to the yawn entirely. When you’re done, you freeze almost immediately with the pair of blue eyes that stare back at you in the forest. Mouth still hanging open, your arm locked around Finnick’s shoulder.

Suddenly, there’s another pair of eyes just beside it, and when you see that they’re glowing a little bit--you would not be able to see human eyes that clearly in the dark--you begin to worry what they are. Because there’s only one species so flexible to make the fantasy to come to life.

Muttations. Mutts.

You pinch Finnick’s upper arm as hard as you can, and then slap your hand over his mouth. He jolts awake, and you hold him down. From the very bottom of your eye, you can faintly see his own eyes look up to you. Confused, probably frustrated by the hand. But when you don’t move from where you’re looking, he follows the stare.

The eyes keep multiplying. From two to four to eight to sixteen.

How are you going to tell the others?

You slowly remove your hand, and Finnick slides up next to you. Your left hand grabs the nearest knife, and you clutch it in your hand like your life depends on it. Finnick grabs his sword, since he still doesn’t have his trident or spear. Those are left in the middle, because you thought to be going back for them pretty soon.

Finnick inches forward, his hand on your chest briefly to hold you back as he shakes Lennox awake. Lennox squints at Finnick, unsure of who he is almost, and then Lennox’s eyes widen. He turns to see the eyes, which are beginning to light up the area on all their own.

And just like that, it’s a chain. Lennox gets Trink awake, Trink gets Allio, who reaches over just barely to touch Eytelle, earning a snarl because of it. Finnick is very slow when he gets Thyme, and pulls her back to where you are.

“What do we do?” Trink whispers.

Another growl from in front of you. You slowly inch around the tree to see only one opening. You slide on your backpack, the others following.

“The path.” you don’t point, but they seem to get it. You’re the first to get to your feet, and once they’ve all followed, slowly turning their bodies in the direction that you’ll be going, you count down.

Once it hits one, you grab Finnick’s hand tightly, and then bolt off. Finnick has a hard time keeping up with you for a second, but the screams behind you are enough to inspire him to go faster. All you can hear from Eytelle is how they’re getting faster, that they’re giant, the size of bears.

“They are bears!” She shrieks.

The branches easily whip at your face, leaving little cuts wherever they hit. They begin to sting for a moment, but the second the next one hits, you forget about it. At least the blood going down any exposed skin and under the clothes--if they hit hard enough--is your own blood.

Finnick sees that you’re taking it after a while, and he goes just fast enough to take most of the hits after that. There are a few you still have to cover your face for, but for the big ones, he holds them long enough for you to slip through. Everyone behind you, it’s every man for themselves.

The adrenaline is still pumping just fine. You felt this coming, you knew that they would release something like that, because they can’t just let you guys have one simple, happy night. It could very well be a punishment for not creating drama between you guys and the boy from district three, but what do they know? Who’s to say that he won’t come in later and cause just as many problems?

You and Finnick have just made it to the bushes that touch the field in the middle, when a scream cuts off the panting and rapid feet. You fall, trying to catch your breath back, knife still in your hand tightly, Finnick leans over, hands on his knees as he tries to catch his breath.

You watch as they come out of the forest. Thyme, Trink, and Lennox.

“Where’s the other two?” Finnick asks, out of breath as he motions towards the woods.

“Get off her!” Allio screams, Finnick helps you to your feet, and you point at Thyme and Trink.

“Stay here.”

You feel stupid for running back in, But you’re pulling knives out of your waistband before you even know what you’re up against. The first one flies from your fingers, and you watch as the bear falls, feeling the ground shake beneath your boots from his weight.

Eytelle is a goner. She’s stretched out, and they’re still attacking her. Her screams are loud, garbled with tear-filled sobs as she pleads for it to end. And then the mutt will take another bite, and she screams again.

Allio is in Lennox and Finnick’s hands.

You try to get around the bears, wasting your knives on them. And the second you get a big enough clear to kill Eytelle, she looks directly at you. You have the pleasure of watching the knife getting lodged in her head, as it hits the dead leaves on the ground again. Listening as the cannon goes off.

Your third one, already. So early in the morning.

You turn, taking off towards the boys, two hands on Finnick, you shove. He tumbles with the others, bringing them down. You’re about to jump yourself, since it would be much easier to fall than to run, when a red hot, searing pain goes over your back.

You falter, trying to collect yourself just enough to get past the bushes. Tears are brimming your eyes when you get on the other side. And then, your legs buckle, and you find yourself with a face full of grass.

“(Y/n)!” Finnick gasps, all he does is barely touch your back and the tears spill over. A cry of pain leaves your mouth, and you're shaking your head against the grass.

“Stop! Please,” You sob, clenching your teeth.

“We need to get her under the cornucopia.” Trink says softly, coming over to help Finnick out. They get you up the same way they did to Allio, but instead of holding you back, they’re trying to support you so you don’t fall.

You’re trying to hold back the moans of pain. But each time one of them jerks by accident, the hot pain comes back, and it’s burning. Licking up every inch of your back.

They’ve just laid you across one of the boxes full of clothes, beginning to dig through the others. Thyme is very carefully helping you peel off your jacket, and then the shirt. When the shirt proves difficult, you raise it to your neck, since it doesn’t need to come off completely, just expose your back so she can get a look at it.

“We need water.” Thyme says, “to clean this out.”

Finnick is immediately offering up his water, uncapping the bottle, when Allio mutters, “Why should we? She killed Eytelle.”

The others have their heads screwed on right though, because they all look at him like he’s insane, “She stopped her from suffering, you would have wanted her to die slowly?”

“Maybe I did.” Allio mutters, turning away from you guys.

You’re not sure if he’s embarrassed now, since they make a pretty good point. It’s the entire reason why you stuck back. She may be a bitch but she needs to die a quick death like the rest of you. To draw it out would be an asshole move.

Which means that the others might not think how you thought. They might make the tribute plead but you’re thinking that they won’t drag it out. Of course, Eytelle was a friend, so they probably wouldn’t want her to die a slow death.

You’re hoping that you didn’t piss off the gamemakers. Because they’re all about shows, and so you fighting would have made a great experience, raised the stakes. But then killing Eytelle would have ruined all of it, since she had plenty of time left. Where she was being mauled and where the middle sits, isn’t that far from each other.

You guys would have been forced to listen to her agonized screaming for so many hours. Because that’s what the games are about, a show. There’s no better way to have one than torturing a poor teenager until they die an unnatural death. Not like this entire thing isn’t unnatural in the first place.

“Don’t move,” Thyme is quiet, and you can feel Finnick hold you down a little bit, even Lennox comes into help to make sure that you don’t jerk.

Clenching your teeth, you close your eyes as tightly as possible. With hands enclosed into fists, you try not to scream the second that the cool water is poured over your back. She does it fairly close so it’s not hitting your back like a bag of rocks. A low moan leaves your mouth, and you can’t help but to hate yourself for going to kill Eytelle for them.

If you had let her die like they wanted, you wouldn’t have to go through this pain. But here you are, a handful of claw marks down your body. Burning like the red sun, like the heat continues to go up with each passing second. You feel like your entire back has been doused in gasoline and lit on fire.

It burns.

You get used to the water after a while. Trink offers to get more, Allio says that he’ll go with her, and then they leave you, Finnick, Lennox, and Thyme.

“This fucking sucks,” you complain, huffing a little bit.

“Thank you.” Lennox doesn’t elaborate, but you can guess what it’s about.

He gets up and moves to the back of the little building, digging through what’s back there. You watch when he grabs something, and then comes out, dropping it in front of you on the ground. There, sits a spear covered in gold. Or, since the Capitol is rich and they love to make luxury items, it could very well be made out of gold, the entire thing from handle to blade tip.

Lennox doesn’t bother to say anything as he goes back to digging, you know exactly what he’s looking for, and he’s not going to find it. Finnick will have to do with a spear just like you. On the same goddamn playing field once again but it seems like you guys aren’t as open as you’d hoped the both of you would be.

You’re not saying anything because you’re hoping that he will first. Tell you of the little alliance going on between the boys, so you can tell him of the one going on between the girls. Especially now since there’s one less member, it just makes a tighter circle, easier to open up and reveal true personalities. They’re not stupid, they’re going to find out that you’re not as dumb as you play it out to be.

Maybe Finnick will come open about the fact that the entire love thing was a joke too. That he was doing it for sponsors, because the interview was a perfect time to set it up, and kissing out here will be a beautiful way to execute it. He’s buttering you up so you won’t be able to kill him when the time comes. But you’ve gained three, as he’s still stuck at zero.

As far as you’re concerned, no damage has come up just yet. You’re as clean as a whistle, and it plays just fine. Your brain still functions like it has before, you’re just slowly adjusting to how it needs to be. You’re wide awake still, and you’re sure that you’ll crash as soon as you feel safe--an adjustment since you’d sleep heavily on most days--and you haven’t been hungry since you ate, which was hours ago. You should be hungry, even if it were just a little bit.

If you have to kill Finnick, you’ll be able to do it. It only gets easier with time, right? Like swallowing a hard pill, just learn how much water you need to take it down with, and go from there. You’re ahead of the game.

You’re going to go home.

Your eyes drag to where Lennox is. You can see his back is turned, no more hands are on you as far as you can tell. Finnick is standing off to the side, staring off into the night. Thyme, you’re not sure where she is.

“Allio and Trink on their way back?” you ask, reach down to the spear slowly, eyes glued to Lennox.

“Year, pretty far off though.” Finnick mutters, “Your back hurts?”

Finnick turns, and you shake your head at him, pushing yourself up to sit. It does hurt, it feels like a bitch. You can’t move any of the muscles back there without a stabbing pain going with it. At least the water helped, even if it was just a little bit.

You try to play off you sitting up, with the spear in your hand as like you’re just testing it out. You pretend to move it around in your hand, getting a feel for it. But when you do stand up, wandering around the boxes what looks like aimlessly--but you’re really starting to move your way to Lennox--you see something.

The person jumps, a scream leaving their throat, which makes Lennox turn immediately. You draw your arm back, right hand on the spear, which sends the pain spiraling in your upper back. Reaching over with the left, your hold onto it tightly. Soon, you’re going for a stab.

It’s successful, and the cannon goes off. The kid, who must be from twelve, falls dead onto the ground, golden spear sticking out of them. You can see the blood gathering in their stomach, and spilling onto the blood around them. With a tilt of your head, your eyebrows draw in when you look over them a little more.

“He’s--he’s twelve.” you choke out, stumbling back.

A faint feeling comes over you, and you reach back to grab something to hold yourself up with. You come across a whole lot of nothing, and before you can fall, Finnick catches you in his arms.

And the world turns black for good.

-- CHAPTER TEN --

If you’re going to kill anyone first, by your own hands--besides the four other people you have already killed--inside of the alliance, you think that it should be the girls first. Or girl, you’re not too fond of knocking Thyme out just yet. She would be easiest though. You take her down somewhere nice, like the waterfall that you think is hidden somewhere in the water, and you drown her or something.

Spear her to death, even though that’ll be painful unless you get her in the head the first time. Really, anything that might take her out, that includes you not being anywhere near the others, Finnick included. You might have suggested her to the group but the longer she sticks around, the more she learns. The more Trink and the others grow attached, the harder it’ll be to cut her off without the others pitching a bitching fit.

You know Finnick likes her. With the way that he talks to her and all of that. They like to share a certain look sometimes. One that you’re not sure how to decipher, but you do know that you don’t like the looks of it at all. It’s like they’re holding secrets that they won’t let you in on, much less let you know that they have them in the first place.

Actually, scratch that, they’ve basically let you know. You’ve asked several times to know what they’re giggling about, and they give you some fucking glance. The type you use to brush someone off if they’re babbling about something incoherent. It’s like if a drunk family friend--you have experience with your dad’s old friends that liked to come around when he was home--that tries to give you advice on fashion even though they’re wearing some old ass rags. It’s a look of you being under them.

Trink, Lennox and Allio don’t treat you like that at least. It’s like the more that time passes between all of you, you’re drawn more to the career pack. As Finnick ostracizes himself and finds more of a friend in Thyme than you.

You’re tired of the giggling and the glances and so you’ve taken a walk all the way down the lake. Which is where you’ll sit and watch the water, because you can’t fucking stand whatever the hell is going on back there.

During the time that you were out, medicine was sent in from one of your sponsors. Thyme lathered it on, Finnick did bedside and sat by you the entire time basically. It’s healed everything on your back nicely, Finnick says all that’s left are pink scars, but it still stings if you move the wrong way. You’ll put on another thin layer tonight, but that’ll be it. You guys can save the rest for later or something.

Eytelle, the boy from twelve and the girl from nine showed up in the sky last night, three more down. The total dead is eleven, and there’s still six of you in the alliance. Seventeen minus twenty-four is seven. Six if you’re not including yourself. Six more people until the alliance breaks off. Probably less.

Besides that, everything is as it was before. Lennox snuggles up to Trink. Allio is bitter, looking for a fight in everything that you do. Because he wants to believe that you did it out of pleasure. You were satisfied a little bit because it lessened one person in the group. One more person until you get to go home. But that’s it. You hated everything about it.

And had you known that you would get hurt because of it, you would have let her be there in pain and saved your own ass. Those couple of hours with it healing felt like an absolute bitch, and you would give anything not to go through that pain again. It’s as simple as that.

The arena has been unusually quiet, but it’s like that always. Everyone is hiding, and trying to find food to eat. Getting set up where they want to stay for the next couple of weeks. If you guys work quickly, it can just be a singular week, but that’s not going to happen. Five days have passed and only eleven people are dead. You have a feeling that this is going to be dragged out a lot longer.

You hate it here. You hate it more than you thought you would, because it’s not going how you planned.

Pushing yourself up, you swipe your backpack and spear from the sand, before wading into the water, using the spear to see how deep the water gets. You’re sure that it’s going to get to your chest, but it never goes above the waist. The water is fairly cold, but all it does is wake you up more, keeping you on your toes.

You’re being careful as to make sure that you’re not disturbing anything in the water. If something grabs your ankle and drags you under, you’ll be fine for the most part. You can hold your breath for a good while, but the problem would be fighting and trying not to lose all your air while doing it. When people are thrown around underwater, they have a tendency to lose the air that they’re holding.

You’ve seen it before with the neighborhood boys your brothers used to wrestle back when you were younger. Caspian was there most of the time, and they’d tackle each other, go underwater and you’d just watch the bubbles go to the surface. Worried about if they’ll be able to know that the other person doesn’t have anymore air left over.

Eventually they’d pop up to the surface, take in a huge gasp of air, and then do it all over again.

You never joined in because of these fears, but thinking back on it now, it would have helped. Had you been in the situation yourself, you would know how to take care of it, if you were dragged under.

The sound of the waterfall isn’t that far off, and in fact, you can see exactly where it is. It’s off to the left, with a pile of rocks, which makes up the waterfall in the first place. You go ahead with going inside when you’re close enough. If you weren’t wet before, you are now.

Inside of the waterfall is fairly lit up, but at night it has to be pitch black. As far as you can tell, no one has been inside of here yet. There’s no sign of footprints in the moss, which means that maybe no one has thought of coming in here yet.

It really sucks that you had suggested this to the other two. Had you not, you could really disappear off into here and they would have no goddamn clue. They’d think you ran off, maybe died if they heard a random cannon, only to see you’re alive when you don’t appear in the night sky.

It’s also got to be really fucking cold at night with the water and the rocks. Like living in a basement, the cold tends to settle a lot better. It’d be impossible to sleep at night if you didn’t have a sleeping back. You’d end up shivering and then dying of hypothermia. Trying to get a fire started in here?

Not only stupid, but also useless. They’d see the fire clearly through the waterfall, a random ass light source would draw anyone with the right mind. You know you’d head for it, take out anyone who thought that they’d be able to get away with it. It would be their own damn fault. Then again, the cold will do shit to people. And then, it would be useless because the wood would be wet the second you go through the waterfall.

It’s a really sucky spot to be, but it’s better than nothing you suppose.

Sitting down, you dig through the backpack, drinking some of the water, and then nibbling on whatever your hands find first.

Twelve people left in the games, excluding yourself. Five that you’re sticking around and seven that are spread out somewhere in the arena. Some of those seven aren’t any good, like the boy from ten, the girl from twelve, and so on. The useless districts, they’ve only survived this long because they’ve gotten lucky. They run into the wrong person once, and they’ll be dead meat.

You need to find a way to wipe out Trink, Lennox or Allio. As you were saying earlier, it would probably be easiest to go with Trink, but the boys are the stronger ones. Allio already is paranoid about all the shit you do. Simply you walking off rose suspicious which you not-so-kindly told him to go fuck himself in reponse. You don’t need him on your back for jack shit.

It should be him, you should wipe out him. But he won’t go anywhere with you in private. It will have to be either Trink or Lennox. However, the more you think about Thyme and Finnick, you’re starting to think that it wouldn’t be so bad killing her after all. The others won’t care that much, she’s not a career. They need you and Finnick, she’s just an accessory.

Then again, you really would like to take out Lennox. Even the playing field a little bit. The three boys could wipe you, Trink and Thyme out with the blink of an eye. If you’re quick enough, you’ll be able to get away, but it won’t be unscathed. Even having two of them alive is still risky business.

You were already going to go for Lennox, so why not?

Kill Lennox, draw Trink in closer to you, and try to convince Allio that you’re not doing anything wrong. Maybe you can try to pin it on Thyme, have the job done for you, and Finnick will have to turn back to you.

Allio was the one that was worried about Thyme, right? Because she let her district mate run off?

It’s not a bad idea. The only problem is that you’ll be creating mass suspicion and it’ll create tension sooner than it needs to be. The faster you guys split up, the less you have to worry about. If no one trusts each other, then there is no alliance to have.

Sneaking out of the waterfall, you’re drenched in water again, feeling like a drowned cat for a little as you have to go all the way back to the middle by walking through the water. Then the sand sticks to your shoes like mud, a couple of pieces do get into your shoe entirely, and you have to pull the shoes off.

Then, you find yourself stripping off the jacket, your socks, and your shirt. The pants you can deal with, but everything else is squishy and it feels gross. By the time you’ve reached the cornucopia, you’ve successfully rung out your shirt and socks, the shirt being back on your body while the socks are hidden somewhere on the backpack for further drying. The jacket seems to have a never ending flow of water.

Trink looks up at you. She’s sitting on the ground, holding her arm. Her face twists angrily for a second, “What the fuck do you want?”

“What?” you ask, surprised by the hostility. Had you said something before you left that pissed her off?

“Don’t play pretend. You and your fucking boyfriend planned this,”

“Planned what?” you ask, looking to see that Lennox and Allio don’t look too thrilled to see you standing in front of them either. You take a step back, worried that they’re going to attack you like a pack of angry dogs.

“Attacking us and then leaving.” Lennox favors his left leg more than his right, “So you can get a head start.”

“That is--” you turn to look behind you, all you see is a short amount of field and then the trees, “They left?”

“You really have no clue?” Trink sounds nicer now.

They left you out of this? They attacked and then left you to deal with them? Finnick took Thyme over you and just… went?

“I didn’t fucking--” you can feel the anger swelling, and now do you know what you were feeling earlier. It was jealousy, you were jealous over the fact that Finnick was talking to her more than you, was acting like you knew nothing anymore.

But now it’s anger.

“I didn’t know.” you tell them, sitting down on the nearest chest, shaking your head, elbows on your knees and you place your face in your hands, “I can’t fucking believe that they would do this.”

“Glad to know that we’re in the same boat.” Allio mutters, but it’s not that harsh, maybe he trusts you now.

They’re so fucking dead the second you get your hands on them. Dead.

-- CHAPTER ELEVEN --

You wonder how agonizingly painful it is to watch two of what looks like the best tributes you’ve gotten in a long time, turn their backs on each other and not even bother to find the other. If Mags is pulling her hair out right alongside Elysia, because you can picture it now. Fistfuls of Mag’s white hair and blonde hair from Elysia’s stupid synthetic wig.

They have to have sponsors lined up the wazoo, and the further that time goes on, the more expensive shit is going to start being. So if you’re going to do anything of significance, you’re sure that you have to hurry the fuck up. Just so that they all don’t go to waste and you’ll be able to use their money a little bit.

Although, you’re sure that no news is good news at this point. You’ve reached a week and a half already, but no one is dropping like flies, as you’re sure that the Capitol is hoping for. The only person that has died is the girl from district twelve, and that’s about it. No one even killed her, you’re sure.

You, Trink, Allio and Lennox are having trouble coming across people as it is. You haven’t seen a goddamned person since the boy from district twelve was inside the cornucopia, and that’s really saying something about how the games have been structured so far. The poor girl probably starved to death because she had no skill whatsoever.

That must have been boring as hell. You’re not sure how the girl did it though, going so long without food and water. Each time you and Trink take up the woods, all it seems is like there is food and water. Which was there before the girl had dropped dead, they didn’t just up the production just because she died.

Actually, there have been more deaths. The boys from eight and ten, no clue what got to them either. None of you had gotten your hands on them at all. It’s been serene since Finnick and Thyme left. And speaking of that, you haven’t heard a goddamn thing about them either.

You have a feeling where they might be, but you flat out refuse to go to the waterfall. It’s not just you being stubborn anymore, it’s genuine betrayal that they would do that. If they had thought that you disappeared for a few hours because you were running away, they’re stupid. You wouldn’t have done it without getting a few licks in on the pack, and you would have told them.

Well, maybe you wouldn’t have told them with all that has been happening lately. They can believe that they did the right thing, even with the week that has passed, and they can also believe that you’re coming, but it’s not going to happen. You’re hoping that they don’t come across you at all, because you’re not making friends anymore. The boy from three got his pass, but former friends? Betrayal really is a bitch, isn’t she?

Continuing off of that, you’re not really looking forward for what the gamemakers have in mind for people who don’t spice shit up. Which is why you’re going to kill Allio tonight. Take first watch, wait till the others are asleep and then stab him when the time comes. Pretend like Finnick or one of the others came and attacked you, and play it from there.

You’ve built up trust. You’ve got them relying on you for food as if you’re some personal chef. You go down to the lake, pond, whatever and fish up whatever you can get. Normally you stick to four, on days that you’ve had to skip the entire day without eating, you bring back more. You’re getting them to shrink their stomachs. They complain but they know that you’re right.

Sadly, this only means that the future generations coming from the rich districts will know the tactic in being able to starve yourselves and live on longer, and still have that much energy. This will only help out them, but as for the kids back home in the poor districts, you’ll wander around inside of the arena and point out the berries and leaves that you do know. As if you’re giving a lesson in herbal remedies or some shit.

You’re hoping that the Capitol is allowing them to tune in to those parts, and that the sponsors are seeing just how capable you are. You feel like some villian from a book that your mother used to read to you before bed. The types that walk around their little lair after they kidnapped the hero, as they give away every single detail of their plan. Because you’ve done it once, speaking to yourself to work out the details. It’s much easier to do it that way than in your head because you’re mapping it out. Like visualizing it.

Anyway, Trink looks at you like a best friend now. You’re not sure if it’s because you’re acting as a replacement for Eytelle, or she’s just lonely, but it’s working out on your part too. A distraction for all the things going inside your head constantly. Finnick, Thyme, your brothers and sister, Mags, Elysia, your parents, the cycle repeats itself almost a hundred times a day. Like an addiction. Like clockwork.

She’ll just gossip about meaningless things that happened before the games--trink, you’re talking about. She’ll sit on the chest while Lennox will cook up the fish, or on days she’s bored, she’ll go with you down to the pond-lake or around the arena to find extra food or any unlucky tributes that manage to cross your paths. She’ll talk about the girls that she thought were pretty.

She’ll bitch about how everyone that’s thrown into the arena with them has these automatic assumptions that she wants to kill everyone. That she doesn’t want to have a normal life and just be at home with her family. Because of this, she’s cried twice and you’re not really looking forward to anymore times in the future. You’ve tried to do the pat-on-the-back technique but she had the pleasure of informing you that they know your dumb damsel act, was an act.

Apparently they knew from the beginning, but they thought taking you in was smart anyway. They were guessing that you playing damsel was to win sponsors, and you didn’t tell her it was so that they would take you in. You have a feeling that Trink was lying about all of this, and she just wanted to take it out of you. Unfortunately for her, you said nothing and you just watched as she scrambled to apologize as if you’d forgive her and tell her it was all true.

She said that having you around is nice. That you’re nice to her, and it gives her a chance to feel human again. And then after that, not even a few hours later, she was down at the pond-lake, scrubbing grime from your skin and fixing your hair like a couple of grade school friends. Again, this could all be a tactic to get you to like them so you won’t kill them, because you had gotten the ten after all, but you’re not so sure about it.

Trink seems broken, but she was just waiting for someone to open up about it to. Lennox is there to support her, but he looks like he’d rather be distancing himself, getting ready to take out the rest of the tributes. And you’ve just begun to get Allio to like you in the first place. Which is the exact reason why he’s got to go in the first place. If you were to kill Trink or Lennox, you’d be the first they’d point fingers to, and then you’d be fucked.

Two against one? Not the odds you like. If Finnick and Thyme were here, it would be a little different. But even then, Thyme is like dead weight and you’re not even sure if Finnick knows how to fight anymore. You can’t remember his number at the bloodbath, but all you know is that it was a small number. Nothing above a two, but it couldn’t even have been that high. A one, maybe.

Everything that you had built up to before the games was useless. You had made an alliance, a friend, a lover, a person you could trust out of Finnick only for it to fall apart the second a week passes. You introduced Thyme to the group for her safety, but the only safety she could find was in your cold-hearted, nasty-ass, two-timing, son-of-a-bitch boyfriend!

“It wasn’t even official!” you laugh, throwing the stick in your hand, “He didn’t even ask me to be his girlfriend!’

You swing your foot into the trunk of the tree, ignoring the spike of pain that goes up your foot, it’ll go away in a minute's notice. The tears that collect in your eyes are completely unrelated to the pain in your foot. It’s related to the fact that you counted on someone from home that turned out to be an asshole. All in it for himself.

You take a moment to sit in the dead leaves, wiping away the tears as you rip your backpack apart to place the fish inside of it. However, you’re stopped with the snap of the branch. You think it’s another bear muttation, this time coming to take you out, but three stands in front of you.

He’s skinnier than he was the last time he saw you. His cheeks are starting to sink in, giving you a perfect outline of where the bones on his face lie. He’s been starving this entire time, it’s obvious.

“Please.” three asks, “Please, I know you don’t--”

“Get down before one of the others see you.” you tell him, watching as he drops his makeshift knife onto the ground, falling to his knees as he holds his hands out eagerly.

This should definitely be against the rules, but you could care less anymore. What you considered to be your boyfriend had ran off with some girl he had just met. The people you trust now are a bunch of assholes that wouldn’t last two days without you there. And everyone else is either starving or waiting it out, wanting the gamemakers to take matters into their own hands.

“Here, take it all.” you shove the fish into his hands, “I’ll just go get more.”

“Thank you.” he tells you, it looks like he’s about to get up, but then he waits, “What were you saying about Finnick?”

“Off on his own with the girl from eleven.”

“Thyme? Thought you were friends.”

“Me too.” you mutter bitterly, getting to your feet, reaching for the golden spear. You left the fishing rod at the cornucopia, thinking that the spear would be easier. It’s somewhat, you caught the same amount of fish. The only problem is that you’re out of practice with standing still. You can’t help but to sway.

You shuffle through the woods, listening as three follows behind you, “So, who’s left?”

“Really not into you attacking us during the night so I’ll keep that info to myself.”

“There’s what, four? Five, of you? I wouldn’t stand a chance.” he sighs, “It would be a faster way out.”

“Not too keen on killing you either.”

“Why not?” he asks, and you shrug.

“You’ve grown on me.”

“Why’s that?” three trips over his feet for a moment, trying to catch up with you.

You wish he would go away, but talking to someone other than the three musketeers back at the cornucopia is refreshing, “Saved you during the first day. Saw you in the training center. Wouldn’t want you as an enemy.”

“Not much I can do with what I make.” he holds up the flimsy knife, “These rocks are nothing like what they have in the center.”

“But they do what they’re intended for.” you tilt your head slightly.

“I guess. How many have you killed?”

You’re not looking forward to this part of the conversation. At all.

“I don’t know, three to five by now. Girl from ten, boy from eleven, Eytelle.” Shit fuck, you just gave away--good job, idiot.

You have no clue if he picks up on this or not, “Oh, so three?”

“Boy from twelve.” you mutter, still not happy that you had to kill a twelve year old. Fresh out of the womb in your opinion, and you’re only three years older than him. Finnick being two.

Hey! Why the fuck are you thinking of Finnick as a lover when he’s--you two are so goddamn young and here you are, moping over the fact that some teenage boy broke your heart. This is the part in the villain story when the girl rises up and becomes her true self, huh?

Doesn’t matter, you’re still taking out Allio tonight, whether you like it or not.

“You killed--”

“Listen, I wasn’t happy about it either. Back to back kills with Eytelle.” you stop at the water, looking to him, “if you’re going to stick around, don’t throw shit and don’t come in.”

“Got it,” he sits in the sand, picking apart the fish as he eats it raw. He must be hungry, because you would never. Even if it is safe or whatever, you’d still cook it. Raw fish does something to your stomach that you’re not too fond of, every single time.

“What’s your name anyway?” you ask, spearing the first fish. When you pull it out of the water, you see that there’s two. Less work for you to do in the end.

“Blaire.” he tells you, brushing his hair out of his face, “You’re (Y/n)?”

“Yup.” you waddle into the water a bit more, which finally brings the waterfall into sight.

Those motherfuckers.

The light shines through the water crystal clear, exactly like you had thought. Unwanted visitors will be drawn in, and those fuckers will pay the price for it. Not your problem, and quite frankly, for once you’re excited that Finnick might die alongside Thyme. Maybe not quick and easy.

What would be the ultimate betrayal was if you’d bring Lennox, Allio and Trink back here. Introduce them to Blaire here, and go create some fucking problems, starting with that stupid waterfall and your ex alliance. The one you made, the one that belongs to you. The one that you had busted your ass to make sure that everyone would have a place in.

The light is gone quickly, and for a second you think you see a hand. But the sun starts to fall a little quicker than you thought possible. You find yourself stabbing fish endlessly, until you’ve made a pile to make up for a couple of days. You tell Blaire to ration his out carefully, and if he’s lucky enough, you’ll start putting extras under a bush for him around the pond-lake.

You part ways, heading straight for the cornucopia. The walk is fairly quiet, the animals in the forest are acting like they normally do, but a feeling creeps up in your stomach, so you start jogging a little bit. Which sets off the snarl, and then the barking of wild dogs.

“Fuck!” you yell, gripping the spear tightly as you take off running, using the weight of the backpack as momentum to go faster. The ground is a blur beneath your feet as you pick up the speed. They’re right on your heels when you just barely slide underneath the building.

There, Lennox and the others are already on their feet, weapons in hand as they swing. You don’t even take time to catch your breath before you’re up and helping them. Gasping for air, stabbing whatever you can see because the sweat is dripping into your eyes. It stings, but you blink it away as fast as possible.

“What the fuck?” Lennox finally yells, you watch as he swings the sword faster than you can stab. He’s taking down the dogs left and right. Allio is just behind him in number.

By the time you’ve gotten through ten to fifteen, they begin to realize that they’re not going to win the fight. Slowly they back off, allowing you to catch your breath. By the time the last one has retreated, you’re on your knees, hand in the grass as you gasp for air. Your sides are aching painfully, arms and legs burning.

If you didn’t know any better, you’d think that you were just set on fire.

“God damn it.” Allio pushes himself up, hand on his side. When he pulls it away, there’s a clear set of teeth marks and enough blood to prove it.

“Medicine for that?” You ask, and Trink shrugs, going to dig immediately through the medicine box.

“We can have dog for dinner.” Lennox picks one of them up by its back leg. It’s fairly big, and it’ll probably feel all of you.

You grab an empty box and dump all of your fix into there. Inside it just has water. The fish may be long dead and you guys might not have ice but it’s better than nothing. Keeping it in the back corner of the building in the shadiest spot keeps it cold for the most part.

“Yum,” Trink doesn’t sound too thrilled and you don’t blame her.

“One night only specialty.” You point to Lennox, falling back into your butt as you try to breathe without hurting your throat, “We don’t want the fish to go to waste.”

“We can have both?” Trink suggests.

“Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it.” Lennox chirps, before working away at the dog.

It’s a mutt, it’s not an actual dog. Dogs like that… they have a superior intelligence, how else did they know to back off? Others would just keep attacking until none of them were left. It’s just what happens when you’re starving and it’s better than nothing.

You’ve just started the fire, when the first cannon goes off. You turn to look at the others, who are still very alive--you’re not sure if Allio had just tipped over due to blood loss or something--and they look just as confused as you feel. Trink shrugs slightly, trying to go back to searching through the medicine.

And then the second cannon goes off.

“A fight?” Allio asks.

“Has to be,” Lennox tells him, you get off of the ground and wander out of the building a little bit to see if they’re nearby.

You nearly get a heart attack when you see a hand stick out of a bush by the lake. It’s blurry, since it’s so far, but it’s a thumbs up, and it disappears as quickly as it had appeared. It’s probably Blaire, letting you know that he’s very much alive. What an idiot, he could have just killed himself if it had been one of the others.

“The fallen will play soon,” you mutter, wandering back inside, throwing a few more sticks into the fire, “We’ll be able to see who’s fallen by then.”

Two down. Must mean that it was a fight of three people or more. There’s no way that it was just two people, the first killed the second, and the first had managed to get hurt badly enough to die immediately after. It had to be a group of three, an alliance. Two people working together against one, and the one prevails or only one of the alliance people die…

Finnick.

Finnick!

You struggle to keep your mouth from opening, because you’ve told yourself that you’re not going to be tripping over your own feet for Finnick anymore. But that doesn’t stop you from worrying about what’s happened. If he did die, you bet it’s because of that stupid waterfall. It had brought people in, a death trap.

How did they even get the water to stay dry? They must be bringing it in by the bucket load, hanging it up to dry in some sanctioned spot and using whatever dry wood that had made the night before. A complicated, but smart system. However, you’re not sure if either of them art smart enough for that technique.

Lennox offers you a leg of the dog, but you turn it down because you’d rather try to keep down that small portion you’d choked down, than force anything else down. It’s disgusting enough that it was a dog, and thinking about Finnick has got your stomach wanting you to empty whatever is left.

The anthem stars, you look to the sky. The anticipation builds in your stomach to the point where you’re actually pressing a fist to your mouth to keep it down. Leaning forward subconsciously as you await the news.

And then just like that, the girl from district six shows up, her picture is a little wonky, as if she didn’t know what she was doing when she took it. But it’s good news, because it’s not Finnick. It had skipped straight to district six, he’s somewhere inside of the arena, alive.

For a moment you forget that there were two cannons. Then it switches to Thyme, and you jump to your feet, mouth falling open, “Oh my god.”

Lennox claps a little bit, “Finnick is alone--”

“Serves him right!” Trink shakes your right leg a little bit, and you slowly go back down to your feet.

Nine in the games left, eight if you’re not including yourself. The number will be down to seven tonight after you kill Allio. You’re surviving, you’re doing it. You’re going to live. You have a chance at making it home! Twenty-four to eight? That’s sixteen down!

The odds are surely in your favor.

You let your temporary group of friends know that you’ll be taking first watch. Helping them package up the nasty dog meat and placing it into another empty box to get it out of the way. Allio and Lennox throw the rest of the bodies off into the edge of the woods, and then they come back to lay down.

Lennox lays down first, Trink right beside him. Allio lays somewhere near the back, where the fish is at. Curled up with a fleece blanket that he found at the bottom of one of the chests. You wonder if the gamemakers threw it in for shits and giggles, because the thing is basically useless. Allio says it makes him feel like he’s back at home.

You sit with your back to the wall, one hand on the golden spear, that you can’t help but rub your thumb over. Hoping that it’ll reveal it’s true nature of being brass. The color hasn’t come off just yet, and it doesn’t seem like it’ll be off any time soon. You’ll keep trying for as long as you have it though.

Your eyes flicker to the others each time they’ll toss and turn. You spend most of the night zoned-out, thinking about Finnick. Wondering if you could afford a quick run to the waterfall and be back before the others wake. The reminder of the frigid waters and the possibility of something being in the pond-lake stops you from doing it. Doesn’t mean you don’t consider it.

It’s a while before you feel like you can move without the others waking. Being very careful on your feet. You tip-toe to the back of the building, where you also happen to like to sleep. The difference is that you don’t bother sleeping anywhere near where Allio is.

Throwing the spear into the grass, you then turn to Allio. Slowly pulling out your knife, eyes dragging back to the couple off to the side. Lucky enough for you, their backs are turned, there’s no way they’ll be spying on you tonight.

You’re very careful when you crouch down next to Allio, breathing deeply. You’re about to kill someone, and you know this. You’re very aware of your actions when you hover your hand over his hair, and have the knife prepared behind his head. Once the knife goes through, you have to act fast.

One deep breath, a fistful of hair, a gasp of air, a knife through the back of the head, a jump to your feet, the sound of a cannon, your body hitting the grass behind a chest, a knife shoved under that same chest, your eyes closing.

Trink and Lennox gasp, and by the time they’re getting up, going to wake you, the dizziness and the out-of-body experience is finally subsiding.

“Who died?” Lennox’s voice is gruff, he’s rubbing his eyes, but he has his hand on the sword.

Trink is hovering above you, and you play the act of just waking up as well as you can, not sure if she’s buying it. But she apologizes, looking sorry as she then looks back to Allio.

“Is he awake?” Lennox asks.

You yawn, it’s easier than you thought it would be. You’re exhausted, “He took watch a couple hours ago.”

You refrain from wiping your face, knowing that there has to be blood on your body somewhere. Instead, you take your hands and shove them inside of your pants, wiping them on your legs and underwear. Not the cleanest thing, but you can’t afford them knowing that you just killed one of the career members.

Trink tries to wake up Allio, but when she sees the blood pooling behind his head, she screams, “Someone was here?!”

“What?” you ask, still not getting up from your spot, heart pumping in your ears.

“He’s dead.” Trink turns to Lennox, “One of the others snuck in here and--and they killed Allio!”

“Who would do that? After we just lost two today?” you ask.

“They weren’t our two.” Trink whines, and then her face falls, “They don’t know that Thyme and Finnick left our alliance. They thought we were weak.”

As long as she takes up any and every theory that has nothing to do with you.

“You’re right.” you nod eagerly, and she looks grim, like she isn’t happy that you think she’s right in the first place.

“They won’t know that we’re down two until tomorrow night.” Lennox tells you two, “Until then, we got time to prepare.”

“I’ll take watch--”

“No, I’ve got it.” Lennox hoists Allio up into his arms, struggling a little bit. But you watch with Trink as he drops Allio off somewhere nearby, far enough so the gamemakers will take him, though still in sight.

Lennox tells you to go to sleep, and you do as you’re told, Trink doing the same. However, the second that you’re hidden behind the box, you’re taking deep breaths and trying to calm yourself down. You’ll have a panic attack behind the chest if you’re not careful, and it’s the last thing that you need.

You can’t fall apart now.

-- CHAPTER TWELVE --

To you, it’s a mystery on why Blaire has stuck around this long, and why you continue to insist on feeding him. He can do it all on his own, you’ve taught him a couple of things he needs to know if he wants to do it. But you always come back around, burying a fish in the one designated bush just to keep him alive. Like a distant companion that you’re really getting too attached to.

In return for all of you teaching him, he’s begun to give you a few tricks when it comes to making your own things. You brought up the one idea that you had, with no way to execute it. And he went out of his way to go and get the materials and sat down with you for an hour or two just to make sure you’ve got it down.

A net. The holes are too big for fishing, unless you were to find a big ass fish somewhere in the pond-lake. It’s more of something to catch people, holes to big for fish to pass through but too small for someone to wiggle out of. It would take a lot of sawing the knife to get the person free. And by then, they might have drowned.

Blaire took the time of finding a place where there were vines, and gave you simple directions on how to get to the area when you need to make a new one. Since it’s a little flimsy, you’re sure it’s a one-person use only since it is vines and not rope. And you can’t really take it back to the middle for the others to see, since you can’t give them the whole truth about it.

Listen, you’re not bad at lying. You could do that all day, it’s the acting part. Acting like your clueless. If they were to approach you and demand you remake it because they’re suspicious or whatever—you hardly doubt they’re that interested in your net-making—you wouldn’t able to do it and you’d have to act or lie your way about it. Acting would be you bullshitting through the entire thing and lying would be that you got lucky enough to make it.

Anyway, Blaire had taught you the process, but it turns out that he doesn’t know how to tie as many knots as you, much less the ones that are needed to keep the vines where they’re supposed to be. So, he weaved and you tied the knots, every now and then you’d switch off to weave it yourself, trying not to fuck up the somewhat complicated pattern.

It turned out pretty good for the most part, you’re proud that it doesn’t look like total ass. And you’re sure that the technique will offer new insights to everyone back home and prove helpful to the future of being in this arena.

Speaking of which, death rates have dropped off completely. You guess that everyone left right now are the smart type, they’ve got their skills on lock or they’ve found a way to live it out. Starving until the very last person has died off. But it looks like everyone can provide for themselves somehow—with the exception of your idiot friend Blaire.

The weak have been picked off or died of their own accords so now it’s left to the rest of you to hunt. It’s been two weeks since the games have started. You’re really hoping that it doesn’t go on for a month. Your poor brothers watching you run around betraying and befriending like it’s going to save your life when it’s really going to kill you.

At least Reed has had a chance to watch you exercise everything that he had taught you. He might not be happy that you’re sharing that information with Blaire, but you can’t just leave him. You’ve saved his life three times now—the pack, the food and yesterday he nearly drowned when he got his foot tangled in a root. If it weren’t for you, he’d be dead by now. Many different ways for it to have happened.

Guess that you’re really skipping from friend to friend. Finnick, Thyme, Trink, and now Blaire? You’re really getting around, aren’t you? If you were to come across anyone that’s left that you haven’t met just yet—the girl from five, boy from eight, and boy from ten—you’d make friends out of them two. It’s only a matter of time. Hell, you briefly talked to Mac, the boy from seven, but he’s a friend to you too.

You’ve really screwed yourself over. As long as you don’t run across the three outsiders and Mac, you’ll be able to survive this. You can kill Trink and Lennox, Allio was easy enough. The problems are Blaire and Finnick now. You’ve nursed Blaire to the point where it feels like leaving him is like a mother deer leaving it’s baby.

He’ll learn to stand on his own but how plausible is that? Killing him will be near to impossible.

You are dumb. Maybe just not a damsel.

“My fingers are beginning to hurt.” Blaire mutters, and you look over to see that his fingertips are turning red. Like they’ve been pricked and sliced over and over.

You pull the jacket sleeves over your hands as you take the vines away from him, bringing them closer to your face. You’re not too thrilled when you see that there are thorns and razors or whatever. They’re just too small to see initially.

“Take a break. They’ve got spikes.” You tell him, shoving the project beneath a bush.

“Great.”

“Pretty sure you’ll be fine. Unless they’re poisonous.”

“With my luck, they are.” Blaire mutters, shoving his hands into the water and you grimace. His fingers have got to be stinging like a bitch right. It’s salt water, you know that for sure.

It was a distinct smell when you had first come above the ground from the moldy smelling tunnels. Fresh air, unpolluted, filling your lungs. It was a change from what you had been inhaling in the Capitol. The trees, the pollen, the chirping of birds. The rustle of the leaves when you had felt the wind for the first time in a while.

And with that wind, it carried a familiar scent. The one that had provided hope, opened your senses to a whole new level. If you had been standing in front of a mirror, your eyes would have dilated. Smelling the salty lake was like feeding chocolate to a baby.

“Nice knowing you.” You snort, and he cracks a smile.

“The sun is going down already.” Blaire tells you, knowing that you’re going to have to head back, “When are you killing the other two, anyway?”

“It would have to be a two-in-one.” You tell him, “Like killing two birds with one stone. Maybe while they’re sleeping. Lennox hasn’t allowed me to take night watch since Allio died. They’re onto me.”

“Be careful,” Blaire tells you.

“If I don’t show, don’t worry about it okay? You can hunt for yourself.” You punch his shoulder, getting up.

“Yes I can. Good luck.”

“Thanks, you too.” You throw your bag over your shoulder, using the spear like a walking stick on your way to the middle.

You toss the bag into the cornucopia, as well as the spear. Rounding the corner like you normally do, since it’s going to be just you and them in the middle. No need to hide what you’re doing at all, hoarding your stuff will make it look like you have contraband. Which really isn’t the case. The bag has what it normally does when you come back.

A pair of hands grab your shoulders immediately, spinning you around and slamming your back against the wall. The air leaves your lungs, and before you can take in air again, his forearm presses into your throat, stopping any sort of airflow.

Lennox is a lot more deadly than you took him for. You thought that he would know the baby's way of choking people to death—squeeze and shake until they’re no longer moving. But here he is, one arm against your throat, while the other has his fist drawn back.

Your eyes widen significantly, because you’re choking and you’re about to get punched. You’re going to die in his hands. But you want to know one thing; is this betrayal or revenge?

His fist single handedly breaks your nose, the snap filling the air, the pain slamming into the middle of your face as the blood begins to flow. From your nose, to your lips, and downwards.

“Bitch!” Lennox yells, removing his arm.

You take in the air immediately, trying to make up for lost time. It doesn’t last long, he slams his boot straight into your chest, ignoring your stomach. He’s going to break ribs if he’s lucky, do some sort of damage up top rather than down bottom. In your opinion, he should be breaking every single bone in your miserable body.

“Lennox!” the words leave your mouth before you’re able to catch them. Like pleading his name is going to do you any good. Like he’s going to lesson the punishment.

You can picture your brothers back home now, watching as Lennox delivers blow after blow. Chest, stomach, legs, back, anything he can kick he’s doing it. They’re watching you, hissing in pain, groaning out when the hit was particularly hard, and they keep going up. He’ll draw his foot back, and then hit you again.

“You killed him!” Lennox yells, and then he draws his foot back again, and slams it right into your cheek.

Static in your brain.

The kick had rattled you enough to conjure ringing in your ears. Lennox is yelling something at you, but you can’t hear at all. You watch his mouth move, and all you can make out is traitor, which probably sums the entire thing up. Screaming at you for being a dirty traitor.

He then slams his entire body on top of yours, breath leaving you from the weight. You watch in agony as he draws his hand back, prepared to send it flying forward, probably into your mouth or your nose. Any place that would do a significant amount of damage.

Unfortunately, your hearing begins to come back when he says something about messing up your ‘pretty’ face. Mangling your body and making you unrecognizable so when you go home, you’ll have to have surgery to restore. He says that he hopes they won’t even be able to.

You reach for the knife in your pocket, prepared to flip your body on top of him as momentum when he punches you. That way you’d be able to pull out your knives and stab him the best you can. Anywhere on the upper body will do, it’ll throw him off long enough for you to get the spear, or run.

You don’t get the chance, a cannon goes off, distracting Lennox from punching you. At least you thought. He looks up for a moment, surprised as you are, because that’s another person down. And considering that there’s nine people, it lowers it to eight.

Lennox turns to you with a grin, “Let’s make that two?”

The punch breaks your nose, but you still go to flip your body on top of his. Only for a certain makeshift knife to break you off, making you press your body to the ground as hard as possible. Like Blaire will accidentally miss and hit you instead.

Looking over, Blaire has a grin on his face, he winks, and then he takes out another knife, throwing it. But this time, it hits Lennox in the arm.

Lennox yells, and for the final goddamn time, you flip yourself on top of the fucker. It works, but you’re weak, and you’re working slowly to take out the knife. He sees this, he’s not stupid and through whatever pain he’s feeling, he grabs the knife from you, and turns to stab you in the stomach instead.

“No!” Blaire’s voice is distinct, and you can hear him running forward.

You take in a breath from your chest, not your stomach as you slowly slide off the blonde, hands finding their ways to the knife.

It has to stay in. It needs to stay in until you find a bandage.

You take it out, you’ll start bleeding out like a goddamn faucet. Blood will be pouring out of places in your body that you didn’t know you had. It’s in your stomach, pull it out and a lot of blood will come with it. Your heart will keep pumping, more blood will come out.

Keep it in, you live. It’s like the cap on a water bottle, blood won’t come if you don’t give it a reason to run.

But every time you move it tabs into another thousands nerves, if you could only take it out--

The world has split into two during your little dilemma. Take the damn knife out or not, you’re bleeding just the same. It’s painful, tears join your eyes gleefully, you have to keep yourself from hiccuping because you’re about to cry for real, for the first time. Your nose will start running, your stomach will move, permitting more blood loss. And worst of all, your brothers, your sponsors, and everyone else back home and at the Capitol will see it. They’ll see just how weak you are.

Just another girl who thought that they could make it.

Blaire tackles Lennox before he can make the jump at you. Blaire is on top, punching Lennox and dodging when Lennox tries to get him back.

Despite the fact that you’re dizzy as hell and the world seems to be going the opposite of your way, you get onto your feet.

“Go!” Blaire yells, “Quickly!”

You turn to the spear on the ground, your only choice of a makeshift cane. You lean over a little, fingers barely bringing it into your hands, and you take off just like that.

You force yourself to focus on getting to the woods. Disappear into them, no matter what it takes. You go to the lake, being near water will do you better than if you were to go into the woods directly. If you collapse from the pain then you’ll be able to drag your feeble body over.

Plus, Lennox won’t see what direction you’ve gone, but Blaire will probably take the guess.

You slow down when you hit the sad, since you have to lift your feet more, rather than drag them like you’ve been doing through the grass. You barely manage to get somewhere behind a log in the woods when you collapse. Blood, sweat and tears pouring from your body at once.

At the yelling of your name, you push yourself closer to the log, wrapping one hand around the knife, like you’re going to pull it out. But really, you’re keeping steady as you try to figure out if it’s Blaire or Lennox’s voice.

No chance, because the world goes from spinning to being eaten up by black spots in the matter of seconds.

LACUNA IS THE FIRST VERSION OF BELAMOUR

//MASTERLIST//

#ilguna #finnick odair #lacuna chapter nine #lacuna chapter ten #lacuna chapter eleven #lacuna chapter twelve #lacuna

26 notes · View notes

yxlenas · 3 years

Note

Allisaac + “Touch her, and you’re dead.”

Heavily implied vampires, explicit vomiting due to Allison having a wicked concussion.

Allison’s head hurts, a slow, dull throb behind her right eye. Her face feels wet, and she can feel something rubbing against her wrists that makes her think of training with her dad. Her stomach rolls miserably as she blinks, light slipping behind her eyelids for a brief second before she squeezes them shut again, whimpering. It hurts, it hurts so bad, and she wants to throw up so she does, leaning forward and hoping it misses most of her jeans. She’s too out of it to tell.

“Baby,” a voice hisses, “Allison. Allison, open your eyes.”

“Hurts,” she slurs, letting her head roll back onto whatever she’s tied to, “Hurts.”

“I know it hurts,” the voice hisses, “But I also know you’re concussed and that you need to wake up so you don’t get brain damage.”

The voice makes a good point, and Allison forces a single eye open and lets it roll around the room, well, dark creepy basement, she’s found herself in.

“Good job,” the voice praises, and Allison rolls her eye toward the voice. Isaac is sitting across from her in the basement, tied to a chair just like her. She’s assuming the ropes are soaked in wolfsbane because he’s still attached to the chair, and she can smell it from across the room, along with something coppery and something acidic. She looks down at herself and sees the remnants of her school lunch on her jeans and her shoes. Allison whines, low in the back of her raw throat.

“Hi,” she slurs at Isaac across the creepy dark basement they’re in, “I don’t feel good.”

“I know,” he says, fiddling against the ropes holding him to the chair. Allison blinks and there are two of him, then blinks again and there’s just one. The coppery smell must be blood. Isaac has it down the front of his shirt and in thick relief on the side of his neck, and it’s staining his wrists where the rope rubs.

“St- Isaac-” but she can’t get her brain to make sentences.

“Ally,” Isaac says sharply, “I need you to listen to me. You stay awake, and stay quiet, okay?”

“No,” she moans, “I want to go home.”

“I know,” he grunts, and then makes a pained groaning sound and there’s a dull thunk and splintering, “But I need you to be quiet, and stay awake for me.”

She searches for him again, not realizing she’d closed her eyes. He’s still got the ropes around him but he’s standing up, the chair shattered on the floor. He kneels in front of her and starts to untie her.

“The ropes,” she mumbles, “Wolfsbane.”

“I know,” he says, pausing to brush hair back from her face, “I know. It’s okay. You just focus on staying with me, alright? I’ll worry about the wolfsbane later. Okay. Allison, I need you to stand up for me.

“Dizzy,” she slurs, “Don’t wanna.”

“Hey,” Isaac says, sharper than he normally ever talks to her, “I need you to help me here, babe. I can’t carry you out of here.”

She stands up. Her stomach rolls and she pukes bile on Isaac’s already ruined shirt, slumping forward. It takes him time to catch her, and he grunts with her weight.

“You’re hurt,” she gasps out, bracing her forehead against his collarbone. She realizes they’re walking, her feet dragging along the dirty ground. Isaac is breathing hard, pressing a kiss to her temple as they stop at the bottom of a set of stairs.

“I-I can’t,” she coughs out, “I can’t- just leave me here.”

“Fuck that,” Isaac snaps, “Get on my back. I need you to hold on, try and support some of your own weight, okay?”

She nods against the back of his neck once he’s got her up, wrapping shaky legs around his waist.

“Keep talking to me,” he tells her, “When are you going prom dress shopping.”

“I can’t remember,” she moans, nestling her face against his neck. There’s still wet blood on it, and some of it is hot, a steady trickle. He’s still bleeding. He’s a werewolf, he shouldn’t still be bleeding. She’s too exhausted to point that out.

They’re in a big, empty house, the kind she’s seen out past Lydia’s neighborhood and close to the edges of the preserve. Once they’re up the stairs Isaac sets her on her feet and wraps an arm around her waist, letting her take a second to get her bearings. Allison feels her knees buckle and grabs at his shirt, taking faltering steps with Isaac’s help. His heart is beating hard and fast, and he’s struggling to breathe just like she is.

“Good job,” he murmurs into her hair, “You’re doing so well.” It would be patronizing if it were coming from anyone but Isaac, and if she was feeling any stronger than a piece of wet spaghett right now. She dry heaves without warning.

“‘Ve never had a concussion before,” she slurs, “Don’t like it.”

“Shhhh.” Isaac reminds her, and then-

She’s on the cold marble floor of the front hall, her head throbbing where it must have hit again. Isaac is snarling, hunched over her like a rabid animal.

“Touch her,” he growls, “and you’re dead.”

She doesn’t know who he’s talking to until a cold hand wraps around her ankle and yanks her back, away from Isaac. Allison screams as loud and long as she can, but she’s too weak to fight. A hand wraps around her throat and pins her to a wall. Isaac howls, and the house shakes with it. Allison squeezes her eyes shut when she sees what is in front of her because she’s convinced she’s hallucinating, but the thing is still in front of her when her eyes open again.

The person-thing-eldritch horror pinning her to the wall of the abandoned house has empty black eyes and sharp white teeth, mouth stained with blood. Allison lets out a high pitched laugh that turns into a scream when those sharp white teeth sink into her neck.

Something grabs the neck of the creature that’s drinking her blood (she hates her life) and yanks it off her. Allison has enough presence of mind to clamp her hand over the bleeding bite on her neck as she collapses to the floor, gasping and laughing, completely hysterical. The pain in her head is dull compared to the burning sensation in her freshly shredded neck. Someone grabs her from the floor and starts sprinting, so she screams.

“Easy,” Derek Hale says, “Keep pressure on that neck wound.”

“Isaac,” she sobs into his jacket, “They have Isaac-”

“Stay awake, Argent,” Derek snaps at her, when she feels her head start to fall back and starts to taste bile again.

“M’tired,” she slurs into his neck as he readjusts her head. She still doesn’t know where Isaac is. Her brain wants to sleep so badly, but everything hurts, her hair and her fingernails and her teeth, and Derek keeps telling her she can’t.

“Isaac,” she mumbles, as they slide in the back of a rumbling car that smells too much like exhaust to not make her retch, “Where’s Isaac?”

“Scott has him,” Derek says, “Stay with me, Allison.”

She wakes up in a dim room, IV in the back of one hand, Lydia holding the other. She wakes up screaming too, bolting to a seat and startling Lydia so badly that her nails gouge cuts in Allison’s skin.

“Where is he,” she realizes she’s sobbing but she can’t stop, “Where is he, Lydia where is he where is he where is he-”

“Shhhh, shhhhh Ally, shhhhhh,” Lydia is whispering, stroking Allison’s hair gently, and Allison realizes just how much pain she’s in, how much her head is throbbing and her neck is burning and Allison’s screaming turns into tears because it all hurts so, so much-

“Hi, Allison,” Melissa McCall says, and there’s a needle in one hand, “I’m going to give you something to help you calm down, honey.”

“Isaac,” she gasps, pulling her hand back from Melissa even though she knows how IV lines work, knows there’s ports for medication higher in the line, “Where’s Isaac, is he okay where is he they had him, they had him when Derek pulled me out-”

“Allison,” Melissa says gently, “Allison, Isaac is fine.”

“I want to see him,” she stutters out, “No, no, don’t give me that I want to see him.”

“If you let me give you this,” Melissa says, “I will take you to see Isaac. I promise. But you’re pretty beat up, and you’re going to want this the second I get you out of this bed and into a wheelchair.”

Her legs are fine, she figures out. There’s a thick line of purple bruising around one ankle where she was grabbed, but other than that they’re okay. Her neck has a few stitches in it, and she has a moderate concussion. Standing up to get into the wheelchair is enough to make her head spin, and she sits back down with a huff of breath and a squeeze of Lydia’s hand. Isaac is a floor up and three rooms from the elevator, wide awake, playing cards with Derek as a bag of blood drains into him. He’s not healing.

“Why aren’t you healing,” she asks him tiredly, and then he’s dragging himself out of his bed, wavering on his feet, grabbing his IV stand. Allison can’t help the smile that breaks out across her face when he grabs her face and kisses her full on the mouth, even when he stands up, stumbles back, and grabs at Derek to stay on his feet.

“You,” Melissa says, pointing an accusatory finger at her second son, “get back in that bed. You lost too much blood to even be slightly mobile by normal human standards, so act like it. Allison, I can help you on his bed if you want.”

Oh, God, she wants.

“I thought we were fucked,” Isaac tells her, as Derek and Lydia deal out the cards so they can play poker with the coins in Derek’s jacket pocket, “I woke up in that basement and you were unconscious and I could barely breathe and wow, I thought we were done for.”

“Yeah can we maybe not get kidnapped again anytime soon?” she slurs. Whatever Melissa gave her for the pain, it’s really kicking in. She’s tired and warm and Isaac is holding her tight

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he says, kissing her temple, “Do you not enjoy being tied to chairs in creepy basements with me?”

She shakes her head and nestles against his neck, closing her eyes.

“I’ll try to work on that,” he whispers.

They’re both out cold before Lydia and Derek finish the poker setup.

#Allisaac #Isaac Lahey #Allison Argent #Derek Hale #Lydia Martin #Electricbluebutterflies #Cecilia Writes

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chibsytelford · 4 years

Text

3 is the perfect number

Jax Teller x Chibs Telford x Reader.

Authors note - so myself and @rebel-without-cause-x wrote this together. We were just thirsting over our men, which turned into this fic. Sorry not sorry.

Words = 2263

Warning = mentions of smoking weed, sex, some swearing.

Taglist = @agirllovespasta @everyhowlmarksthedead @naytraydr

Saturday night only meant one thing, getting drunk, high or laid. Or even all three.

“Girl, are you ready yet?” Lyla shouted upstairs.

“Gimme 5” you laughed as you shook your hair out before slipping on your Timberlands.

You and Lyla were an odd combination, she was quite girly and you were the complete opposite. But somehow you were like peas in a pod.

“I will leave without you” she laughed.

“God I’m coming” you laughed back taking one final look in the mirror, smirking at your appearance. Your cut off Nirvana shirt gave a glimpse of your cherry red lace bra and your shorts were cheeky.

Running down the stairs you heard Lyla whistle at you.

“Damn girl, someone is planning on getting laid tonight” she smirked.

“Too right, it’s been a hot minute” you sighed. You had recently come out of a very toxic relationship and now it was only about having fun. “Now let’s go because I’m gonna die if I don’t drink something alcoholic soon”.

“Always the dramatic one” she chuckled as she locked up.

You and Lyla headed into the Sons clubhouse where the party was in full swing. The bar was the first stop of the night. You flashed a flirty smile to the guy manning the bar and ordered 4 shots and 2 vodka and cokes.

“Cheers” you both giggled in unison, as you clinked the glasses together. The music was loud, the air was filled with the smell of weed. This was your kind of party. Slamming the glass down on the bar you and Lyla headed to dance in the middle of the floor.

As you swayed your hips seductively to the beat of the music you noticed more than one person had their eye on you. There was two people to be exact, and you knew them really well. Jax Teller and Chibs Telford.

A small smirk appeared on your face as an idea popped into your head, you just didn’t know if the boys would be up for it but you definitely were. The music changed and was more of an up beat tempo. Your hips gracefully moved to the beat as you winked at Lyla, dropping to the floor pushing your knees out, before bouncing back up and popping your bum out.

If it wasn’t obvious you had gained the attention from Jax and Chibs, it definitely was now, as they stared at you open mouthed.

“I need another drink” you laughed as you ran your hands through your hair. Every action you did had a bit more effort in order to drive two boys insane. Slinking over the bar you winked at Chibs before leaning against the cool wood and ordered a glass of whisky.

“You gonna share that joint or what” you giggled holding your hand out to Jax.

“Lass ye surprise me every day” Chibs smirked placing his hand on the base of your back, and the flash of jealousy in Jax’s blue eyes didn’t go unnoticed.

Jax slammed the joint in your hand and you took a drag. You smirked, knowing full well that the blond haired, blue eyed man didn’t like the fact Chibs was touching you.

“Brother, can you grab me a beer?” Jax asked Chibs, and swiftly moved closer to you as the other man went off to find Jax a beer.

“What, do you want to touch me too?” You teased Jax.

The man didn’t waste any time and pulled you flush against him. Your chests were now touching.

“You knew fine well what you were doing, dancing like that” he growled ever so softly in your ear.

“I was only dancing” you giggled whilst innocently biting down on your bottom lip.

“Yeah, just dancing” he nodded running his tongue over his bottom lip as he took the joint out of your fingers.

Soon enough Chibs returned, standing behind you with his chest pressed against your back, he passed the beer over your shoulder to Jax before resting his hand on your hip. You were well and truly sandwiched between the two guys.

“Wanna dance Chibs?” you smirked, tilting your head to look up at him.

“With you lass, I’d do anything” he grinned squeezing your hip.

You knew before you started this master plan the chase would be fun, but now you were putting the plan in place it was hotter than you thought, having two guys getting jealous at the other ignited something in your core and you didn’t know how long you could keep it up.

You grabbed Chibs’ hand and dragged him to the middle of the floor. As you did that, you looked back to see Jax giving you both daggers. You waggled your finger at him in a ‘come here’ motion and he put down his beer and padded over.

At this point Lyla was dancing with her old man Opie not too far from you. You had Jax behind you, and Chibs in front, and god it felt good. The heat radiating from them both made you tie a bow at the front of your shirt, showing off even more of your red lace bra.

Jax put his hands on your hips, and Chibs held your shoulders and you held his. You shuddered at the sudden touches, you grinded against Jax, making sure not to leave Chibs out, by running your hands up and down his arms. The 3 of you completely lost in the middle of the floor.

“I think you are paying Jackie boy a bit too much attention lass” Chibs whispered huskily in your ear.

“We can’t have that now can we” you giggled as you spun around so Chibs was now behind you. Even from the loud music you hear the almost animalistic growl that left his lips as your ass ground against his groin. Jax’s eyes were completely hazed over, partly from the buzz from the joint and partly from lust.

“Red suits you baby” Jax winked as his fingers ran just under the material causing a breath to get caught in your throat.

Soon enough the song came to an end, and you were starting to get breathless from the dancing and the heat that was radiating from the boys. Lyla walked passed you rolling her eyes at the fact that you had both the president and Vice President of the club practically fighting for your attention.

“Darlin you are gonna have to choose who you want because you are driving me crazy” Jax breathed in your ear nipping it softly.

“Actually I don’t have to choose” you giggled.

Both men stared at you dumbfounded.

“What are you saying?” Chibs asked as he manoeuvred you back over towards the bar where it was a bit quieter.

“I’m saying, I don’t want to choose between you, because I want you both. Together”.

This rendered both men speechless. They both looked at one another as if asking ‘should we do this’.

Jax was the first to break the silence. “Are you sure? You know we won’t go easy on you”.

“I don’t want you to go easy on me, I’ve wanted this for a while, and tonight I thought fuck it, I’m going to do it” you were starting to become very confident and needy and you showed this by grabbing one hand of each man and leading them to one of the rooms through the back.

“A guess this is happening Jackie boy” Chibs nudged Jax playfully.

Letting go of their hands as you walked into the room, you had your back to them, in one quick motion you pulled your shirt off and started fumbling with the button of your shorts. After a couple of choice words your shorts pooled around your ankles. Stepping out of them you turned to face both guys, their jaws pretty much hit the ground as they drank in the little red number you were rocking.

Lifting your leg up onto the bed you seductively ran your hands down your leg to untie your boot, quickly doing the same to the other one.

Looking over your shoulder, both Jax and Chibs were stood there staring, casting your eyes down you smirked at the tightness in both their jeans.

“Well boys” you whispered seductively “you just gonna stand there or what?”.

As soon as the words left your lips the Kuttes were off, and their clothing was being tossed around.

Chibs was the first one to make a move, his hands ghosted down your sides, as he placed a few hot kisses down your neck, causing a small moan to escape your lips. Between the assault on your skin and feeling his hardness behind you, you felt the heat starting to pool between your legs.

Grabbing Jax’s chain you pulled him closer to you before slamming your lips against his so forcefully, your teeth clinked together. Your hands found their way into his hair tangling in the blond locks.

You knew by the morning you would be sore, tired and skin would be littered in little purple reminders of this night. One thing was for sure you knew you would be coming back for more.

Slipping your hand behind you, sinking it into Chibs’ boxers, you wrapped your hand around his length causing him to growl against your skin. A sudden chill ran across your chest causing your nipples to harden at the change of temperature. Jax took one of the hardened buds in his mouth making you moan, the feeling of him nipping, along side the hot kisses Chibs was placing down your neck was driving you wild and both of them knew that as your body squirmed under their touch.

“We haven’t even started yet love and ye are a whimpering mess” Chibs smirked against your skin as his hand slipped under the only bit of clothing left on your body.

Running his fingers through your slick folds, you felt your knees buckle under you, luckily Jax stopped you falling. Squeezing your eyes closed as Chibs teased your clit.

“No open your eyes darlin’” Jax grinned looking up at you.

“Fuck” you breathed leaning back into Chibs as his fingers worked magic, you were coming apart at the seams and fast.

Soon enough you had been thrown on the bed, on all fours. Chibs was stood behind you and without warning slammed into you making you scream in pleasure. There was nothing gentle about his thrusts, each one hitting the spot every time. Whilst you were distracted Jax grabbed your face in his hands forcing you to look at him.

“You gonna take my cock like a good girl” he smirked as he tugged on his dick.

Words were a struggle so all you could manage was a nod.

“Good girl” he winked as you took his hard member in your mouth, gagging every so often.

With every thrust it took you closer to the point of ecstasy, the high you were feeling was unlike anything else you had ever felt. Suddenly both boys stopped and pulled out causing you to whimper at the sudden feeling of emptiness.

“Ye holding in there lass?” Chibs chuckled as he ran his fingers across your back.

“Yeah” you gasped, as Jax slowly slid into you.

The night was filled with many orgasms, a lot of moaning and screaming from all three of you.

Flopping back down on the bed you tried to catch your breath as Jax passed you a lit cigarette.

“Well that was something else” Jax yawned before placing a kiss on your bare shoulder.

“Hmm mmm” you mumbled.

“Come on lass lets get you cleaned up” Chibs smiled as he reappeared with a wash cloth. “Then we can sleep”

— — —

Slipping out of the room, leaving box Jax and Chibs snoring away, you went on the hunt for coffee. Lyla spotted you instantly smirking at the state your hair was in.

“Fun night?” she winked passing you a mug of steaming hot coffee.

“Best night ever” you grinned as you sipped your drink.

“So the last thing I knew you had Jax and Chibs all over you and then all three of you disappeared” she said. You smirked at her as she connected the dots. “Wait BOTH of them?”

“Yeah both of them” you winked before turning your attention to the door.

“So that’s where my shirt disappeared to” Chibs laughed as he made his way over to you.

“You mean my shirt now” you smirked raising your eye brow at him as his hands found their way onto your shoulders squeezing away the tension.

“How you feeling’ this morning lass” he whispered placing a kiss on your forehead.

“I’m good” you nodded “sore but so worth it”

You handed Chibs your mug of coffee to share with you. “You’ll need that after last night” you told him with a wink.

Jax was next to emerge from the room. “I was wondering if you were sneaking out this morning cause you regretted last night” he smirked as his blue eyes twinkled as he looked at you.

“I have no regrets what so ever, and I know you boys don’t either with the way you were both huffing my name last night”

Chibs spat out his coffee at your remark not realising Lyla already knew what happened.

“What, you think I wouldn’t tell my best friend about the best night of my life?” You giggled grabbing Lyla’s hand, and the coffee from Chibs and left the clubhouse to spill all the beans about the previous night.

One thing was for sure, you were going to make it a habit. It’s true what they say, 3 definitely was the perfect number.

#jax teller x chibs telford x reader #sons of anarchy fanfic #jax teller #chibs telford

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revisionaryhistory · 3 years

Text

Three Days ~ 67

~*~Sebastian~*~

This little barely a conversation told me it was going to be fine. Not that I was overly worried, but still. The way Emma checked with me if I trusted her friends was good. However, I do not believe for one second that the purpose wasn't really for her to say "don't put this on the internet." I’m sure she would have diverted the conversation if she didn't already know they could be trusted. She reassured me and made it clear she trusted them while still saying the expectation out loud. No one felt like they'd been admonished and no one got offended. The way she did it was so natural.

Beautiful. Fucking beautiful.

And not just Emma. I hadn’t known exactly where she was going, but we'd talked enough and I trusted her. We worked well together. Navigating through the bullshit was going to be just fine.

Dawn, the one with all the questions, looked like she had another one. She wagged her finger between Emma and me. "This is what I want. The way you two are. You're comfortable with each other, but not in the boring take things for granted sort of way. The fun, you get each other, deep conversation, and have really good sex sort of comfortable." She made a couple of circles with her finger, "I want this. How'd you do this?"

Me being included in any sort of relationship goals is laughable. I shrugged, "An excessive amount of talking."

My girl went the other way, "We made a deal to skip all the dating shit where you don't let the other person know you like them, don't respond to texts and phone calls too fast, and only talk about things that make you look good. We opted for just getting to know each other. You both have to be willing to jump off the cliff and catch each other."

Dawn laughed, "Well, that sounds terrifying and completely impossible."

"Terrifying? Yes. Impossible? No. Payoff huge." I smiled broadly, pointed at Emma, and whispered, "I got her."

Nia headed toward the door, "I like him."

Dawn rolled her eyes and followed, "I don't know which I'm more jealous of."

Emma ignored both of them and turned to Mallory, "Do you want to switch out the desks today or later?"

I looked at the desk, "You're moving that? It's huge."

Both women shook their heads. "They won't move them. We're packing everything up."

"Same desks?" Double nods. "Why don't we just swap out the drawers?"

They looked at the desk, each other, then me. "You're brilliant."

I looked at Mallory, "No, my parents recently moved and I moved drawers that weren't in the right places."

Emma and I headed back to her room. Right outside the door, I shook out my whole body, like a wet dog.

Emma leaned away, "You alright there, babe?"

I did it again, "You've been playing in my hair." I scratched both my hands in my hair. "I think you created a new erogenous zone."

I carried the drawers back forth while they held the doors. The amount of shit in the drawers was impressive. Emma has a problem with pens. I don't think I've ever seen so many pens outside of a store. And highlighters. Berry colored pens. I know this because the bin is labeled. Anything but yellow highlighters. Back in Emma's room we labeled everything with her name on masking tape and stacked everything on one side of the room.

There were many interruptions after lunch. Most people just saying goodbye to Emma for the summer. Emma said there were a couple of people she'd barely met. "I should set up a table, give you a pad of post-its, and charged twenty bucks for an autograph."

"You're undervaluing me."

"What does thirty seconds with you cost?"

"About a hundred for an autograph. Two for a photo. Four for a package."

She pulled me to her desk, pushed me in her chair, and gave me a berry pen and post-its. "I need new carpets. Start signing." I smiled and got to work. I was writing notes to her that I would be hiding in her room, vehicle, and house. Some sweet, some sentimental, and some sexy. I had to shoo her away and hide my stack. Emma finished labeling before I was done writing, so I stole a pen and the pad.

Last task for the day was taking the shit we'd pulled off the walls to Mallory's room. While they talked, I got the chance to hide a couple of notes in her desk. Pretty sure Mallory saw, but I trusted her to keep my secret. She'd read them, but these weren't dirty.

In the car, before I could buckle my seat belt, Emma fisted the hair on the back of my head and kissed the fuck out of me. Full on, open mouthed, lots of tongue, kissed the fuck out of me. Then just sat back.

I licked the taste of her, of us, off my lips, "I liked that."

"You were supposed to."

Despite my best efforts, I smiled, "I think I might get lucky after our workout.”

"I know you will." She winked at me.

Miracle I didn't hit one of the parked cars with as hard as I was laughing.

We worked out hard. Felt great after. Now to go home for cardio.

While I toed off my shoes, I clapped my hands together, "Where is that high-end vibrator?"

Emma put a hand on her hip, "Are you tired or lazy?"

I pursed my lips and looked, "Both. Only not tired. Mostly curious. " She was walking away, so I grabbed her from behind, sliding a hand between her legs. I kissed her neck, "I want to play with toys."

Emma put a hand on my cheek, "I will let you play after I shower. I stink."

"So do I." I nuzzled her neck and rubbed between her legs.

"If we were just talking sex, no problem. But you're going to be exploring."

Yeah, she's right. I wouldn't want her going down on me right now either. I let her go and took her hand, "Ok, but no fooling around in the shower."

"No promises."

Emma was a very good girl in the shower. Until she wasn't. And even then, she was still really good. It started when we were very soapy. Suddenly (not at all suddenly) her breasts were against my chest. Slippery and all the other good stuff. Her hands were on my back and ass. I went to kiss her and she pulled her head away. "You said no fooling around in the shower."

"I've changed my mind." I didn't really mean it when I'd said it.

Emma kissed along my neck to my ear, "întoarceți-vă, Seb asti-an."

Only good things can come from the words, "Turn around, Sebastian." I'm pretty sure I'm about to be reduced to a moaning boneless shell of a man. A very happy man. Emma placed kisses from shoulder blade to shoulder blade. Her hands slid down my wet skin to my hips and her kisses headed down my back. Somewhere around the same time, her tongue was at the base of my spine she must have gone to her knees. because her hands were moving up from ankles. I fell forward, resting my head on my arm on the shower wall. "I like where this is going."

"Do you?" Her fingers went up my inner thigh, up the crack of my ass, and circled around the bottom of my butt cheek.

I shivered, "Oh fuck."

Kisses moved to my ass. Hands on my thighs. I arched my back like the complete needy bastard I was. I like a lot of things about sex. Rimming is in the top three. Her hands holding, spreading me. Kisses teasingly close and the first touch of her tongue. I growled in pleasure and relief. Emma hadn't lied the first night when she told me there was no place on my body she didn't want to kiss. And kiss she did. And lick. Little licks, long licks, circular licks. I loved them all. They all produced different sensations and combined with the soft touch of her hands.

"Em, feels so good."

My words did not affect her. She kept up with what she was doing. Turning me inside out. I moved my hand to my cock, stroking slowly. There was no rush. Something told me Emma would keep rimming me until I couldn’t take it anymore, which was quickly approaching. The sensations, the new experience for us, and the still slight taboo was a recipe for losing control. That Emma went here before I asked was a huge turn on. She wants to do this to me. There's the thought that pushed me over the edge. She wanted to do this to me. For me.

“I’m gonna come, Emma." I felt one of her hands leave my ass and wrap with my hand around my cock. Her tongue kept working me and her hand helped me. Pleasure overload. The acoustics in the bathroom made my crying out much louder than I'd meant for it to be. "Fuck. Fuck. Oh god. Fuck!" and a final guttural growl that ended with a whole-body shiver.

I let go of my cock, grabbing her hand, and lacing our fingers. Ever so slowly she kissed her way up my back. Slow was good because I didn’t see myself moving anytime soon. The hand I wasn't holding slid around to my stomach, then reached in front of me to turn off the water. That was my cue to move. I tried to push away from the wall. I wasn't successful. I did laugh, "I’m not ready to move. Still feeling way too good."

Emma made her way between me and the wall, wrapping our joined hands around her back. Her lips brushed against my chest. The side of my neck. When her mouth met mine, I realized this was exactly what I needed to move, to ground me, but not pull me out of the high. I dropped my arm from the wall to around her shoulders, holding her close. What do you say after someone’s tongue has been up your ass? Thank you. I love you. Wow, that was good, will we do it again?

I nuzzled my nose against her neck, "You are a fantastic lover."

"Thanks." She rubbed her cheek against me. "You said the sex would get better."

I remember that. As we learned what the other liked it would get better. "I did."

"I'm figuring out what you like." She opened the shower door, handing me a towel, before stepping out and grabbing her own.

I laughed, "You mean what functionally paralyzes me?"

She nodded, tucking in the corner of the towel wrapped around her. "Just imagine when you're blindfolded, tied to the bed, and I use everything I know."

Shit. My mouth dropped open as I watched her leave the bathroom. I let her get a little ahead of me before running up to her, picking her up, and climbing into the bed with her. I pressed her into the mattress with my body on hers, "I love you."

Her fingers drug through my hair, "I love you."

I kissed her softly, wanting the emotion of it more than the physicality. I backed away with a smile, "Where are my toys?"

She pointed to the nightstand on my side of the bed, "Bottom drawer. Black velvet bag."

I dove to the side of the bed, hanging over the edge, "I’m intrigued by you specifying what I’m looking for. There's more than one toy."

Emma held onto my thigh like I might fall off the bed, "A single girl has needs."

I looked over my shoulder, "Not a judgment. It’s hot." A woman who takes control of her pleasure is hot as fuck. That she's confident enough to let me in on the fun... amazing. I did not immediately go for the velvet bag. The first thing I pulled from the drawer looked like a mini version of the "magic wand." It was purple. I rolled a little to my side to look at her. I held it up and quirked an eyebrow.

"General use. Quick, but lacks finesse. Also versatile, because you would enjoy it too."

"I bet." I loved her Amazon.com review. The next was kind of clear with gold sparkles. Very festive. This one I knew, "A rabbit."

She nodded and quoted Twister. "Rabbit is good. Rabbit is wise."

There's a lot of buttons." I started pushing them and the thing came alive. The ears wiggled and the shaft swirled.

"To be honest I only care about the ears. The cock part is only for resistance."

"Good to know." I put it back, grabbed the lube and the black velvet bag, and sat up with my legs crossed. I felt like a kid opening a present. Emma sat up, mirroring me. I opened the drawstrings and pulled out what was without a doubt a high-end vibrator. It was a deep wine color and the covering was soft. It was shaped like a "J". The shaft on the Rabbit was straight and resembled a cock. This didn’t. The way it curved looked more like fingers searching for the G-spot. On the other side was a soft collar around a hole. The controls were on the bottom curve. Even more buttons to play with!

I pouted when Emma took my toy. She held it like a game show presenter. "This is the Womanizer Duo. Rechargeable and water proof. The top buttons control the insertable bit. Bottom the suction. I reached for it and she pulled it away. "The magic is it remembers your last settings and it turns off and on with contact."

"Really? That is magic." I squinted my eyes, "How much?"

Emma laughed, "Two hundred and nine dollars. Worth every penny." She handed it back to me.

"Starts with contact?"

She nodded. I turned it upside down and put my tongue over the hole. Something started, but Emma shoved my elbow with a gasp, "Stop! Do you know where that’s been?"

She's lost her mind. I look at it then between her legs. "Nowhere my tongue hasn't." I felt the dirty smile form, "And less impressive than where your tongue’s been." I put my tongue back over the hole and a rhythmic sound started. There was feeling on my tongue opposite of my expectations. "It doesn’t really suck. It’s more of a powerful fast blow that has a side effect of suction. My tongue can’t do this." I pouted.

Her hand grabbed my face and pulled me closer to kiss, "You'll never hear me complain about what your tongue can do.”

"Good to know." I pushed her back onto the bed, laughing with her. It occurred to me how unsexy this was. Playful, but not sexy. Also, potentially awkward. I should check. I dropped the toy and crawled over her, supporting myself on my arms while I kissed her. "This ok? I don't want you to be uncomfortable or self-conscious."

Emma's head moved slightly from side to side and her tongue peeked out between her lips. "I'm good." She shrugged, "I'm confident if you can't figure it out, you'll take care of me."

That sounded like a challenge, "Oh, I'll figure it out." I sat back between her legs, crossed mine, and scooted close with her legs spread and draped over mine. After covering the toy in lube I pushed it into her. Watching her body take in the toy, like she takes in me, did things to my head. It was a rush. Same resistance as with my cock was resolved by pulling out and pushing back in. The suction part turned on as it touched her. I had a clear view and positioned it where I thought it should be. The lube made everything slippery and when it slid down below her clit, she gasped. I smiled. "Can I change the settings?" Before she could answer I pushed it deeper inside her which shifted the suction part. I could see it pull on her.

"You can do whatever you want:"

I felt her words shoot straight to my cock, "I'm making a list."

I bumped up the power and her reaction was curling her hips. Her movement shifted the focus inside her and caused a shiver. I hummed curiously. Switching my hold where my fingers lay along the shaft, and rocked it into her. Slowly. Her eyes fluttered closed for several seconds before focusing on me again. I upped the power again.

"Oh god, Bastian."

I don't know if she was still looking at me because I was watching what I was doing. Watching her start to squirm and pulse her hips. I knew very well what that felt like and while tempted to replace the toy with me, I was getting off on this too. Hard as a fucking rock.

Things moved fast when I pushed the up button again. Emma's thighs tightened and shook. I went a little faster pulsing into her. Emma fisted the fabric, one of her feet came up to press into my hip, and she arched against the bed. My name was broken by her crying out as she came.

I let her squeeze her legs together, turn aside, and break the contact. The vibrator turned itself off. We'd each had an intimate, but impersonal orgasm. It was time for contact.

After dealing with the condom and my new favorite toy I laid on my side next to her, stretching out my arm, "Come here, baby."

Emma rolled into me, moving her leg over my hip, and putting her hand on my chest. I reached between us to position myself and push inside her. We both groaned at the moment before our mouths met.

Everything was extra slick from the lube and it felt incredible. We moved together, kissed, and held on. Emma moved her leg down and grabbed my ass, pulling me deeper. Our mouths parted, but we stayed close, eyes soft and connected. I didn't want words. I didn’t need words. I knew the words. I was holding what I wanted and needed. She held me close in more ways than I could fully comprehend. I moved on top of her to finish with her fingers digging into my back.

I flopped onto my back beside her, taking her hand in mine. "I just realized I get you for more than a week. A couple days in the middle away, but over a week. Across three different locations."

Emma turned her head to smile at me, "We've been spending a lot of time together."

"I like it." Understatement.

"Me too."

It wasn't even dinner time. The rest of the night was spent making potato salad and watching TV. It wasn't too late when we went upstairs, made love again, and fell asleep.

We went for a run in the morning, weaving through the complex and nearby neighborhoods. I scrambled some eggs while Emma made some toast and cooked turkey sausage. She was going to start on the cupcakes while I showered.

I came down dressed with my swim trunks in my hand. I went over to Emma by the stove and looked in the pan, "What is that?"

She pulled the spoon up letting the yellow liquid flow off, "Lemon curd."

"I thought you were making cupcakes?"

"I am. This goes in the middle."

I started to smile then curled my lips in trying to stop. "Ok." I pointed to the couch. "I'm just going to go over there." I tried hard to suppress my snicker.

"Why are you laughing?"

I turned and looked at her, "I'm trying hard not to."

Emma glared at me. I came back around the peninsula and leaned in the corner a few feet from her. "It's sweet." I stopped and smiled, "Are you trying to impress my mother?"

"Would that be a bad thing?"

"No, just incredibly unnecessary."

Her eyes grew wide, "Why?"

"Seriously?" She stirred while looking at me "She loves you." How does she not know this?

"Oh," She looked back at her lemon curd, ignoring me creeping closer until I hugged her from behind. "I don't know what that was about."

I kissed her neck, "I send your father pictures and videos of you. Mostly in hopes he won't kill me, but maybe one day he'll trust me with you. He’s important to you, so I want him to like me."

"He does like you."

"I know." I let go of her and scooted my ass onto the counter. "And mom likes you. That you can feed her son who has zero cooking skills will get you extra points."

Mom took the cupcakes from me before pulling me into a tight hug. She let go of me to hug Emma, "Glad to see you."

"You too. The house looks great."

"Thanks in part to you two. We’ve changed and added a few things. We love the bakery you told me about. The sourdough is perfect."

"They'll sell you starter. Mine is four years old now."

I jumped in, "You can bake bread too?" Emma nodded. "Yum."

"When you get back from Paris we should have lunch."

"Absolutely."

That is how my mother and girlfriend started a relationship completely separate from me.

Out by the pool, I handed Emma my phone, "Take a picture for me." I jogged to the other side of the pool, my back to the railing. "Can you get the pool and view behind me?"

"You will be tiny."

"Good point." I thought a second, "I'll mention the pool in the caption."

Emma moved closer, "What are you going to do?"

"I hadn't gotten that far." I threw my arms out to the side turned my face up to the sky, closed my eyes, and smiled. Looking happy required no acting skills. I felt Emma's fingers on my stomach. I tilted my head back down and met her lips. I hummed my approval, putting an arm around her to bring her nearly naked body against mine. I nuzzled her neck to make her laugh, "Thank you, baby."

We walked back to the lounge chairs, Emma was between me and mom. This way I didn't have to turn my back on one to talk to the other. Mom looked at me, "What are you doing, Sebastian?"

"Feeding my hungry fans." The last time I'd posted was the ears. I captioned the picture, "When your mom's pool has this view what else do you need?"

I checked ten minutes later. Astonishing how many comments can be posted about my bare chest. At the top was one from Will, "A woman?"

Smart mouthed bastard of a friend. I showed Emma. She laughed, "And you have two."

I also had an idea. What could be a monumentally stupid idea. Emma looked at me, like she knew what I was thinking. "I want to send a picture of us to Will and have him post. Covering your face, but you're with me."

"Are you sure?"

I pulled my lips onto a light line and shook my head, "Nope, but I wanna do it anyway."

Mom kept reading her book, "I think it's a good idea. Different is good."

I glared at her. Guess who never liked how I handled previous girlfriends. I held out my phone, "You take it." It took several tries before mom was satisfied. Emma and I picked the same one and I sent it to Will and a text to call me. He did, almost immediately.

"Nice picture. You look pale."

"Ass." I laughed, "I want you to put something over her face and post it with a smart-ass comment."

"Are you sure?"

"Emma asked the same thing. No, I'm not, so do it quickly."

"You're incredibly lucky she puts up with you."

"No shit."

We hung up and a few minutes later Will posted the picture of us with a peach over Emma's face. He wrote, "I'm surprised he's not flipping me off."

I commented, "Check your texts, it’s there."

Will ~ Fallen off any cliffs lately?

Sebastian ~ Yesterday

Will ~ Finally. Glad to hear it.

#sebastian stan #sebastian stan fanfiction #fanfiction #sebastian stan X ofc #marvel actor fanfiction

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katehuntington · 5 years

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Title: Ride With Me (part eight) Fandom: Supernatural AU Characters series: Reader, Dean Winchester, Bobby Singer, Ellen Singer-Harvelle, Jo Singer (Harvelle), Benny Lafitte, Ash Miles, Garth Fitzgerald IV, Castiel Novek, and many more. Timeline: 2008 Pairing: Dean x Reader (eventually) Word count: 5550 words Summary series: Y/N is a talented horse rider who is on her way to become a professional. In order to convince her father that she deserves the loan needed to start her own farm, she goes to Arizona for six months, to intern at a ranch owned by Bobby and Ellen Singer. Her future is set out, but then she meets a handsome horseman, who goes by the name of Dean Winchester. A heartwarming series about a cowboy who falls for the girl, letting go of the past and the importance of family. Summary part eight: It’s one of those days for Dean where everything that can go wrong, goes wrong. After one hell of a day, Bobby has to break the news to Ash, who doesn’t take the lay off well. Warnings series: NSFW, 18+ only! Fluff, angst, eventually smut. Swearing, smoking, alcohol intoxication, alcohol abuse. Mutual pining, heartbreak. Crying, nightmares, childhood trauma. Description of animal abuse, domestic violence, mentions of addiction. Financial problems, stress, mental breakdown. Description of blood and injury, hospital scenes, character death, grief. Music: About Today - The National (final scene). Check out ‘Kate Huntington’s Ride With Me playlist’ on Spotify! Author’s note: Thank you @kittenofdoomage and @girl-with-a-fandom-fettishfor helping me. You girls are awesome betas. Thank you for your endless patience!

Ride With Me Masterlist

7.30 AM, Monday morning. Several hundred hooves tremble the ground. Earthy colored dust has turned into dark mud overnight as the heavens unleashed a rainstorm that still hasn't stopped from raging down. The cattle moos anxiously, trying to stick together as a herd. Bobby’s dog, Rumsfeld, barks over the sound of it all, his enthusiastic calls trumped by the shouts and whistles of the wranglers. "Yah!” Dean shouts, cutting off young stock that threatens to fan out.

Droplets as big as marbles fall from the grey sky, the water caught in the brim of his hat pouring from it whenever he tips it down. It’s unusually cold this morning without sunshine to burn the night away. The long, leather coat he’s wearing protects him from that, but the rain started coming through the seams on his shoulders and elbows two hours ago and a steady drip down his neck has drenched his shirt already. Dean has been in the saddle since four o'clock, ever since the thunder woke him up and an eerie gut feeling began to unsettle him. Something was wrong, he felt it in his bones. As he stepped out onto the porch, he immediately noticed the distressed young stock on the wrong side of the fence. Apparently, the cattle panicked in the thunderstorm, took down a gate, and escaped the pen, splitting the herd in two. They were absolutely all over the place, roaming over more than forty acres. With a buyer coming in at 9 AM, he had to gather the two hundred cows and bulls fast, if he wanted to avoid a financial disaster. So here they are; wet through, tired and miserable, trying to maneuver their horses on the slick surface. A perfect start for this dreadful Monday.

A sharp whistle reverberates through the valley, requiring his attention. It's Bobby, looking over the mayhem from a small hill, calling his horse to a stand. “Dean, stragglers!” His head wrangler notices three steers swaying away from the herd. Dean turns from the tail of the group and pushes his horse forward, but immediately senses the loss of grip in the slippery mud. Led’s hind legs skid from under his body, forcing the buckskin to the ground. As the horse's knees buckle, the experienced rider decides in a split second not to leave the sinking ship. Instead, he skillfully sticks to the saddle like he’s glued to the leather, and moves his weight to level out the balance. At the same time, he pulls Led’s nose from the ground and gives enough free rein right after, simultaneously pushing his heels into the horse’s flanks, encourages him to give it his everything to get back on his feet. His quick thinking enables the stallion to break the fall and thankfully; Led steadies himself. Dean breathes out; that was way too close. “Well done, bud,” the rider soothes, ruffling the Quarter’s mane, glad that he was able to prevent a possibly painful crash. “Hell of a save,” Benny comments from several yards away. “You alright?” “I'm good,” Dean assures his best friend. “We need to round them up fast before this whole pasture turns into a mudslide.” He pushes Led forward, who picks up speed carefully, smart enough to not make the same mistake twice. It takes a while to make up for the lost time, but then he wings the three bulls, guiding them back to the group. Slowly but surely, the wranglers manage to maneuver the large number of animals back into another secured pen. It’s past eight o’clock when Jo closes the last gate and they can all take a breather. Too bad they cannot head back to bed just yet, the day has only just begun. “Next time you wake me up in the middle of the night, make sure it’s because there’s some hot gal waiting for me on my doorstep,” Ash mocks as he slows his horse down. Dean looks aside, grinning at the guy that’s in charge of the cattle. “You have enough problems controlling your cows, let alone women, Ash.” Benny laughs at that, so does Jo. He’s sure Bobby would have laughed at it too, if it wasn't for the troubling decision that has been made. The ranch owner rests his hand on the horn, taking in his dream team as the rain finally stops falling. Today is the day that he will sell over three-fourths of his cattle. Decades of blood, sweat and tears, sold for a dime. Damage control, they call that. It ain't pretty, but it’s necessary to prevent this place from drowning. What else is necessary is cutting down on personnel. Collateral damage is the term, Bobby believes. There’s that word again: damage. “Is Rufus still dropping by at nine?” Dean, who held up his horse to ride next to his uncle, checks with him. “Yeah, but you know Rufus. Could be eleven just as well,” Bobby mutters, aware of his old friend’s carelessness. “Better ask Ellen to break out the Johnny Walker Blue if you're aiming for a good price,” his right hand suggests, before he halts at the tack up area. The sound of horseshoes splashing on the wet surface draws Y/N’s attention. She parks her broom against the stable wall and peeks around the corner, spotting the wranglers under the Yucca tree, which seems to cry silently as tears of rain drip down from its branches. “Garth! They're here!” she shouts at the stable boy on the other side of the barn. The slender guy pops his head out of a stall, then walks out and closes the door behind him. Like the wranglers, he and the intern got up at four in the morning as well. During the weekend the stables aren't mucked out, which adds to the work on Monday, and with Bobby, Jo and Dean handling the breakout, the two of them had to feed and turn out the animals as well. Getting up early was the only way to get all the work done without falling behind. As the dark rain clouds pass, everyone on the square gets off their horses. Y/N walks up to Bobby, sensing the low morale. No wonder, because all five wranglers are soaked, probably sore and tired too. “I got him.” She takes over his chestnut named Seger. “Ellen has breakfast ready for you.” “Thank you, Darlin’,” the old man mumbles, stiffly making his way to the cafeteria. While tying up Seger, Y/N watches the ranch owner hobble off, wondering why he seems so burdened. When she glances back to loosen the horse’s cinch, a handsome cowboy catches her eye on the other side of the chestnut. Dean takes off Led’s bridle, the last waterdrops rolling from the dip of his hat. Mud splatters have sprayed across his leather overcoat, his boots covered in dirt. There are smudges on his face, along with a weekend stubble still on his strong jaw. The knuckles of his firm hands have a blue shade, so do his lips; he must be so cold after four hours in the pouring rain. With sympathy, she looks at him. “Hell of a morning, huh?” she comments, trying to make small talk. Dean looks up and pauses his action. He seems a little surprised by her voice, as if only just now he realized she was behind the horse next to him. The line parting his lips breaks in a small smile. It’s the first time he hears her use a word as such. His language is terrible, he throws in a variation of the words ‘fuck’ and ‘shit’ wherever it fits. But Y/N on the other hand, coming from upstate, says ‘gosh’ at most, and uses terms such as ‘for heaven’s sake’, which he finds quite cute. Apparently she’s adapting to her company. The wrangler scoffs. “You can say that again.” He unbuckles the cinch and removes the saddle from Led’s back. The mud sticking to the saddle pad is hard to miss and it catches the intern’s eye. Led must have hit the ground at some point, how else would the animal have dirt caked thick in his coat on his entire side? “Did you fall?” she asks. Dean chuckles, slightly amused, while he puts the heavy saddle on the bar his horse is tied to as well. He heard that, the worry in her voice. “Led slipped, but he was able to steady himself,” he reassures. The cowboy returns his focus to the buckskin next to him as he turns the faucet of the water source. Led might be wet through just like his rider, but he’s covered in filth as well, and that's no way to bring a horse back to his stable. He quickly hoses down his Quarter, while Y/N washes Seger’s feet. When she’s done, she follows Benny and Jo as they return their horses to the stable. Coming back to pick up the saddle, Y/N finds her supervisor crouched down next to Led’s left front leg. “Shit…” he curses, feeling the cannon bone. The saddle is left on the bar. Instead, Y/N comes to see what Dean is annoyed with. With just one glance she can determine the swelling on the back of the leg, a little above the fetlock joint. “Tendon?” she assumes, petting the horse on the shoulder. Dean carefully feels the tissue, causing Led to flinch. It’s painful, but with all the fluid that is building up around the injury, it’s hard to tell what exactly is causing the reaction. “Could be. He seemed sound after he tripped,” the wrangler contemplates. “Can you jog him?” “Sure,” she replies, after which she unties the horse. Y/N leads the beautiful Quarter in a straight line and starts to run after a few yards. With the first stride it’s already clear that Led is anything but even. Only the click-clack sound of Led’s shoes on the surface is enough to state the obvious. “Well, that ain't good,” Dean sighs as Y/N walks the palomino back. “You didn't feel him at all?” she checks with the wrangler. “The poor bastard must have worked through the pain. He’s a tough horse,” Dean ponders, running his hand down Led’s face with sympathy. “I'll cool his leg for a while. Can you get a rug for him?” “What about you?” He shrugs selflessly. “I’ll skip breakfast.” “You’re not skipping breakfast. You've been working nonstop since four AM, you deserve a break,” Y/N decides, strong-minded. “I have cooling leg boots which Led can wear while he's stabled. It works better than cooling with water.” “Alright then.” He smiles, appreciating her firm response. He takes over his horse and leads Led back to the barn without hasting him. Silently, Dean turns the Quarter in as his intern walks to the tack room to get the leg wrap and a rug, followed by a stop at the cafeteria to pick up two cool packs from the freezer. On her way over, she notices the handsome wrangler staring at nothing in particular, lost in thoughts. His fingers absently rub Led’s withers, who on his turn bends his neck and seeks the cowboy’s free hand, nuzzling his nose against his skin, as if he is trying to comfort his rider in return. Although it’s a heartwarming sight to see the man having a moment with the beautiful animal, Y/N can sense something is off about him. Not that she knows him all that well, but she can tell that he’s carrying a crippling weight. He’s quiet, for one. No smart answers or perky remarks that could easily be mistaken for flirting. There is also something about his eyes, something weary. “Here you go,” she says, handing over the boot. Dean takes it and straps around the injured leg, while Y/N lays a fleece rug on Led’s back to prevent the horse from cooling down too fast. When the wrangler rises to his feet and lets his fingers glide through Led’s golden coat while waiting for her to secure the rug, the silence is awfully evident. “Are you okay?” she asks carefully. Dean glances up, caught off guard by the question. For a moment he reckons she’s asking because of the almost crash and now Led’s injury, but when his eyes meet hers, he sees that the question is more layered than that. His first instinct is to throw her a cocky comment, that a little mud isn't ever going to bring him down, but he decides against it. He’s not sure if his hesitation is caused by her ability to read between the lines, but the young man suddenly feels vulnerable, intimidated even. “Yeah, I'm fine,” he says. “Let’s eat. Don't know about you, but I'm starving.” She fakes a smile. Of course, she could eat after a morning like today, but she was hoping Dean would take the opportunity to get it off his chest. A pleasant heat and the smell of bacon and toast welcome them like it does every working day, when Y/N pushes open the door to the cozy personnel hangout. Ellen’s breakfast is always something to look forward to, but today it’s a true gift from heaven. The rest of the crew sits down after having changed into dry clothes and wait impatiently for their bacon and eggs, as Bobby finishes his plate first. When the door creaks, Ellen looks up from behind the stove. “Oh honey, look at you,” she says when Dean follows you inside. “Did you drown out there? You're soaked through.” Her nephew hangs his dripping coat and Sheplers on the hat rack above the heater and is welcomed by his aunt with a clean towel, a warm flannel and a pair of jeans “Why don't you freshen up first and put on some dry clothes. Wouldn't want you to catch a cold,” she insists. “Thanks, Ellen.” Dean takes the neatly folded pile from her arms after which he places a short, genuine kiss on her hair and moves to the backroom to change. Y/N can't help but smile when she sits down, delighted to witness the wrangler’s soft side for the second time today. The warmth spreads through her like the hot coffee that she swallows down and settles in the pit of her stomach. She folds her fingers around the mug as she takes another sip, peering over the edge at the man she is losing her heart to as he closes the door behind him. A kick against the shin awakens her from a trance, the action causing her to almost choke on her coffee. Jo sits across the table, her deadly glare demanding to get it together. Flustered and caught, Y/N averts her gaze at the plate that Ellen just set down under her nose. “Dig in while it’s still warm, sweety,” she insists, oblivious of how the intern feels about her nephew. Y/N does so, partly as an excuse to not look Jo in the eye and be confronted with her judgment. But when Dean enters the room again, cleaned up and wearing a comfortable red plaid flannel, she just has to take him in for a second. Before Jo can kick her leg again, someone knocks on the glass window from outside the cafeteria. Everyone looks up at the doorway when an old friend of Bobby’s appears. “Well, I'll be damned,” Ellen says, delighted. “If it ain't Rufus Turner.” The African American with a pearl white smile and a rascal look in his eyes enters the cafeteria. “Ellen Singer, you haven't changed a bit.” Rufus takes his hat off for her, but then he turns to face her husband at the head of the table. “But you on the other hand,” he pats Bobby on the back, “- you got old.” The joke attracts a laugh from the others. “Good to see you too, Rufus,” the ranch owner responds. “Grab a plate and dig in. There’s plenty,” Ellen offers. “I’d love to, but if you don't mind, I wanna get down to business. I've got places to be later.” He puts his hat back on and turns to the rest of the company. “Mind if I steal him for a bit?” “By all means, steal away.” Ellen smiles politely. Bobby gets up and excuses himself. When he has left the room, the workers finish their breakfast. Nobody says anything, and although Y/N doesn't understand what has caused the grim mood, she keeps her mouth shut. Instead, she takes in the people surrounding her. Jo, Ellen, and Dean seem to ignore the elephant in the room, while Garth, Benny and Ash exchange puzzled looks. Rufus’s visit to the ranch has stirred things up. Who is he? A business partner? A trader, maybe? When the break is over and the crew gets back to work, the air is more suffocating than it is on a hot day. It has nothing to do with the weather, though. “Why is Bobby selling stock?” It’s Ash who asks as the gang walks down to the paddocks between the stables. The question breaks the silence, but it also adds to the tension. Jo and Dean exchange a look, but both keep quiet, which isn’t sufficient for the worker with the odd haircut. “That’s why Rufus is here, ain’t it?” Ash pushes, a worry in his tone that seems foreign for the carefree guy. The head wrangler sighs and turns to his friend. “Look, business has been slow, y’all know that. Rufus is here to discuss the value of the cattle, to explore our options,” Dean tries to reassure not just him, but the rest of his staff. When he can read from Ash’s face that his reassurance doesn’t have much effect, he adds a few words he might regret later. “No need to worry just yet. We’ll figure it out. Now let’s get to work.” And so everyone does, some left with a few questions, but the leader of the team has managed to take away most of the concern. All this time, the intern hasn’t said a word. The young woman with a master’s degree in business and a nose for bullcrap only observes. She observes Dean, when he glances at his cousin, troubled, right after Ash walks off to fill the hay barn in the main pastures. She observes Jo, who looks at the ground and keeps quiet, as the two of them walk over to the paddocks to turn the horses in. She observes Bobby Singer and Rufus Turner, who are seated on the back porch of the house, accompanied by a bottle of Johnny Walker Blue, tied up in a dialogue that seems to be a negotiation more than it is a casual chat. She observes the handshake, the ‘glad to do business with you’ grin on Rufus’s face opposite of the defeat in the ranch owner’s eyes. So much for not needing to worry just yet.

The early morning rain has cooled down the dusty lands and doesn’t allow the temperature to rise like it did the previous days. Clouds keep rolling in from the east, cutting off the sun. This weather suits Y/N better and she works extra hard now that her body doesn’t seem like it’s overheating. It gives her a good feeling that she is able to take some of the load from the other workers. Dean even allowed her to train two of the horses, since he had a meeting with Bobby. He didn’t return until an hour before supper. After dinner, Benny and Garth head to the shed to fix the tractor, that on top of everything else, started spilling oil. The rest of the crew is about to retreat back to the bunkhouse, when Bobby calls back one of the workers. “Ash?” he says, his voice matching his serious expression. “Can you come into my office?” “Sure thing, boss,” he responds, joining the ranch owner. Dean can read from Ash’s facial expression that he’s uneasy, but doesn’t have a clue what is coming for him. The ranch hand who is in charge of the cattle probably assumes that Bobby is going to update him on the reason why Rufus was here. Shit, he wishes it was just a simple briefing. Poor bastard… The head wrangler exhales as he walks on, shaking off the cold that hasn’t seemed to leave his body after the rainy morning. Jo follows him silently, kicking the clotty earth with her dragging feet, hands shoved down in the pockets of her denim jacket. Y/N is on his other side, wonderingly looking over at them every now and then. She has kept quiet long enough. So when they step up the stairs to the porch first, she drops the bomb. “So, Ash is getting sacked, huh?” Dean has stopped in his tracks and instantly shoots an angry glare at Jo. “You told her?!” “I didn’t tell her jack shit!” she counters, insulted. “She didn’t need to, Dean,” Y/N backs her up, having turned around before opening the front door. “Livestock sales have plummeted nationwide, yet Bobby is selling now, so times must be desperate. With no cattle to handle it’s only logical that Ash will be let go in order to cut down on costs. I have a business degree, remember? I can do the math. Here, you guys look like you can use these.” During her flood of words, she had strolled to the fridge, taken out three beers, and popped the caps off with an opener. Not sure if he should be impressed or feel threatened by the intern’s knowledge, Dean takes the drink and has a swig of the brew. She’s right about more than a few things; he needed a beer. “Is Bobby breaking it to him now?” she wonders. Dean glances over at Jo, who leans back against the kitchen sink, nursing her bottle. It’s not something they would usually discuss with interns, but since she already seems to be fully aware of the situation and he trusts that she will keep this between them, he confirms with a nod. “Damn…” Y/N ponders, biting her lip as her eyes drift away to nothing in particular. “How long has he been here?” “For about five years now,” Jo thinks back, clearly sad about having to say goodbye to a good friend. “I can remember the day he arrived. He caught Dad’s eye at the Holbrook Rodeo, where he worked in the arena. He couldn’t keep a job long enough to rent himself a roof over his head, mostly because of his looks and his ‘fuck you’ attitude, but he was good with the bulls. That’s when Dad asked him to come work for him and for the first time, Ash found a place where he belonged. He’s been here ever since. Never stayed in one spot this long. Mom and Dad have a habit of taking the misfits under their wings.” It’s quiet for a few long seconds, as Dean recalls Ash’s early days on the property. Then he goes back further, to the day he himself set foot on these lands, with nowhere else to go. They did exactly the same for him as they did for Ash; offered him a comfortable bed, warm food, a rewarding job. A safe haven where they didn’t have to worry about how to get through tomorrow, where they didn’t have to be scared. One would perhaps expect Bobby and Ellen to take Dean in, him being their nephew. But it didn’t matter that the funny looking bullfighter called Ash wasn’t related. He became family, too. “How do you think he’s going to take it?” It’s Y/N who breaks Dean’s train of thought. He ponders for a moment before he answers. “I dunno. He’s a pretty chill guy these days, but this is so much more than just a job.” Dean pauses, putting himself in Ash’s shoes for a moment. Who is he fooling? His friend is going to lose it. “Guess we’re gonna find out in a moment,” Jo says, nodding at the portrait outside. Y/N glances through the dirty window while Dean holds the bamboo fly curtain aside to step onto the porch. It’s Ash who approaches the bunkhouse, but he doesn’t have the swagger he usually has in his stride. The ranch hand is looking down at the ground, the soil he used to call home. Every muscle in his face tensed, balled fists move alongside him with each step. Dean watches the guy for a brief moment, then descends the stairs to meet with him, but Ash does not want any of it. Instead, his friend walks past him, dismissing the head wrangler. “Ash. I--” The words trigger something in the lean guy, because after taking two strides up the steps, he turns around, a pair of piercing eyes startling Dean. “You knew, didn’t ya?” he questions, his voice heavy with frustration. Dean needs a moment to recover, staring up at the cattle worker, but Ash doesn’t grant him that time. “That whole ‘no need to worry, we’ll figure it out.’ It was bullshit and you know it. Hell, I ain’t surprised if you’re the one who decided that it was my ass to fire.” There isn’t much Dean can say to that, because it’s true. He did know, he knew for a long time, and yes, it was him who told Bobby it had to be the man who’s standing before him right now. “We…” Dean pauses to correct himself, because Ash is right; this is on him. “I didn’t have a choice.” “Oh, but you did. Instead of telling me that things were gonna be A-okay, you could’ve told me what was gonna happen. But no, you were too fucking scared to look me in the eye and tell me the Goddamn truth,” the worker says accusingly. Dean stares back at him, his jaw flexing, but then he looks away as he swallows down the guilt. He knew those words were going to bite him in the ass. When he straightens himself again, Jo has appeared in the doorway, with Y/N right behind her. “Ash, we’re all sorry it went down as it did, and we wish it didn’t have to be like this--” “Then why the fuck do I have to leave?!” he shouts at the daughter of the ranch owner, his eyes noticeably shimmering in the lights above the porch. Jo isn’t impressed with his anger, on the contrary; she replies professionally calmly. “I hate to see you go. Shit, we all do. But the ranch isn’t going to survive if Dad doesn’t cut costs,” she reminds him. “There’s barely any cattle left to maintain, and you were hired last.” “Right. The ‘last in, first out’ rule. Then tell me, what the hell is she still doing here?” Suddenly, the newest crewmember is dragged into the argument as Ash nods at Y/N. Her heart skips a beat when it dawns on her what he holds her accountable for; he thinks she stole his job. Shocked, Y/N looks at the man who directed the focus on her. It’s a side of him she didn’t know he had and is overwhelmed by the accusation, causing her mind to fail miserably when trying to form any kind of response. Feeling helpless and exposed, she glances at the other two, desperate for back up. Thankfully, the head wrangler got the message, because seeing Y/N’s expression change from compassionate to fearful, triggers something inside him. “Y/N’s an intern,” Dean returns, the tone of his voice colder than a moment ago. “Y/N is still here because she doesn’t cost Bobby anything.” But Ash disagrees. “She’s another mouth to fill, just like every single one of us. She has a horse here who needs a shit ton of feed--” “- and she works hard for that,” Dean overrules him, staring him down. “Look, man. I know you’re pissed, I get it. But don’t you put this on her, it ain’t her fault.” “Are you saying I don’t work hard for my pay?!” Ash snaps back angrily. “I didn’t say that,” Dean rights, gesturing with a lowering hand to calm down. “I’m saying that down the line, Y/N is a free hand.”

Ash scoffs at that, biting his lips as he looks away and clenches his fists, his knuckles pressed together in order to manage the exasperation. He’s so hurt and upset that he doesn’t even think about the consequences of the words that follow. “Oh, she’s a free hand, alright,” he states, shooting the guy opposite of him a penetrating glare. Jo gapes at Ash, mouth falling open, then turns her head to witness Y/N having the exact same reaction. Dean stares at Ash too, first in astonishment, wondering where he got the nerve to insinuate something like that. Within a second, that emotion is pushed aside by brewing anger. The need to defend her honor causes him to step towards Ash intimidatingly, but Jo gets in between before things escalate. “Whoa, now! Can we just keep it cool and not get nasty?” she demands, having both Dean and Ash at arm’s length. But Ash, apparently, isn’t done. “You’ve always been a screw around, man, but shit, I did not expect you to stab me in the back just to get in a girl’s pants,” he sneers, pushing Dean’s buttons and seriously applying for a punch in the face. “This is fucking bullshit, Ash, and you know it!” Dean counters, so worked up over the allegation that his heart is beating out of his chest. “Okay, that’s it! If you don’t shut your mouth right now I’m gonna pull out that mullet of yours!” Jo warns Ash before she turns to Dean. “And you need to walk it off, right now!” The ranch owner’s daughter pushes him back gently in order to raise her finger at him sternly. He steps away, offering a little air to the suffocating clash, and so does Ash. “Don’t bother, I’ll leave.” He scoffs. “That’s whatcha want, ain’t it?” The cattle worker turns around, the rage slowly seeping from him, leaving the space for sadness and disappointment to fill. Y/N watches the guy, still mind-blown by all the words that were said, but now that a fight is avoided, she can only feel pity. The blame that he put on her and on Dean is only a response to his world crashing down on him. She cannot really condemn him for lashing out. After ten or more steps, the guy in a dirty shirt and a plaid jacket with the sleeves ripped off turns around. Normally everything about the guy is either hazardous or comical, depending on how well you know him, but not now. Not now that his eyes are glistening in pained emotion. “This wasn’t just work, y’know. This is my life. This is home,” he says, his arms spread in desperation. “I thought that all of us here - that we were in this together. That we don’t turn our back on family.” He pauses, eyes fixed on Jo, then on Dean. He continues with a broken voice. “Y’all did exactly that.” With those words, he turns away and heads off to his cattle, like he always does after dinner. Silenced, the three watch him leave, until Dean sighs and looks around lost, as if he hopes to find answers in the earth-colored gravel. He doesn’t look at Y/N, he’s doing everything to avoid her questioning, sympathetic gaze. When the air gets too thin to breathe, he walks away in the direction of the barn, off to his horses. The intern allows her eyes to linger on the defeated figure that becomes smaller as he drags his feet down the worn path to the stables, the grey sky above him that darkens by the minute only adding to the grim atmosphere. Instinctively, Y/N reaches for the handrail of the steps down the porch, intending to follow him, but Jo stops her. “Let him be for a bit.” Y/N halts and listens to her friend, then lets a breath slip from her dry lips. “So no one wins today, huh?” “Nope. Not today,” Jo responds, moving through the doorway after throwing a glance at Ash’s silhouette in the far pasture. “Comin’? I have a bottle of something a-hell-of-a-lot-stronger-than-beer stashed somewhere.” Y/N huffs and turns to join her. Jo pours her some rum in a jar, which she sips on silently as she looks out the window, watching the day end. But the alcohol cannot wash away her thoughts that are with the two ranch workers: the one who lost his friend, and the one who lost everything else as well.

Told you guys there was gonna be angst? Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to like or reblog my work, shoot me a message or buy me coffee (Link to Kofi in bio at the top of the page).

Read part nine here

#Ride With Me #Dean x Reader #Cowboy!Dean #Dean Winchester #Cowboy!Dean x reader #Dean Winchester x Reader #Dean Winchester reader insert #Dean x Y/N #Dean Winchester x Y/N #SPN #Supernatural #Supernatural AU #SPN AU #dean winchester au #Dean Winchester fanfiction #Dean fanfiction #Dean Winchester fanfic #Dean fanfic #Kate Huntington

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descendantofthesparrow · 4 years

Text

Remember your past life - Prince! Harry Hook x Chosen Knight! Reader - part 9

hours later, you awoke to the pilot announcing the arrival to the kingdom, Saorsa. grunting as you stretched you looked outside the window set, leaning on Harry's torso.

“wow” you whispered, shaking Harry's shoulder to wake him up “Harry look at this~” Harry snorted awake, blearily looking to where you were.

“wha-...whoa” Harry's jaw dropped slightly, looking onto the green lush field, flowers and decrepit buildings overflowing.

“are we in Saorsa?” Harry muttered, brows rising as he spotted a huge mountain top, with a huge circle dent in its side.

“I think we are” you whispered back, glancing at a fog-covered forest.

attention, we are now descending in Saorsa, please buckle your seatbelts, and prepare for landing, please.

you sighed, bucking up and preparing for turbulence, you had a feeling there was no landing strip.

Harry's hand flashed out, gripping your jacket, glancing at him, you saw his face was pale and he was shaking slightly. reaching up you patted the side of his head, smiling comfortably at him.

“don't worry” you whispered “it'll be over in no time” Harry swallowed harshly, and nodded.

“yeah-no time”

“so uh Benny?” Audrey called out, raising her hand, staring out at the grassy fields around them, not a car or vehicle in sight.

“How are we traveling?” Ben smiled sheepishly, pointing over to a stable, that was….alive and running? that’s odd, considering this is called the forgotten kingdom. Audrey’s shoulders sagged, Mal scrunching up.

“uh Ben?” Mal walked up to him, grimacing at the stable “I can’t ride a horse, we haven’t exactly gotten to that lesson” Ben nodded, caressing her cheek.

“you’ll ride right behind me, same saddle, don’t worry” Mal nodded unsure, but let Ben lead her towards the stables.

“wait!” Audrey called, racing after the two “where are we staying!!?!”

“why do you think I brought tents?”

“WHAT?!”

you rolled your eyes, glad you only brought the essentials. you heard Harry shuffle beside you, glancing at him, you saw him biting his lip, looking scared.

you tapped his arm, his head whipped around to look at you.

hey, you signed, looking at him concerned are you okay?

he shrugged, “I don’ know, something about thi’s place seems...remember wha’ we talked about last night? it’s like that its-”

“familiar” you whispered, nodding as you looked around “as if I had seen it before, but that’s impossible”

Harry sighed, rolling his shoulders “aye, well, better get a move on, don’ wanna lose the group” you nodded slowly, keeping pace behind Harry, looking around for any danger.

fingers twitching for your (dominant) shoulder.

“I'm sorry sir, we don’t have enough tamed rentable horses for your group to take, you’re going to have to tame a wild one, but it’s not too hard all you need to do is-”

you walked off, instincts taking over, eyeing a solid brownish-black horse with a white mane.

“(y/n)? what are yeh-” you covered Harry’s mouth, whispering to him

“shh, I'm trying to get a wild one. oh, wait did you get a tamed one?” Harry shook his head.

“no, me, Jay, you, Uma, Gil, Evie, Phillip, Jane, Carlos, and CJ are left without horses” you tilted your head, eyeing the horse once more.

“why’d Harriet get one?”

“I think it's because she was at the beginning of the line?” you nodded, slowly starting to creep forward, footsteps silent and fast.

harry watched nervously as you crept up behind the large horse, falling back in fright when you leaped on it.

the horse freaked, trying to buck you off immediately, you grunted, tightening your legs and gripping its mane.

“holy fuck (y/n)!” Harry yelped, jaw-dropping as you easily calmed the wild horse, the horse huffed, stomping its hooves as you started to lead it towards the stable.

“how-how’d ya know how teh do tha’?” Harry sputtered, keeping his distance from the large horse.

you shrugged, kicking your heels and leading the horse in a trot. As you passed Phillip, he took a double-take, glancing at the impressive horse.

“wow, how did you do that?” you once more shrugged, dismounting and guiding the horse to the person manning the stable.

“haha! It seems your friend had the right idea, alright missy, do you want to register your horse? it’s 20 for registration and a saddle”

you looked to Ben, and he nodded, taking out 20 bucks and handing it to the stable hand, he looked at it oddly.

“you all ain’t from around here are ya?” Ben tilted his head confused. “you have the wrong currency, we take a little thing called rupees, that ain’t rupees buddy”

Ben paled, how would they pay for anything!? you hummed, eyeing a beetle shaped backpack, you snatched Bens money and stalked over to it, tapping the shoulder of the man, he turned with a grin.

“well hello! I don’t believe I’ve made your acquaintance! My name's Beedle, traveling merchant, you can recognize me by my beetle shaped backpack, now what can I do for you?”

you held out the bills and raised your brow “oh you want to exchange this for rupees? no problem, how much?”

“20” you muttered, opening your other hand as Beedle took the auradon money and switched with the Saorsa money.

“thank you!”

you nodded, twisting back around and walking back over to the stable, slamming the freshly exchanged rupees on the counter. Ben jumped slightly at the loud noise, looking at you bewildered.

“how’d you know?” you shrugged once more, watching as the stable hands saddled up the mare.

“now, what would you like to name her?” you thought for a second, starting at the registration papers, the blank space for the name of the horse.

this is the fastest horse they got, and it’s all yours (y/n), what are you gonna name her?

(horse name)!!

that’s a perfect name my little sword master

thanks daddy!

you quickly scribbled down a name, the ink staring back at you.

(horse name)

“huh, that’s the same name that the ancient hero gave her horse, funny coincidence isn’t it?” you hummed, turning back to the horse, and starting to walk towards it, the mare hoofed the ground nervously, backing up slightly.

you slowed your pace, gently holding your hands out and letting the mare see you had nothing to hurt her with, and you weren’t afraid.

the rest of the Auradon kids watched as you stood in front of the horse, letting it take the lead.

Harry tilted his head, watching you softly as you cupped the horse’s face, gently petting it.

“Okay so” Carlos started, putting his hands on his hips “(y/n) has a horse...now how are we gonna get one?”

one hour later and everyone was saddled on a horse, Carlos had a matching black and white spotted mare, Jay had found a solid brown stallion, Evie had found a black mare with white hooves, Jane found a spotted brown mare, CJ a spotted white mare, Phillip had found a pure brown stallion, and harry was riding with you, unable to find a horse that he could tame or ride-on for longer than a minute.

now you were all on the trail, letting Ben lead the way, Harry’s head on your shoulder as you lead (horse name) in a trot.

Ben slowed his horse, dismounting and helping Mal get down. “alright first stop! The Sanidin Park Ruins” you looked around, feeling Harry slide down the side of (horse name). you dismounted, a flash of white catching your eyes, you whipped around, gasping at the pure white horse that grazed the field.

“Harry ” you whispered, hitting his shoulder and pointed to the horse, Harry turned, jaw-dropping.

“wanna try to get that one?” Harry nodded, letting you take the lead as you gripped his hand and sneaked behind the horse, its ears stiffened, it’s head shooting up and looking around.

“now” you harshly whispered, Harry lashed forward, leaping onto the horse and gripping its mane. “hold on Harry!”

you winced as Harry got bucked off, watching as the horse ran for a bit before turning and tilting its head at Harry.

“ugg” Harry moaned, lifting himself off the ground “I'm never gonna get a horse” you sighed, but stumbled on your butt as the pure white horse slowly started to walk towards you two.

Harry stiffened, as the horse stopped only a foot away, leaning its head forward and sniffing at Harry’s knee. Harry locked eyes with the horse, and he slowly extended his hand out, the horse huffed nervously, withdrawing its head slightly, before letting harry lay his hand on its snout.

“wow,” you grinned, watching as Harry pet the horse “impressive, it likes you~”

“it’s a beaut hook” you turned seeing Phillip standing with his horse, smiling at Harry and the white horse. “but we’re pretty far from the stable, so your gonna have to ride them without a saddle”

Harry breathed deep, biting his lip as he looked at you, you shrugged. “Be sure to take the time to soothe your mount…That’s the only way it will know how you truly feel.”

Harry raised his brows, feeling his chest constrict “wha-what did yeh say?”

you frowned, tilting your head.

“Be sure to take the time to soothe yer mount…That’s the only way it will know how yeh truly feel.”

Harry grinned as he turned to (y/n), who was on her own horse “yer advice was really helpful thank yeh” you smiled slightly, keeping your eyes on your surroundings.

“This one and I are getting along better now. At first, I wasn’t sure if I should outfit ‘im with all of the royal gear. I thought maybe he should have to earn it first.” Harry patted the white stallion, geared with all the royal armor fit for a steed.

“But it works! He wears it like a true natural. I’m trying to be a bit more empathetic. Benefit of the doubt, yeh know?”

you hummed, slowing (horse’s name) to a stop, dismounting you rounded the horse statue, brushing your fingers against the stone. Harry took a deep breath, watching the sunset behind the mountain.

“See that mountain?” he muttered, hearing you walk up beside him,

“That’s Mt. Lanayru. It takes its name from the Goddess of Wisdom.” Harry turned to you, a glint in his eyes

“Lanayru’s decree is very specific. It says: “No one is allowed, under the age of seventeen…For only the wise are permitted a place upon the mountain.” Harry let out a harsh breath, clenching his fists

“I’ve prayed at the Spring of Courage and at the Spring of Power, yet neither awoke anything inside meh. But maybe up there…Perhaps the Spring of Wisdom, the final of the three, will be the one.”

you placed your hand on his shoulder, rubbing it slightly, Harry smiled slightly, nodding at you in thanks

“To be honest, I have no real reason ta think that will be the case. But there’s always the chance that the next moment will change everything.” Harry bit his lip, gripping your hand, looking back at the mountain

“Tomorrow…is my seventeenth birthday. So then I’ll go…and make my way up the mountain.”

“Harry dude are you okay?!” Harry’s eyes snapped open, looking around widely, seeing Jay, Gil, Uma, (y/n), Ben, and Harriet leaning over him, all looking worried. “You just blacked out,” Jay said, helping him sit up.

“um, aye, yeah, im-im good” Harry muttered, looking around, seeing the white horse nuzzling (y/n)s mare.

“Are you sure, you just passed out!?” Harry locked his jaw, standing up and pushing past the crowd.

“I'm fine” Harry walked towards the two horses, the white horse’s ears perking up when he came close. “hi, can I mount yeh?” Harry whispered the horse seemed to nod, letting Harry lead it to a tall rock so he could get on.

You stood from where you were kneeling and walked over to (horse’s name) and mounted her, quickly moving into a trot to keep pace behind Harry.

What had happened to harry that had made him blackout? and he had done it as soon as you said that sentence.

You sighed, eyes drifting, finding a run-down horse statue on his hind legs rearing up.

You had seen it before.

But where?

--end of part 9--

@dpaccione

@redryderdesigns

thx @marichat4lyf for beta reading

#Descendents #descendants #disney descendants #harry hook #harry hook descendants #harry hook x reader #harry hook imagine #remember your past life #botw crossover

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the-omni-princess · 5 years

Text

Hunted

Author: @the-omni-princess

Summary: Being hunted down sucks, especially when you rather not be shot.

Word Count: 1.2K

Prompt:

“I think I like you.”

“Couldn’t you say this before you shot me?”

Pairing: Bucky x Fem!Avenger!Reader

Warnings: Injuries, Language (like one curse word I think)

A/N:

This is for Selene’s 1k Challenge and is technically my first piece I’m tossing onto this blog so be nice please I beg of you.

Prompt is bolded.

Rereading? Whose she?

#Selene’1Kchallenge

@wintersoldierswhore

~~~~~~~

It was dark, to say the least, and musty. The shadows seemed to crawl up the walls, its tendrils appeared to surround you, choking the light and your breath. It was quiet, your racing heartbeat the only sound, the steady, yet fast, thrumming as adrenaline coursed through your veins. You were crouched in a corner, the current worst place to be, but luckily your hunter hadn’t found you yet. Or so you thought. In reality, he was right around the corner, slinking closer to his prey like the huntsman he was.

You raised your gun, and your mind raced, glancing at every spot in the surrounding area, begging for a means of escape. The smallest reflecting of silver caught your attention. There!A small opening in the wood panels, just big enough for you to be able to slip away. You jumped at the opportunity, squeezing through the opening as quietly as possible, unaware your own heartbeat, your lifeline, gave you away to the hunter.

Bolting through the hallway, you desperately tried to find a way out. A tiny speck of red in the distance seized your attention. The EXIT! A scruff of boots against the concrete floor behind you reprimanded your short-lived joy. Sprinting through the hallway, your cover blown, your only chance was the exit in the distance.

A shot ran out, echoing in your ears as your knees buckled, sending you to the cold, hard floor. A small groan escaped your lips, as pain coiled up your legs. It wasn’t a kill shot, but it wasn’t a pleasant feeling either. Not one to lay down and die, you sprang into action. Another shot ran out, barely missing your right shoulder as you spun, jumping back onto your feet.

A third shot echoed, then a fourth, then a fifth as you returned fire, still balancing on your knees. Unstable as you shot back, most of your shots missed entirely, except one which hit metal with a small thud. Rising to your feet, hoping your hunter was at least somewhat distracted by the return fire, you rushed towards the exit again. Wrong. You thought as another shot ran out, this time hitting your knee cap to send you to the ground again. He’s doing this on purpose! That asshole!

This time you kept quiet, waiting for a moment to strike. The hunter, although suspicious, assumed you hit the ground harder than last time, which is why you did not attempt to run again. Stepping closer, now you could hear your hunter’s boots as he strolled closer to your body crouched on the floor. Like a cobra ready to strike, you held your breath, waiting for your opening. Now.

Spinning on your back, using the contoured body angle you were at to your advantage, you shot. It was a blind shot, your last Hail Mary, but it zipped in the air, hitting its target perfectly in the chest, right above his heart. Dark color seeped through his tac gear, surprise etched onto his face. You had caught the hunter unaware. Standing now, a smug look on your face as you approached him. He had toyed with you, making sure none of his shots were lethal as to draw this game of cat and mouse, and you had turned the game against him, the mouse suddenly becoming a lion.

Light flooded the hallway which enclosed you, your comms springing to life with Sam’s voice, “Holy shit Y/N! You took down Tinman, nice shot!” His praise made you smile, a shit-eating smile which made the soldier in front of you pretty upset.

“I think I like you,” you informed the man in front of you, grinning like an idiot at how you had tricked him.

“Couldn’t you say this before you shot me?”He sounded irritated, flustered that you managed to catch him off guard when he had been messing with you this entire time.

“Bucky, it’s paintball, not like you are actually dying right now,” you deadpanned, surveying the damaged on his tac vest. Bright pink had exploded on his arm, your first shot you hit him with, and dark purple soaked right above his heart, your kill shot, winning you this game.

“But we had a bet, and I really wanted to win,” Bucky pouted as the team flooded the arena you two were in.

Rolling your eyes, you unzipped your tac vest, too hot to keep the layer on as sweat rolled down your back. “I know, I know Buck. Sparring in the form of paintball. You win, you can take me out on a date, I win, you have to do my chores at the compound for a month.” You tossed the vest and your paintball gun over your shoulder, securing both with the gun’s latch. “I mean, if it’s any consolation, I didn’t come out of this unscathed,” you pointed out, your hand hovering over the multiple splashes of color on your legs and lower stomach. He had shot you more but didn’t go for a kill shot, a shot in the chest or back, losing him the game. He had thought he had toyed with you the entire game, all the while, you had allowed it to happen.

Sam seemingly came out of nowhere, laughing as he hit Bucky in the shoulder, “Man, she really played you didn’t she Tinman?”

Bucky groaned, triply annoyed. He had lost a chance to take the girl he had been crushing on for the past few months out on a date, lost a fight to her because he was an idiot, and now Sam was already making fun of him for it. No doubt the rest of the team, who all were watching from the camera and the double-sided mirror on the other wall, were already brainstorming jokes to tease him endlessly about this. Sam and Natasha were already teasing him about his crush, Steve trying to encourage him to go for it. With your competitive streak, and your insistent nagging to spar with him, this bet had been the compromise, and he utterly ruined it.

Your smile faltered when you saw how upset Bucky actually was. Biting your lip and mentally hyping yourself before coming closer to him, you caught his attention. “Don’t be a spoiled sport Buck, clean yourself up and meet me at the front door at 7 tonight.” His eyes lit up, though confusion also was evident on his face. Standing on your tip toes and kissing his cheek, you grinned as Bucky’s cheeks turned a deep shade of crimson. You turned quickly, not wanting to distract yourself in his deep blue-grey eyes, the eyes that have been invading every waking moment for months now. “You’re still doing my chores, but don’t be late for our date soldier,” you called over your shoulder as you strolled out of the training floor to get cleaned up for your date.

“Yes, Ma’am!” Bucky called out to you as you turned in the elevator. Your eyes locked for a brief second, wearing matching grins as the elevator door closed, taking you to your room.

Maybe losing wasn’t such a bad thing. Bucky thought as he saw you smile back at him as the doors closed.

#Selene’1Kchallenge #bucky x reader #my writing #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barns imagine #first piece #writing challenge

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yourdeepestfathoms · 4 years

Text

Olly Olly Oxenfree (part six)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

TW: Death

———————

as quiet as an empty church

“Well, the station’s at the top of the hill.” Cathy said. With a sigh, she adds, “I hope this works.”

“Me too.” Joan said.

They were back in the woods, back to pushing through brambles and branches to get to the area with the cable car. Their goal was the upper cabin they didn’t go to before, and they began hiking up to i-

- .... . / .... --- ..- ... . / .. ... / .- .-.. .. ...- . / .- -. -.. / - .... . / .... --- ..- ... . / .. ... / .... ..- -. --. .-. -.--

“Well, the station’s at the top of the hill.” Cathy said. With a sigh, she adds, “I hope this works.”

Joan felt like she wanted to cry or pull out her hair and scream- maybe both.

“It’s the thing again.” She mumbled sluggishly.

Cathy groaned. “We’re due, I guess. It’s been, like, a minute since the last one.”

They try to trek up to the hill to the Catbird Station again, but are sent right back to the bottom of the maintenance cabin.

.... ..- -- .- -. ... / -.-. .- -. / .-.. .. -.-. -.- --..-- / - --- ---

“Well, the station’s at the top of the hill.” Cathy said. With a sigh, she adds, “I hope this works.”

“Yep.” Joan agreed.

She tries again.

Cathy doesn’t say anything.

So she tries again.

And again.

But the tenth try, Joan’s head was splitting open and she was frustrated to the point where she was near tears. She backed up, ready to maybe charge up the path and hope she couldn’t be looped if she moved quick enough, but then she noticed something under the bridge.

Lightning cracks and lit up the horribly bloody and disfigured shape of Anne’s body impaled on the rocks.

She’s strung by the stomach, gouging it wide open and letting her long, gooey intestines hang out. Her skull, which must have hit against one of the rocks, is split and her brains are revealed to the cool night air. Blood is practically soaking the entirety of the stone her corpse is stuck on, turning the river water below a sickly shade of red.

Kitty is on the other side of the bank, sitting on the shore with her head buried in her knees. She couldn’t bear to see the sight of her dead cousin.

Joan can’t breathe. She can’t even muster up the will to cry; she’s too mortified. Shock sets in fast.

“Kitty,” Cathy said as they both slowly approached the scene. The smell of blood and entrails was thick in the air. “What happened? What happened to Anne?”

Kitty snapped her head up. There are tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Anne’s— she’s— she had an accident, she— she died. I couldn’t—”

“Oh my god.” Joan whispered. Her knees wobble, then buckle; she’s on the ground.

“What happened?” Cathy asked.

“She—”

Joan’s vision bugs out. Anne’s bloated, waterlogged corpse is in front of her, skin grey, eyes clouded, mouth open in a frozen horrified expression and leaking water.

“She drowned.”

Joan’s vision bugs out.

“She—”

Anne is standing at the top of the guard rail on the bridge. She spreads her arms and falls backwards. The blood splatter splashed out onto Joan.

“She fell.”

Joan’s vision bugs out.

“She—”

Anne is nowhere to be seen.

“I don’t know... She just...stopped.”

Joan’s vision bugs out.

And then it twists and shifts and everything bleeds together. Starbursts and fireworks explode beneath her eyelids and her brain rattled viciously inside of her skull to the point where she thinks it may just fly right out. When she pries her heavy eyes open again, she’s standing in the maintenance shack in the dark. A storm is raging outside. The only light comes from the claps of lightning and Cathy’s red glowing eyes.

“I mean, does it really matter what happened?” She asked. “Either way, done is done.”

“I know you’re not really Cathy.” Joan grits.

“Soon, it won’t be a pretense. It will be an absolute.” Not-Cathy said, and her words ooze from her lips like thousands of spider. “Joan, we know you’re in charge and we know your plan and we also know that your plan won’t work. It never does.” A smile twitches on her horribly pale lips when Joan shivered. “So, we have a proposition for you.”

“Like what?” Joan pressed.

The door behind Not-Cathy swung open, not affected by the power of the howling winds outside. She turned smoothly and walked right out into the freezing rain. Joan has no choice but to follow, and she gets drenched instantly. The cold bites her right down to the bone.

“It’s over for Catalina, she’s gone.” Not-Cathy began to say. “We’ll pilot her through the rest of existence, and there’s nothing you can do to change that.” She glances over her shoulder and smirked at the shivering girl below her. “But...if you agree to let us take her, quietly, without a fuss...we won’t slaughter the rest of your friends like you did young Reginald, here.”

They stop at the bridge. Anne’s corpse rots below them.

“We will leave the rest of your cattle alone.”

“No.” Joan’s voice is firm and hard, even with the underlying laces of fear. “No way. I’m saving everyone!”

Not-Cathy laughed. “Courage isn’t always the answer, dear.”

Joan shrunk back. Her drenched, ruined grey jacket chafes uncomfortably against her back.

“You don’t have much time left.” Not-Cathy said. “Do you know how we know you don’t have much time left?”

Joan is quiet, even when she’s egged on with hums to answer.

“We know,” Not-Cathy went on, “Because we can be Cathy for this long... and her soul’s as quiet as an empty church.”

Joan’s vision starts to bug out-

“Jµ§† ñêvêr §å¥. Wê ÐïÐñ’† þrðvïÐê ¥ðµ. Äll. †hê rµlê§.”

-but this time it’s so much worse than all the other times before. It feels as if someone was taking a knife and stabbing it into her ears over and over and over again until brain matter is spilling out. She can barely get her eyes to focus after the looping sequence ends, but she recognizes that she’s back in front of the maintenance cabin, Cathy is gone, and there’s three tape players on the bridge.

Her legs feel like sticks of lead when she moves them to walk.

She winds up two of three tape players when she notices Kitty huddled beneath a lamppost with her head in her knees. Before she goes to the last one, she checks on the younger girl.

“I know she was your best friend, Joan.” Kitty said before Joan could even say something to her. “I— I’m sorry. I don’t— I don’t know what happened... One moment she was just there, and then she was...” The image of Anne’s corpse seemed to flash in her eyes like it did for Joan. “Gone.”

Joan wanted to yell at Kitty. She wanted to scream at her, slap her, spit on her, throw her stupid body off the bridge for payment for not saving Anne, but she couldn’t. It wasn’t needed.

“You were her cousin.” Joan whispered.

Kitty scoffed sadly. “You knew Anne better than I ever have.” Fresh tears stream down her cheeks when she realizes that she’ll never get the chance to know her cousin like that anymore. “I liked what I got to know of her.”

“If she can hear you right now,” Joan said. Her voice is breaking and the tears finally spill free. “She’d be over the moon.”

Kitty sniffled.

Joan moved on.

She winds the last tape player and lets the loop embrace her.

“Well, the station should be at the top of-“ Cathy’s voice halts and she gagged. “Ugh... I feel like I just ate a tree...”

Joan is still soaked, even though the rain is gone and nothing is wet anymore. She shivered and uselessly pulled her jacket closer.

“You were possessed.” She said. “It was the longest it’s been before.”

“Yeah, I can...kinda remember that part.” Cathy said. She notices her sister shivering, so she takes off her beanie and puts it on Joan’s head.

“Hello?”

The loudspeaker crackles.

“Hellooo?”

“Oh, they’re broadcasting from the station speaker somehow.” Cathy said as she and Joan made their way up to Catbird. She smiled slightly at both of the cousin’s babbling over the com and Joan’s wonder at getting to wear her beanie.

They get to the top at Kitty and Anne tell them about how they were ready to go at the bunker. Joan clicks on the microphone at the control panel.

“Hello,” She said. “Hello, we are here.”

After a quick joke- which, in hindsight, was pretty inappropriate at the time being, but they all needed it- Joan flicks a switch on the board.

“Signal Verified.” Said a mechanical voice on the panel. “Shelter TF1 Open.”

“Great!” Kitty said.

“Alright, hurry back, you two!” Anne added.

The sisters exit the station and begin walking out of the woods when-

“I have an idea, Mr. Jordan. Can we make him reborn?”

Joan whipped around.

Cathy’s eyes are solid red.

“Cathy!!” Joan cried.

Cathy blinked and her eyes are back to normal.

“Okay okay okay, I’m— god, I really hate that!”

“It’s getting worse, Cathy.” Joan whispered. “I think we’re running out of time.”

Cathy swallowed thickly. She nods slowly.

“Yeah...” She mutters. “Hey, I— I don’t want to get all sappy on you, but... I just want you to know that it would have been nice living with you and ending high school by your side.” If she’s about to cry, she’s really good at hiding it. “I’m just...glad I met you that’s all.”

Joan bites her quivering bottom lip. She doesn’t want to cry, not again, but her sister is making that near impossible.

“I’m just glad we met.”

Joan reaches down and takes Cathy’s hand as they walked to the shelter together.

“Me too.”

Cathy smiled at her softly.

They continue the rest of the walk in silence, hand-in-hand.

They meet up at the cousins in front of the bunker. There was no time for them to spare, so they cut right to the chase.

“The bunker won’t open back up once we’re in.” Cathy said. “Anne, Kitty, don’t wait for us. Find someplace safe to stay...or hide. Main Street might be a good idea.”

“Yeah,” Joan nodded. “If the ferry comes, get on it. Leave. Don’t wait for us.”

Anne and Kitty just nodded quietly.

“Ready to go?” Cathy asked her sister.

“Yeah. Just-”

Joan walked up to Anne and hugged her tightly. Anne hugged her back and she can feel her friend’s tears splatter on her shoulder.

“We’ll be back, Annie.” Joan whispered. “I promise.”

Anne sniffled and wiped her eyes. She squeezed Joan’s forearm with one hand tightly.

“You better.”

Joan goes to Kitty next and hugs her, too. The younger girl clearly wasn’t expecting it, but she accepts the embrace.

“Go bust some ghost heads.” She tells her softly.

Joan manages a laugh. “Will do.”

Then, she hugs Cathy before they both go to the bomb shelter door. They turn to Anne and Kitty and the true peril of the situation only really sets in when the cousins spring forward and pull all four of them into a big group hug.

“We love you guys.” Anne choked out through a sob. “Come back. Please come back.”

“We love you, too.” Joan whispered.

“This isn’t goodbye.” Cathy added.

And then the heavy bomb shelter door shuts and they’re engulfed by darkness.

#olly olly oxenfree #six the musical fanfiction #six the musical fanfic #six the musical au #six the musical #catherine parr #joan on the keys #anne boleyn #katherine howard #tw: death

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emperorsfoot · 4 years

Link

This is not part of my larger Sky High fic series. This is an alternate version of the first meeting between Barron Battle and Ms. Peace.

Barron Battle loses his glasses. Mara Peace finds them.

...

One of her fireballs finally connected, catching the villain on the side of the head. The hood of his costume was singed by the heat, and the force and air pressure of the blow threw him off balance. The supervillain went tumbling off the catwalk.

He hit the ground with a hard THUD.

Flamebird landed next to him.

It was her first time going up against this particular supervillain. He was not a member of her usual rogues gallery. In fact, he was the self-proclaimed ‘Arch Nemesis’ of the Commander. But that didn’t mean much. The Commander had, like, twenty ‘Arch Nemeses’.

Dressed all in black, not unusual for a supervillain. A hooded vest, boiled leather polished to an almost satiny shine. Buckles on the sides. An emblem of crossed swords on the best. She was sure his villain name was something dramatic and violent, but Flamebird could not imagine what it was. Maxville had so many villains, and this guy wasn’t one of her usual ones. It was had to keep tracks of the names that went with the costumes.

Hell! He probably didn’t know what name went to her costume either!

“It’s over-“ a pauses because she really could not remember what he was supposed to be called “-villain!” Flambird hovered over him, arms crossed over her chest. Stiletto-heeled boots dangling mere inches above his hooded head. If he wanted to continue the fight, all he had to do was reach up and grab her ankle. She was definitely giving him an opening. “It’s in your interest if you surrender! Turning yourself in could earn you leniency. But if you- you- hey! Are you paying attention!?”

He was not even looking at her.

And Flamebird was striking one of her better mid-air, low-hovering poses too. Arms crossed, pushing her –mostly flat- breasts up, making them look bigger than they actually were. Turned a quarter turn to the side, making her waist look smaller. Legs crossed at the ankle, making her hips look wider. She just an alluring figure. A figure that was expertly complemented by the costume she wore.

A tight little number. Thigh-high stiletto boots. Bare legs. Booty shorts that showed off the curve of her hips and the round bottoms of her butt-cheeks. An exposed mid-rift displaying her flat belly and toned abs, adorned with a belly-button ring that sparkled red. The top covered a lot in comparison to the rest. Long sleeved and high collared. It hit how small her breast were and allowed attention to fall to the more alluring parts of her body.

But this supervillain didn’t even raise his head to look at her!

Instead, he was on his hands and knees, head down, hands outstretched in front of him. Feeling around on the ground. As if he were looking for something.

“I can still hear you, Sparky.” Apparently, he did not know what name to put to her costume either. “Keep monologueing.”

Thrown off her game, she actually did continue. “Your evil machinations are through! You’re only course now is to- I’m sorry, but what are you doing?”

What was he looking for on the floor that was more important than starring at her shapely figure while she rubbed his nose in his defeat.

“It's nothing you need to worry about, Hero.” He assured her. “I’ve just lost my glasses.”

“You- your- you wear glasses?” Flamebird blinked at him. “But you’re a supervillain! You’re all… all black leather and buckles, and- with so many knives, and- and-!?”

“I’m still human, Sparky.” He told her. “I like to read. Sometimes I don’t always have the best light. Enough years like that and it’ll eventually ruin your eyes too.”

Blinking her own eyes behind her mask, Flambird just stared at him. At this terrifying supervillain from the Commander’s rouges gallery, who claimed to be the Commander’s Arch Nemesis. Who was dressed head to toe in black. Leather and buckles. He looked like a total badass! …up until he fell off the catwalk and lost… his glasses.

Now he was just an edgy Velma feeling around on the ground for his glasses.

Heaving a sigh, Flambird landed on the ground. She looked around the immediate area. Nothing stood out to her as looking like glasses.

Raising a hand into the air, she created a ball of fire. Expanding it until it illuminated the whole warehouse.

There!

She saw the flames flicker. Reflected off the glass lenses and wire frames.

Leaving the fireball burning in mid-air in the center of the warehouse, Flambird crossed the space to pick them up. A pair of wire frames, with lenses, and thick glass. Curiously, she put them on over her own mask. Hot damn! This guy’s eyes must be really, really bad! Everything was blurry through his prescription lenses. The only visible thing was her own ball of fire in the center of the space. No wonder he was feeling around like a character from Scooby-Doo. He was literally, actually, effectively blind without them.

Flamebird flew back over to him. “Here.”

Leaning down, she pulled the leather hood off his head.

A cascade of sweat-soaked hair tumbled over his shoulders. Messy from being in the hood –and probably their fight too. Dark brown, a brown so dark it might as well have been black. Thick and curly, and kinda long for a guy. It framed his face nicely, giving him roguish, untamed, almost wild look. The face was also pretty nice too. Handsome in a rugged sort of way. Square jaw and high cheekbones. A straight nose. Thick eyebrows. And his eyes! A rich dark brown. Not brown like his hair was brown. Brown like deep woods or rich earth. Flamebird decided she liked the way he looked.

“You’re beautiful.” She breathed, not realizing she was even speaking.

It was a shame he was a villain.

He grabbed his hood and yanked it back up over his head. “You won’t think that once I find my glasses.”

Kneeling down in front of him, Flambird slid his wire frames onto his face. “These glasses?”

He blinked at her. Able to see her again now. Mouth hanging open slightly.

He was right. He was not quite as roguish and wild with the glasses on. But he was still handsome. In more of a ‘scruffy, overworked academic’ way. With those glasses on, and maybe his hair combed and pulled back he would look very neat and clean-cut. He could easily pull off both.

“You’re still pretty.” She announced.

He just stared at her.

Flamebird didn’t know how long they stayed like that. Kneling on the floor, just looking at each other. Doing nothing more than making eye-contact. Her hands were still resting on the wire frames of his glasses.

Finally, he cleared his throat, pulling away first.

She blinked behind her mask.

“Oh! Um…?” She pulled away.

He also backed up.

They stood there for a beat. Unsure of what was supposed to happen now. This was not usually how super-fights went.

“You, uh, you were in the middle of your monologue.” He finally reminded her.

“Huh? Oh! Yeah.” She nodded, hovering back up into the air. Looking down on him. “It’s over, villain! Your-“ she paused, shoulders slumping, “I’m sorry, but what is your name?”

He looked up at her with a confused frown, the only part of his face visible from under the shadow of his hood was his chin, his mouth downturned in that frown, and straight nose. She couldn’t even tell he was wearing glasses. “Battle will do.”

“Really?” She looked at him. “That’s what you’re going with?”

“Yeah. Why? What’s your name?” He growled back. Though, he was suddenly grinning for some inexplicable reason. As if this weren’t a normal super-fight anymore. As if this had somehow become… friendly banter?

She stared down at him. “Flamebird.”

His head tilted up more, looking her up and down. This time, she could just make out the bottoms of his wire frames. “Fire powers and flight.” He noted. “Flame. Bird.” A shrug. “Makes sense. A little simplistic. But easy to understand.”

“Yeah.” She agreed. “It is easy to understand. Way easier than ‘Battle’. What’s that supposed to mean? All I’ve seen you do all day is just not get hurt.”

“I get hurt.” Battle assured her. “I just heal really fast.” A pause. Then, muttered under his breath so that she wasn’t sure she even heard right. “...And don’t die.”

Since she didn’t understand the last comment and wasn’t sure if she even heard right, Flamebird decided to ignore it. “And the name ‘Battle’ is…?”

“It’s my name.” He told her.

“No, I get that.” She assured him. “But what does it have to do with your powers? Or your motivations? Or your aesthetic? Why did you choose ‘Battle’ as your supervillain name?”

“It’s not my supervillain name.” Battle informed her. “It’s my name, name.” A pause. “You didn’t go to Sky High, did you?”

“I did!” Flamebird assured him. “Class of ’81.”

“Huh.” He nodded. “So, you’re freshman year would have been the ’77-’78 school year. Your freshman year was my senior year. You seriously don’t remember going to school with a guy named Battle? I mean, I got the lead role in the senior class production of Oklahoma!”

Flamebird landed on the ground in front of him. “Okay, first of all, the lead role in Oklahoma is a female role. I assume you didn’t play Laurey. Curly and Jud were supporting roles. Secondly, all I remember about the senior class my freshman year was this one obnoxious asshole who just had to be adored by everyone.” A pause. “Stan…? Stew…? Steve…? Something like that.”

Battle lowered his hood so that she could see his face. His whole face. Behind his glasses, he was staring at her with surprised admiration. “He was an obnoxious asshole! Yes! Thank you!”

“I’m guessing he was your arch rival.” She seemed unimpressed.

“You have no idea.” Battle told her. “He was just the worst!”

She only shrugged. They were not in the same grade and at the end of the school year, he was gone so she never really had the opportunity to form an opinion.

“Hey, are you still gonna do your monologue?” He asked.

“Huh?”

“Your monologue.” Battle repeated. “Are you still gonna talk my ear off about ethics and ‘good’ or whatever then take me in?”

“Oh.” She honestly forgot that was what was supposed to be happening here.

“’Cause I’d kinda like to take you out.” Battle announced.

Flamebird leaped back into the air, both arms igniting with fire. “You can try. But I’ll roast you alive!”

“No, no, no.” Battle assured her calmly. He understood the misunderstanding. “I mean, for coffee or something. Do you drink coffee?”

Flamebird lowered her arms, they were still on fire, but she wasn’t in a fighting stance anymore. “Oh. Um… I don’t really date guys I meet in costume…”

Battle noted that she did not say she did not date supervillains, just that she did not date people she met as ‘Flamebird’.

“I see.” He nodded, grinning a mischievous grin. “But, if you were to meet someone outside of costume… Say, at a dimly lit coffee shop in downtown? Perhaps you might see someone you recognize, sitting in the back corner against the wall, reading something by Thomas Aquinas, and if you were to come over and say ‘hi’…”

“Ooh, Aquinas.” She sucked in a breath between her teeth, recognizing the name. “So, you think you preform good acts with bad consequences. Not surprised. He’s exactly the kind of philosopher I’d expect a supervillain to read.”

He looked momentarily insulted.

“So, what would you do if some random woman comes up to you and starts educating you on more Kantian views instead?”

Battle smiled at her. “I think she and I would have a lot to talk about.”

Flamebird smiled back at him. For a supervillain, this Battle was actually rather charming. Was this really happening? Was she actually considering meeting him out of costume for coffee?

“Now, I’m gonna need you to think fast, Sparky.” He told her.

“Wha-?”

That was all the warning she got before Battle threw one of his weapons at the catwalk supports. A segment of the walkway began crashing down and Flamebird needed to do some quick flying to get out of the way before she was struck by some falling stray metal.

“The coffee shop on the corner of Hamilton and Main!” She heard Battle’s voice call as he disappeared into the night.

…

END

#sky high #barron battle #ms. peace #warren peace's mother #meet cute #first meeting #Barron battle/warren's mother #warren peace #I guess #warren's not in it #he doesn't exist yet #skyhigh

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dopescotlandwarrior · 5 years

Text

A Hero Among Us-Chapter 3

On AO3

Ch-1 Ch-2

Chapter Three

Claire looked out the window at the growing number of men and felt a huge relief. With the harvest just six weeks away, she hoped to have ample men to pick the grapes quickly, as Jamie said, this was crucial. She feared the coalition would amp up the pressure before she could sell the grapes. She wondered how far they would go to grab this land.

Jamie walked through the vineyard each day and watched the grapes get smaller as they lost precious water to the drought. The leaves were crisp and brown indicating the weakened condition of the plant. If they were invaded by insects or fungus the plant had little resources to fight and would succumb.

Jamie headed back and saw men running toward him. He quickened his pace. The men were shouting about the lady being threatened by men on horses. Jamie started running, as fast as his legs would allow. He could see the house as the lactic acid was building in his thighs pushing the pain to nearly intolerable, he ran faster. When he came blasting into the house misses Crook was holding a towel to Claire’s face. Jamie’s knees almost buckled as he came around to her and saw the black eye.

“Who did this?” His unmasked face was fury on fire. “Tell me Claire, who? Which of these men is so cowardly to hit a woman?”

“I don’t know, honestly, I don’t know them by name. He said they would burn my fields before I could pick one grape.”

“It won’t happen or it would have already. There are assets in the ground and atop the ground and they arna stupid. They want the vines and the first year of growth completed. Don’t worry about the place burning down.”

Misses Crook moved away from Claire and she launched into Jamie’s arms sobbing. She didn’t mention the other threats. Raping her and misses Crook until dead, killing the workers and animals. She sobbed harder with the memory and Jamie knew she held back the reason for her tears. He had a good idea what cowardly men would say to women to scare them to death.

“Until yer grapes are sold I’ll be posting a man to ye day and night. He won’t be a pest but he’ll be able to warn us when danger is comin.” She wrapped her arms around his stomach and cried harder. He spoke in her ear and told her he would keep her safe.

That means I love you Sassenach, he thought, and I will lay down my life for you. I canna be in love and not move mountains to help and protect you.

“Ya have a fighter who has pledged his life to you Sassenach, please dinna cry lass, it’s breakin my heart.”

Claire heard it, hidden in his words, “I love you”, is what they said. She held onto to the bravest man she had ever known and he was in love with her. Could this be so, she wondered. She pulled away quickly and dried her eyes before she looked into his crystal blue gaze. His eyes said I love you, I desire you, and I will always see you this way.

“Are ye alright now Sassenach?”

Claire felt like she was moving in slow motion, “yes, I’m better now, they scared me.”

“I have to speak to the men and arrange a perimeter patrol and a guard for one pretty Sassenach. This afternoon I have to ride out to the outer forty and check the vines but you will have a man with ye all the time from now on.”

He smiled and turned to leave but she held onto his hands as the tears started to fall again. “Please take me with you.”

He pushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Brimstone grows fat in her stall mistress, perhaps ye should come with me. Be ready to ride in thirty minutes.”

Claire released his hands and Jamie vanished to carry out his task of updating the men. His ace in the hole was the group of Highlanders that had come to work. He would stake his life, or Claire’s, on the word of a Highlander and it was time to get them plugged in and offer a safe escape if they chose it. He knew in his bones they would stay and do what Highlanders do, stand the ground that’s been entrusted to them.

He rang the bell and the men assembled around him, there were now fifty men, ready to work. Yi Tien Cho took his seat with the men and looked defiantly at Jamie.

“There is a war over this property that rightfully belongs to misses Randell. The coalition of winegrowers is tryin to take it from her, steal it actually. They beat her today and she has a black eye and deep fear from the encounter. These men will be back and the closer we get to the harvest, the harder they will fight. She is innocent and alone. Without us, she stands no chance of keeping her harvest or her property. Men, I’m askin ye to fight for the lady. If ye refuse ye can leave peacefully and without incident. This I promise because I need to have complete faith in those who stay.

I am riding with the lady to the outer property to assess the crop. I’ll no be sendin able bodies out there if there’s nothin to pick. Stay alert and watch the house. We will sit down when I return and split the group into day and night watch until the harvest.

“Yer askin us to fight for someone we dinna ken and a British woman for Christ sake.”

“I ken. The conditions in Scotland have been tyrannical oppression and land grabbing for the last hundred years. I would wager each of you has known a family member who was swindled, forced, or lied to and lost land, or a home, or the life of someone they loved trying to defend it. This is yer opportunity to strike down the land thieves that are terrorizing this region. Do it for the ones you love, do it because it’s right, do it because a brother is askin ye. Highlander blood runs through us all. Will ye stand with me and fight?”

Angus and Rupert stood up and proudly claimed their allegiance to Jamie’s cause. Other men stood and said the same. One man stood and said, “for my sister and her wee ones, I’m stayin.” Other men stood.

“For my mother.”

“For my grandma, they took her property.”

“For my brother, killed defending his land and crops.”

Misses Crook felt goosebumps run down her arms and she shivered in the ninety-degree heat. She heard it all and was galvanized by Jamie’s words and leadership. On her way back to the house her stride gained six inches, her shoulders were back and her head was high. If there was a chance to save this farm she would play her part. There would be food and ale day and night. It was time to pick the vegetables and start cooking. The men who stay need more than porridge and dried pork.

Claire paced the hallway upstairs and thought about the revelation she felt in Jamie’s arms. Why hadn’t she seen it before? Because she was high born and such a union was not even considered. But he cared for her, that was obvious by his actions and unguarded words today. For some reason, it made her happy, as impossible as it was.

“Mistress! Are ye ready? Have ye decided to rest in the house today?”

“I am ready mister Fraser.”

Jamie watched her descend the stairs in her lace and ruffles, layers of fancy fabrics that would not stand up to a hard ride.

“Sassenach, I have to ride hard to reach the outer border of the property. Are ye sure I can’t talk ye into stayin here with misses Crook? I’ve talked to the men and they are here to guard ye and the property from those who mean ye harm.”

He looked at her pleadingly knowing this was no task for one so fragile.

“I am going with you and I’ll have you know I am quite a good rider. Do not leave without me. Misses Crook!”

It was five minutes before Claire emerged from the house and stood before Jamie. His eyes took in a complete metamorphosis and his mouth hung open. Gone were the layers, ruffles, and lace. Her riding boots came to her knees, her breeches were tight for maximum control and her hat covered her hair that was stuffed into it.

Jamie stood up and circled her. “My God mistress, ye look like a lad and that is perfect! Why didn’t I think of that? Ye brilliant is what ye are. Let’s go.”

Claire smiled at his exuberance and acceptance and followed close behind. Misses Crook folded the clothing she had shed and let her mind wander and wonder about mister James Fraser.

For once, Donus did not pitch his usual fit and agreed to run through the vineyard and take commands from the crazy rider with the fierce seat. Donus also had a crush on Brimstone and paced himself as she did. They rode for quite some time and reaching the outer acreage, Jamie inspected the vines and was pleasantly surprised. As he walked from vine to vine he felt electricity run up his arms and the hair stand up. He smelled the air and felt a jolt of adrenalin. He looked around quickly for shelter but found nothing.

“Sassenach, we must find shelter, right now. The sky is about to rip open.”

She urged Brimstone into a canter and Jamie barely got on Donus before he followed her. He saw lightning strike the ground just ahead of them and his concern went into warp drive. He kicked Donus to pass Brimstone and search the rock walls for a cave or an overhang. When he saw what might offer shelter the sky opened up with booming thunder and great flashes of lightning. Even with their peril, he thanked the almighty for the rain.

Jamie jumped off Donus and walked to the cave. He exhaled in relief and tied Donus to a tree so he could lead Brimstone and Claire into the cave. He came back expecting Donus to be long gone and scratched his head smiling.

“Yer a mate, after all, thank ye for stayin.”

Jamie led Donus into the cave and looked around to judge their space. It was mid-afternoon but the black clouds were closing in on what little sun was left. He looked at the blown-in detritus that littered the floor and found some wood left on an old fire. The horses were so happy to be out of the punishing rain they moved very little. Jaime took the flintstone from his saddlebag and felt relief that it was dry. Ten minutes later there was a fire burning and enough dry vegetation on the ground to last at least an hour.

“Sassenach, yer gonna shake yer teeth right out of yer head. Sit near the fire and warm up.”

Claire looked at him and then the ground like she didn’t understand. Jamie sat down and patted the ground next to him. She looked around for an alternative and finding none, she finally sat down. The fire warmed her and her shaking stopped. Fierce thunder with blinding lightning scared Claire and she dove toward Jamie almost knocking him over.

He looked at her white face and huge eyes and chuckled showing her there was nothing to fear. He guided her back to her sitting position but she scooted next to him, still looking very afraid. The next explosion in the sky and she was on Jamie’s lap gripping his shirt for dear life. It was so loud he couldn’t speak to her so he smiled and hugged her to him. The storm raged while Jamie was facing his inner storm at having Claire in his lap. He knew there was no danger. Finding this cave solved that problem, but the Sassenach did not know that, so he was tender and kind with her.

Jamie was sure the worst of the storm was over and figured five minutes and they could head back at a dead run. The boom and flash stole his vision and his hearing for a few seconds. Where ever he looked he saw a black spot that blocked everything. He was unlucky and had been looking at the cave entrance when it happened. He felt Claire around his neck and held her feeling so bad she was this scared. When he blinked a few times and opened his eyes her beautiful face was an inch from his. He could feel her breath on his face. He tried to speak and she pressed her lips against his.

Jamie’s heart pounded so hard he figured this was his last moment on earth and he was thrilled by it. Claire broke her kiss and she stared into his eyes, “kiss me please.”

Jamie pulled her to him and kissed her with all the emotion and energy he had pushed back over the last month. His head was screaming stop and his mouth wasn’t hearing it. He could hear the rain slowing outside but his spirit had taken flight with the feel of Claire's lips on his. He had to get her to safety while he could so he broke the kiss and pressed his forehead to hers. He breathed her in and opened his eyes.

“We have to go, as fast as ye can ride back to the house. I’ll stay behind ye so ride up to yer front door and throw me the reins. I’ll get her back and put her to bed. Right?”

He held her shoulders and she nodded. Jaime scooped her up and hugged her for dear life. He wanted desperately to remember what she felt like against him. As soon as she cleared the cave she mounted Brimstone and took off. Jamie was dragged for a while by Cassanova Donus who wanted to keep up with his girlfriend. Jamie felt the ground under his boots and pushed off as hard as he could landing him on top of the horse who kept up with Brimstone easily.

Claire did just what he said dismounting near the stairs leading to the porch. The thunder returned and the rain was again a down poor. Jamie smiled at her and motioned her toward the house. Claire walked to his side and put a hand on his leg. Jamie leaned down and kissed her with all of his heart then he pointed at the house and Claire ran in.

Jamie sat in the saddle and let Donus lead them to the barn. Fortunately, he looked up in time to see a fat branch in front of his face as Donus aimed to knock him out of the saddle. Something he had been trying to do for the last two days. Jamie pushed his upper body backward against the horse’s butt to avoid the tree truck then he let Donus know there would be consequences for such evil intent. Through it all, he smiled. He had kissed an angel and nothing else mattered.

With the horses safely in bed, Jamie walked through the drenching rain to his cabin. He wondered how many men were left and he prayed his gamble did not cripple this harvest.

Jamie pulled the door open when he heard knocking. Rupert was standing in the rain and announced there was no one watching the house and did Jamie want him to do it. Jamie laughed and pulled Rupert inside the cabin.

“Thank ye. I do want ye to take first watch and as soon as there’s a break in the rain I will run my blanket to ye to keep ye warm. Until we have to pick grapes, you and Angus will split the nights and sleep until noon. Okay?”

Rupert nodded and ran toward the house to find shelter on the porch.

Jamie sat on his bed and got lost in the events of the afternoon. Now that he was alone he could bring back the vivid images and physical memories of holding Claire in his arms. What the devil had precipitated this brief intimacy between them he didn’t know but she had asked him to kiss her and he did. He could feel his heart ramming in his chest at the memory of her body pressed against him, her injured face, her arms around him, her fear. He shook his head and wanted to slap himself or beat himself senseless. If that were only possible maybe he could fix this. He feared his working relationship with the Sassenach was irreparably damaged and his heart dropped miles from where it had been. He jumped to his feet and drove his fist into a sturdy wood beam. What have I done, he thought, what have I done?

Claire flew up the stairs leaving a trail of water on the fine Persian rugs leading to her rooms. She pulled her clothes off and dropped them into a bucket to stem the dripping and dried herself. She stood in the dark of her bedroom and thought about his kiss. The fire in his lips touching hers and cascade of sensations going off from her skin to deep inside her. Just recalling the kiss made her squirm and feel…something very strong, very primal. She started pacing and chewing on her fingernails. What she did was wrong. What she did might jeopardize her entire operation and she was very confused. Half of her wanted to run to him, half wanted to pretend it never happened.

“Misses Crook!”

Claire could hear the older woman running toward her rooms and in a minute’s time Misses Crook was on her knees with Claire, holding onto her as she cried.

“Ye poor child,” she said rocking Claire. “Yer overwrought from all the danger, exercise, and stimulation from the day. Ye need to rest. I canna have ye comin down with a fever after runnin outside in the rain. Come child, get into bed and think of happy things.”

“Misses Crook, that would not include Mister Randell,” she said quietly.

“No, that it wouldn’t. I am bringin ye some soup and don’t ye move.”

Misses Crook ran for the kitchen wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. It was a travesty what Randell did to the poor young girl. He sought her out for her dowry so he could be the king of his own world, far from his controlling family. She watched him cloak himself in normalcy as he lured little Claire into his trap and she did nothing to help the girl. She regretted that decision down to her marrow. She knew he would be locked in purgatory or the fires of hell but what of the life he left behind?

Jamie paced in his cabin as the rain came down in sheets. He wondered where Yi Tien Cho was, probably hunkered down in one of the outbuildings tonight. He hoped. The walls were starting to close in on him and he yanked his door open to fill his lungs. The rain suddenly stopped and he stepped outside to enjoy a moment of fresh air. Putting his head back he breathed in the night air and wondered how Claire was doing tonight. He looked at the house and tried to guess which window she slept behind. His little Sassenach.

Jamie walked through the vineyard to assure himself nothing was amiss. A nagging feeling was scratching his brain but he could not put his finger on it. Thirty minutes later he walked back and hoped he could fall asleep and forget the emotions that gripped him. He pushed his door open and walked in, stopped, and backtracked, lifting his nose to the soft breeze. Fire! Jamie lunged for the bell and rang it with all his strength. Cabin doors were flying open as the men gathered around him. Other noses were raised to the night as the men looked around for the orange glow of a deadly fire.

“I think I see it, far edge of the property against the valley floor. Someone get on the roof and tell me what ye see. Angus was first to scramble up like he had suction pads on his feet. He looked toward the property edge.

“It’s burning boss, maybe five acres so far. He waited and jumped down when Jamie waved him in.”

The men started moving in the direction of the fire.

“Wait!” He rang the bell again to stop them. “Hold on, I need to think this through.”

Jamie paced and rubbed his forehead. He was sure, there was no lightning for at least an hour, just a steady downpour. The rain stops and a fire starts up.

‘This is a staged fire gentleman. They’re trying to pull every man to the far reaches of the property to put out a fire that was set in standing water. He pointed to three of the men and dispatched them to the rear of the house. Then he looked at his crew of forty-five well-muscled Highlanders and chuckled.

“I believe the fire was set to pull the men away from…” he twisted at the waist and looked behind him, “the house.” They intend to leave the prey defenseless so they can finish the lady. Angus, put a man on the roof, the rest of you make yerselves comfortable on the front porch. If they get past me on the road I want to give them a Highlander welcome.”

Jaime peeled off from the group before anyone could say a word. They saw him running in the shadows toward the road. The men joined Rupert on the porch and the excess bodies sat around the front presenting a formidable barrier to the front door. Since no one told them to be quiet they didn’t think of it

Misses Crook felt the tremors in the house and heard the male noise outside and dropped the soup as she ran for the stairs. Claire was on her knees with her hand to her mouth and reached for the older woman.

“What is that?” She whispered

“I dinna ken, but it sounds very big and male. We stay here, aye, and very quiet.”

Jamie was hunkered down in the roadside weeds trying to silently catch his breath. On a dark night like this, they could be standing right beside him undetected. He waited. It wasn’t long before he noticed two shadows walking slowly on the dirt road toward the house.

“What d’ye think Jamie boy?”

Jamie swallowed the startled noise he almost made from the disembodied voice right beside him. “Jesus Christ, is that ye Angus? Ye just scared ten years off my life ye dolt. Stay with those two quietly and watch where they go. I suspect they will turn into the property and mean to do Claire harm. Let them get as close as possible. When they see the welcoming committee they will run the direction they came. Hold em back until the men can get to them. Dinna fash if one gets by ye, I’ll get him after I run their horse off. Got it? Angus?”

Jamie followed the direction they came and found two perfectly good horses tied to different trees munching the long grass. Jamie pulled the saddles off, then the bridles and slapped each in the rump hard enough for them to run back to where ever they lodge. He hung the bridles on his shoulder and held the bits so they didn’t make noise when he ran back. He didn’t see the man but he heard him running and breathing hard. When he was right beside him Jamie kicked out where he hoped the knee would be. He felt the bones tear away from each other as the man screamed in agony. The whaling was quite excessive making Jamie roll his eyes before he placed his foot over the man’s knee and applied pressure.

“Stop yer wailin!”

“Who do ye work for?”

“No one!”

“What was your intention comin here, startin a fire in our crops?”

“I didn’t do that!”

Jamie squatted next to the man’s head. “It is my duty to inform ye that ye just lied, twice, and there will a painful consequence for each. Tell me the truth and I’ll let ye limp to yer horses.”

“I don’t know what yer talkin about, fuck off!”

Jamie lifted the man, patted his head, and drove his boot into the knee on the other side. The man dropped with a blood-curdling scream.

“Do ye know how easy it will be for me to rip yer throat out? Maybe I let ye live and pluck ye eyes out instead. Yep, that’s much more fun.” Jamie grabbed the man’s head in a painful lock and felt his face until his fingers landed on his eyes.

“Ah, there they are.” He pressed them as the man screamed a name, Ben Carson. “What were yer orders tonight.?”

“Count the men, rape the maid in front of the lady. Now let go!”

“Tell Ben Carson I’m comin for him. If he touches either of the women, I’ll make him scream for ten hours before I kill him.”

Jamie dropped the man and ran back to the property where one very scared man was tied to a tree while the Highlanders taunted him. Jamie approached the wide-eyed would-be rapist and bent over so he looked directly in his eyes. Yer friend wilna make it back so I’m countin on ye. Tell Ben Carson I will put my blade through his throat, and if he orders harm to the women living here, I will kill his wife and daughter first.

Jamie ran his blade up the ropes and the man ran away. He looked at the men, “did that sound convincing?”

Three men had been to the fire site and reported the ground is soggy and the fire is out.

“Thank ye for the help tonight gentlemen. He’s comin for the lady and now me. Stay diligent and safe. Angus, yer inside the house with me, Rupert, pick two teams of three for the two night shifts. Keep yer backs against the wall and get some rest.”

Jamie looked at Rupert who gave a nod that he was on board. “Let’s go inside Angus, we’ll each sleep against a door.” The group made their way back to the cabins except for Rupert and two of his men who took a seat on the porch. Jamie reached for the doorknob and ducked as a silver tea set came flying out aimed at his head. He pulled the door closed just in time before something crashed against it from inside.

“Just eight more weeks,” he said quietly. “Ladies! It’s Jamie Fraser, please drop yer weapons.”

He and Angus entered the house slowly looking for projectiles aimed at the heads. “Claire? Where are ye lass?”

He could hear two female voices whispering upstairs and sighed with relief. “Mistress, this is one of yer men and it’s safe to come out. I need to speak with ye.”

Misses Crook came down the stairs trying to look brave. Jamie watched her and almost caved in thinking about what they intended to do with her. Jamie dropped his head and squeezed his eyes closed before he was suddenly hit by a small body that locked him in a death grip trying to squeeze behind him and the wall.

Jamie reached behind him and grabbed Claire’s arm. “It’s safe misses Randell, please come out, we have to talk.” He pulled her in front of him and saw a mass of black hair that fell around her face and down her back in coiled ringlets. Her amber eyes looked up at him, wide with fear. She was wearing a nightgown and robe, holding a heavy candlestick. He had never seen such a beautiful site and his smile radiated his happiness. He cleared his throat and gently took the candlestick from her.

Misses Crook saw the full scale of Jamie’s emotion in his gaze and smile before he put the mask back on and started talking about the change in plans.

Angus and I will sleep against the two doors, three men in back, three men in front. They wilna get past us so please get some rest the two of ye, yer safe.

Misses Crook let Jamie see her disapproval before holding her hand out to Claire and pulling her upstairs. Jamie looked at the ground and shook his head. Claire was raising her voice to misses Crook about the door and window. The two women argued until misses Crook closed the door to her bedroom and shot Jamie a withering look as she walked to her own room.

Jamie dropped to the ground and closed his eyes. This was getting complicated and he had to keep his mind off the beautiful Sassenach. Just how was he supposed to do that? He hoped no one rushed the house tonight because he would surely sleep through it.

Jamie’s eyes slammed open hours later and he was instantly aware of her laying against him, shivering in the cold. He wrapped her in his warm arms and whispered she was safe and he would keep her warm. He pulled her to him and felt her shaking stop.

“I’ll no let any harm come to ya Sassenach. Ye can sleep in my arms, yer safe.”

When Jamie woke in the morning he wondered if he dreamed about Claire in his arms or if it was real. He pulled himself off the floor and stumbled outside to find his cabin and bed.

#outlander fanfic outlander fanfiction jamie and claire fanfiction

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musicalluna · 5 years

Text

not on our watch

happy eve of my birth have a fic based off a comment @onemuseleft made once on one of my posts:

What about someone trying to kidnap Tony - like a corporate abduction kind of thing - and his security deals with it and he doesn't see the need to tell anyone and they find out by accident and FLIP OUT into overprotective mode much to his surprise –

Timothy Cran is an unbelievable asshole.

Okay, that's a lie. It's completely believable.

“It's nothing personal, Tony,” Tim says, and Tony rolls his eyes.

There's a gun pressed between the flaps of the vent at the back of his suit coat. Tony suppresses a sigh. This is what he gets for agreeing to dinner meetings with pushy manufacturing CEOs.

He has to give it to Cran for his brass balls—it's not even seven-thirty, the sun only just starting to set and there's a slow flow of traffic going by in a cacophony of car horns like, five feet away.

“I take guns and kidnapping very personally, Timothy.”

“It's just business, Tony, don't be like that.”

“Business? No. This isn't business. I grew up in business. This is a crime.”

“It's a fine line,” Tim says, pressing close against Tony's back. So close he can feel his breath. Tony grimaces.

“That is a despicable attitude. The chances of us doing business just dissolved into nothing.”

When he looks up again Happy's car is pulling in on the far side of Tim's at the curb. He sighs. Good, this will be over soon.

Tim's driver opens the door of Tim's SUV and Tony swings his hips to the side, reaching back to grab hold of the butt of the gun.

Tim is quicker on the uptake than expected, and heat blasts across Tony's hip as the gun goes off.

“Dammit!” Tim shouts.

Tony hangs on to the gun as hard as he can, pressing it against his side where it can't get him if it goes off again, the other arm hooking around Tim's and pulling him close so he can't get back.

“Tony!”

“Hap!”

Happy comes barreling around the front of the SUV and hits Cran hard enough both he and Tony hit the ground. The gun goes off again, punching a hole in the door of the SUV. Several screams go up—Tony grunts as his face mashes into the sidewalk.

“Drop the gun!” Happy barks. “Drop it!”

Someone else is yelling at Tim's driver and the maître d' has come outside and wants to know what the hell is going on. Tim's fingers loosen around the gun, and Happy drags him onto his back and off of Tony who hauls the gun under his own body and flicks on the safety. Then he goes limp, kicking up New York sidewalk grime with every breath.

What an end to the day.

In just a few minutes there are sirens and cops and paramedics because it turns out the first shot grazed Tony's hip. It's shallow, but Happy sees the blood and the hole in Tony's pants and gets a bug up his ass. Fortunately, the paramedics agree with Tony and say he doesn't need the hospital. They take photos and bandage him up. The cops get his statement and then Tony's allowed to collapse into the passenger seat of the car. Happy pulled up in and go home.

He reaches over the center console with a floppy hand and pats clumsily at Happy's thigh. “Nice work, Hap. Thanks.”

“I'm just glad you're okay, Boss. Sorry you got banged up.”

“I'm alive, Happy, that's the important thing. Now take me home.”

“You got it, boss.”

–

Tony takes the elevator up to the penthouse and limps his way into the bedroom. Times like this having forty thousand square feet is a pain in the ass.

“JARVIS, time?”

“Eight forty-five, sir. You are fashionably late.”

“Perfect.”

Tony strips out of his jacket, tossing it over the foot of the bed. Then he removes his pants, slit up the thigh by the paramedics and barely preserving his dignity since his boxers had been removed entirely. He takes a look at the bandage on his hip in the full-length mirror. It's clean and white, a four by four square of gauze taped over the wound. Barely looks like anything, considering it's from a gunshot.

He pulls on a loose pair of drawstring pants, then a t-shirt and one of his Air Force hoodies pilfered from Rhodey. He pads into the bathroom to get some OTC painkillers and swallows them, taking a drink from the faucet to wash them down. His hip aches and his head's starting to hurt from its connection with the pavement, but it's team night, and the best thing Tony can imagine right now is hanging with the team futzing around.

He heads down to the common floor, smiling when he strolls off the elevator to the sound of Clint moaning, “Aw, pizza.”

“Making a mess as usual?” he calls ahead.

“Look what the cat dragged in!” Clint yells back cheerfully, pushing up on the couch so he can look over the back. He's got pizza trailing in a globby streak down the front of his shirt from a slice in one hand.

“Where have you been?” Natasha asks. She's in the kitchen pouring herself a fizzy pink drink. Thor is at the counter next to her piling pizza onto a plate.

“My meeting ran over,” Tony says.

Steve unfolds himself from where he must have been sitting on the floor, face appearing over the back of the couch. “Are you going to eat?”

Tony pats his stomach. “Dinner meeting. I'm good, thanks.”

“What about a drink?” Natasha asks.

He points a finger at her. “Now, that, I will take.”

Natasha's mouth purses in that mischievous Mona Lisa smile of hers and she nods.

“Where's Bruce?” Tony asks.

“Oh, he's in there,” Thor says through a mouthful, pointing the bitten slice out into the living room. “He is playing Resident Evil 7.”

“We're going to watch,” Steve says, smiling at Tony as he steps into the kitchen. Tony can't help but smile back, the stress of the last hour melting out of his body.

“No commentary allowed?”

“No commentary allowed!” Bruce confirms from the living room and Tony exchanges a grin with Steve.

“Some commentary,” Clint signs and everyone in the kitchen laughs.

“I don't like the sound of that,” Bruce calls.

“Here you go, Richie,” Nat says, coming around the island with two drinks in hand. She holds one out to Tony and hip checks him.

A strangled noise tears from Tony's throat as pain shoots down his leg, his knee buckling. A couple of wordless shouts go up around them. Nat tries to grab for him, but she's holding two glasses. Steve moves so fast that one second he's by the couch and the next he's got Tony under the arm, keeping him upright.

“I'm fine, I'm fine,” Tony demurs, the worst of the pain gone as quickly as it had started.

“Uh, no, clearly you are not fine,” Clint says, looking like he only needs the tiniest provocation to vault over the back of the couch.

Steve practically carries Tony over to one of the chairs in the kitchen, despite Tony's protests that he can walk.

“When were you injured?” Thor demands, his pizza abandoned on the other side of the island.

“Tony's injured?” Bruce says, twisting around where he's sitting in one of the gaming chairs, his eyes wide behind his glasses.

“I tapped him and he practically collapsed.”

“Okay, that's hyperbole. What is with you guys?” Tony pushes Steve back and then elbows Natasha when she tries to pull down the waistband of his pants. “Cut it out! Hands to yourself, Romanov.”

“Tony, what happened?” Steve puts his hands on his hips, clearly agitated. “Is this from Sunday?”

“No,” Tony says, holding out both index fingers. “No, absolutely not. I said I wasn't hurt and I wasn't.”

“Then what happened?”

Tony blinks at the five concerned faces surrounding him and realizes they're not going to let him brush it off. “It—okay, so. I told you my meeting ran late.” He gets a round of encouraging nods. “Well, it ran late because the guy I met with thought he was a hotshot and tried to chivvy me into his car after dinner. He had a gun and it clipped me before I disarmed him—”

“Someone fucking SHOT you?” Clint yelps.

“He did what?” Bruce's voice rises, and he rushes the rest of the way into the kitchen.

“Someone tried to shoot me, Clint, keep up.”

“Wrong. You were injured. They shot you. Badly.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “Fine, I was shot badly.”

Steve puts his hands out, and they both shut their mouths. “Someone tried to kidnap you? Why weren't we notified?” He has his Captain Kill face on, which is actually pretty scary. “Protocol—”

“Put your hackles down. S.H.I.E.L.D. had nothing to do with this, it was handled in house. What do you know about protocol, anyway?”

Steve glares at him.

Next to Steve, Bruce is rubbing his fingers together in rapid circles. “You were nearly kidnapped, and you were shot. Did you go to the hospital?”

Tony's startled when Bruce's hand reaches for his face; he tips his head back with it, and Bruce's thumb brushes over his beard along the line of his jaw. Tony hisses.

Everyone moves closer.

“Ow, what the hell,” Tony says, reaching up to touch, but Bruce brushes his hand away.

“You've got a scrape—did you hit your head?”

Tony shrugs him off. “No.”

Thor, Steve, and Natasha are all giving him looks that say they aren't buying it.

Tony huffs and rolls his eyes. “All right, I hit the deck, but the paramedics checked me out I'm fine! I didn't even know I had that scrape.”

“There were paramedics,” Clint says. “JARVIS, did this hit the news?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Give us the footage.”

JARVIS pulls up the news as requested, a hologram popping up next to Tony over the counter. Tony watches himself climb into the back of an ambulance with the help of the two young medics.

“We should have been notified,” Steve says voice hard and presses his hand down hard over his mouth.

“It's not like this is the first time this has ever happened, Steve.”

The look Steve gives him the second the words have left his mouth tell Tony it wasn't the right thing to say.

“This has happened before? Since the Avengers—?”

“Uh, yeah. Probably, I dunno, three or four times?”

Thor looks shocked. “So many times? I have been pursued in such a fashion, but never with such persistence.”

Tony shrugs. “Lot of uses for me, I guess. This is why I have a security team, guys.” He's not totally sure why this has got them so worked up, but he's not above taking advantage. He's tired. “So, uh,” he rubs one eye. “I was kind of looking forward to taking it easy tonight, can we, uh…?”

The severe expressions on Clint, Natasha, and Steve's faces soften. Natasha pats Tony's knee. “Of course we can.”

“Resident Evil 7?” Tony says hopefully to Bruce, and Bruce's tense shoulders relax.

“Yeah.” Bruce lets out a slow breath and nods.

Steve moves like he's going to try and lift Tony and Tony holds a palm out toward him. “Ah ah ah, no way, Cap.”

Steve gives him a sullen look, but steps back. Tony can feel all their eyes on him as he makes his way toward the couch, even as they get moving again too.

Natasha sets Tony's drink down on the coffee table in front of him and then sits down next to him—on the uninjured side—settling against his body.

Bruce joins them next, going back to his gaming chair, though not without casting a few glances Tony's way.

Thor flops into one of the other chairs with his pile of pizza and Steve finally sits down on the floor, setting his own plate of pizza on the coffee table.

Tony sighs and settles in, content, as Bruce unpauses the game.

–

Tony notices the others watching him more closely after that. If he's late, they call to check in on him, and at public events they position themselves around him in a way they didn't use to before, making sure he never gets isolated. It's cute.

Happy complains about it because they keep blocking his sight lines.

Apparently, there's more to it though, which Tony finds out when a month after the Cran incident when Hammer sends a couple of goons to pull him into the employee-only corridors at a gala. They're shoving him down the hall when Mjölnir smashes through the next door with Thor on the other end and they all skid to a stop.

Tony blinks. “Thor. How—”

Steve plows through the shattered door, Natasha hot on his heels. Before Hammer's idiots can even get their guns up, Natasha hits them both with the Bites, and they go down in a flurry of twitching limbs.

Thor drops Mjölnir on one of them, and Steve plants his boot on the back of the other, his face flushed and his mouth tense.

“Are you all right?” Natasha asks as she gets her breath back.

Tony looks down at the bodies and rubs his hand lightly over his forearm, which aches a little from where one of the goons had been gripping it. “I'm fine—”

Happy bursts through the door at the far end of the hallway. “BOSS!” He makes it halfway down the hall toward them before he fully takes in the scene and slows, huffing out, “Oh.”

“Sorry,” Steve says, looking contrite but determined, “we cut in on your territory, Happy.”

Meanwhile, Thor has moved in closer to Tony, one of his huge hands coming up to turn Tony's face this way and that with unexpected gentleness. “Are you certain you are not injured?”

Tony looks down at his body, thrown off by the entire situation. “Yeah, I—they didn't hurt me. Bruised my arm maybe.”

“Good,” Thor says and wraps an arm around Tony's shoulders, pulling Tony in against his side.

“What are you guys doing here?” Tony asks, brain finally starting to catch up.

Natasha is kneeling on the floor getting cuffs on one of the goons while Happy works on the other. She glances up to give him a look like he's ridiculous.

Steve steps in closer and gives Tony the same once over Thor had, although he keeps his hands to himself. “JARVIS said you'd left the expected location parameters.”

Tony blinks. “You're using my own AI to keep tabs on me?”

Steve and Thor both look a little chagrined, but Natasha stands up, and her expression is unrepentant. “You've almost gotten kidnapped five times since we've known you, Tony. We weren't just going to let that happen.”

“Excuse me,” Happy says, annoyed, as Tony replies, “The key word there is 'almost'.”

Natasha shrugs easily. “None of us are good at sitting back and letting other people handle things. No offense, Happy.”

“It's not that we don't think you do a good job,” Steve says to him, apologetic.

Thor squeezes Tony's hand. “We care too much to sit idly by when there is something to be done.”

Happy sighs. “It was bad enough being Iron Man's bodyguard. Now I'm up against the Avengers too? I'm gonna have a reputation for the world's most useless bodyguard.”

“Hey, Pepper still needs you,” Tony says, and that seems to mollify him.

Then he looks at his three teammates and the bodies on the floor at their feet. This has been part of his normal for so long he'd forgotten how other people might feel about it, and he's weirdly thrilled that his teammates have been keeping such a close eye on him since they found out. Like, it's a long term thing. They're going to keep watching out and keep coming after him.

“Hey, thanks,” he says before he can think too hard about it and all three of them look up at him. Natasha smiles and Steve reaches out and squeezes Tony's shoulder lightly.

“We have each other's backs, Tony.”

“Yeah,” Tony says, a smile pulling up the corners of his mouth. They really do, don't they?

#musicalluna writes #onemuseleft #tony stark #teamfic #iron man #hurt!tony stark #fluff #hurt/comfort #friendship #gen #kidnapping #KIDNAPPED!TONY #almost #team as family

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a-spoopy-bird · 5 years

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i um

yeah i wrote a naruto fanfic sue me. slight blood tw and hella angst because you know its ya boi

Naruto fell from the windowsill into Sasuke’s living room with a grunt. The only thought sustaining him was the need to get somewhere safe. The ground wasn’t safe. He could get kicked down here, or stomped, he had to get to somewhere safe.

With a heavy groan, he hauled himself to his sore feet, listing to the right before stumbling forward. His knees hit the arm of the couch and sent him sprawling onto it. Naruto groaned again, body aching everywhere, face throbbing.

He faintly heard someone click on a light and winced at it. Everything seemed to be coming from far away, like he had fallen down a well. A face swam in front of him. He instantly felt better, relaxing his sore muscles and melting into the couch slightly.

“Sas...uke…” He coughed wetly.

“You idiot, what happened?” Sasuke struggled to turn the blonde onto his back, hissing through his teeth when he inspected his face.

Naruto didn’t have the energy to cry out in pain. His eyes were sliding closed as Sasuke tried to get an answer out of him. A shake on his shoulder only jarred him back to reality so much.

“Naruto, who did this?” Sasuke’s voice was intense. His hand was gripping Naruto’s shoulder, the other on his phone. “Answer me, please, dammit!”

Naruto blinked sluggishly. Why wouldn’t Sasuke let him sleep? He was so tired, and everything hurts…

The hand on his shoulder started to shake, and Naruto faintly heard half of a conversation.

“Sakura? Are you busy? It’s Naruto, the idiot’s all busted up. No, he’s not responding. Yes, of course I tried! Yeah… yeah, alright. See you in a few.” Sasuke turned back to his boyfriend. “Help me out here, alright?”

Sasuke wound his arm under Naruto’s and hauled him up. “Jesus, how much do you weigh?” He groaned, stumbling towards the door.

Naruto’s head lolled and rested against Sasuke’s shoulder. He stared hazily at the ground, falling asleep. He faintly heard Sasuke talked, but it wasn’t relevant. His feet dragged against the ground, too tall for Saske to fully support.

“Naruto, I swear to god, come on, snap out of it.” Sasuke jostled him a little. No reaction. “Hey, idiot, come on.”

Sasuke swore, trying to hurry out the door, but Naruto was dead weight at this point. He dragged the beaten boy to Kakashi’s car, knowing the keys would be in the center console. He managed to get him buckled into the front seat, before getting into the driver's seat.

Sasuke jumped when his phone rang. He hastily answered it. “Hello?”

“Sasuke, where are you?”

“I just got this idiot into the car, on my way. He’s responding less now, I’m- I’m getting worried.” What an understatement. He was beyond worried. Naruto was the only person besides Kakashi who understood, who knew what it was like, who could comfort him. He was half-dead in the passenger seat.

“Listen to me. Get him here. We have the emergency room prepped. We contacted the police, they’ll let it slide if they see Kakashi’s car speeding.” Sakura informed him. “Get Naruto here, quick.” And with that, she hung up.

After gently turning off his phone, Sasuke slammed the palms of his hands against the steering wheel. Tears threatened to spill over. He gripped the steering wheel hard with his left hand before slamming his right against the steering wheel.

With a final, steadying deep breath, he jammed the keys into the ignition and started the car, pulling out of the driveway and out of the neighborhood. All along the fast and slightly illegal journey, he kept sneaking glances at Naruto. The blonde haired boy slumped against the window, nose gently trickling blood against the cold glass.

Sasuke pulled into the hospital parking lot, roughly yanking the key out of the ignition and rushing out of the car. Sakura and a team of people came out of the hospital with a gurney. Sasuke helped then situate him on the gurney, careful to work with them. Then, before he could process what was happening, Sakura had lead Naruto away, leaving him alone in the parking lot.

~~~

The waiting room wasn’t large- there were two other families here. Sasuke checked his watch- two in the morning. Was it really that late? Sasuke sat in one of the uncomfortable plush chairs, jogging his legs and massaging his knuckles. His mind bounced around, latching onto irrelevant facts and onto anything about Naruto.

“Sasuke?” Sakura had peeked her head out of the door. “Could you come back here for a moment?”

Sasuke stood up, the fog in his head lifting a little. It had to be about Naruto. Maybe he was alright? Just concussed? He didn’t let himself hope that. He knew he attracted bad luck- it was his fault if Naruto wasn’t all right. Naruto was so happy and fun and bright, and Sasuke was just the complete opposite. He was going to suck all the bright sun out of Naruto just by being around him, just like his mom and his dad and Itachi-

“Hey. Snap out of it.” Sakura’s fingers snapped a few times under his nose.

“I- sorry.”

“He won’t calm down, he’s scared of the nurses and doctors. We can’t hold him still enough to sedate him.” She explained. “And I- I can’t stand seeing my friend hurt like that.” She turned her head, hiding her shame.

Sasuke nodded. She slid her card through a lock on a door and opened it.

The sound reached him immediately. Wet, harsh sobs punctured the air, along with the sound of several people struggling. Sasuke hesitantly stepped into the room, and resisted the urge to recoil. Five nurses were trying to hold him down, but he was putting up a better fight than Sasuke had expected him to. Tears streamed out of his eyes as he kicked and struggled against them, hyperventilating. He struggled to talk, half formed words breaking his sobs.

“No! Don’t- please- Stop! No! Don’t- don’t- please-”

Sasuke quickly wound around the nurses and placed his hands on either side of the other boy’s face. “Hey, Naruto, look at me.”

He struggled harder, jerking his head out of Sasuke’s hands. “Stop, stop, no, please stop,” He rasped, coughing wetly.

Sasuke tried again, but without touching him. “Naruto, please. Look at me.”

Wild, wet blue eyes hesitantly locked with the cool black ones. He huffed and sniffled, glancing at the nurses periodically.

“Hey, it’s going to be okay. Can you breathe for me?” He coaxed gently.

Naruto breathed harder, not anymore even. He kept glancing back at the nurses, fear clear in his eyes.

“That’s right, babe. In, and out. It’s alright. They’re trying to help. Promise.” Sasuke offered a small smile.

“P-p-promise?” Naruto hiccupped, still trying to steady his breathing.

“Promise.”

A nurse readied the sedative, waiting for a good moment to use it.

“What- what’re they going to do? I- I don’t want- don’t-”

“Naruto. They’re just here to help. Sakura is in charge of them. You know she’d never, ever hurt you.”

“S-Sakura?”

Sasuke nodded. “They’re going to give you something to relax, alright? It’s going to be alright, you’re safe.”

Naruto relaxed slightly, still sniffling. He nodded. “O-okay.”

The nurse gently eased the IV into his arm, and they all backed away, their job done. Sakura came back in, relieved. Sasuke reached for Naruto’s hand, gently rubbing circles on the back of his hand with his thumb. The sedative slowly took affect, and Naruto was out within five minutes.

Sakura pulled Sasuke from the room, back into the hallway. “I didn’t get a chance to thoroughly examine him, but he’s pretty beat up, Sasuke.” Her eyes searched his. “What happened?”

Sasuke looked away, shrugging. “He sneaks to my house sometimes, he practically lives there. I heard him crash in tonight, and he was on my couch half-dead.” Sasuke paused. “Is he- is he going to be alright?”

Sakura sighed lightly. “Knowing Naruto, he’ll be fine. He’s come closer to dying than this. But it’ll probably be touch and go for a while. Do you know how he ended up like this?”

Sasuke started to shake his head when it dawned on him. By her expression, Sakura realized what it was too. “It’s October 10th.”

She nodded. “He was probably over in Konoha’s graveyard.”

Sasuke cursed. “How many times have we told that idiot not to- not to go alone?” His voice stuck for a second.

Sakura shook her head helplessly. “He’s Naruto. It’s something he’d do. Even knowing the people there hate his guts. It’s just who he is.” She turned and went back into the room, leaving Sasuke to figure out how to get back to the waiting room.

~~~

Kakashi was in the waiting room when Sasuke came back.

“Yo.”

Sasuke sat down heavily beside him. “How’d you know I was here?”

“Blood in the living room.”

Sasuke cringed slightly. “I’ll clean that up.”

“I already did. Was it Naruto?”

Sasuke nodded, clenching his hands together.

Kakashi checked his phone. “Went to see their graves?”

Sasuke nodded again, starting to jog his leg.

“Hey. That kid’s strong. He was strong enough to convince you off the brink. He can do this.”

Sasuke shook his head slightly. “He- he was almost in a panic attack. They had to call me back. I just- I’ve taken all the joy out of his life. This is my fault, I should’ve-”

“But you didn’t.” Kakashi interrupted. Sasuke’s head snapped up, glaring reproachfully at the white haired man. “Besides, Naruto has enough joy to go around. You know he’s glad to be in your life.”

Sasuke nodded and let it drop. There wasn’t any point in pushing it any further.

Kakashi pulled up the news app on his phone. “Looks like it was reported to the Konoha police. Figures, ever since leadership changed it’s been a disaster.”

Sasuke wasn’t paying attention. “I think I’m going to get some fresh air.” He stood up abruptly and half ran out the doors. He leaned heavily against the metal railing, feeling the cool October air chill his cheeks. He squeezed his hands into around the metal pipe, trying to stop them from shaking so badly. It didn’t matter what Kakashi said, he should’ve known Naruto would’ve tried something like this. He did every year when he was alone. Sasuke should’ve done something. He should’ve been with him, and he should’ve talked to him, and not just in his room eating shredded mozzarella cheese.

Kakashi walked out to join him, probably offer some words of half-baked wisdom again.

“Before you say a word, please, don’t.” Sasuke said voice shaking, his grip on the bar increasing.

Kakashi simply nodded and leaned against the railing, book in hand. For some reason that irritated Sasuke more. He bit the inside of his lip, trying to quiet the noise in his head so he didn’t scream at one of the few people close to him.

Kakashi looked up. “This is just as bad huh? Sorry, sorry, I’ll go now.” He closed his book with a snap and went back inside.

Sasuke sighed again, easing some of the tension out of his shoulders and releasing his lower lip from between his teeth. His hands shook when he detached them from the railing. Countless thoughts swirled through his head.

It’s your fault he’s in here, if you had been a better boyfriend, if you could’ve just been there for once, maybe this wouldn’t have happened, you filthy Uchiha, you aren’t even welcomed in Konoha just because of your stupid parents. Maybe if he killed you too this wouldn’t have happened. If you had died then Naruto wouldn’t be in the hospital right now, it’s all your fault Sasuke it’s all yOUR FAULT-

“Oi.” Kakashi’s familiar greeting shattered Sasuke’s spiral. He felt a hand firmly placed on his shoulder. “Breathe, kid.”

“I- I can’t,” He grit out. “I-it’s- it’s my fault, Kakashi, I-”

“Stop that.” He jostled Sasuke’s shoulder a bit. “It isn’t. He needs you here just as much as you need him. Who else would stop him from doing reckless stunts unsupervised?”

“But- but I-”

“You can’t save him every time, Sasuke. Life isn’t that simple.” Kakashi sighed, leaning against the railway beside him. “Listen, this time may be bad, but I’m confident he’ll recover. He’s had much worse.”

Sasuke would have laughed if he could remember how to breathe properly. He struggled to pull a full breath in. “I was- I was just eat- eating cheese, K-Ka-” He broke of, wheezing for breath.

His eyes began streaming when Kakashi held his inhaler in front his face. Hands shaking, Sasuke took it, desperately taking a puff. “Thanks,” He groaned once he could talk.

Kakashi shrugged. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, kid. It was what, two in the morning? You don’t have to be ready for everything all the time.”

They stood there for a long moment, each in their own thoughts, before going back into the waiting room.

~~~

Naruto was discharged the next morning. He was waiting at the receptionist’s desk when Kakashi woke Sasuke up.

He was there in an instant, quietly taking Naruto’s hand as he filled out forms with the other one. Naruto chuckled softly, rubbing the back of Sasuke’s hand gently. “I’m alright, Sas. Look, they even gave me free merch.” He joked, showing off his hospital tags.

Sasuke just stared before saying, “I equally want to kiss and punch you right now, dick.”

Naruto laughed again. “I’ve reached my punch allowance for the month, Sasuke. You gotta wait until November now.” His face stayed in the same carefully constructed, optimistic half-smirk he wore so often, but Sasuke knew different.

“Fine. I guess you’ll just get your ass kicked again in a few weeks. Better work to pay your hospital bills.”

At a concerned look from the secretary, Naruto jumped to explain. “Oh- oh no, he didn’t do this, don’t worry. We love each other very much.” He grinned widely, throwing his arm around Sasuke’s shoulders.

Sasuke’s worry and anger seemed to lessen as he watched Naruto spew actual sunlight.

That didn’t mean it was gone for good.

“Sooo. Naruto.” Sakura was waiting in the parking lot.

Naruto’s eyes widened, and he turned around, looking for a way out. Not finding one, he slowly turned back around to face her. “Hi, Sakura.” He grinned nervously.

She tapped her foot angrily. “What. The hell. Were you thinking.”

“Ha, you see, Sakura, I was-”

“Can it, off-brand Goku!” He recoiled slightly, the excuse dying in his mouth. “If you weren’t already beaten up so badly I would literally murder you right now.”

“Hey, Sakura, don’t you think that’s a bit intense?” Kakashi said from where he was leaning against the car. He peaked out from behind his book. “Besides, Sasuke and I already have first punching dibs. Get in line, kiddo.”

Sakura sulked for another moment. “I gotta get back to work. Naruto, if you do anything else stupid this month, I won’t hesitate to break your arms.” And with that, she stormed back into the building.

“Guess I have to break your ribs.” Sasuke remarked calmly, ducking into the passenger seat.

“Konoha beat you to it- fuck.” Naruto realized his slip up a little late.

“We been knew, Nards.” Sasuke said saltily.

“Hey wait! Why do you get the front seat?”

“You got it on the way here, idiot.”

“Don’t remember! Didn’t happen!” Naruto said, getting into the backseat.

“You probably don’t remember falling onto my couch at two a.m half dead but here we are.” Kakashi remarked simply.

Naruto shut up and sulked the rest of the way back to the house.

~~~

“Explain.”

He sat at the kitchen table, fiddling with the bandage on his left hand. “Guess I can’t really plead the fifth here, huh?” He felt hot shame and guilt eating away at his stomach. Which was fine. Nothing he couldn’t hide easily.

“Obviously.” Sasuke was not impressed by Naruto’s stab at humor. “Why in God’s name would you go there? Especially on your birthday!”

Naruto blinked in surprise. “Y-you remembered?”

Sasuke rolled his eyes. “Of course I remembered, it’s your birthday, why wouldn’t I?”

He fiddled with the bandage some more. “No one else really did, ya know?”

Sasuke sighed. “Yeah, well, I did. Happy seventeenth or whatever.”

“That’s gay. Anyways, you still have to explain yourself.” Kakashi said from his corner.

Naruto looked at his hands. “Just- I wanted to see them, ya know? I don’t care what they think, they’re my parents, not theirs. I- I should be able to visit them peacefully without being chased down, ya know? It’s not- it’s not like I’m doing anything wrong, I just wanted- just wanted to clean off the headstones.”

Sasuke reached his hand across the table. Naruto reached out to take it, but Sasuke slapped the back of his hand.

“Hey! What was that for?” He yelped, pulling it away.

“For being an idiot! How many times have we told you to not go to Konoha? Especially on the tenth!” Sasuke took a deep breath in. “I’m glad your not dead.”

“Yeah, me too.” He said saltily. “Man, why are old people so mean?” He whined.

“Maybe you’re just weak.”

“Sasuke I’ll- ouch!” Naruto had jumped up and disturbed his healing ribs.

“Don’t hurt yourself anymore, idiot!” Sasuke got up to look at his bandages.

“No, no, I’m good, just moved wrong.”

“If you’re shitting me I won’t hesitate to fully break your nose.”

“Oh, it’d be a lot scarier if you had just gotten beat up by old people with sticks and rocks.” He snarked.

Sasuke raised an eyebrow. “They beat you, Naruto Uzumaki, parkour expert and self proclaimed ninja, with sticks and rocks?”

“I can’t hit old people!”

“But you hit Kakashi the other day!”

“Stop. I’m not old. And if you two are gonna be this grossly in love, take it to your room. I don’t wanna see it.” Kakashi interrupted, pulling out his book.

“Still, if you ever go to Konoha alone I won’t hesitate to eat your eyebrows and steal your eyeliner.” Sasuke said before grabbing his boyfriend’s hands and tugging him upstairs.

“Gasp! Not my eyeliner!”

#sns #sasunaru #angst #angst fic #slight blood tw #slight blood #blood tw #blood #idk bro #naruto #naruto uzumaki #sasuke uchiya #kakashi hatake #sakura hanuro #i think idk #it my first naruto fanfic #and the idea hit me like a b u s #bc ive been in writers blockkk

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