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high-five0 · 12 days ago

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Omg 🥹

How about Frank with like a baby vigilante? Like a younger more hopeful version of himself, someone who looks up to The Punisher but who’s heart is too tender, who’s morals aren’t as muddled. Someone who wants to fight for justice like him, but doesn’t have the means to do so. Maybe she is struggling with it all and he helps her through it and become a mentor for her? And he saves her even though he’s reluctant to at first. He toughens her up and she softens his heart kinda deal.

Summary: You are a younger vigilante who ends up becoming Frank Castle’s reluctant partner, and eventually his soft spot.

Frank Castle x Reader (platonic/mentor bond)

Warnings: Violence, injuries, trauma mentions, recovery, language

==================

The first time he saw you, you were bleeding. Not a cinematic, gut-shot, screaming-in-an-alley kind of bleeding. No, it was the stupid kind. The kind you get from charging in with more nerve than sense. There’s a cut across your ribs, your hoodie’s torn, and your knuckles were raw from a punch you threw too wide and too slow.

Frank Castle watches you drag yourself across the floor toward a guy twice your size, who was unconscious now and barely breathing. You should stay down; probably call for some backup. But Frank notices that look in your eye. That determination...that stupid look.

“Stay down,” he mutters, shotgun still slung across his shoulder. You glare at him, teeth bloodied, breathing ragged. “He sells to kids. I’ve been tracking him for weeks.” Frank’s jaw tightens. “Yeah? That why you’re looking like roadkill?” You just flip him off and continue pulling the unconscious man across the floor.

And he almost smiles--almost. Until he sees you pass out. "Damn kid" he mutters going over to you.

==================

You wake up in a dusty apartment, bandaged and sore. Your notebook’s sitting on a table nearby, open to a page you’d never shown anyone. It’s got addresses, faces, names, notes scribbled in your messy hand. A map of a drug ring. It was impressive, Frank could tell you'd been working on it for months. Frank sits in the corner, arms crossed. “You’re an idiot,” he says without looking up. You blink at him. “You stitched me up?” He grunts. “You were bleeding on my floor.”

You try to sit up. “You’re The Punisher?"

“Yeah. And you’re a kid with a death wish.” You meet his eyes. “I’m just trying to keep actual kids safe.” He doesn’t answer. Doesn’t move. Just watches you like he’s trying to figure out if you’re brave, broken, or just stupid. He’s starting to come to the conclusion it’s probably all three.

He leaves the next morning. Doesn’t say anything, just ghosts through the front door. You don’t stay very long anyway. The second time you find him; it’s outside a warehouse. You’re quiet this time, but not quite enough. He grabs you by the collar before you can peek around the corner. “Follow me again,” he growls, “and I’ll let them shoot you next time.” You roll your eyes at the audacity of him thinking you’re just following him around. “I ain’t your shadow. They’re moving kids through this building,” you whisper. “I’ve been watching them for a month now.”

Frank doesn’t let go of you, but he doesn’t push you away either.

==================

You never asked him to teach you. You somehow just kept showing up. You do start shadowing him a bit. You watch his routes. You pick up on how he clears a room, how he moves like a ghost, how he looks exhausted all the time.

The first time you try to talk a guy down instead of shooting him, Frank shoves you out of the way and breaks the guy’s arm. Later, he snaps: “You’re gonna get yourself killed hesitatin’ like that.”

“I don’t kill if I don’t have to.” He looks at you, really looks, and says, “Then you better be faster than everyone else.” You try to be. Every night. Every mission.

You’re the one who keeps the silence full. Frank doesn’t talk much, but you do. Little things, like, “You ever drink coffee that doesn’t taste like death?” or “You ever try that pizza place on third?” He answers when he feels like it. Mostly grunts. But he listens. He sharpens your knives. Puts protein bars in your bag. Patches your gear when you’re asleep on his couch. He’d never says it, but you know—it means something to him, having you around. You remind him of who he was. And you? You look at him like he’s still worth more than just death.

Then it happens.

You get hit. Hard. Bad recon, wrong alley, wrong timing. A gunshot low in your stomach. You make it to the safehouse, barely. The world starts to spin. You’re ready to hit the floor before Frank hurries to catch you.

He can't bring himself to leave so he stays... two whole days. Anyone would do that though, right? Anyone would just not leave your side. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t eat. Just watches your chest rise and fall like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. When you finally wake up, hoarse and aching, the only thing you whisper is, “Fuck” He doesn’t say anything right away. Just brushes blood-crusted hair from your forehead and mutters, “You scared the shit outta me, kid.”

Your voice cracks and you try to give him a cocky smirk but the pain on your face washes it away. “Knew you cared.” He looks at you like you just said something dangerous. Then finally, he nods. “Yeah. I do.”

You slowly get better. You slowly heal. You start moving like you’re not so afraid anymore but you don't become cold, either. You still don’t kill unless you have to. You somehow don’t lose the heart that got you into all this mess. And Frank finally accepts it, he finally lets you in, not quickly. It's still just baby steps.

You see the man behind the mission. The pain beneath the armor. You sit on rooftops, side by side. You drink shitty coffee together. You draw little skulls in your notebook, and he scowls when you give him cartoon wings. “Justice,” you say, tapping the page. “But also, like hope ya know?” Frank just shakes his head. But you catch the hint of a smile. And when you walk into a fight now? It’s not him leading and you following. You move together.

Things became a well-run routine between the two of you. Then things went sideways.

It wasn’t supposed to go like this. The plan was tight. Clean. You’d gone over it with Frank twice, three times over, if you counted the gruff mutters and quiet nods on the car ride over. In and out. Deal with the head of the op, torch the files, disappear. But something went wrong.

You lost sight of him in the chaos. And now he’s bleeding out on the floor of a warehouse in Queens, half-shielded behind an overturned table, trying to hold pressure on a gunshot wound in his side while three men close in on him with rifles.

You don’t hesitate. You move like he taught you. You were quiet, you were fast, you were furious, and you were damn precise. Two shots, one blade. Three bodies drop quickly.

When it’s over, you’re shaking. But he’s alive just not as much as you’d like. “Frank,” you whisper, dropping to your knees beside him, hands already on his chest ripping the rest of his shirt to get to the wound. There’s blood. A lot of it. Your heart spikes, but your hands stay steady. “Hey--hey, look at me. You’re good. I got you.” His eyes flicker open. He squints at you.

“Kid…”

“Shut up,” you say, voice cracking as you tear your hoodie and press it hard to his side. “Don’t you dare say some dramatic shit right now. You’re not dying in this fuckin dump.” He gives you a weak, crooked smile. “You get taller or somethin’? You feel taller.”

“You’re bleeding out on me and think now is the time to be making dad jokes? Christ Frank.” He groans. “Gimme a sec. I'll walk it off.”

“Frank, shut up.” Your voice shakes then. Just for a second. You feel his hand-- rough and wet from blood--settle over yours. “‘M not goin’ anywhere,” he mumbles. “You’ll drag me back if you have to, huh?” You nod fiercely. “Damn right.” And that's what you do.

You get him to a safehouse. It’s not one of the usual ones—it’s small, off-grid, tucked above a laundromat and barely stocked—but it’s clean. Isolated. It's safe enough. You stitch him up. It’s messy job, and he groans a few times, but he doesn’t fight you. Just watches you through half-lidded eyes like he’s seeing something he never thought he would. You stay awake all night, sitting in a busted armchair cleaning all the weapons that you and Frank had just to keep busy and to not focus on the blood still under your fingernails.

When he wakes, you're still there.

He’s quiet the first day. The second day, he mutters something about your terrible coffee. By the third, he’s able to sit up more comfortably. “You saved my life,” he says flatly. You glance over. “Yeah. Figured we could be even.” He watches you for a moment. Then he decides to say two words that made you freeze. “You cried.” He shrugs. “Heard you. You thought I was out. Heard you sayin’--‘don’t die, I can’t lose you too.’” You swallow hard and your eyes harden in a way he's never seen before. “Wasn’t gonna bring it up,” he adds. “Then don’t,” you say quietly.

He’s quiet for a long time. Then, softly, gravel in his throat: “You’re not some kid anymore.” You don’t look at him. “sure as hell didn’t feel like one when I thought you were dying in my arms.”

“You ain’t just some shadow anymore either. Not some lost stray I picked up.” You glance at him. He’s staring at the wall like it’ll hurt less if he doesn’t look at you. “You’re mine now,” he says finally, voice rough. “Far as I’m concerned. You’re my kid.” Your throat tightens. “And if anything, ever happen to you…” He trails off, jaw clenched. “I’ll burn the whole fuckin’ world down.”

Silence settles between you, thick and raw.

You stand from the battered chair, moving to sit beside him on the bed, shoulder against his. “Good,” you whisper. “Because I was ready to do the same.”

He lets out a slow breath. Then, like it costs him something sacred, he tilts his head and presses it gently against your shoulder. For the first time in a long time, you both allow yourself to breathe.

If you like my work, please let me know! Reblogging, commenting, and liking are huge and easy ways to let me know you're enjoying my work, and it keeps me motivated to post way more!!! Requests are open for Bob Reynolds, Bucky Barnes, Frank Castle, and Eddie Brock/Venom <3

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#frank castle angst #frank castle x reader #frank castle platonic #frank castle imagine #frank castle imagines #frank castle fanfiction #frank castle x you #frank castle fluff #frank castle #the punisher imagine

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high-five0 · 1 month ago

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✶ . ၄၃ . easy, maybe — sam and dean w.

cw : gn!winchester!reader, hurt/comfort, reader’s the middle sibling, peacekeeper/selfless(?) reader, blood, injury & pain, stitches, nicknames (bud), poorly edited, no y/n, 3K words. requested !

summary : you try to hide a bad injury after a hunt. sam and dean patch you up, and spend the night worrying until you wake.

it’s not as hard being easy as some people might think. maybe that’s because it’s all you know how to be. the easy one, the quiet one, the peacekeeper, the blend into the background and don’t worry about me one. and it’s not that you’re weak-willed or unopinionated; there are times when you put your foot down, times when you argue, times when you’re petty or annoying or grumpy because you’re legitimately upset or possibly just a little too hungry.

one must note that easy does not mean perfect. it just means that you let sam ride shotgun despite being two years older. it means you take the couch most nights, you’re often impressively polite, and you patch up your own injuries in the bathroom before helping your brothers out. it means you let annoying little things slide, you pick up food when the other two are too tired to drive, you take care of the most tedious or boring tasks, and you tend not to get into any trouble with law enforcement or regular citizens. life is just easier for you all when sam and dean don’t have to worry about you too much.

naturally, you’ve developed quite a pain tolerance over the years of hunting and killing and nearly being killed; all three of you have. but you have become concerningly and particularly excellent at hiding wounds. it’s mostly about the breathing, you’ve decided. if you can hide the blood, move without any apparent stiffness, and keep your breathing even and normal, then sam and dean tend not to notice. they’ve got enough to worry about, you think.

but, unfortunately, there's certain things you can't quite hide, no matter how good of a little actor you can be. there's just far too much blood, more than you think you've ever bled from any one wound. it's not arterial, that much you know; you're familiar enough with basic anatomy to understand that a knife to your lower left side shouldn't be piercing any main veins or arteries. but it is soaking through your jacket and you're getting lightheaded. and you're almost to the impala, you remind yourself. you can make it that far, you're sure. if you just keep breathing, watching dean's trudging form as the distance between the two of you grows while your sluggish footsteps slow... if you just keep breathing, you're sure you can make it.

the leaves under your feet hush your footsteps, soft and soaked from this morning’s rain. dean doesn't question the fact that he can't hear you right behind him; you're quiet nearly all the time. the growing fog in your head makes you stumble. you slip, deprived of the bearings or stability you'd need to right yourself. the softened soil welcomes the crumple of your body, but your cheek scrapes on a ragged twig embedded in the ground. the dampness of the earth swallows any loudness to your fall, the little strangled noise that leaves your lips in surprise and hot white pain. the twig that draws a line of blood across your cheek doesn't even snap.

but you can't fall in complete silence; there's a rustle and a dull thud and dean's ears are attuned to listen for you and sam. he hears your grunt of pain, regardless of how quiet the sound is. he's immediately on high alert, spinning around and holding his gun at the ready. for split second, he thinks you've disappeared completely. he didn't know you'd been falling behind, twilight is ending, and your brown jacket melts into the color of the ground. but he's got keen eyes and spots you quickly.

"shit," he curses under his breath, all but sprinting back to you, long legs clearing logs and rocks without any fuss. before he's dropped to his knees by your side, he's already asking, "hey, hey, hey, talk to me, bud. what happened?"

you've managed to twist over onto your back by the time he gets there, though not without much effort. there's dirt clinging to the side of your face and wet leaves stuck to your clothes. it's become too dark for dean to see the spread of blood on your jacket.

"just a... just a cut," you breathe out. your voice doesn't sound quite right and it sets off blaring alarms in dean's head.

"where?" he demands, not harshly. his flashlight clicks on and you squint at the sudden brightness. he doesn't need you to answer. his free hand doesn't hesitate to move your bloodied jacket out of the way, and he sucks in a sharp breath before he even sees the full extent of the wound. his fingers gather up your soaked through shirt and gently peel the fabric away from your skin. "jesus, what the hell? when did this happen? just a cut?" he asks, bewildered and beyond concerned.

"b-before," you answer unhelpfully. "it's fine. help me up." you don't feel fine at all. your head pounds and your limbs are heavy and your voice is tight with pain.

dean scoffs, pulling off his jacket with an almost panicked urgency. "you were stabbed, are you crazy?" he accuses, sounding much more worried than actually angry. he messily folds up his jacket, not hesitating to push it against your wound, not so gentle in an effort to slow the bleeding. you grunt and he frowns deeper.

"more like a… a slash… less- less stabby. 's not that bad," you mumble, completely unconvincing.

dean's jaw clenches like he disagreed. "sammy'll fix you up," is all he says. "c'mon, let's get you up. you'll be just fine." dean knows that you prefer patching yourself up. he knows that you don't like letting them see you injured. but this is bad, he thinks, and his blood boils and his heart lurches at the thought that you tried to hide it.

sam, stuck in the motel with his healing broken arm, doesn’t expect much but a “we’re on the way back” sort of phone call from dean when he answers the ringing tone. dean himself is barely paying any attention to the phone. he should be paying attention to the road, but his eyes flick over to you often, and linger for too long. the first thing that sam hears over the phone is the muffled honk of a car horn.

then comes a quiet, “shit. i’m sorry, bud. you’re alright,” from dean. he doesn’t hear the little sound of pain you made when dean had to swerve the car.

“dean?” sam says, voice plainly worried. dean sounds off. “what’s going on?”

“sammy,” dean breathes, uncharacteristically afraid, “they’re bleeding bad. need you to be ready to stitch ‘em up when we get there. five minutes.”

“where? how bad?” sam asks in a rush, already standing and searching for a medical kit. there’s one on the coffee table.

“lower left side,” dean answers, voice a bit more sure when he can actually give a solid, factual answer. then it falters. “just– bad. real bad. they’re barely awake.”

“dammit,” sam mutters. he wants to ask what happened, but dean sounds like he’s driving recklessly through the panic of your injury. he doesn’t want to add anything else for him to think about. “you sure you shouldn’t be headed to the hospital?”

dean shakes his head, then glances at you and your heavy lidded eyes. “nearest one’s too far. you’re closer.”

“okay. alright. just– just drive safe and keep them talking,” sam says at the risk of angering dean in his precarious mental state. asking him to drive safe is a bit silly, and he already knows to keep you talking.

but dean doesn’t retort, he just spares you another glance. “keep those eyes open for me,” he urges, leaving it up to sam to hang up the phone. he only does so in order to focus on gathering the right supplies for you. and when the impala pulls up into the parking space right in front of tonight’s motel room, sam’s waiting outside by the pale yellow door with a janky metal ‘17’ on the front. he’s at the passenger’s side before dean’s even turned the car off.

you’re leaning against the car door, so he’s precise and careful when he opens it, reaching in with one hand first and cupping the side of your neck to keep you steady while he slips in closer to you.

“hey,” he says gently, hiding his fear. he’s not sure he can deal with all this shit without you. you’ve always been such a steadying presence. dean’s jacket that you keep clutched to your wound with shaky hands is all bloodied, and the only thing sam knows is that dean said it’s real bad.

dean’s there, opening the door the rest of the way so that sam can bend down and pull you into his arms. first goes your head to his chest, then his arms wrapping around your shoulders and tucking under your knees.

“there we go,” sam murmurs, wincing softly when the movement pulls a groan of pain from your lips. “can you talk to me?” he’s swift and gentle in his movements, getting you through the door and to the bed with the least amount of discomfort for you that he can.

“it’s okay, sammy,” you mumble in response to his request. of course that’s what you’d say. dean frowns, barely able to hear your words despite how close behind sam he hovers.

“yeah,” sam agrees, laying you out on the bed, pulling the ruined jacket away from your wound and gently moving your own clothing out of the way. it’s not a pretty sight, but the bleeding’s slowed enough for him to see that maybe it’s not as bad as they thought. stitches should do the trick, you’re just all messed up from the blood loss. “it is okay,” he confirms, “you’ll be okay.”

as he soaks a clean rag with alcohol, sam wonders when the last time he’s stitched you up was. it must’ve been a while ago. he even can’t easily think of the last time he helped you deal with any injury. right now, it’s his job to stay calm and patch you up, but the way you said it’s okay, sammy, made him want to act a bit like the baby of the family. he wants to hug you. it doesn’t make him feel small, though, just extra responsible for making sure you’ll be alright. you’re always taking care of him and dean, even if it’s just in the smaller ways, but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t fix this for you.

dean’s hands are far more tender than usual as he holds yours. sam cleans your wound, and you don’t react much. it worries them both, but sam assures that it’s not as bad as it seemed before.

the cast over sam’s wrist and forearm doesn’t make giving you stitches all that easy, but he manages. his big hands are somehow always much nimbler than dean’s, the stitches he produces less crude. but no matter how used to the feeling of a few stitches you are, once he gets to the sixth, you’re not sure you can stay awake any longer. you hate the feeling of the needle and thread going through your skin.

you give dean’s hand a weak squeeze. “’m gonna pass out,” you slur in warning. his eyes widen in worry. sam tries to stay focused, but his frown deepens. he’d much rather you didn’t, but he thinks you’ll be alright.

“hey, hey, hey, no. stay with us,” dean urges, brushing his fingers over your forehead. “you’re fine now, just stay awake, bud. look at me.” you meet his gaze with drooping eyelids and a weak frown. you feel bad for making him worry like this.

“’m sorry,” you mumble, “so tired.” you close your eyes against his wishes, and your hand goes limp in his.

“dammit,” sam whispers, noticing the way your muscles all go slack. dean’s not so quiet when he curses, standing up angrily. as sam finishes the stitches, dean paces, hands in fists.

“it’s my damn fault, sammy,” he growls. if sam looked up, the tears in dean’s otherwise angry eyes would betray his blatant concern for you. “i wasn’t paying attention.” sam worries now that dean’ll start throwing things. he doesn’t deal well with his little siblings getting hurt.

“they’re okay. seriously,” sam insists. really though, he’s worried out of his mind. freaking out won’t help him give you effective stitches, so he just focuses on the silent promise he’s made to take care of you. “they’ll heal. the stitches will be enough,” he says, instead of asking what happened to avoid upsetting dean further. dean returns to your side just as sam finishes the last stitch. he dresses the wound with a bit of help from dean, but mostly, the oldest just combs through loose strands of your hair, picking out dried leaves and twigs. dean cleans the little cut on your face too, wiping away the dirt from when you fell.

he holds you gently upright as sam trades your bloodstained jacket and top for a simple long sleeve crewneck shirt to keep you comfortable and warm as you rest. he monitors your pulse and constantly checks your breathing, and his nervous behavior doesn’t go unnoticed by dean. but your heartbeat remains steady and the soft sound of your breathing is the only thing that can be heard at times. it’s comforting to them both, taking turns by your side, though they’re most certainly overly concerned now that your body is set to start mending.

you sleep a long while, long enough that dean starts pacing again when he tires of sitting on the edge of the other bed with his head in his hands. sam sits in a chair by your side. he dozes lightly for a bit, until the sun rises and brightens the room through half opened curtains. dean’s asleep on the couch when sam comes back around, despite the completely free bed. when he wakes, dean makes coffee for him and sam, brooding the whole while. he still looks like he’s holding back the urge to throw a rickety motel chair into the wall, but he’s a bit more blatantly anxious than angry by now. he holds your hand for a little while before you wake up.

you start to stir at 9:37 in the morning, which means you’ve been sleeping for almost ten hours. sam had checked the time when you passed out, in the midst of all his worry as he stitched you up. but no one catches the time. you, of course, are not checking the time. you’re barely awake. dean doesn’t think to check the time, he’s much more concerned about the light rustle of the bed sheets that he hears coming from your direction. and sam is drying his hands in the bathroom. he probably wouldn’t care to check the time either even if he were standing right by the clock. he hears dean say your name through the thin bathroom door, quiet and nervous. the hand towel slips off the rack in his rush to get to you.

dean’s sitting by your side, both of his hands wrapping around yours. “hey,” he murmurs, soft and glad to see your eyelids fluttering. you see the water stained ceiling of the motel room and feel the end of the bed dipping by your feet, then a big, soft hand on your shin. that’s sam. dean’s the one holding your hand.

you try to say hey back, but it comes out as a hoarse groan. your throat is very dry. so you just squeeze dean’s hand back as best as you can. one of his hands leaves yours to rest on your tired head. you look over and offer him a little smile. he feels a rush of affection as you meet his gaze like that, and a little bit of guilt for always letting you be the best of them. the quietest and the easiest. he doesn’t know what to do with those feelings, so he asks a sweet, almost teary looking sam to go grab you some water. he does so without a qualm, tries to help you take a sip, and relents with a subtle pout when you refuse the help. you’re insistent about holding that cup for yourself.

“let me help you,” he murmurs, voice all soft. he sounds extra young right now, as his hands try to hold the cup and your head up for you. you grab the cup, shaking your head despite being plagued by a pounding ache at your temples.

“mm-mm,” you hum a no, as if it bothers you that he’s trying to use his hand in a cast to help. you’re truly just that stubborn that it makes you strong enough to hold the cup with your own shaky hands. sam’s hand hovers nearby anyway. when you’ve taken a good drink, and the water starts to slosh a bit because you’re having a hard time holding it steady, dean takes it from you and sets it on the bedside table.

“you gave us a good little scare there,” he murmurs, voice gentler than usual. he doesn’t even pretend to sound annoyed. sam thinks his demeanor is a bit funny now, considering how much of a mess dean was last night and before you woke. but he easily lets it slide for right now. without a doubt, you’re his main concern.

“sorry,” you mumble, still sort of smiling.

“don’t,” sam scolds softly. “don’t be sorry.” it seems to him like you’re always willing to take the fall, fix the problem, ease the tension. right now, he’d rather you just let him and dean take care of everything for you. you look like you want to protest, keep apologizing for making them worry, but he grabs your free hand as a means to stop you. dean gives your hand a little squeeze to punctuate the same sentiment.

you have nothing to be sorry for. and they are very grateful for you. losing you scares them more than anything, and for a moment, they will both be a bit vulnerable and ask for you to do the same by holding your hands tight for just a little while.

“okay,” you murmur. you won’t be sorry. i love you, too, you’re saying.

#reader insert #supernatural one shot #supernatural x little sister reader #supernatural x sister reader #supernatural x injured sister reader #supernatural x reader #supernatural

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high-five0 · 1 month ago

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╰┈➤ Hurt and Healing

Dean Winchester x sister!reader

Summary: After Sam had left for college, John had made you and your other brother, Dean, go on a series of hunts with no breaks. Being 17 and going on non-stop hunts was starting to take a toll on you.

Warnings: Mentions of blood

It's been a month since Sam left after the fight, and 3 weeks since John sent you and Dean out to work some cases. They weren't just some quick salt and burns either. You've been hunting black dogs, ghouls, and your own personal favorite-- shapeshifters. All these different kind of monsters made you want it to be a ghost hunt.

You and Dean walk back into the old motel room like you've been hit by a bus. Blood was going down your forehead from a cut you got from being pushed through a glass table, and Dean definitely messed up his shoulder by the way he was holding his right arm close to his body.

You threw the duffle bag full of weapons onto the small wooden table near the window, hoping to clean them later if you got the chance. Dean dropped on the end of his bed, the one closest to the door. It had always been a rule since you were kids: Dean would have the bed closest to the door just in case anyone, or thing, would barge in.

"Alright, move your hand," you instructed with a voice hoarse from exhaustion. You walked over to Dean as he slowly moved his hand away from his shoulder. Placing your hand to where his had been, you put some pressure to feel where you need to pop it back into.

"Okay, one." You felt Dean tense up as he shut his eyes to prepare. You mostly would pop it back in after one but not this time.

"Two-"

He opened one of his eyes and looked up at you with an eyebrow raised. "Wha-"

POP.

Dean groaned through his gritted teeth, his jaw clenching as he exhaled sharply. "You are cruel for that, Y/N," He grumbled, standing up to make sure it was fine. Dean rolled it a few times before walking to the bathroom to get the first aid kit.

You shrugged as you took his place on the bed. "When you know it's coming, it hurts more." He came back into the room with the kit in his hand. You heard him chuckle under his breath a little before he dragged one of the chairs from the table to sit in front of you.

"I don't think that's how it works, missy." He poured some alcohol onto the gauze pad, setting the bottle down on the floor by his feet.

"Sure it is. You always distracted Sa-" You winced as he pressed the gauze to your forehead, cutting off your sentence with a sharp inhale.

"Hm. Yeah, maybe it is how it works." Dean smirked.

You shot him a glare but before you could reply with a sarcastic remark, your phone buzzed in your pocket. Dean stopped when you shifted a little to get the phone from your jeans. The bright light of the screen illuminated your face and the message on it made your expression drop.

Dean watched your expression change and his small smile went away. "Dad?"

"There's a case in Wyoming. He said to get there ASAP." You bluntly spoke.

Every time you guys were done with one case, John would immediately send a text for another. It was driving you insane. You didn't speak of it to Dean since you didn't want to complain about saving people but it was harder to hide your annoyance. Dean saw right through it.

You sent out a reply to your dad. Just a simple: "Yes, sir." That was always your reply. Dean put a bandage over the cut while you threw your phone over to your bed.

"We'll leave in the morning," he said, standing up to go put the first aid kit away. You felt your eyebrows furrow a little bit and scoot back to lean on the pillows.

"But he expects us to be there in the morning." You said watching as Dean packed for the morning, unfazed.

"If we leave right now we won't ever get there. We're both tired and if I drive then we'll probably get into a car crash because I fell asleep on the wheel." You hated to admit he was right, but he was. The thought of postponing John's orders didn't sit right with you though.

"I can drive," you offered.

"No." He quickly shut that offer down with his older brother tone. Of course he wouldn't let you drive Baby. "You need sleep, sweetheart. Ever since-" He stopped himself when he saw you picking at your nails. It was one of your anxiety habits that you did.

You guys haven't talked about Sam leaving. In fact, you guys were actively avoiding it. There were times where the talk could've happened. For example, in the car or before going to bed some nights.

You and Sam were close. Really close. Him leaving you and Dean felt like a part of you left. You weren't mad at him for any of it since you understood but it still made you sad. You buried those feelings like a Winchester. Fake it until you make it.

Dean knew, though. And in his own way, he tried to be there for you. He just didn't know how to say it.

He took something out of the bag he was packing before zipping it up. Your mind raced, bracing for the conversation you had both been avoiding. How would you answer his questions? Would you cry? Would he?

Your thoughts were cut off by soft strumming of a guitar. Fleetwood Mac's "Landslide."

You blinked when you realized Dean had found your iPod--the one you had been searching for. He set it on the table and came to lay beside you so your legs were almost touching.

Reaching over, he took your hands that were on your lap in his. As the song played, Dean rubbed his thumb along your knuckles that were slightly scratched up from the fight earlier. The gesture made your tense muscles relax and you took the chance to lean your head on his shoulder.

Can I sail through the changin' ocean tides? Can I handle the seasons of my life?

You felt Dean shuffle against the pillows so it would be more comfortable for the both of you.

"You know I'll always be here if you want to talk, right?" he murmured. "I might not be good with my words like Sam, but I give great hugs."

The warmth of his voice settled inside you. He saw you. He understood. But only because he was hurting too.

Well, I've been 'fraid of changin' 'Cause I've built my life around you

"I know," you whispered. "I'm here for you too. You might be my older brother and think you have to act all tough but you need someone to lean on too."

You felt his chest stilled for a second before he exhaled, his grip on your hands tightened slightly.

But time makes you bolder Even children get older And I'm gettin' older, too

"Yeah, I know." He wrapped an arm around your shoulder, pressing a quick kiss to the top of your head. "Now go to bed, Y/N/N. I'll wake you up so you can shower tomorrow."

You nodded, your eyes fluttering shut as the music played. Stupid Dean. He always knew that music helped you sleep. For the first time in the past three weeks, you slept peacefully.

#supernatural #dean x sister!reader #dean x reader #spn #winchester sister #brother!dean #supernatural one shot

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high-five0 · 1 month ago

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Love that you’ve opened requests for Finnick!

Would you write for finnick x reader established relationship? but Peeta and Katniss think it’s all for show (kind of how Finnick saw them originally)

during the 75th games overnight as the poison fog comes through reader gets swallowed up and they loose sight of her, but have to keep moving. Of course they loose Mags, and maybe the canon goes off (for another tribute) and finnick is tangibly heartbroken thinking it’s her.

The next day she wanders onto the beach with Johanna and the rest, having survived by hiding in the waterways.

Lovely happy ending lovers reunion moment💘

thanks for your request! I've had this more or less done for a few days but I'm not sure how I feel about it...hopefully I did an okay job, but I figured I might as well post it. thanks to @unstablereader for parsing this out with me <3

Finnick Odair x victor!reader during the 75th Hunger Games [1.4k words]

CW: fem!reader, blood rain, mention of death, reader goes into a bit of shock, Finnick handles it expertly, Johanna being the problematic queen that she is

Finnick tried really hard not to act as petulant as he felt, but between his stress, his grief, and the fucking heat, he was sure he was failing in his feat.

“She’s probably fine, yeah?” Peeta (stupidly) tried, shooting a nervous glance between Finnick who was brooding near the water's edge and Katniss who was pouting near the tree line. “She won her own games; she can hold her own.”

“I just don’t understand what the point of having a look-out was if you were going to lose an entire woman.” Finnick finally shouts then, holding his hands out in front of him helplessly.

“The point of a look-out was to look out for threats, not babysit your girlfriend.” Katniss all but sneered in return.

“Oh? And what exactly do you call what I’ve been doing for you and your husband these past few days then, hm?”

“I don’t need nor did I ask to be babysat!”

“Well, someone smarter than you begged to differ, yeah? I’m inclined to agree.” Finnick spat before making to stand.

“...nanny of the year award after this…” Finnick muttered to himself as he stalked back up to the tree line to get another drink of water. He’d been sick with worry after hearing a second canon after they lost Mags in the fog, and there’d been no signs of you since. He thought he might actually call the whole plan off if your face lit up the sky tonight.

The sound of trees rustling and a grunt had all three tributes standing at the ready with their weapons drawn, watching the tree line and waiting for the cause of the noise to show itself.

“Oh Johanna…” the unmistakable sound of your (rather disappointed) voice rang out. “Be nice to her.”

Johanna let out a frustrated shriek as they watched her appear from the trees and all but shove what looked to be Wiress towards the water.

“Yes! Yes! We all know, Nuts! Tick tock, tick tock. Get to the water!”

“Johanna!” You barked.

Finnick’s lips formed your name before he was rushing across the beach to you; barely sparing a moment to look you over before his trident was dropped into the sand, freeing his arms to loop around your middle and lift you into the air.

“Fucking finally,” Johanna sighed in obvious relief as she finally pushed Wiress into the saltwater, “someone with a vocabulary of more than four words.”

“Beetee and I have a vocabulary of more than five words…” You replied, though your argument was someone lost in Finnick’s chest where he had your face shielded.

“Unless you plan on offing her, Odair, you might want to let your girlfriend breathe.” Johanna called.

“Babe what the fuck?” He hissed as he pulled you away from him, only then registering the fact that you were covered head to toe in…blood? “What the fuck!?”

“Before you get mad; it’s not my blood, and look who I found!” You placated quickly, gesturing to the three tributes you’d shown up with.

“What were you thinking, Y/N!?” He asked you then, shaking you gently by the shoulders. “What happened!?”

“I’m sorry!” You nearly keened, looking very contrite. “I was just so thirsty and so I figured while everyone slept I’d go look for water. I heard what sounded like rain so I went running, and the next thing I knew I couldn’t see a damn thing!”

“She didn’t so much as find us as she actually slammed directly into Nuts over here.” Johanna translated for Finnick.

“Sorry Wiress.” You offered the woman sheepishly who simply waved as she continued her little clock song in turn.

“What happened to all of you?” Peeta asked then, suddenly directly behind Finnick and alerting him to the fact that all of you were covered in the crimson mess.

“What happened, Mellark,” Johanna hissed as she made to stalk over, completely ignoring the way Katniss’ bow was locked and loaded and pointing at her in the very next second, “was that your darling wife wanted Nuts and Bolts over here, so what did I do? I got her Nuts and Bolts! Then this one had the brilliant idea of wandering off when she was supposed to be with you idiots, and the three of you - fearsome victors that you are - let her! And where’s my thanks, huh? Who’s running through the sand to come find me?”

Finnick had the decency to offer her a guilty look, but she offered him an unimpressed smirk and fluttered her eyes in a half eye roll before she turned her glare back towards District Twelve’s lovebirds.

“Couldn’t even celebrate the rain and finally having access to water because it was fucking blood!” She continued, now directing her ire to the sky.

“It rained blood?” Peeta murmured quietly then.

“So much blood...” You answered solemnly; hair cracking when you nodded due to the semi-dried substance coating it as you stared unseeingly at the trees with a haunted expression on your face.

“Let’s get you washed off then, hm?” Finnick asked as he directed you towards the waters edge, though he kept Johanna’s eye contact as he said it.

“Oh, I’m sure you’re just dying to see what I look like underneath all of this, Odair.”

“Nothing we haven’t already seen, right Peeta?” Finnick tried for levity as he shot the kid a wink, only for Katniss to scowl and elbow him in the ribs.

Finnick didn’t miss the way you shivered as you got into the water which concerned him seeing as the water was hardly cool enough to be of any relief in this scorching heat.

“Peeta! Can you bring us water, please?”

“You guys have water!?” Johanna screeched.

“Katniss, can you bring some water to Johanna?” Finnick heard Peeta ask, earning him a petulant “do I have to?” in return.

“She brought you Wiress and Beetee.” Peeta countered, causing his girlfriend - wife? - to glower before doing what she was asked.

“You doing okay, lovely girl?” Finnick asked as he massaged some of the dried blood from your body, keeping his voice calm even though your sluggish movements and the lack of colour in your lips was causing him great concern.

“I’m kind of cold, Finn.” You slurred.

“Cold?” Peeta asked incredulously as he showed up with one of Mags’ woven baskets filled with water.

Finnick hummed in response as he accepted the water from him, holding it up to your lips as he helped you take a drink. “I think she might be in shock.” He explained evenly.

“She’s in shock? What do we do?” He started, words speeding up as he directed his concern at you.

“Well, we’re going to start with not doing that.” Finnick muttered in reference to his quickly mounting panic. “She’s alright, right honey?”

You hummed in agreement, though you were looking at Finnick with a furrow in your brows.

“You’re alright.” He repeated, both for your benefit and his own. “I’ve got you now, yeah? We’re okay when we’re together.”

Tears quickly pooled in your eyes before they escaped the corners of your eyes, painting a rather macabre picture through the blood still stuck to your face.

“M’sorry, Finn.”

“Don’t be sorry, Y/N.” Finnick murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Just stay with me, okay? No more wandering off; I need you here with me.”

“I’m here.” You murmured, arm rising slowly to trail a finger over the bridge of his nose. “I’m here.”

“Told you it was real.” Peeta muttered to Katniss then, an inelegant snort from Johanna startling both of them when they realized she was out of the water and standing at their side.

“The two of you really are dumber than you look.” She taunted.

“I’ll take the first watch.” Finnick shouted before any infighting could start, shooting Katniss a halfhearted glare. “Everybody else rest up.”

“Can I stay up with you, Finnick?” You murmured, still looking rather dazed as you half floated in the salty water in Finnick’s arms.

You’d probably be the first to fall asleep, but Finnick didn’t bother telling you that. He simply agreed, pressing another kiss to your head before he continued washing you off.

#the hunger games #thg fanfiction #reader insert #self insert #thg #finnick odair #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair x you #finnick x reader #finnick x you

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high-five0 · 1 month ago

Text

Oh. My. God.

Chamomile tea

Dean winchester x (hunter ) sister reader

Summary: being alone for so long you’ve gotten used to only relying on yourself, a mindset that Dean starts to chip away at.

Word count: 740

Notes: being creative is hard

Warnings: none

You sniffled, reaching across the table for a new tissue. You blew hard before discarding it in the bin with the dozen others.“Fever not letting up?” You jumped at Dean's voice, You weren't quite accustomed to having company around yet. The three of you were still navigating this new dynamic, which was proving easier for some than others. Just a few months ago Sam and Dean were the dynamic hunter duo, while you still navigated the world solo. You could still vividly recall the moment when John had announced the secret he had buried for years, the secret forced out because of a hunt.

——————

You remembered the look of shock that overtook everyone’s face and the screaming match that ensued between Sam and John. You could recall standing silently in the corner, feeling Dean gaze upon you from ten feet away. Once the job was done and John disappeared again you expected life to go back to normal, you couldn’t have anticipated the brothers to take you under their wing. “Family looks out for each other” Sam had stated to you, a mentality that you would come to learn.

What you hadn’t seen that night was the quiet devastation Dean had unleashed. He couldn’t pick a fight with John like Sam could, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t just as angry. His entire life he’d been forced into the role of a guardian for his little brother, and now to find out he had a sister—who had been alone in this life—turned that protective instinct into a fierce storm of emotions. The guilt of failing as brother was sallowing him whole and the rage towards John for keeping the truth from him boiled over. Least to say When they checked out, the motel room bore the scars of his turmoil.

——————-

“I'm fine” you stated blankly in response, your attention turning back to the lore book in your lap. You weren’t purposely being stubborn, to you it was true. You had gotten sick before and you'd get over it, no big deal. Dean didn't respond and carried on with his business in the kitchen. The sound of pouring liquid reached your ears, but it didn’t smell like his usual coffee so you assumed he was having a drink. Hearing what sounded like a spoon hitting the side of a ceramic mug you raised your head in confusion. Unfortunately, his back was turned to you, blocking your view of what he was conjuring up.

When he started to turn around, your eyes darted back to your book only looking up when hearing the soft clink of a mug being placed in front of you. You watched the steam rise, a sweet and sour aroma filling the air. “Is that chamomile tea?” A softer voice chimed in as Sam entered the room. “Not for you,” Dean stated firmly, taking a seat across from you. You stared at the drink “What is it?” You asked raising an eyebrow. “Tea, honey for a sore throat, and some lemon for the headaches” Dean explained leaning back in his chair. “Thats pure witchcraft right there, can fix anything!” Sam exclaimed pointing at the mug. “Drink up sis” sam encouraged, brushing his hand over your shoulder on his way to the door.

“You didn't have to do that,” you said softly to Dean. “I used to make them all the time for Sam, it's no big deal,” Dean reassured you. You fidgetedwith the edge of a page. “I'm not dying Dean.” Your tone came off defensive causing Dean to sit up straight. “You don't have to be dying, for someone to make you a cup of tea kiddo” his words prompted you to lift your head to meet his gaze. “I didn't mean…” your words trailed off, unable to defend your previous statement. “I'm your big brother, it's my job to look out for you.” He said with a stern tone. You could only stare at him in silence trying to comprehend his words. “I know it hasn't always been like that, but it is now. I've been a big brother for a long time and Sam’s still learning. i know you are too—just…” he took a deep breath “Let me do this for you, ok?” You nodded silently, noticing how his softened eyes contrasted with the weight of his words.

Without knowing what to say, you lifted the mug to your lips. The warmth of the citrus tea seeped into your chest, and you felt your tense muscles start to relax much like the protective wall you’ve built beginning to chip away. You gently placed the mug down, catching a glimpse of the small smile on Dean's face. “Thank you, Dean” you responded with a smile of your own. He didn’t respond with words instead, he stood up from the table, patting you on the shoulder as he passed by. You couldn’t help but smile to yourself when looking down at the mug in front of you.

———————-

#dean winchester x sister!reader #dean winchester masterlist #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #dean winchester angst #dean winchester fanfiction #dean fanfiction #sam and dean #dean winchester #supernatural masterlist

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high-five0 · 1 month ago

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Jaw to the floor

Hey. Could you please do a Winchester!sister reader fic like the mystery spot episode where Dean dies over and over but can you have the reader be the one who dies over and over again while the boys watch

Groundhog Day

Note: Once again apologising for my lateness but here we are! I actually also wrote this yesterday but I thought it was only fitting to release this on a Tuesday.

warnings: death *and lots of it, It's mystery spot*, grief kinda, time loops, swearing.

Word count: 3.5k

⛤ SPN MASTERLIST ⛤

‘Heat of the moment-’

Sam sat up abruptly, awoken by the sudden racket that filled the room. After sitting up groggily and allowing his eyes to adjust to the light he glanced at the clock, hardly noting the time before he turned to his brother who was surprisingly already up and raring to go, having made his bed which he was now perching on as he laced together his boots. He felt the blankets shift around him as you tried to bury yourself into the mattress, bringing the covers over your head to try and block out some of the noise and fall back to sleep.

“Rise and shine, Sammy.”

“Dude.” Sam blinked, swiping his hair from his eyes. “Asia?”

“Come on. You love this song and you know it.”

Sam rolled his eyes and nodded. “Yeah, and if i hear it again, I’m going to kill myself.”

“Be quiet.” You murmured from behind the sheets, squeezing your eyes shut and rolling over. You knew it wasn’t going to happen but you were trying to cling onto the idea of getting more than 4 hours of sleep for once.

Dean took a break from trying his shoes to reach over and turn the dial on the radio. The song blasted louder from the speakers. He raised his voice with a grin “What? I’m sorry, I can’t hear you.”

Sam let out a light chuckle, still bleary with sleep as you sighed and sat up. Dean was still grinning at you before he began to mouth along to the words of the song. You shook your head at him before hauling yourself up and making your way to the bathroom to get ready for the day.

Dean had decided that he was going to be annoying today. You weren’t sure if it was because he didn’t want to go on the hunt and he was trying to delay it or something or if it was simply because he was being Dean. You decided on the latter because his keenness to be up and ready this morning was unusual. It started with the gurgling when he was brushing his teeth. Then, just as the three of you were about to leave, despite being up before either of you he had forgotten his pistol leaving you and your other brother standing impatiently by the door while he rooted around the motel room for it. He was irritating in the car too and you were itching to jump out of the Impala, praying for the day to end.

The diner was hardly busy when Dean pulled into the driveway. There were only a few cars belonging to passers by occupying the spaces. After securing your pistol in the pocket of your jacket the three of you headed inside. You decided to stick close to Sam; you had an odd feeling about this hunt and weren’t entirely sure what it was but something just wasn’t sitting right with you. Your brothers entered one of the booths and you slid down beside Dean who let out a content sigh as he scanned the menu.

“Hey, tuesday. Pig in a poke.” he read, gesturing to the sign.

“Do you even know what that is?” Sam raised an eyebrow.

The eldest brother opened his mouth to answer only to fall short of his words. Sam gave him a smug look and then pair fell into some sort of childish bickering that you weren’t really paying attention to. You were too busy scanning every inch of the room still unable to shake that uneasy feeling from your mind. Something just wasn’t right. Everything seems so…perfect. It made your skin crawl and you bit your lip.

“Hey.” Sam nudged you under the table with his knee, he had noted the way that you had gone silent and that you were fiddling with your hands restlessly. He knew almost straight away that something was up. You twisted to face him. “You okay?”

“Yeah. yeah.” You muttered. “Sorry.”

You nearly let out a sigh of relief when the waitress came over and distracted your brother's attention away from you. You hated the way that they stared when they were concerned about you. The three of you rattled off your orders before Dean leaned back in the chair, stretching his arm back behind you to lounge about as you all discussed the plan, only interrupted once by the waitress bringing your food and accidentally spilling a bottle of hot sauce which tumbled to the floor and smashed into tiny pieces.

The rest of the day passed by quickly after that.

You did not like the look of the so-called ‘mystery spot’. It was all overly commercialised, filled to the brim with strange and amusing objects that stuck out at odd angles or were glued to the ceiling. The darkness of the room mixed with the obscurity of the place made it come across as quite disorientating. You supposed that was the point. Your strange feeling from this morning was still lingering. You and Dean moved around with flashlights as Sam waved around the EMF. But it was silent.

“Find anything?” You asked.

Sam shook his head.

“Do you have any idea what you’re looking for?” Dean said rather loudly. He was still set on the idea that this hunt was a complete waste of time and had decided to make it everyone else's problem.

“Uh… yeah.” Sam shrugged until you gave him a look and he dropped his shoulders. “No.”

It wasn’t long after you set off to explore again that Dean’s gun was being cocked. Somehow someone had managed to catch you off guard, causing the three of you to whip around alarmed when his shaky voice boomed through the room.

“What the hell are you doing here?!” He demanded. The man was small and scrawny and would normally be no match against Winchesters, but he was wielding a gun that he didn’t seem to know how to use and his unstable finger was hovering dangerously close to the trigger.

“Woah. We can explain.” Dean started, raising his gun in surrender and gesturing for the two of you to follow suit.

The man moved his weapon uncertainly. “You robbing me?”

“No.” You told him. “Nobody’s robbing you, calm down.”

Dean began to lower his gun, but this only wound the man up more.

“Don’t move!” He demanded. “Don’t!”

“I’m just putting the gun down.” Dean tried to reassure him, but the man was having none of it.

He raised his gun, but before he fired he spotted you moving out of the corner of his eye.

Sam, as worrying of a brother as ever, gestured with a tilt of his head for you to move toward him. He knew that you were perfectly capable of protecting yourself, but it made him feel ten times better to know that you were hidden behind his lumbering frame, especially given the recent circumstances that had resulted in so much loss between the three of you. Your movement however, combined with Dean’s haste to put down his gun startled the man and with a fast flick of his arm he had pulled the trigger.

No one had any time to think before your pained scream filled the room. It was quick and short as the bullet lodged itself within your chest and you collapsed to the ground, writhing with an agony so intense that it made white spots dance in your vision like little stars.

“Y/N!” Sam cried out, moving quickly to bridge the short distance to your side where you lay in pain on the cold ground. Sam slid an arm around your back as your other brother dropped to his knees next to you, hovering his hand over your chest where blood had already begun to pool through and seep into your shirt. He was frozen with terror unsure what to do at the sight of your pained expression or the way that your hands clutched feebly at the hem of Sammy’s jacket.

“Call 911.” Sam demanded, turning to face the man who stood there white as a sheet.

“I-I didn’t mean-”

“Now!” Dean yelled.

You whimpered at the yelling. It cuts through your already pounding head adding to the concoction of your agony. You couldn’t see straight, couldn’t hear properly, couldn’t feel anything besides the burning fire in your chest that spread through your lungs like a disease. Your head lolled back against Sam’s arm as you began to taste metallic copper in your mouth, slowly drowning on your own blood that had filled your lungs.

“No. No” Sam said as you writhed in his arms, glancing up bleary eyed at him. Dean pressed down firmly on the wound, and it hurt more than anything but you couldn’t bring yourself to even whine at the contact.

“Come on sweetheart.” Dean pleaded. “Not like this.”

You could see his lips moving but it sounded like he was underwater as your body began to grow numb and your vision slowly faded. You tried to blink away the spots that consumed your vision, but it was no use and your eyes ended up fluttering shut just as your ragged breaths slowed before stopping altogether until you lay morbid limp in your big brother's arms.

‘Heat of the moment-’

Sam sat up abruptly, awoken by the sudden racket that filled the room. After sitting up groggily and allowing his eyes to adjust to the light he glanced at the clock, hardly noting the time before he turned to his brother. He had been here before. He realised suddenly, but this time his older brother was not lacing his boots. Instead he was stood at the foot of the bed, staring at the space beside Sam. He felt the blankets shift around him as you tried to bury yourself into the mattress, bringing the covers over your head to try and block out some of the noise and fall back to sleep. Sam stared at you, startled. He could have sworn that just a moment ago you were-

“Rise and shine, Sammy.” Dean said, with much less enthusiasm as he had before. His little brother furrowed his brows.

“Dean…?”

“I know. Is it just me or are you getting a serious sense of deja-vu?”

He nodded in agreement.

The Winchesters shared a look. Man, something strange was happening and whatever it was, you clearly weren’t feeling the same thing they were.

The diner was exactly the same as it had been the last time the two brothers were here. You were still looking around with the same uncertainty as you were before and you even ordered the same thing as you did before and so did Dean. Tuesday’s special. Pig in a poke.

“It’s tuesday?” He said uncertainly to himself.

You stared at him blankly as if it was the most obvious thing in the world “Yeah.”

Sam eyed you strangely and you raised a brow.

“You okay?”

“Peachy.” He replied, leaning across the table. “Are you?”

Narrowing your eyes at the pair of boys you asked. “Okay. What’s going on with you two?”

“What?”

“Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”

“You don’t…you don’t remember any of this?” Sam asked you

“Remember what?”

“This. Today. Like it’s happened before.” Dean.

“You mean like Deja Vu?” You frowned.

“No like it’s really happened before.” Sam stressed. “If it feels like we’re living yesterday all over again.”

“Deja Vu.”

“No. Forget about that. Its-

The conversation was once again cut off by the waitress who was delivering the food. And once again she sent the hot sauce toppling. But this time, Sam caught it before it could hit the ground.

You gave him a charismatic grin. “Nice reflexes.”

The rest of the day did not pass by quickly after that.

Your brothers were trying to explain the situation to you, while theorising themselves. It was safe to say that at first you were completely lost, but were halfway to believing them when it happened.

The car came from nowhere, speeding around the corner. It collided harshly with your unsuspecting body sending you skidding across the asphalt. By the time your brothers had reached you, a trail of blood trickled down your face from the wounds that were opened as your skin ran across the floor. Dean nearly choked on the sight of your pained and bloodied face as he reached you but you were dead before he had even lifted you into his arms.

And then, there it was again. That wretched song, screaming from the radio.

‘Heat of the moment-’

Sam sat up abruptly, awoken by the sudden racket that filled the room and muttered one single phrase.

“Son of a bitch.”

The rest of the day did not pass by quickly after that. In fact, it never seemed to end.

Sam was getting angry now. No. That's not really the right word to describe it. He was frustrated. Tired. Scared. Dean was angry. And growing impatient. But both of them could not bear to live another tuesday. They couldn’t bear to see you fine one second and then dying the next. They had lived through at least a hundred tuesdays, had scanned every inch of the diner, the town, the mystery spot, they had followed the people from the diner and had even tried to keep you in the motel room but no matter how hard they tried they were forced to watch you die again.

The worst part was that you were clueless. Sam and Dean had to re-explain the ordeal to you everytime they woke up to that stupid song again, leaving you back at square one. They had lived through the day so many times that it had gotten to the point where they could both predict your sentences word for word and while it freaked you out, their patience was wearing thin.

Until finally, something changed. Dean had asked the woman he kept bumping into to see her flyer. They finally had a lead. So, the next time Tuesday morning rolled around, they felt hopeful as they filed off the information to you.

“When’d you get time to do all that research?” you asked through a mouthful of food.

Dean did not have the energy to answer, so he just stood, rolling his eyes. “Let’s go. We’re wasting time here.”

That was when Sam spotted it. The sticky, pink syrup sat in the dispenser next to the half eaten pancake. He frowned, stopping suddenly. When you noticed his absence you turned and asked him what was wrong.

Sam watched the man leave through the slats in the blinds. “That guy has maple syrup for the last 100 tuesdays, now all of a sudden he’s having strawberry?

“It’s a free country, Sammy. A man can’t choose his own syrup now? What have we become?”

“Not in this diner.” Sam shook his head. “Not today.”

“Nothing in this place ever changes. Ever. “ Dean told you. “Except us.”

The two brothers nearly lost their shit when they woke up again, but by the time they had suffered through the morning routine and had reached the diner they had come up with a plan.

There were no conversations during breakfast. The pair left you to ponder over your own thoughts after mentioning the idea of a time loop. Any of your questions went unanswered as they stared down the man, jumping into action when he rose, pushing the stool out with an ear splitting squeal and making his way to the parking lot.

Dean gripped the man firmly, forcing him against the fence by the scruff of his neck and silencing his protests. “We know who you are. Or should I say what?”

You watched very confused from the side.

“Oh my god-” the man begged, wide eyed. “Please don’t kill me!”

“Uh, Boys-”

“It took us a hell of a long time, but we got it.” Sam seethed.

“What?!”

“It’s your M.O that gave you away.” He continued. “Going after pompous jerks, giving them their just deserts. Your kind loves that, don’t they?”

“Yeah. Sure. Okay! Just put the stake down!” He pleaded, side eyeing the weapon that Sam pressed to his neck. Sam refused to move.

“Sammy, maybe you should-”

“No!” He yelled at you. The tone of his voice was so unexpected for Sam that you recoiled. “There’s only one creature powerful enough to do what you’re doing. Making reality out of nothing, sticking people in time loops- In fact, you’d pretty much have to be a god.”

“You’d have to be a trickster.” Dean spat.

“Misters…” The man pleaded shakily with tears in his eyes “My name is Ed Coleman. My wife’s name is Amelia- I’ve got two kids! For crying out loud I sell ad space!”

“Don’t lie to me! I know what you are!” Sam shouted into his face.

“We’ve killed one of your kind before.”

There was a heavy paused before the grey hair and wrinkles on the man before you morphed into the all familiar face of the trickster you and your brothers had run into not too long ago.

He smirked and your brothers’ faces dropped. “Actually, you didn’t.”

“Why are you doing this? Why her!?” Sam pressed, digging the stake into his neck.

“You’re kidding?” The trickster replied “You all tried to kill me last time. Why wouldn’t I do this? Why not make you three suffer.”

“So this is funny to you? Killing her over and over again?” Dean gritted his teeth.

“One- yes, it is fun. And two -this is so not about killing Y/N. This joke is on you two. I mean… come on. How great has it been to watch you to see her being torn apart again and again. Watching your sister die everyday. Forever.”

“You son of a bitch.”

The trickster smiled. “How long will it take you to realise you can’t save your sister, no matter what.”

“Oh yeah? We kill you, this ends now.” Sam growled.

“Woah. Okay, look. I was just playing around. You can’t take a joke, fine. You’re out of it. Tomorrow you’ll wake up and it’ll be wednesday. I swear.”

“You're lying. “

He shrugged. “If I am, you know where to find me.”

“But you better promise me, I’ll be back in time-”

Sam couldn’t contain the gasp that fell from his lips. “It’s wednesday!”

“Yeah…?” You said from across the room where you were rummaging though your bag. “Which usually comes after Tuesday. Turn that crap off, would you?” you asked him.

“No. Leave it on.” Dean interjected. He agreed with Sam. If he heard Asia one more time he was going to kill himself. “Isn’t that the most beautiful song you’ve ever heard?”

“...No. Jesus, how many Tuesdays did you guys have?”

“You don’t wanna know.” Dean sighed. “Wait..what do you remember.”

“I remember you two being pretty whacked out yesterday. And then i remember running into the trickster. S’bout it really.”

“Right. Whatever. Lets get out of here.” Sam said as he pulled on a shirt.

“What? No breakfast?” You asked, slightly upset that you were going to miss out on the diner food you had quite enjoyed yesterday.

“No breakfast.”

Sam and Dean were still inside when they heard it. The unmistakable pop of a gun being fired. You were outside loading the last of your things into Baby and-

Sam's heart sank.

“Y/N!” He cried, dropping what he was doing and racing down the stairs towards you.

The offender fled the moment the gunshot had sounded and your two brothers could see him rounding the corner, but their concern was on you, sprawled out across the floor in a pool of your own blood.

They shook you, crying out your name but you didn’t move. Your heart had stopped beating.

“No. This isn’t supposed to happen today.” Sam squeezed his eyes shut tight, only to nearly cry when he opened them again and you were still lying lifelessly in his brothers clutch. “We’re supposed to wake up.”

And then, he began to cry.

Part 2 may be coming…I’ll add it to my to do list

#supernatural x reader #supernatural #spn #supernatural x sister reader #supernatural x little sister reader #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x sister reader #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x sister reader #supernatural x injured sister reader

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high-five0 · 1 month ago

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"sacrifice, that's what we do for the people we love"

being the middle child in the winchester family...

I’d imagine you being like two years younger than Dean and two years older than Sam. So like literally the middle child

Your memories of your mum are fuzzy but you can recall a few things

When Mary died you were only two so you didn’t really understand what was going on for a while.

When you all first left Lawernce you spent most of that first night in a motel room crying because you wanted your mom and your bed. (Dean had to comfort you cause John left his two toddlers and baby alone in a motel #dadoftheyear)

When you were like ten your dad told you about what he had been doing for the past eight years. You were terrified but he made you promise not to tell Sam. He also made sure you knew that it was your job to keep Sam safe.

Basically, you stopped being a child at ten.

You and your brothers were really close.

You and Dean basically trauma-bonded over hunting and also having wayyyy too much responsibility at a young age.

Out of you and Dean, you were more emotionally available so Sam tended to tell you more.

As he got older he would talk to you about getting out and stuff. While your dad and Dean were very much into hunting you and Sam were more of on the sidelines.

Sam got his love of reading from you. He’d always tell you about the books he was reading and what he was doing in class.

You’re the mediator for the family. It was always you who broke up fights. You were also able to calm your father down.

Mentioning in a passing comment that you didn’t want to hunt when you were like 15 and John flipped.

“If you don’t want to help kill the thing that killed your mom then you can get out.”

So you did. You left at 15 for 6 months.

In reality, you went to stay with Bobby but you never told your dad that.

Dean begged you to stay and would call every day. So would Sam.

Around this time Sam also started to want to leave.

“I wanna come stay with you.” You sighed leaning against the wall. The phone rested between your ear and shoulder. “You can't Sam. Dad would flip your too young.” He let out a frustrated noise but let the topic go. (for now)

Dean would also call often and beg you to come home.

“Look he didn’t mean it, alright. It was just a heat of the moment thing.”

You did eventually come back. (Bobby wasn’t happy but let you go)

Your brothers were overjoyed and you actually got an apology from your dad (shocker.)

Things were ok for a few years and then Sam got a bit older and started talking about school. He’d only talk to you about it though. It wasn’t that Dean hated the idea but he didn't understand.

One day when you were 18 and he was 16 Sam asked to talk in private. So you took him to a dinner near the motel and he told you about Stanford.

“One of my teachers thinks it's possible.” He pushed the pamphlet towards you. “I just need a signature from an adult and I know Dad won't sign it.” You quietly looked over the pamphlet for a moment. A sense of pride washed over you as well as relief. This was his way out. “Of course, I’ll sign it.”

You both kept it quiet for the next year and when his acceptance letter came in you both kept it to yourselves but you were so proud

#proud parent moment.

Though eventually, Dean found the letter.

“Did you know about this?” He asked holding up the letter. You felt your blood run cold as you grabbed the letter from him. “Yes. I did know.” You admitted. “It was me who signed the papers.” Your brother's eyes widened a look of betrayal crossed his face. “Why would you do that?” His voice began to rise as he spoke. “Because Sam deserves a future Dean.”

You two didn’t speak for a while after that. Dean got over it though.

When it came time for Sam to leave that's when all hell broke loose.

You’d never heard your dad yell so loud. He and Sam went back and forth for hours until your younger brother just walked out. You and Dean both followed him. After calming him down you went with him to the bus and said goodbye.

Dean was kinda non-plussed (inside he hated it and was worried sick). You were worried but happy that he was getting out.

When you and Dean went back to the motel John was furious. He blamed you (of course)

“This is your fault. You're the one who put all those ideas in his head and look what happened.”

Dean jumped in front of you and told him to back off.

“Sam’s his own person you can’t blame her for this!”

After this, you and Dean get closer. John starts taking more hunts alone meaning that you and Dean spend a lot of time just driving around.

You would probably class this as the first time in your life you felt truly happy. Hunting with Dean was easier and there were fewer arguments.

Sam would call u often to update you. When he told you that he’d met a girl you were so happy for him. (it really seemed he got out)

But then your dad went missing and Dean insisted on getting Sam to help.

You were glad to have both your brothers back but at the same time felt insanely guilty as you watched Sam fall back into hunting.

#supernatural #dean winchester headcanon #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester #sam winchester headcanon #sam winchester fanfiction #sam winchester #dean winchester x sister!reader #sam winchester x sister!reader #dean winchester x reader

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high-five0 · 2 months ago

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I. Need. Him.

jason grace boyfriend headcanons

a/n: migraines have been killing me lately 😭 free me

Biggest gentleman ever

But that’s common knowledge I fear

Everyone and their mothers know Jason’s absolutely perfect.

He’s very traditional, so he’d want to ‘court’ you properly before dating you.

That sounds corny I’m sorry but like

He’d get you flowers constantly, open every door for you, pay for your meals…

You get it.

When he confessed and asked you out, you best bet he also went all out.

SO many flowers

And it doesn’t stop there.

You better be prepared to be gifted flowers constantly.

Honestly it’s gotten to a point where you don’t even think you have space for any more flowers.

Your room looks like a fucking greenhouse at this point.

He’d stop immediately if you mentioned disliking them, and would find a cute alternative to give you.

Jason is the type of guy to always text you to make sure you’re okay, and to let you know what he’s up to.

If he’s in a quest, he’d send you constant Iris messages to keep you from worrying about his safety.

In other words, he’s the sweetest, most attentive bf ever <3

Since I’m pretty sure it’s canon: He’s a big hugger!!

I do wholeheartedly believe he wouldn’t be the biggest fan of PDA, preferring those types of moments to be done in private.

He would hug you in public, but only if he felt comfortable with the people around.

BUTTTT if there’s one thing he would never do, is drop your hand.

Only act of affection he is 10000% comfortable with doing publicly.

He loves holding your hand in his always, and he’s a big fan of kissing your hand, too.

Actually, he loves your hand a concerning amount…

You and Jason would read quietly next to one another <3

He’d let you wear his glasses if you asked.

AND if you already wear glasses (like me) then you two would definitely go shopping for new glasses together.

It is so much easier when you have someone helping you out tbh

He’d always be prepared with anything you need.

Jason keeps a bag full of stuff just in case you find yourself needing one of them.

He also reserves a place in his room for you to place your stuff in.

THAT mostly because he wants you to be able to casually sleepover, but he gets bashful admitting that.

Related to all the before mentioned but I fully believe Jason would want to take things slow.

He wouldn’t jump into something if he knew he didn’t have serious feelings and wanted to pursue the relationship further.

In other words, he’s a date to marry type of guy.

AS THEY ALL SHOULD BE !

Wholeheartedly believe that, if he felt you were the one, he would immediately buy a ring.

But — if he felt as if it’d be more proper to wait until a certain time to propose, he’d refrain from doing it for a while.

Instead, he’d get you a promise ring.

He would want you to be as committed to him as he is to you.

It’s because of his abandonment issues and stuff…

Anyway if you moved in with him then trust me he is ON IT

Those TikTok men are a disgrace in his eyes okay

He will help you out constantly

Except he doesn’t consider it “helping out” because it’s his job, too.

Honestly nevermind boyfriend headcanons he should straight up be HUSBAND headcanons

Because there has never been a man more husband material than Jason Grace.

I need him.

#jason grace x reader #percy jackson x reader #pjo x reader #hoo x reader #jason grace #percy jackson #pjo #heroes of olympus #hoo #headcanons

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high-five0 · 2 months ago

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Ocean's Eleven

CONFIDENCE BOOST: Linus Caldwell x fem!reader

Summary: Rusty left the last advice unfinished, seemingly making Linus both nervous and annoyed. Luckily she's there to help.

Notes: English isn't my first language. I apologize for any mistake I made while I wrote this short story.

After a message reminded me how obsessed I've been with the Ocean's men, I started to rewatch the movies - and it once again gave me some inspiration, ending my writers block. By the time I'm done with the rewatch, hopefully more stories will come :)

Warnings: only a few swear words, but other than that nothing at all

•••

"Where do you put your hands?" both her and Rusty followed Linus' movements with their eyes as he tried to hold the briefcase with both hands. "No good."

She leaned back on the sofa she was sitting on, realizing this won't be a short conversation. She might as well get herself comfortable and watch as Linus learns - it's as entertaining for her as it is annoying and stressful for him. She might as well lean back and enjoy it as long as it's not her turn to move.

"Don't touch your tie. Look at me." Linus did as he was told so. "Okay, I ask you a question 'you have to think of an answer, where do you look?"

Linus looked down. It wasn't the right move.

"No good." Rusty said and for a moment their eyes met - she tilted her head, trying to silently communicate with him like they learned to do so. Don't be that hard on him - her eyes said. "You look down, they know you're lying..." Linus looked up and she smiled - that wasn't right either. "...and up, they know you don't know the truth."

Linus' eyes settled on Rusty once again as he sighed both from the nerves and slight annoyance.

"Don't use seven words when four'll do. Don't shift your weight," Rusty pointed out after Linus did that. "look always at your mark, but don't stare. Be specific but not memorable, be funny but don't make him laugh. He's gotta like you and then forget you the moment you left his side." Rusty's expression changed as he continued: "And for God's sake, whatever you do, don't - under any circumstances-"

"Russ!" Livingston's voice came suddenly from the other room, making all three of them look that way.

"Yeah?" Rusty shouted back.

"Can you take a look at this?"

"Sure!" and just like that he got up and left the room, leaving the unfinished sentence hanging.

Linus looked after him, not being able to decide if he should speak up or not and seemingly he couldn't decide what to say if he speaks up either. His mind was full of the instructions Rusty told him, trying to process them in the remaining minutes and then also remember all of them.

"Don't do what?" the question finally came out in a mixture of confusion, stress and annoyance.

Linus finally fully turned to look at her and she gave him a reassuring smile.

"Don't worry, he went through that with me on my first heist as well."

"And how did it go?" he sounded hopeful.

"It was Danny's plan, how do you think it went?" she looked up at him, testing, seeing what he'll say, seeing where his trust lies.

"Good?" it sounded more as a question than an answer.

She chuckled as she stood up, walking up to him, seeing if everything about his clothes are alright.

"Great." she answered as she adjusted his tie, straightening it. "I even got a necklace on the way out."

Finally, through the mixture of emotions what fell on him after Danny was put in a corner, Linus gave her a weak smile. She returned it, doing her best to boost his confidence.

He didn't really have a reason to worry or have fears about failure. He was good at what he was doing. He could pickpocket anyone easily, without anyone noticing. She saw it with her own eyes, she was there with Danny when he recruited him. And that last pull with the wallet was fantastic - unnoticeable even by her.

"You have nothing to worry about, really. You've got this." she put hands on his shoulders and his eyes followed her movements through the glasses he wore. "You were doing just fine without Rusty's speech. He gives it to everyone, believe me. This is your first heist with them, they'll give you a speech and test how good you are."

"Test?" he questioned.

"Yeah. Don't be surprised when they suddenly pop up somewhere when you're supposed to be alone. At least that's what they did with me."

She let go of him and took a step back, looking at him once again - he looked good and not just as a rookie who worked for the Nevada Gaming Commision, but as Linus himself. He looked cute, especially with those glasses and that tie. She got used to the striped shirts and jackets, but this was something new altogether. And he made it work.

"Alright, 'you want my advice?" she asked, hoping that he does.

He nodded - maybe a bit too quickly. The glasses almost fell off, he had to straighten them.

"Just don't stress it. I know you're good, I saw it with my own eyes and believe me, you wouldn't be here if Danny thought you weren't skilled." he was very close to blushing at the compliment and she almost grinned at that. "All Rusty tried to help you with was your acting, but the only thing that matters is for you to stay calm and in character. And your character has to be pitiful, someone Benedict could walk over, someone who's young and forgettable. You can't be smarter than him, funnier than him or even braver than him. 'You understand?"

He nodded - she continued. "You've got this, I believe in you."

That seemed to do the trick - or a trick at least. What she said made him blush, it was noticeable this time around and even his glasses couldn't hide it.

She took a step toward him again to adjust his glasses even if they couldn't have been any straighter. She felt like she needed that excuse to be closer to him than she was and to save that image of Linus in those clothes, blushing the best she could.

"And what shouldn't I do?" he asked after he swallowed.

"Oh, just don't leave without an excuse and don't leave unfinished sentences hang in the air. If it's a joke it's fine, it'd fit the guy you're playing, but otherwise it's a no." she let her arms fall beside her body, but she didn't take a step back this time. "So, 'everything clear now?"

"Yeah, thanks." it wasn't more than a whisper, but she heard it.

"No problem. You can come to me anytime."

The conversation died down after that, but neither of them moved. She took those short moments to really take a good look at him, at his expressions - at every corner of his face, no matter how small. She couldn't find a single mistake there, not a scar, not a wrinkle she wouldn't like. Nothing was there what could've made him worried. She found him flawless - she found him a sweetheart and a very cute one.

"You're a sweetheart, you know?" she said, saying what she thought out loud - as she noticed Saul on the hallway behind Linus, probably on his way out. They don't have much time left. "The others aren't. They're either assholes sometimes for jokes or they get sloppy - but you're neither of those."

"You're not like them either."

"Hell no, I'm much younger thank you very much." she said jokingly, making him chuckle and with that his nervousness disappeared.

"Yeah, that too."

"See? You have nothing to worry about. You're too loveable to run into any sorts of trouble." she explained with a loving smile. "And I'll be around too."

The clock was ticking - Linus should get going and she should get ready, but the conversation was too interesting to leave it hanging.

"Yeah, you'll be the best thing around."

"Better than those millions underground?" she asked with a giggle, saying it as a joke and nothing more, but at his answer it was her turn to blush.

"Definitely."

She swallowed - all the before-heist confidence disappeared from her and she was back on square one, where Linus was.

"We'll talk after, right?"

She tilted her head at the question, finding it cute - it still kept the blush on her face.

"Of course. You can buy me a coffee from those millions if you want to."

And he wanted to. She could see it on his face, in his eyes and that thought made her heart flutter.

"Right, you should get going." her voice was weaker than usual.

"Yeah."

"I believe in you, Linus."

They didn't kiss - it wasn't the right moment and it would've been too soon for that. But she kissed his cheek for good luck - making him blush once more - before he left.

It was quick, but meaningful and she looked him in the eyes as she pulled back. See you after the heist.

Right as she was on her way to her room to put on the dress she needed for her role, her heart almost jumped out of her chest when she saw Rusty on the small hallway. She looked at him for a second, and after his expression told her everything she had to know, she continued to move.

But as she walked past him she said: "You had a bet going, didn't you?"

"Forty bucks said you'd make the first move."

She stopped and turned to look at him, she smiled even if she was annoyed a little. But then again who could've expected them to not gamble when they're about to rob a casino?

"Fifty-fifty, right?"

"No, you'll only get thirty percent. It was way too cheesy to listen to."

She took the money and pocketed it quickly.

"What do you think?" she asked.

"Danny knew since the beginning." Rusty aswered, leaving her as he walked away.

She stood there, trying to figure out what gave it away to Danny before she even realised that she found Linus cute.

"It was the wallet." she whispered to herself, nodding. "Yeah, it was definitely the pull with the wallet."

#ocean's eleven #ocean's 11 #ocean's eleven x reader #linus caldwell #linus caldwell x reader #linus caldwell x fem!reader #rusty ryan

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high-five0 · 2 months ago

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🥹🌺📿✨

tying up loose ends

pairing: maysilee donner x fem!reader

synopsis: maysilee strategically observes all of her fellow tributes, but one in particular has caught her eye – one that haymitch has proved unsuccessful in recruiting to the newcomers. maybe maysilee can help change that?

wc: 2.3k

cw: fem!reader, no use of y/n, maysilee pov (which includes affectionate haymitch bashing), hunger games typical themes, non-established relationship, yearning, flirtatious alliance, district 8!reader, brief maysilee missing her sister

note: this fic is genuinley just for lil old me because why haven't i been able to find even one fic for my girl? took matters into my own hands

Maysilee sat on the bleachers, surrounded by the sweet youngins that had flocked to her, a tidal wave of emotions flooding through her. She chose to hone in on the smugness at having managed to befriend so many of her fellow tributes by doing what she did best – analysing opportunities and crafting something beautiful with the potential she’s presented with.

It was easier to focus on feeling chuffed at having defied Haymitch’s expectations of her than to have to sit with the weighing tragedy that this might be the last act of kindness these children are shown before their slaughter. It makes her put a little more care into every plaited string.

If only Merrilee could see me now. All our younger siblings.

Yet, she had never been one to sit still and look pretty. While her hands moved expertly and her lips moved on instinct – “we’ll all be matchy-matchy in the arena” – her eyes followed Haymitch.

He was on a mission to reel in the remaining undecided tributes, and Maysilee was scrutinising his approach. Around her, the youngins from Six, Seven and most of Eight were chattering, but there was one member of the latter unaccounted for.

She let her gaze trail ahead on Haymitch’s path, landing on the last District 8 tribute. The one she had not heard say a single word.

You stood on the opposite end of the tribute centre, flipping your way through a survival kit of some sorts that Maysilee could not quite make out at the distance. She could, however, see how your brows furrowed together when you focussed, fingertips tracing the table as you tried to memorise what you learned.

Her eyes tracked the movement.

To be frank, she had noticed you from the very start.

Most of the tributes were quiet to begin with, folding in on themselves, overwhelmed and scared. Not you. No, you were silent, not quiet. Wyatt hadn’t understood what she meant when she commented on it, but there was a huge difference to Maysilee.

You carried yourself in a way that demanded attention, keeping your mouth shut defiantly, not protectively. Your gaze never wavered, and neither did your energy. You met the Peacekeepers’ eyes every single time, chin held up high, and did the same to any tribute who paid too much attention to you.

Suffice to say, Maysilee’s eyes had caught yours many a time.

Now she observed how Haymitch walked up to you, putting on that sweet, uniting front of his. It made her want to scoff, all the while ignoring a blooming fraternal affection for his dramatics. It wouldn’t benefit her in the long run.

“Uhm, Maysilee? I don’t really know if mine is good for anything, but, uh, I was wondering–” Despite her preoccupations, Maysilee instantly lifted her gaze to Velo holding out a small bolt she had brought from home, presumably from one of her parents’ workplaces. Maysilee tried to make a point of remembering each of their names; faces weren’t enough for her.

“Everything’s good for something,” she replied breezily, unwinding some of the reinforced rope she had nabbed from one of the booths. “Just have to make the connection.”

Velo dared to smile a little, but cowered in on herself, as if trying to tuck the smile away from sight, lest it be taken or chastised. Maysilee reached out a perfectly manicured finger and lifted her chin.

“Chin up, always. Especially in the Games.”

The younger girl’s eyes widened as she nodded. Maysilee asked about the background of the bolt as she began to weave and plait, but in the corner of her eye she was trying to get a status update on Haymitch’s attempts with you.

Only to find you standing solitary again at your table, with Haymitch trailing back to the bleachers, metaphorical tail between his legs.

Sucker.

She engaged the increasingly brave kids around her as she finished fixing Velo’s bolt into the centerpiece of a thick – and stylish, might she add, at least by the Games’ measures – bracelet, waiting for Haymitch to appear.

She didn’t even look up at him as she said, “Struck out?”

Haymitch sat down on the step below her, turning his head over to smile and wave at the District 6 tributes before looking over at her with a less enthusiastic expression. “She’s unmovable.”

“Sounds like you shouldn’t be moving her, then.” Maysilee tied a perfect knot on the end of the bracelet and began to weave the end in, so that it wouldn’t come loose.

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t make her move. Ask her to come. Show her another option.”

Haymitch deadpanned at her. “You really think I didn’t ask her, Miss Donner?”

She ignored him for a second as she turned to Velo, beckoning for her hand. Elegantly, she slipped the bracelet on, ensuring it fit. The grin she was given in return reassured her that it did.

“Thank you!” Velo breathed out, mesmerised.

“Don’t mention it.” Maysilee smiled at her but dropped it for Haymitch, raising an eyebrow. “Asking isn’t always asking, Mister Abernathy. You really ought to take a class in sophistication.”

He slid down where he sat, leaning his head on the step above, making Wellie give him a curious look over Velo’s shoulder. He sighed, as if he was terribly, awfully pained and only one of Lenore Dove’s ballads could help him.

“You try then, if you’re so much more sophisticated.” It was him partly admitting defeat, which Maysilee enjoyed.

She stood up, all but walking over him to descend the bleachers. “That’s not an if, Haymitch. Try not to ruin anything while I’m gone.”

Maysilee strutted away, before she risked him beginning to actually sing one of the aforementioned ballads that she could practically hear rolling out of his ears. Though, even just three steps away, none of her attention remained on Haymitch, nor her little crafting buddies.

No, she had a girl in her field of vision.

You had abandoned your former booth in favour of moving on to the knot-tying table – if that wasn’t some divine timing on Maysilee’s part, she wouldn’t know what was. Though, unlike earlier where she noticed your little focussed furrow, it was more than evident that your attention was now split.

Whether that was because you noticed Maysilee’s approach and found her walk equally as fascinating as she found your stature, she couldn’t quite tell. Unfortunately, it was probably just a weariness left behind by Haymitch making you watch your back.

You were forced to notice her at last as Maysilee neared the table, putting one finger on it and letting it drag across the surface as she slid up beside you. As she turned her head sideways to meet your eye, her thin braid fell out from behind her ear.

Your eye went straight to the braid, fixating it for a second before you trailed your gaze up to meet her eyes. Maysilee so wished she could decipher the look that swirled in your irises, but all she really knew was how her stomach was flipping at the prolonged eye contact.

She didn’t think you would speak. It was clear you didn’t waste your breath on anything to do with the games.

“Didn’t expect you to need any more practice with tying knots, Twelve.”

Well, Maysilee be damned. Her lips parted slightly at the sound of your voice, wanting to taste the acoustic waves as they enveloped her.

You lifted your eyebrow and glanced at her sideways before shifting your focus back to the sturdy rope in your hands and the catalogue laid before you.

Guess any pretense is up. Maysilee didn’t mind that much, turning her body fully sideways to lean against the table and watch you work. “I don’t. I’m here to weave in loose ends more than anything else.”

You hummed non-committedly. “By roping me into your little club?”

“By not dying before I’ve talked to the only person that has caught my attention here.” Or anywhere, she mentally added.

Never call Maysilee Donner timid.

The sound that escaped you wasn’t quite a laugh, but it was eerily similar enough for her breath to hitch. “Well, that’s an awfully intriguing tactic. Planning on killing your fellow tributes with compliments?”

“No, that’s what we have knives for.” She watched as you tied and untied the rope, always getting it a little wrong. You wouldn’t stop before you had it down perfectly. “Though, I’m hoping to use them as little as possible, you know. That’s why we’re doing the whole alliance thing.”

Your hands stilled a little at that and you spared her another quick glance. “I wish you the best of luck with that strategy.”

“What do you put in the word 'strategy'?” Maysilee asked then, before she could think of it. “Is it how to survive?”

You didn’t answer that at first – she couldn’t tell it was from a lack of desire to answer or not understanding the question. She continued. “One of my mentors, Mags, asked us on our first day what we wanted in the Games. She said that survival is the obvious answer, but far from the only one. It made me rethink how I approached everything, both the centre and the Games. What’s your strategy for?”

She could see your posture changing, softening a little as you tightened the knot. It was perfect. “I don’t want my last experience in this world to be someone breaking a promise to me. If I’m stabbed by your knife, I want the only thing to pierce my skin to be the metal. Not betrayal.”

Maysilee let out a soft breath at that. She took a small step closer to you. “I get that,” she said softly, voice barely above a whisper. “From what I’ve seen from the Newcomers, that is unlikely, but I get the wish. It’s a burning one. But have you looked at us over there?”

She looked over at the bleachers where tributes from various districts were leaning on each other’s shoulders, laughing and smiling. It was subdued but significant. She turned back to you to see your gaze fixated on the same spot. “To put your faith in allies opens you to the risk of betrayal. But it guarantees you companionship towards the end. I, for one, would rather die for a community than cling to the hope of surviving alone.”

You let out a soft huff, one that neither seemed to disagree or agree with her. “I didn’t take you for such a poet, Twelve. Sorry for underestimating you.”

Maysilee smiled and dared nudge her shoe against yours gently. “My name is Maysilee. I already know yours.”

“I knew yours too,” you admit, almost a bit abashedly. “Resorting to Twelve was easier, though.”

“Nothing here is easy.”

At that you properly turned your head to look at her. It made the corner of her lip curl up to have your attention, to claim it all by herself. You put the rope down and brazed your hands on the table. “Do you think you will survive, Maysilee?”

It was a question she hadn’t expected. She didn’t know if it was a test or a curiosity, but she felt compelled to answer honestly. “No. I would be a terrible victor.”

That saw the corner of your own lips threatening to mirror hers. “I think that’s the best kind of victor there is, don’t you?”

“One they don’t want, that’s for sure. Anything they don't want pleases me. And you?”

“What about me?”

“Do you think you will survive?”

You picked the rope back up and handed it to her, your hand between you like an open invitation. “I know I won’t.” The sparkle in your eye didn’t match the horror of your words.

“Then we could always not survive together. Be just as terrible tributes as we would be victors.” She put her hand on the extended rope, but cradled it as she wrapped her fingers around your hand beneath.

An odd warmth spread through her chest as you accepted her touch, your eyes flickering all over her face, analysing. “If what you wanted to do before you died is talk to me, then I guess we’re both ready.”

Maysilee read between her lines and found her smile automatically widened before she could think better of it. She squeezed your hand and took the rope from you at last.

“Care to talk to me a bit more while I show you a couple of knots that aren’t in that catalogue? Just to make us both extra ready?” The look she shot you as she turned to face the table was nothing short of flirtatious. Though, perhaps mostly fond.

“I suppose that wouldn’t kill me,” you mused, the aloof tone in your voice beautifully transparently put on. “I hear you’re supposed to keep your allies happy.”

Maysilee was grateful to be sophisticated enough not to celebrate her little achievement right there and then. She took her time teaching you three knots you both knew you certainly would have no use for in the arena, relishing in hearing the rarity that is your voice as she learned just how deeply her intrigue for you went.

When she briefly glanced up towards the bleachers, she saw Haymitch giving her a small gesture that clearly read “how on earth did you do that?” She had to hold back a snort as she only winked at him before turning her attention back on you.

It sure helps when your motivations run deeper than an alliance.

#maysilee donner #maysilee #maysilee donner x reader #maysilee donner x you #maysilee donner x y/n #maysilee donner fanfiction #maysilee donner fanfic #maysilee donner fic #maysilee donner imagine #maysilee donner drabble

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high-five0 · 2 months ago

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After a long mission with no rest:

Price: Dead eyes, he looks like he's going to kill someone. He's mumbling. Do not ask him to repeat himself unless you want his frustrations taken out on you verbally. Has had four cups of coffee and a pack of cigs. Don't look him in the eye.

Soap: He can't keep focus, what is he even looking at? Trails off in the middle of talking. No, he probably won't finish that thought, better luck next time. He has been chewing on his hoodie drawstrings, don't let him swallow them, please.

Ghost: Has been staring at the spot on the wall for the last twenty minutes without blinking. Is he dead? Or sleeping with his eyes open? Either option is possible. Don't touch him, he will bite. Have tea as an offering.

Gaz: Looks like he's about to cry. Nothing productive has come from him since the flight landed. Don't ask him to do anything because it won't get done. Yes, he heard you. No, he will not respond.

Nik: Has been laughing to himself. Did he fly here? Yes. Is he flying back? No his keys are being taken from him, he's passing out in hanger in the back of his bird. Will be mistaken for dead later.

Laswell: She's talking fast but she is not making as much sense as she should. Frustrated, she has her head in her hands. Will fall asleep like that. No, she doesn't want a cup a tea, she wants concentrated caffeine injected into her veins, fuck off.

Graves: If looks could kill... His hair is sentient, he has not touched it since they got to exfil. Southern charm? No, southern sarcasm. He requires thirteen hours of an uninterrupted coma and a pot of coffee.

Alejandro: Incredibly argumentative. Personal space? He doesn't know what that is, doesn't care. Don't be fooled, he's going to start crying if he can't get to a bed in a pitch back room soon.

Rudy: Sarcasm to the max, will make someone cry. If he doesn't answer the first time then don't repeat yourself. He will bitch until he gets to curl up in bed. Don't touch him if you value any and all of your fingers.

Farah: Trying to overly friendly because she doesn't want to unintentionally upset someone while exhausted. When say something bitchy then immediately apologize. Please get her some coffee.

Alex: On autopilot, isn't all there. He can go for another two days before passing out. Don’t let him do that. Will say something batshit and then move on without acknowledging it. He's talking to the clowns, do worry about it.

#hc #call of duty #modern warfare #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #john price #kyle gaz garrick #cod nikolai #kate laswell #alejandro vargas

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high-five0 · 2 months ago

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Unexpected

~~~~~

summary: Johanna Mason had a plan for the 71st Hunger Games but she never expected a budding relationship with one of the other tributes let alone a Career

wc: 4.4k

warnings: use of y/n, mdni, character death, angst, graphic violence, mentions of forced prostitution, swearing

~~~~~

Everything was perfectly as planned. Johanna might have had a few bruises from the stunt she pulled at the parade but other than that, everyone fully believed she was weak. Even her district partner believed it, opting to sit with the other tributes. She credited her ability to cry on cue. Johanna was now sitting alone on the training center secretly observing her competition.

That was until a girl put her tray in front of her. When Johanna looked up she was met with the eyes of a career. God she hated them, thinking they owned the place. “Hi. I’m y/n from District 4.” Johanna knew who she was, this year among the careers, she was the top of the food chain. Your brother is the one and only Capitol Darling Finnick Odair.

Johanna stayed quiet hoping the girl in front of her would hurry up and tell her what she was doing here with her. The top of the food chain with the bottom. You didn’t say anything eating her food in silence. It was annoying the district 7 tribute, so she mustered up her meekest voice. “W-why are you sitting with me?”

“My brother won when I was 11 and he would take me out to sea to fish and train. It didn’t go too well with my classmates. They said it was unfair that I got to go on all these ‘field trips’. They were jealous and their jealousy quickly became hate.” What does that have to do with me? Johanna thought. “Anyway I know what it’s like to be an outcast. It’s not fun, so seeing you alone, I didn’t want that for you.” It was like you read her mind, answering her question as soon as she asked it in her head. For the rest of lunch you asked her about her life in District 7 and playing up to the weakling she was, didn’t speak, only opting to shake or nod her head.

Still, you found out a lot. First talking about your brother and then turning the conversation to Johanna’s siblings. She didn’t know what compelled her to tell the truth about them. Nodding when you counted to 4 and then again when you got the correct number of brothers, 3, which meant you knew she had a sister. Other things like her being the middle child, her age (17) and her favorite color (Green because of the forests) were discovered.

Johanna found out about your favorite color (blue for the ocean), your most prized possession was the conch shell you found at the beach, your relationship with Finnick, how he was protective and caring under all that bravado.

After lunch, Johanna fully expected you to rejoin the careers but you didn’t. You went to the weapons station and picked up an axe, which was not in the category of your specialty weapons. ‘Stabby stabs’ as you called it. She sat in the corner hugging her knees as everyone over looked her. For good measure, Johanna decided to cry again.

Through blurry vision, Johanna watched you with the instructor learning the basics. It was okay form and she couldn’t say anything without giving herself away so she turned her attention to crying again. It was its own workout. She buried her face into her knees and practically cried herself to sleep.

Johanna was woken up by you gently shaking her shoulder. You were sitting on your knees at her level. In a calm, soothing and oddly charming voice, you persistently asked her to join you for training. No was not accepted as an answer so Johanna was dragged to the weapons section. You picked up an axe and Johanna dreaded not being able to swing it around like she could. Oh god I’m going to have to pretend to be bad. She thought.

As soon as you instructed Johanna to hold it with 2 hands, she dropped it to the floor. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t ready.” She forced the tears to well up.

“No. It’s okay.” You consoled her with patience and shook your head helping Johanna lift it. She let you adjust her grip and your eyes lingered on her hands for a few seconds. You simplified your explanations after that and Johanna assumed you were giving up on a hopeless tribute from District 7 who couldn’t even hold their trade weapon but still being nice.

By the second day of training, it was clear you separated yourself from the career pack. Going to the survival sections and checking in on Johanna throughout the day retelling her about what you learned. Finnick got you in a habit of teaching him what he taught you saying the best way to truly know something was to teach to someone else.

The sibling-ship between you and Finnick was definitely stronger than her own relationship with her own siblings. You always had a story with him, like how you almost drowned him, how he let you drive the boat, or even the stupid dolphin sounds he made when a pod of dolphins swam next to the boat. You had your own whale speak that you demonstrated and gave Johanna second-hand embarrassment. She couldn’t have possibly shrunk any smaller.

Johanna wouldn’t lie, you were making her job a lot easier for her checking on her less and less throughout the day, quickly leaving when you couldn’t stop her from crying. God she hasn’t cried this much ever, her stomach was hurting to the point of nausea. To everyone else it looked like you were getting tired of her but she knew you better. You silently left a bottle with her name on the label of water filled with electrolytes so she could replenish the salt she lost while crying.

Johanna nearly had a heart attack when she saw your score after the individual assessment. An 11! Even after taking time to take care of her. Had you been prioritizing yourself, Johanna was sure you would’ve gotten a 12. Anyway, you did miles better than she had, earning the lowest training score ever at 2. Though according to plan, she couldn’t help but think about how you’d react to it. Were you disappointed?

During the interview with Caesar Flickerman, you addressed stepping away from the pack. “Oh those rumors are true. I don’t need them to win clearly with the score I got.” You flashed them a smirk that got everyone swooning over you. Johanna hated it, they didn’t even know like she did. They didn’t know that your favorite animal was a manatee. They didn’t know that you scratched your ear lobe when you were deep in thought. They definitely didn’t know that when you laughed, you place your hand over your heart. “And if that puts a target on my back, let them, I’ll kill them all.”

There was a flicker of darkness in your eyes and a venom in your voice that spread goosebumps over Johanna’s arms. The way you looked into the camera was like you were talking to her specifically. A horrible thought surfaced in her head. You were at the top of the tributes, you could easily feign kindness and kill her. It wasn’t ridiculous, after all, she herself was acting. It never occurred to her that someone else could be acting because at the end of the game, there would only be one victor. When the games started she needed to get away from you.

Johanna focused on herself, trying to speak about her family but then burst into tears again. She spent the rest of her interview time crying. It was getting old, even Johanna herself was getting tired of it by now. Blight was there to retrieve her after it and handed her a water bottle. “It’s from the District 4 girl.”

“Y/n.” She whispered, Johanna felt her heart tighten in her chest. Why am I feeling this way? She pushed it away, these were her cards and now all there was left to do was wait.

The arena was mountainous and rocky with patches of trees. When Johanna rose into it, she saw the cornucopia, and in the center, was a battle axe. You were six podiums to her left and when she found you, you were already looking at her. The moment the gong sounded, Johanna stumbled off her podium and ran toward the trees. She needed to get away from the bloodbath.

Just before reaching the tree line, Johanna dared to turn back. She saw you in the center dodging an attack from someone and grabbing a knife from the pile to slit their throats. You grabbed a harpoon, and a couple more knives before slinging a backpack over your shoulder. You made eye contact with her across the way before darting your eyes towards your left and her right.

When Johanna followed your gaze, she found the District 2 girl running towards her with a sword. Before she could even be close enough to start swinging the sword, a barbed dart flew into her head and her whole body jerked back to the ground as her head snapped. You gathered the rope around your arm and pulled the harpoon out of the dead Career. Johanna stood frozen, the center of the cornucopia and the edge of the tree line was at least 100ft and you just killed the career easily while she was moving.

“Go.” You said putting your hand on her shoulder and forcing her to run. “GO!” Johanna didn’t need to be told twice, and ran through the trees. Dodging and weaving were second nature to Johanna especially either all the tree farms. You followed closely behind for a while until you found a small cave, skidding to a stop. “Johanna! Over here!” Johanna was panicking. She just ran so fast for so long people would clearly start being suspicious. The District 7 resorted to dry heaving. “Oh. Oh man.” You said, you grabbed her arms and placed them behind her head. “Open up your airway love.”

Johanna was fine, but something about the way you called her love made all of her pretending go away. “I’m okay y/n. I’m fine.” Well almost. Her voice still had the softness to it. For the night, you tried to fit Johanna and yourself in the cave but she were hesitant.

You had unpacked your bag before asking Johanna a question, “Jo. Come on what’s wrong?”

“What if you try to kill me?”

You gave her a glare under the flashlight. “Honey, if I wanted you dead, I would’ve done it by now.” That shut Johanna up real quick and apparently the entire cave too. She did not expect to be scolded. “Why did you look back? God you were such an idiot. You could’ve gotten yourself killed.”

“I don’t know.” She did know. Johanna needed to know you were okay but she wasn’t going to tell you that. “Why did you save me?”

“I do not want or need your obituary to say death by standing in the middle of a cornucopia bloodbath.”

Johanna wasn’t sure what your plan was. Didn’t you know that there could only be one victor? What were you going to do when there was only the two of them left? It seems to Johanna that you weren’t going to think about it until then.

She didn’t mind it, sitting all day in a cave might be boring but if she isn’t doing anything, Johanna’s conserving energy. You and Johanna shared more about your homes, you more than her since now everything was on camera. At night you sat quietly holding Johanna in the sleeping bag you shared, she was sniffling and you decided to glide your nails over her forearm.

On the second day, after a bit of hiking you found a large river and immediately jumped in after stripping. “Come in the water!” You laughed cupping a handful of water and drinking it.

“I don’t know how to swim.” Johanna replied meekly.

Your shoulders visibly dropped before making your way back to the shore. Suddenly you stopped eyeing something down stream. You squinted your eyes and Johanna watched you sink your head underwater only to surface 20ft away fighting a red splashing fish the size of your torso. You laughed as its tail whacked you in the stomach. With incredible strength you hoisted it between your arms and slid your fingers into the second gill and pulled. The fish stopped moving and you held it over your shoulders as you finally made it back to shore.

“Dinner! And breakfast and lunch and dinner again. For the two of us, I could probably last a few days. I hope you’re not allergic to fish Anna.” A small ding sounded and Johanna found a parachute floating right towards you as you were now gutting the fish. You paused for a second opening it to a full ice chest. “Thank’s Finn!” After cutting the fish into pieces, you and Johanna continued hiking finding another cave.

For the next couple of days, you and Johanna stayed in the cave only going out to get water. Johanna played her weakling part, clinging to your arm to not go. The compromise you came to was that Johanna would sit at the entrance with a knife and watch your back as you went to grab water.

On day 5, you told Johanna that since they were nearing the top 8 tributes, they would be interviewing family soon. She hoped her family knew what her plan was and made something up. You ran out of food this morning and told Johanna to not worry about you when you went out. It was only a few minutes you were out of site that a cannon sounded.

Johanna immediately ran out of the cave. “Johanna? Johanna!” She heard you call.

“Y/n!” She called back. You ran up the ridge to her. “I thought you-“

You pulled her into a hug shushing her. “It’s okay Jo. I’m here.” You stroked her hair trying to calm her. She spent the rest of the walk to the river clinging to your arm. The two of you made your way back to where you left your harpoon only to literally see all the water drained into the floor.

“What are they doing?”

“The Gamemakers are draining the river, probably to set up something to bring tributes together.”

“We don’t have to go right?”

“We need the water.”

“How long can we survive without water?”

“3 days.”

“Can we make it 3 days.”

“Yes but who’s to say the Gamemakers won’t wait 3 days to bring everyone together? When we’re desperate water.”

Johanna hated the Capitol. She hated being at their mercy. And she hated her plan right about now. The clueless weak girl that could do nothing could probably tap a tree for sugar and water by now if she had just showed who she was from the beginning and gotten that axe. But had she done that, she wouldn’t have you.

You and Johanna toughed it out waiting the rest of the day and the next before an announcement sounded. Attention Tributes tomorrow morning at the Cornucopia you are invited to attend. Each of you desperately needs something. That will be the only announcement. May the odds be ever in your favor.”

There hadn’t been a cannon since the scare cannon a few days ago. With the fallen tributes tribute that night, you figured out that besides you and Johanna, there were the rest of the careers, a boy from 9 and a girl from 11. You were stressed, Johanna could tell, you were fiddling with a rope you brought in as your token running your fingers through the grooves.

Hiking back to the Cornucopia at night was pretty easy since you and Johanna spent most of your time in cave. Johanna navigated through the trees easily, being from 7 and working in the tree farms, she had to know the way home or she’d become the forest witch’s food, or she was told. The two of you made it to the cornucopia in the middle of the night just after they played the anthem where no fallen tributes appeared.

In the night, neither you or Johanna could get some sleep knowing there were tributes around. You sat back to back and eventually you used Johanna’s shoulder as a head rest and she felt your soft breathing on her neck. Your right hand reached for her left behind you and you ran your thumb over the back of her skin. Johanna turned her head to look at you only finding that you were already looking at her with a sparkle in your eyes. She might’ve imagined it but your eyes were focused on her lips. Johanna felt a weird feeling in her stomach. Part of her wanted you lean in. That thought scared her so she laid on your shoulder. Johnna felt her face go red as she stared ahead to watch you 6.

In the morning, you gave Johanna a knife and told her to walk in front of you. The plan was to get what you needed and get the hell out of there. You stood with you back facing her as being the first people here meant you were the first targets, but she’s seen you throw. It felt like forever waiting for the feast but then Johanna heard a humming and saw the packs. Before it could even finish rising, Johanna grabbed the District 7 pack and District 4 pack trying to run away.

You held an arm out to stop her. Across the way were the four remaining careers. Johanna almost questioned why you didn’t throw your harpoon but then that would be taking your only weapon away. The careers charged towards them raising their weapons. You gripped Johanna’s shoulders as you strapped the backpacks onto her. “Run! You hear me? Run and don’t look back!”

She took off through the cornucopia but stopped when she heard a cannon. You were her ally and friend, she wasn’t going to leave, not after everything you have done for her. In the cornucopia, the battle axe from the first day was no longer there. There were smaller chopping axes and splitting axes that’ll have to do. Johanna picked them up hearing metal clash against metal outside.

She heard groaning that wasn’t yours and another strike that caused another man to scream. Then the dread filled her ears, she heard you gasp in pain fall to the ground with a thud. Johanna gritted her teeth when she heard the careers taunting you.

“Now that you’re as good as dead, your little cry baby is nex-“

Johanna put an axe in his face before he could even finish his sentence and before the other two careers managed to make sense of what was going on, the District 7 tribute had swung in their direction. The second one was barely lifted his bloody sword before Johanna literally chopped his head off.

Johanna saw red, hacking and swinging at everyone around her. The boy from 4 put up a fight but was so badly injured by you that he didn’t stand a chance against her. Back at the feast table, someone else had grabbed a backpack trying to run from the danger but Johanna threw the knife you gave her into the person’s calf. In one swift motion, she removed the axe from the career’s face and split this tribute’s head down the middle.

Blood sprayed on her face. When she looked up, the girl had wide eyes and tripped on the floor falling face first into the gravel. Johanna ran straight to her and swung at her shoulder. She was down but Johanna kept swinging until her body was nothing but a messed up pile of flesh and blood.

Looking around with a strong grip on the axe, she couldn’t see anyone else so Johanna quickly ran towards you. As she approached you, she heard a quiet voice congratulating her but ignored it. You were on the ground in your own pool of blood. The red liquid was flowing out of your torso and your eyes and her heart clenched. “Come on we have to go!”

“Johanna? You’re alive? You’re okay?” You choked out.

“Yeah I’m fine. Theyre dead. We need to go before the others come.” Johanna slings her arm over to carry her but you groaned at the slightest movement.

“Jo. Johanna! Stop! There’s no one left Jo. 22 cannons. We’re the last two.” Johanna was shocked she thought she was keeping track too but she must’ve lost count somewhere. Johanna realized the gravity of your situation. he should have told you she could fight. She could’ve grabbed an axe faster to help you. She might’ve blown her cover but you would still be okay. And you were, Johanna brought her hands to your stomach and pressed into it.

“Hey tell my brother I love him okay?” Her heart beat soared and she felt it in her throat when you said that. You were dying. She let out a choked sob.

“No. No! No you are not dying on me. You’re going to win this and tell him yourself.” She yelled.

“Love, judging by how strong your voice is, only one of us is on our death bed.”

No! Shut up! Stay with me. Stay with me please. Do you hear me? I can’t lose you Y/n!”

“You don’t have a choice Jo.”

She did have a choice. She chose to present herself as weak and now you were dying because she let you do all the work. You could’ve been a power duo, at least you wouldn’t have had to 1v4 the rest of the careers. Even though the careers had stabbed you, it was Johanna’s fault and for the first time since her reaping, she cried real tears.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

You shook your head and struggled to open your eyes to meet Johanna’s. “Don’t be. You have nothing to apologize for.”

“I lied to you. I- I killed them all. It was all an act, the crying, the fainting, the training score. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.” If she didn’t have tears streaming out of her eyes she would have seen the smug smile on your face.

You reached up to cup her cheek swiping the blood from it. You shushed her caressing her face. “You give them hell Johanna.” Johanna let out a whimper leaning into your hand as she pressed into you harder to stop the bleeding.

Something weird filled her vision, waves breaking over the rocks, Finnick’s smile, swimming with the dolphins, a field of wild flowers. The conch shell you liked to listen to after catching it and herself sitting alone at lunch.

Boom.

Johanna burst into tears and buried her face into your neck crying, leaving a trail of snot on your shoulder. She wiped the snot with the back of her hand not caring that she just smeared your blood on her face. Ladies and Gentleman the victor of the 71st Hunger Games Johanna Mason.

You were gone, just like that. You didn’t deserve it, you were a good person. She came in here with a plan and she never expected to fall in love let alone have an ally. She hated the Capitol and she is going to give them hell. They will regret taking you from her.

Outside of the helpless girl act, Johanna proved to be a formidable district girl. She was known as strong, cunning, angry and after refusing to prostitution, extra angry.

Johanna was standing on an empty balcony swirling a drink around with a scowl on her face. There was no need to be cordial with everyone. She openly hated them and everyone praised her for her strategy even fooling a career. You weren’t just a career to her, you were an ally, a friend, her love. She cried all her tears for you, vowing never to cry again.

She heard the door click open and was about to rip into this person until she turned and came face to face with the familiar sea green eyes and tanned skin. Johanna didn’t know how much attention she gave to you and your features until now. “Finnick.”

“Johanna.” He said. The newest victor immediately back tracked on her vow. Tears welled in her eyes but she didn’t let them fall. Here she was categorizing her feelings to love when it did not compare to Finnick’s pain. He practically raised you and it showed on his face, the half smiles and the bags under his eyes, his disheveled hair, though all the capitol elites found it hot.

He leaned against the same railing facing the opposite way to Johanna. He didn’t offer to talk, sitting in the silence was an Odair thing apparently, not that Johanna knew what to say anyway.

She settled for, “I keep thinking about what would have happened if I picked up the axe sooner. I might not have had an ally in her but she’d probably be alive. Some ally I was.”

Finnick had turned his body to her. “I thought Y/n was crazy for wanting to be your ally after the first day of training.” Johanna looked at him puzzled, thinking back to what she possibly could have done to get you to want her. She cried, you sat with her for lunch and you taught her how to use an axe. Well as much as you can teach someone who already knew how. “But I guess she saw something in you.”

“When she taught you how to tie a knot or any other skills, did you pretend to be bad?”

“Yeah. Why?”

It was the axe, Johanna remembered now, when you looked at her hands and then gave her less explanations on how to wield one. Of course, you taught Finnick skills he already knew so you could commit it to memory and actually learn it instead of forgetting it. “I did the same thing when she tried to teach me how to use an axe. She knew! She knew all this time and didn’t say anything about it. God! I should’ve done something to help her sooner.”

“You can’t change the past.”

“I fucking know that.” She was indebted to you. For keeping her secret, for trusting her, for protecting her. Always. “I just wish I could tell her how much she means to me.”

“There are so many things left unsaid. But wherever my sister is, I think she’ll know.”

#the hunger games #finnick odair #finnick odair x platonic!reader #thg x reader

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high-five0 · 3 months ago

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Joy Ride

𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐

Pairing: Brian O'Conner X Fem!Reader

Description: Brian finds you walking home late one night and offers you a ride, which turns into a night-long joy ride around Miami.

Warnings: Fluff, Speeding, Friends Or Future Lovers? (You Decide)

Word Count: 2.2k

A/N: Sooooo, I watched 2 Fast 2 Furious for the first time a around a month ago and this guy has been on my mind ever since. I have always really loved Paul Walker so this was bound to happen eventually. 😂 I don't know if I plan to write more for him or if this will just be a one time thing, but I have been working on this fic for quite some time now and I'm happy to finally be posting it. More to come from other beloved characters soon! Enjoy the fic and if you want more Brian O'Conner fics in the future, let me know in the comments or inbox! 🖤 (Also did any of you get the reference in the name? 👀)

Main MasterList: 🖤

Kassie's Angels: @mornandil, @lorebite.

(If you want to be added to the taglist, let me know in the comments! 🖤)

𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐

2002

The air is pretty cool for a night in Miami, but I don't mind. I walk with my hands in the pockets of my hoodie, protecting them from the slight chill. It's nothing too intense, but I haven't been used to being in cooler temperatures for awhile now.

I walk quickly down the sidewalk as a few cars pass from time to time. The sounds of their engines make my fingers and feet tingle a little, my body missing the feeling of the steering wheel gripped in my fingers and the gas pedal under my foot.

I wrecked pretty badly during my last race, resulting in my car becoming too banged up to drive. Most street racers have other cars to fall back on. Unfortunately for me, my girl was all I had. Now I'm left to walk on foot until I can get enough money to fix her.

The ambiance in the street is pretty calm until I hear the familiar rumble of a very specific engine approaching my side. To my surprise, that iconic silver and blue Nissan Skyline pulls up, slowing down to drive at my walking speed. But the slick paint job or glowing underbody isn't what makes it difficult to look away. The driver is none other than the man who beat me in my last race, Brian O'Conner.

I'm met with a kind smile as he rolls down his windows, his bright blue eyes glancing up at me from the shadows of the interior. There is just something about that man that draws me in. I could never tell what exactly it was, but it pulled me in his direction like a bee to a flower every time I was in the same location as him.

"Ey, need a ride?" He queries in a rasied voice, nearly shouting over the Skyline's growl.

Though it's tempting, I don't want to throw a wrench in any plans he may have. Knowing him, he has another street race or date to get to at this hour. So, despite the aching pain in my feet that is screaming in protest, I respond casually, "Nah, man. I'm good. Home's not too far away anyway, y'know?"

Even though it wouldn't take him too long, it would be pretty pointless to drive only a couple blocks anyway. He takes a mere second to let my words sink in and find an answer, his eyes hopeful as they are taken off the road and landing on me once more.

"We don't gotta take you home. The night's still—" He checks his watch, and his eyes widen slightly as he realizes the time. "—Well, middle-aged, but that don't gotta stop the fun."

I can't contain a faint chuckle at his dumb joke, rolling my eyes as I do so. The next thing I know, my feet are subconsciously coming to a stop, and he gently lays on the brakes. His car is also stopping right beside where I now stand, but the engine still purrs softly to alert all of its consciousness.

"Ah, c'mon, girl. Let's live a little, eh?" He flashes me that dangerous half-smirk that beckons me forward into mischief. It now dawns on me that he might not have the intention of taking me home, which is intriguing in a way.

I contemplate my options for a moment. The only thing waiting for me at home is a couple bottles of beer and some cold pizza left in the fridge from the night prior. It seems like I've been spending most of my time alone lately. Maybe it would be good to spend some time in good company.

"Alright," I give in with a subtle but still noticeable sigh, backing down in my mental debate.

He reaches across and opens the passenger door for me as I round the car, its headlights illuminating me for a brief moment as I cross in front of the bumper before hoping into the seat offered to me. It felt weird being in the left seat and not having a steering wheel before me. I could never get used to those foreign imported cars.

But regardless, it sure is a beauty. The leather interior smells oddly fresh and calming, with a faint hint of exhaust filtering through the open windows. It's clear he just cleaned her up. Brian was always the type to take care of his rides.

I pull the seatbelt across my chest and lock it in securely, mentally preparing myself for the wild ride I know damn well he is about to take me on. He looks at me and flashes me that cocky yet proud smile as he revvs the engine for only a moment before taking off into the night.

With windows down and speed carrying us, I feel like I'm floating on air. The soft breeze I felt only moments ago is now a fast wind in my hair, and the soft ambiance of the nightlife in Miami is now disturbed by a machine growl.

I glance over at him, and it's as if time slows for just a minute as I take in how happy he is. He's a simple man. He doesn't need the fancy things in life, just a fast car to make the corners of his lips part into that iconic grin I have grown to love.

"Wanna get fuckin' nuts?" He asks me, his voice taking me out of my thoughts and putting me back into reality. That's when I notice that mischievous look in his ocean blue eyes, their pupils blown wide with adrenaline.

Hm... Blue and full of adrenaline, like the blood pumping in our veins.

"What?" I blurt out, not fully comprehending what he is asking, until my gaze wanders down to where his thumbs hovers over the nitro buttons.

I look at the road ahead, seeing that it is completely barren of all life, and I can't help but smirk at the thought of what he is suggesting. It's a dangerous game—playing with speed in such a way—but a thrilling one, for sure.

Taking my eyes off the road ahead to look back at him, I notice the hopeful glint once again in his eyes, only pushing my thought process toward wanting to comply. So without a second breath, I cheer, "Fuck yeah!"

With a simple click of two buttons at once, we are off like a rocket in space. Suddenly, the street lights look like comets, and the lines on the road are just blurs of colors. It's oddly beautiful in a way, and I marvel at how it ignites my soul with such a unique feeling, which I can't possibly seek from anything else. My fingers dig into the sides of my seat as my heart pounds against my ribcage like thunder, both overwhelmed but thirsty for more of this intoxicating rush.

Though Brian only lets this last for a moment, just seconds passed that will remain with me for an eternity. We laugh as the car slows to a semi-normal speed again. My smile is so wide, I can feel my face begin to hurt.

But I don't care. I am just so high on the thrill that my mind is lost in a cloudy space of euphoria. It's crazy how the night went from a quiet walk home to taking a joy ride with one of my rivals, but I wouldn't have it any other way.

Once our laughter dies down, the soft purr of the engine is the only thing heard yet again as we both seemingly get lost in our own thoughts. What is he thinking? I wish I knew. The only thing on my mind is how happy I am. It isn't until a couple minutes later that he speaks his mind, taking a deep breath before his lips finally form the words he has been pondering.

"We should do this more often," he suggests in that nonchalant tone he carries quite regularly for someone with such excitement in his life. "Y'know, hang out outside the racing world? You're a cool girl."

I can't repress how my smile softens for a moment at his words as my eyes flick over in his direction while a million responses filter through my mind. This guy is a legend—a local celebrity, if you will. To have this opportunity is an honor. However, I don't necessarily get the vibe of entitlement from him. Instead, his atmosphere reflects something else—something friendly and inviting.

"And you're a cool guy. I'd love to hang with you more often." I reply, trying to sound chill but coming off way more sincere than intended. Though he doesn't seem to mind, in fact, he seems to be pleased with my response.

The next thing I know, he is pulling into a public beach. Its sands are abandoned by any human life due to the lateness of time, though the footprints of the visitors that day still remain like ghosts of the past, their memories carved in the sand until they get washed away by the waves.

He locks the car in park, unhooks his seatbelt, and gets out. I watch through the windshield as he rounds the side of it to rest back on the hood. My eyes study him as he lifts himself to sit on the hood, not once looking back to see if I leave the car as well. It's almost as if he expects me to.

So to fulfill his silent expectations, I swing my door open and hop out after freeing myself from my seatbelt, nearly stumbling as the ground is unexpectedly unsteady where I stand. My feet sink into the sand, and I'm grateful I chose to wear boots tonight over anything else.

Once out of my sticky situation, I take a moment to appreciate the freshness in the air—the sweet smell of the ocean before me for just a second. After approaching him, I rest beside him on the hood, watching the waves crash before us. It reminds me that life is quite like the sea. It's unpredictable, a little scary at times, but beautiful in many unique ways. I release a soft breath, my body relaxing in this calming moment.

"I remember the first time I saw you pull up in that black Trans Am to the race. Fuckin' engine and bass on your stereo roaring over the sound of the crowd." He chuckles while he reminisces about old memories.

"Buni," I correct him as I smile fondly, thinking about the beauty that's currently under a tarp in my garage, just waiting to be repaired and set free on the road once again.

"Yeah, Buni." He parrots me in an almost teasing way. I know he finds the fact that I named my car ridiculous, but I can see it in his eyes that it amuses him all the same. "You're something else, (L/N). A damn good racer, though."

My heart flutters at the compliment, and I feel my cheeks heat up with this familiar warmth that only he ignites in me best. The soft breeze blows through my hair as I think of a reply, running through my strains like an angel's fingertips. But it's not the breeze nor the location that has me in such a calm and joyful state.

I continue to study him—the way his blonde curls blow in the breeze, the corners of his lips turning up ever so slightly to show his contentment, his biceps flexing ever so slightly as he crosses his arms over his chest. It amazes me how all the different shades of blue in his iris reflect the scene before us. It's like I could literally drown in them each time I gaze into them to admire their beauty.

"Yeah? You and your Skyline ain't so bad either." I finally quip with a small bit of sarcasm dripping from my tone after forcing myself out of where my mind has disappeared to for a short time. He smiles softly at my words, because it's evident how I really feel about him. He knows, and I know that, but I don't really care anymore.

We talk until sunrise and watch as the black sky fades into orange and pink, blending with the stars to make them barely visible. Though they are out of sight, I know they still shine brightly above us, like angels waiting for us in heaven. It's quite special—maybe even magical.

The sea reflects the morning sun as it rises from the horizon, its golden rays shining upon us as we remain on the hood of the car. It's just us out here in our own little world. If I learned anything from last night, it's not the place that makes a moment special, but the person you share it with.

I don't know where this road will take us. I know it will be a long one—with plenty of traffic and bumps ahead—but the ride will be an enjoyable one with a new friend in the seat next to me as we speed through it all. And if we happen to get separated some point along the way, I know in my heart that I'll see him again.

𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐

#2 fast 2 furious #brian o'conner #brian o'conner x reader #kassiebrianoconnerfanfics

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high-five0 · 4 months ago

Text

Babysitter

a damian wayne and batsis! reader oneshot ft. jon kent | m.list

Summary: your brother forces you to take him and his bestfriend along with you to wherever you’re going

You had a plan. A flawless, well-thought-out, foolproof plan.

Step one: Move quietly.

Step two: Avoid creaky floorboards.

Step three: Do not alert Damian Wayne, resident bloodhound.

You had your hand on the doorknob, your shoes were on.

You had one foot out the door. No one in sight. Freedom just within reach—

“Going somewhere?”

Your whole body froze.

Goddamnit it.

You knew that voice.

You closed your eyes, inhaled sharply through your nose, and prayed to whatever higher power was listening that maybe—just maybe—if you ignored him, he’d disappear.

No such luck.

A second voice, softer but just as damning, followed.

“Uh, I told him we should just let you go, but…”

You sighed. Of course.

With a slow turn, you met the unimpressed stare of Damian Wayne, standing in the dim hallway like the world’s smallest, most judgmental security system. His arms were crossed, his expression far too smug for someone who had no business being awake right now. And right beside him, slightly hunched and looking far too apologetic, was Jon Kent.

You stared at them. They stared back.

Finally, you spoke.

“I knew I should’ve left through the window.”

Jon winced. “Sorry. Again, I did say we should just let you go—”

“But he didn’t,” you deadpanned, shooting a look at Damian.

Damian tilted his head, unbothered. “Because you’re sneaking out.”

You scoffed. “I am not sneaking out—”

“You’re leaving without me. That’s the same thing.”

“It is not—”

“Semantics.”

You groaned louder. “Oh my God, I hate you.”

“Likewise,” Damian said flatly.

Jon, still watching this exchange like a confused referee, hesitantly raised a hand. “I feel like I should stop this.

At the exact same time, without missing a beat, you and Damian both turned to him and snapped—

“You stay out of this.”

Jon immediately took a step back, hands up in surrender. “Ah. Alright.”

You dragged a hand down your face, inhaling slowly before fixing your glare on Damian again.

“So,” you said, voice strained, “what do you want, Damian?”

Damian ignored your question. “Where are you going?”

You deadpanned. “Out.”

“Out where?”

“It’s none of your business.”

Wrong answer.

“Tt. Incorrect. It is my business, because you’re taking us with you.”

You blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”

“You heard me.”

“No, yeah, I heard you. I just don’t think I should have.”

Jon stepped in, looking a little apologetic. “Sorry, he kinda roped me into this,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck.

You gave him a flat look before turning back to Damian. “And why, exactly, would I do that?”

“To accompany you.”

“Why?”

“You require supervision.”

You stared.

“…I require— Damian, I’m older than you.”

“By an unfortunate number of years, yes.”

You inhaled sharply, clenching your fists. “I don’t need supervision, you little gremlin.”

Jon cleared his throat. “To be fair, I think he means he needs supervision.”

You stared. “You require— Damian, you’re forcing me to babysit you?”

“Tt. Babysit is a strong word.”

“That’s literally what’s happening.”

“I prefer guardian escort.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“Yet here we are.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, inhaling deeply before muttering, “Where’s Alfred?”

“Out.”

“Dick?”

“Busy.”

“Tim?”

“Comatose, most likely.”

“Cass?”

“Training.”

“Jason?”

“Wouldn’t care.”

Your eye twitched. “And Dad?”

Damian raised an unimpressed brow.

“…Right,” you muttered.

Jon shot you another apologetic smile. “So, uh… that just leaves you?”

You let your head fall back with a long, suffering groan. “You are not going out with me.”

“And you’re supposed to be grounded.”

“That’s why I’m sneaking out, dipshit.”

There was a brief silence.

Damian let out a long, dramatic sigh, like you were the most exhausting person alive. “You continue to delude yourself if you think you’ll be able to succeed in sneaking out.”

“I hate you.”

Jon cleared his throat. “Um—”

Your expression softened immediately as you turned to him. “Not you, Jon. You’re fine. You’re good. Damian’s the problem.”

Jon blinked. Then, slowly, his lips curled into a tiny, bashful smile, cheeks just a little pink.

“Oh. Uh. Thanks?”

Damian, meanwhile, squinted. “What the hell?”

You ignored him, turning back to Jon. “See? This is how you behave, Damian. Maybe take notes.”

Damian’s scowl deepened. “I am nice.”

You snorted. “To who?”

“To you.” Damian snapped, like it was obvious.

Jon let out a tiny, poorly suppressed laugh.

You shot him a look. “Jon. Don’t encourage him.”

“Sorry,” Jon said, not looking sorry at all.

Damian scoffed. “So where are you even going?”

“Out.”

“Not without us.”

You stared. “No. Absolutely not.”

Damian just blinked.

Jon shuffled a little, fidgeting with the hem of his sweater. “I mean… if you don’t want us to come, that’s okay, I guess…”

And there it was.

The puppy-dog eyes.

You winced.

Damn it.

Jon Kent had mastered the art of looking genuinely dejected, and it was so unfair.

You hesitated. Pressed your lips together. “…It’s not that I don’t want you to come, it’s just—”

“Great,” Damian interrupted. “Then let’s go.”

You groaned. “That’s not what I meant—”

“You’re not exactly convincing me otherwise.”

“I will fight you.”

“I will win.”

Jon coughed. “This feels counterproductive.”

You shot him a betrayed look. “Jon. I thought we were friends.”

Jon rubbed the back of his neck. “I do want to go, though…”

Your eye twitched. You knew he was being genuine. But damn, he was dangerously good at making you feel so mean. You sighed heavily, staring at the ceiling like it held all the answers.

“I hate being the responsible one.”

Damian smirked. “Then be irresponsible and take us with you.”

You snapped your head back down to glare at him. “That’s not how this works, moron.”

Jon stifled a laugh.

Damian just tilted his head, completely unfazed. “Yet here we are.”

You clenched your jaw. Closed your eyes. Took a very deep breath.

Then, begrudgingly—

“Fine.”

Jon brightened. “Really?”

You shot him a look. “Not like I have a choice, apparently.”

Damian’s smirk widened, victorious.

“But there are rules.”

You pushed the door open, already regretting everything. “One: No causing trouble. Two: No running off. Three—” You turned sharply to glare at Damian. “No murder.”

Jon blinked. “That has to be a rule?”

You looked at him, dead serious. “You’d be surprised.”

Damian scoffed. “You act as if I lack self-control.”

“You literally tried to stab a man at the grocery store last week.”

“He cut in line.”

“You pulled out a knife, Damian.”

“And?”

Jon looked as if he was used to this.

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “You are literally going to be the death of me.”

“Unlikely,” Damian deadpanned.

Jon patted your arm sympathetically. “It’s okay. Breathe.”

“I don’t want to breathe.”

“Understandable, but necessary.”

Damian scoffed. “Are you done yet?”

“Oh, I’m done,” you muttered, pushing open the door. “So done.”

And with that, you stepped outside, the two boys following close behind.

This was going to be a long day.

The night air was crisp, Gotham’s usual symphony of distant sirens, honking cars, and murmured conversations blending into the background as you walked down the quiet streets. The dim glow of streetlights cast long shadows across the sidewalk, but your focus was on the two boys trailing beside you.

Jon was practically buzzing with excitement, barely able to keep himself from skipping as he shot off rapid-fire questions.

“So, what were you going to do?”

You hummed. “What do you think I was gonna do?”

Jon tilted his head. “Go fight bad guys?”

You chuckled. “Nope.”

“Scout for intel?”

“Nope.”

“Secret mission?”

“Jon,” you laughed, ruffling his hair. “Hold your horses, kid. We’re doing nothing of that sort. Not when I’m around.”

Jon pouted but grinned anyway, adjusting the sleeves of his shirt. “Well, then what are we doing?”

Before you could answer, you caught a glimpse of movement from the corner of your eye.

Damian.

The boy had taken two steps to the side, eyes locked on the nearest alleyway, looking entirely too ready to vanish into the night.

“Oh, hell no.”

You reached out, snagging the back of his hoodie and pulling him to a halt.

“That goes for you too, mister,” you said, voice firm.

Damian let out an audible groan. “Tt.”

Jon blinked, confused. “Uh—what exactly was he about to do?”

“Disappear into the shadows”

Jon turned to Damian, frowning. “Dude.”

Damian merely sniffed, looking vaguely offended at the idea that he of all people needed babysitting. “I was merely about to scout the area for any dangers.”

You gave him a flat look. “We’re on a sidewalk, Damian.”

“And?”

You exhaled sharply. “You are not ditching me.”

“I wasn’t.”

“You were.”

“Tt. You have no proof.”

“I have a brain.”

Jon held up a finger. “Technically, that’s not proof—”

You turned to him, exasperated. “Jon.”

“Right, right, sorry.”

Damian crossed his arms, unimpressed. “So, what are we doing?”

You just smiled.

Luxurious. That was the only word for the place you were in.

Soft, ambient lighting filled the space, casting everything in a warm, golden glow. The gentle sound of water trickling from an ornamental fountain mixed with the low, soothing hum of instrumental music playing from hidden speakers. A faint scent of lavender, eucalyptus, and something faintly citrusy hung in the air, lulling your body into relaxation almost instantly.

You let out a slow sigh, sinking further into the plush lounge chair as the nail technician expertly shaped your nails. Across from you, Jon was already wrapped up in a fluffy white robe, a cooling face mask spread across his skin, and a woman massaging his shoulders. He looked blissful.

Damian, on the other hand, was sitting stiffly in a massage chair, arms crossed, looking like he was being subjected to cruel and unusual punishment. His expression was set into a deep scowl, but you didn’t miss the way his shoulders had started to relax under the therapist’s touch—albeit reluctantly.

You smirked, wiggling your fingers as the technician moved on to buffing your nails. “Well?”

“Tt.”

Damian’s eyes were shut as if that alone could block out his misery. “You dragged us to a spa.”

You grinned. “I treated you to a spa.”

Damian let out another Tt.

You turned to him, amused. “Oh, come on. Don’t tell me you’re not enjoying this.”

Damian scowled. “I don’t see the point.”

“The point,” you drawled, stretching your legs, “is relaxation.”

“I don’t need relaxation.”

“You literally live with Bruce Wayne. You need it the most.”

Jon let out a snort of laughter.

Damian shot him a glare. “Shut up, Kent.”

Jon just grinned wider, looking far too content. “Nope.”

You chuckled, letting your head fall back against the chair. “Face it, Damian. You like it here.”

“I hate this.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

“I loathe you.”

You didn’t miss the way his shoulders had slowly started to loosen.

Or the way his scowl wasn’t as deep as before.

“You love me.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

Jon let out a happy sigh, sinking deeper into his chair. “I knew you had a good plan.”

You shot him finger guns. “Always do.”

Jon chuckled, then suddenly let out a little noise of contentment as the massage therapist pressed into his shoulders just right. He melted into the chair, the sheer bliss evident on his face.

“Aww,” you cooed, reaching over to gently pat his head. “Look at you, kid. Living the life.”

Jon made a happy little noise in response, fully leaning into the massage.

Damian scowled. “Are you coddling him?”

“Yes,” you said immediately.

Damian scoffed. “Ridiculous.”

You smirked. “Oh, I’m sorry, would you like to be coddled?”

Damian’s entire face twisted into disgust. “Absolutely not.”

You laughed, nudging Jon. “See? He’s jealous.”

Jon barely opened one eye, too relaxed to care. “Yep.”

Damian turned his glare to him now. “Shut up, Kent.”

Jon just smiled. “Just saying the truth, Damian.”

“You wish.”

You stifled a laugh, watching Damian attempt to shrink further into his chair, clearly regretting ever coming along. You were definitely going to remind him of this later.

The spa had been a fantastic idea—well, for you and Jon, at least.

Damian? Not so much.

At first, he acted as if he were enduring actual torture. When they tried to give him a robe, he scowled as if they’d offered him poison. When they led him to the massage chair, he sat down stiffly, arms crossed, eyes darting around as though expecting an assassination attempt. The moment the massage therapist placed their hands on his shoulders, his entire body locked up.

“This is unnecessary,” Damian muttered as you and Jon stifled your laughter.

“Oh, absolutely,” you said, leaning back as a technician buffed your nails. “Completely unnecessary. That’s why you’re staying right there and relaxing.”

“I am always relaxed.”

You and Jon shared a look.

Jon, his face already covered in a cooling mask, turned toward Damian. “Dude, your entire body is clenched like a steel beam.”

“Tt. I am merely prepared.”

“Prepared for what? A surprise attack by the scented candles?” you teased.

Damian glared at you, but then the massage therapist hit a particular spot on his back, and you swore you saw his soul briefly leave his body. His lips parted slightly, eyes fluttering for a split second before he forcibly locked himself down again, pretending nothing had happened.

“Oh my god,” you grinned. “You liked that.”

Damian turned his head away, nose upturned. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

But he did shift ever so slightly to let the massage therapist work deeper into his back. You and Jon exchanged victorious smirks but wisely didn’t comment further.

Well—except for Jon’s quiet, “Told you you’d like it.”

Damian kicked him under the table.

After a tedious amount of time, Damian had finally let himself relax. Not entirely—he was still Damian, after all—but enough that he no longer looked like he wanted to eviscerate someone.

Jon, meanwhile, had been living the dream since the moment you arrived. You’d made sure to book an extensive package for him, complete with a massage, a face mask, a manicure, and even a foot scrub.

The problem?

Jon’s Kryptonian genes.

The poor spa technicians had no idea what they had signed up for.

It started when they tried using a gua sha stone on his face.

The second they dragged the tool across his cheek, there was a horrifying screech—the sound of something hard scraping against something impenetrable.

The esthetician froze, blinking at the gua sha in her hand.

Jon winced. “Uh…”

Then she tried again. More forcefully.

SCCCRRREEEEEEE—

Damian cringed as the sound echoed through the room, making your ears ring. “That is unbearable.”

“I—I don’t think it’s supposed to sound like that,” Jon said weakly.

The esthetician, determined, switched to a jade roller.

The exact same thing happened.

“Okay,” the woman murmured, frowning. “We’ll, uh, circle back to that.”

Then came the body scrub.

Which was supposed to be exfoliating.

Except the scrub was doing nothing.

Jon, ever the polite one, just smiled sheepishly as the technician literally pushed down with all her strength, trying to get some kind of reaction.

“…You don’t feel anything?” she asked, breathless.

“Uh.” Jon paused. “I mean. It’s kinda nice?”

Damian looked deeply entertained. “This is absurd.”

You nudged him. “You’re absurd.”

“Tt.”

Then came the nail buffing.

Oh, the nail buffing.

The technician tasked with filing Jon’s nails was genuinely putting her whole body into it. You could see her arm muscles flexing as she went back and forth, desperately trying to shape his nails with an emery board that had already worn down to nothing.

At one point, she wiped her forehead. “Are you sure you’re not wearing, like… armor?”

Jon laughed nervously. “Nope, this is, uh, all-natural.”

The woman blinked. Then, deciding to just accept that reality was being weird today, simply nodded.

“Alright,” she said. “We’ll… figure something out.”

Jon beamed. “Thanks!”

You patted his head. “Good job, buddy.”

Jon grinned. “I think this is nice.”

And truly, it was. You were finally getting a break, Damian had sort of warmed up to the experience, and Jon was having the time of his life.

It was peaceful.

It was relaxing.

It was exactly what you needed.

So, of course, something had to go wrong.

The peace was shattered by the sound of screaming outside.

Your head snapped toward the spa entrance just in time to see a group of civilians running past in a panic. Then—explosions.

And the unmistakable whir of something mechanical.

You bolted upright.

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me.”

Jon was already standing, ripping the robe off and revealing his Superboy costume underneath.

Damian, meanwhile, pulled a full Batman move by seemingly materializing his utility belt and weapons out of nowhere.

Before you could even say anything, the two boys were gone—leaping straight out the spa’s open balcony.

You turned to the wide-eyed spa staff, letting out a long sigh.

“Boys being boys, am I right?” You forced a smile, desperately trying to cover up the awkwardness of the situation. “They’re die-hard fans for action. Can’t help themselves.”

For a brief moment, the room was silent as the estheticians exchanged confused glances.

Then, in the most awkward and abrupt way possible, you scrambled to grab your purse, fumbling around as you threw an absolutely ridiculous sum of cash onto the counter—enough to more than cover the treatments, plus a hefty tip for the staff that definitely deserved more than a little credit for surviving this spa chaos.

The technicians just stared at the money, stunned into silence.

You didn’t stick around for questions.

You bolted after the two boys—still wrapped in your robe, your hair tied up in a towel, and your face mask half-finished.

You were praying—praying—that the day would somehow not end up on the news—though you knew full well that was already a lost cause. But hey, at least you were going to have one heck of a story to tell.

You finally made it to the street corner, and saw Amazo-tech robots rampaging through the streets, blasting apart cars and sending civilians running. Jon was in the air, flying between them, lasers shooting from his eyes as he took them down one by one. Damian was on the ground, expertly maneuvering around, slicing through the robots’ weak points.

You were impressed.

But you were also trying not to yell at the two boys.

Because Damian was still wearing his spa robe over his Robin suit.

And Jon still had his facial mask on.

“Just once,” you muttered to yourself, laughing despite the absurdity. “Just once, I want a normal day out.”

But then again, in Gotham, that was never going to happen.

The Batcave had never felt so… tense. The lights flickered above, casting shadows that seemed to mirror the dark expressions of the adults standing before you. You, Damian, and Jon stood side by side, feeling the weight of their scrutiny.

Bruce was standing at the forefront, arms crossed tightly over his chest, his eyes narrow and calculating. Alfred, behind him, looked as if he were about to take away all your privileges for the rest of your lives. Clark had one hand over his face, clearly trying to stifle an impending headache, while Lois had her fingers pressed to the bridge of her nose, fighting the urge to explode in frustration.

The silence stretched on, suffocating. Then, finally, Bruce spoke, his voice quiet but stern.

“So,” he said, voice level. “Would you care to explain yourselves?”

Before you could even open your mouth—

“It was her idea,” Damian said immediately, pointing at you.

Your jaw dropped. “Excuse me—”

He met your glare with a simple, “You were the adult in charge.”

You gaped at him. “Oh, so now I’m the adult?! When I was paying for the spa day, you were more than happy to—”

“Tt.”

“Don’t you ‘Tt’ me, you little shit..!”.”

Bruce let out a long, suffering sigh.

Jon cleared his throat. “It all worked out, though. We saved the day, didn’t we?”

The adults all exchanged a look, their faces unreadable for a moment. Lois then shakes her head and pulled out her phone, tapping something before showing the screen.

It was a photo.

A civilian had snapped a very clear picture of the battle—showing Robin, still in his spa robe, kicking an Amazo-robot in the face while Superboy, face still covered in a facial mask, was mid-air punching another.

It was already trending.

Jon looked at it.

Then, sheepishly, he shrugged.

“…It was nice...?”

Clark just let out a hearty chuckle.

“Well, it’s a memorable way to save Gotham. At least you three enjoyed yourselves.” he said, earning a small chuckle from Lois.

Bruce closed his eyes, clearly questioning his life choices. He rubbed his temples as Lois and Clark just share a look. “….We will discuss this later. Go and get yourselves cleaned up.”

It’s safe to say that your grounding just got a whole lot longer.

i had this as a scene to write for undoing fate but it didn’t quite fit into it as much as i’d like it to so it became a oneshot outside of it instead (completely unrelated to undoing fate but you can imagine it happening between chapter 7-9 when they’re posted lol) but hope you guys enjoyed this 🫶

taglist (open): @k1arar3 @kingshitonly @rainnyydaysworld @ceridwyn3 @darkfaethedestroyer @blueiones @strwberryglass @lithiumval @thephantomdanny @eli-mayhaveatencats @rockyeatrock @dreaming-of-the-reality @shirp-collector-of-fixations @gneepgnorpsneepsnorp @skerbablo @dind1n @gwyneveire @yukixies @kristalag @greantii | ask to be added <3

#batsis #batfamily #batfam x batsis #batfam x reader #batsisreader #damian wayne x sister reader #damian wayne #damian wayne fluff #damian wayne x reader #platonic jon kent x reader

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high-five0 · 5 months ago

Text

blood on your lies

summary: four times Y/N got injured and the one time kaz did

"How many fingers?"

"I didn't hit my eyes."

"How many, Y/N?"

Y/N sighed. She squinted slightly. "Four?"

Kaz narrowed his eyes. "Three."

Y/N pursed her lips but didn't move. Her vision kept swimming in and out of focus. Sometimes Kaz and his concern disguised as displeasure was clear and then a moment later, he was just a black blob.

"I'm -"

"If the next word out your mouth is 'fine', I will deduct your wages for this job and hit you with my cane," Kaz warned, raising his eyebrows an inch.

Y/N wanted to argue. She hated appearing weak in front of Kaz. He was the one person she constantly strived to impress and being injured, again, whilst on a job with him was not what she wanted.

She tried to stand up, putting her hands against the wall behind her, intent on using it to push her up.

"No."

A gloved hand pushed down on her shoulder, forcing her to sit back down on the cobble stones. Y/N relented, her head already swimming. She closed her eyes, swallowing back the bile and trying to breath through the nausea building in her throat.

"You can't go to sleep."

Y/N sighed. She opened her eyes, squinting slightly at the light glowing just behind Kaz.

Kaz's eyes narrowed a fraction and he readjusted his weight, moving to block the light with his body.

"I can't sit on the cobbles all night, Kaz," Y/N muttered, bringing a hand to her head and shielding her eyes.

"Jesper will be along soon," Kaz replied, glancing down at his shoes, inspecting them one at a time. "Then when we get back, you're going to rest -"

" - but Kaz -"

" - and not go on any jobs for a few days," Kaz finished, ignoring her. He raised his gaze from his shoes, focusing on her. "You are allowed to be injured. It doesn't make you any less of a Crow."

Y/N, surprised by Kaz's sudden honesty, nodded, silent. Her eyes began to burn and she harshly wiped them, breathing out shakily.

"Ah, Jesper!" Kaz said, turning to face up the street. "Y/N has a concussion."

It was early afternoon which meant the Crow Club was almost silent. Kaz was sat downstairs on the main floor, his papers and books strewn across a booth table. He didn't need to write down the numbers, but he did, just in case anything happened.

It was only because Kaz was sat downstairs, and not in his office, that he heard the almighty bang, followed by a thud, that came from the basement.

He paused, pen hovering over the parchment. There was a groan of pain and whoever was downstairs muttered, "fucking cupboard".

"Y/N?" Kaz called, setting his pen down. "Did you get into a fight with a cupboard?"

Y/N emerged at the top of the stairs leading to the basement. "I walked into a cupboard," she corrected, her voice muffled as she pressed her hand to her her nostrils. Her fingers came away, tinged with red, and she swore.

"Sit down before you bleed on my floor," Kaz said, easing himself out of his seat. "Tilt your head forward, not backwards."

Y/N followed his advice, sitting down in a chair and tilting her head forward. She pinched her nose, just above her nostrils, and held her hand under her nose, catching the blood that dripped down.

A white handkerchief was thrusted into her vision. Y/N blindly took it, pressing it to her nose.

"Don't forget to breathe," Kaz said, his voice coming from somewhere in front of her.

Y/N raised her eyes and she could just see Kaz's shoes, standing in front of her. "I cannot believe I walked into a cupboard."

"You didn't see it coming?"

Y/N lifted her head, looking at Kaz. "Did you just make a joke?"

Kaz's shoulders moved in what looked like a shrug. "I'm actually hilarious, do you not know that, Y/N?"

Y/N huffed out a laugh, lowering her head one again. "My deepest apologies, sir."

Kaz's lips curled up into a smile.

Kaz woke with a start, his mind racing. A quick look around told him that his was no longer inside the building they'd entered. Instead he were outside, lying on the street.

As Kaz sat up, he became aware of how damp the back of his jacket had become, the sensation sending shivers throughout his body as memories came flooding back.

The wet jacket clinging to his back as he stumbled ashore. How it dragged him down, taunting him to let go and sink back under. Jordie.

Jordie suddenly morphed into Y/N and Kaz sat up, looking around the street for any sign of her. He put a hand on the ground, bracing himself to stand up, when he felt a hand brush his. Or he brushed the hand, Kaz wasn't sure.

The contact sent him back to the cobbles but, as Kaz turned his head, he realised it was just Y/N.

She looked serenely peaceful, lying there on the ground, her arms outstretched slightly. Kaz watched her for a moment, waiting to see the comforting sight of her chest rising and falling. It took a moment for his eyes to focus but when they did, he could see her breathing.

Some part of him relaxed.

Kaz pushed himself up onto his knees and crawled to Y/N's side. Swallowing back the panic and the urge to run away, he leant over her, one hand braced on the cobbles on the other side of Y/N, whilst the over reached up.

His hand hovered over her face for a moment. It shook. Kaz breathed in deeply. He put his hand against her cheek, his thumb moving up and down for just a second.

Kaz bought his hand back and moved it down to her shoulder, shaking her as hard as he dared. "Y/N. Y/N, come on, wake up."

Y/N's head slowly moved to the side as Kaz shook her, the orange light from the street lamp above casting shadows across her face. Kaz shook her again, hard this time. He was feeling water rising around him.

"Y/N!" He yelled and, before he could even think, he slapped her.

Y/N inhaled sharply and groaned, sitting up as quickly as she could, hands blindly reaching out to grip whoever had slapped her. Kaz let her grip his hand, let her realise it was him, and then pushed her back.

"What the fuck, Brekker!" Y/N exclaimed, falling back onto her elbows. "What was that for!"

"We have no time to sleep," Kaz said, wincing slightly as he awkwardly clambered to his feet. He was trying not to show his earlier panic and opting for despair and irritation seemed best.

Y/N groaned again, lying back on the floor, closing her eyes. "I have no idea what happened."

"We triggered something in that room," Kaz replied, looking around for his cane. "Knocked us both out. Then we were dragged and dumped out here."

"How long for?"

"Half an hour," Kaz said, still looking. "Ish."

"Ish? Kaz Brekker just said ish, I must be dreaming," Y/N muttered.

Kaz picked his cane up off the floor - it'd been next to his foot the entire time - and turned back to Y/N. Silently, he held out a gloved hand to her.

Y/N, still disorientated and confused, reached up and grabbed his hand, letting him pull her to her feet, without even realising what had just happened.

"What now?"

"We break back in," Kaz said, already making his way down the street. "Come on!"

The boats in the harbour bobbed about as a wave rolled in and sloshed up against the stone walls. They were mid mission - at the most important stage.

And Y/N couldn't breathe.

She'd been pushed down a staircase earlier on in the day, when the mission had just begun. Whilst Inej had taught her how to fall, it hadn't saved her ribs from hitting the edge of the stone steps.

Once the initial pain had faded, Y/N had managed to keep going. She rejoined the group, got assigned a new task by Kaz, and was on her way to do it when she'd breathed in just a little too much.

The pain had flared up until she couldn't stand. Y/N had perched herself on the harbour wall and had sat there since, trying to get control of her pain.

"I don't recall sending you here."

Y/N didn't even have the energy to acknowledge Kaz. She lifted her head, noted him standing in front of her, and dropped it again.

Pain was coursing through her body and Y/N could feel the tears burning her eyes. Tears of frustration and of pain.

"You okay?"

Y/N forced herself to straighten up, to look at Kaz. She breathed in, felt something twinge, and her shoulders shook as she felt the tears spill over.

"Try and breathe through it," Kaz said quietly, his cane hitting the floor once as he moved closer, leaning against the harbour wall beside Y/N. "I get its hard, but try."

Y/N tried to, forcing herself to breathe beyond the pain. Her nails dug into the harbour wall, the stones digging into her palm.

"When I first broke my leg, the pain nearly consumed me," Kaz said, his words almost lost to the wind. "It's hard, when it gets bad, to think beyond it."

"I." Y/N paused. "I tried to cope." She squeezed her eyes shut. "But it got too bad... and then I couldn't breathe."

Kaz's blazer sleeve brushed against her arm. "Nina is near by."

"No, she's busy."

Kaz dug his hand into his pocket, pulling out a small metal tin. He flipped the lid open and picked two white circular tablets out. "Here."

Y/N held her hand out and Kaz dropped them into her hand. "What's this?"

"Drugs," Kaz replied, smirking. "The good kind."

Y/N tried her best not to laugh, but her smile grew. "Thanks."

She put them in her mouth, grimacing slightly at the awful taste in her mouth as they began to dissolve. Kaz held out a flask and Y/N took it, swallowing the tablets with what she'd expected to be alcohol but was actually water.

"When it gets bad and I have to keep going," Kaz said quietly, taking the flask back, "I take those. It doesn't get rid of the pain but it helps."

Y/N turned her head, her eyes settling on his. "Thank you."

Kaz just nodded.

Blood was spilling out onto her hands as she pressed the bandage to Kaz's shoulder, trying to staunch the blood. Kaz was sat on the stone tomb, his head lolling to the side, hitting Y/N's arm every so often.

"You still with me?" Y/N asked, pushing her hands harder against his shoulder, the blood dripping down her arms.

"Ahuh," Kaz muttered, his eyes still shut.

Y/N knew he was battling with himself and his mind and didn't take his grumpiness and silence personally.

Her hands were trembling as she pulled the bandage away from his shoulder for a moment, checking to see if the blood had stopped or not.

"How did you get shot?" Y/N asked softly, pressing the bandage back to his shoulder.

Kaz stilled. Y/N squeezed his shoulder, the blood still running, and he breathed in sharply, coming back.

"He was aiming for you," Kaz said quietly, his voice hoarse. "At your... head."

Y/N froze. She took her hands from Kaz's shoulder, happy that the bleeding had stopped. The cloth dropped to the tomb. Y/N stepped back, standing in front of Kaz, her knees brushing his.

"Is that why you pushed me?"

Kaz nodded stiffly. "Didn't expect to get shot, however."

"Don't think anyone does."

"Unless they see the gun pointed at them," Kaz quipped.

Y/N smiled. Her leg brushed against Kaz's and she was surprised when he didn't flinch. He raised his head, gazing up at her. Y/N, for once, didn't fight the urge. She reached out and gently combed her bloody fingers through his hair. Kaz leant forward, resting his head against her stomach.

"I can stop," Y/N said softly.

Kaz nodded against her. "I know."

She let her fingers run down to his neck, never straying further than where his collar sat.

"We're okay, Kaz," Y/N whispered, leaning her head down to rest on top of his. "We're okay."

#shadow and bone #shadow and bone imagine #shadow and bone imagines #shadow and bone x reader #six of crows #six of crows imagine #six of crows imagines #six of crows x reader #kaz brekker #kaz brekker x reader

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high-five0 · 5 months ago

Text

canis major

adler x bell!reader

summary: adler doesn’t go back to berlin to forget, but he isn’t so eager to remember, either. after leaving you for dead on that clifftop in the arctic, he knows best to leave the past well alone. too bad that past seems to be alive and walking right in front of him; though where he wants to forget, it seems you’ve already beaten him to the punch. or; bell survives solovetsky and only has a hole in her head and amnesia to show for it. read on ao3

tags/cw: bell!reader, amnesia, light angst, referenced adlerbell, somehow bell survives the ending of cw, adler can't let shit go, adler is not capable of remorse but mayyybe a lil guilt?? dog symbolism always, no pairing yet but hopefully i continue this as a spicy drabble series idk wc: 2.7k

a/n: sooo this is my first fic for the cod fandom and the first fic i've posted online in a long time so hopefully this lil ramble suffices!! i've had adlerbell brainrot and wanted to get at least something out before bo6 ruins all of my headcanons so here's a snippet of something i hopefully find the motivation to continue into a mini series. enjoy :')

Sometimes, he goes back to Berlin.

Stumbling out of the muggy bar into the dank alleyway out the back, Adler fishes out a pack of cigarettes from the front of his jacket; two firm knocks of it against his palm before he plucks one out with his mouth, pockets the box, and flips open his lighter. The clink of the metal echoes into the empty around him, the sudden quiet suffused with the sounds of passing cars on the street, muffled laughter from inside the bar, and the distant barking of dogs. Strays.

The cigarette ignites, glowing a cherry red, and he gasps around the filter greedily. Upon exhale, he sighs.

Adler isn’t a sentimental man by any means. What little he clings to, he does so with a loose grip, less than happy but stolid enough to allow whatever else he deems unnecessary slip through his fingers. Places, people. Things. Memories. Tucks the important things- logic, rationality, work, duty- into orderly compartments at the forefront of his mind, archived and marked off ‘til he needs it, while the rest, the mess, gets done away with, thrown into the great black gorge of oblivion. Anything else that stays- more often than not a thorn in his side, an unbidden, wriggling tumour he can’t find let alone cut out- is sequestered to a dark aperture in the back of his mind, anchored deep where it can’t come back up. Yet somehow, some nights, they always do. The smell of his ex-wife’s hair. The day he got his scar. Vietnam. The lab. Solovetsky—

The next word, the name, forks across his mind like lightning, and he bites his tongue before he can think it. It sits at the back of his mouth, nestled like an aching cavity in his molars. A tremulous breath that he forces down with another drag of his cigarette. Out with the rest. Out with the rest.

The barking doesn’t cease. Dogs, a pair of them, he can hear a couple streets over. He pictures them from the gravelly register of their snarling- maybe German Shepherds, a Bullmastiff or a Rottweiler. Their fight enunciated by the violent rattling of chain-link fences, segregated, the only threshold that keeps teeth from necks.

But no, not a sentimental man. He tells himself that the itch to revisit Berlin every Summer is for superficial reasons, and by no means is renting out a shithole hotel room opposite a sewer-laden river considered a vacation from anything other than the luxuries he gorges himself mindlessly on at home- maybe this is to keep him humble, more than anything. It doesn’t do well to remind himself of old times, not when he’s lived the life he has. Remembering seldom accompanies itself with the bittersweetness of reminiscence, and the taste it leaves in his mouth is always acrid. He doesn’t miss Berlin any more than he misses that dismal safehouse, or that sterile room he wheeled you into, questioned- tortured- no, interrogated- well, he doesn’t care to remind himself of the picture. Or the person he strapped to the gurney. But he catches himself thinking back to the city divided more than he likes to admit, and for whatever ostensible reason it is that drags him back here, he relents to it every time.

He tells himself it’s the weather, the cool rain a nice reprieve from the scorching California heat. Or that the food is better, not so much overprocessed shit and sugars. Can take his coffee as black as he likes without the waitress turning her nose up about it and double-triple-checking if he’s sure. And it’s the people, maybe, who leave him well enough alone. Or the drinks. The views, some places. The- air.

Not like Arctic air. Not like—

The one dog’s snarl rips bloodcurdling through the night, all froth and venom, and as the chain-link fence screeches and judders in its rusted welding the other mutt quiets a moment. Cowers under the meaner dog’s ferocity. Then, like it had been wounded, it lets out a low, anguished howl, beast reduced to a scared little pup. Adler holds the smoke in his chest around a stifled breath anticipating a release. But the first dog just grumbles, the fence clinks, and there isn’t much noise after that.

But the quiet doesn’t last long- just as Adler drops his cigarette and snuffs it with a wrench of his heel, another sound resonates, yowling through the alley.

The grinding of tires upon wet asphalt crunches from just beyond the alleyway entrance. The streetlamp overhanging the entryway glares bright yellow as it bounces off of the garishly coloured taxi cab, pulling up to a groaning halt outside the bar.

He thinks nothing of it, pulling at the collar of his leather jacket. It’s getting cold, and he’s left his drink inside. Wouldn’t want to waste good beer. Adler turns, and makes for the door.

And you step out of the car.

A half-finished cigarette bounces on the sidewalk before you exit, the softened heel of your boot following soon after in a splash upon the flooded curb. Your German is rusty- always has been- but it’s easy enough to utter a quick and easy danke as you pull yourself up out of the cab. The door shuts with a slam, and you tilt your head back to gaze up at the sign above the bar- Der Fluss Lethe glaring in faded lightbox red- and you let out a contented sigh, your breath suspended in the frigid air. Pink, bitten fingers pluck at your gloves, fingerless faded green knit, shovelling them into your jacket pocket.

Adler’s fist is already curled around the handle of the back door as he clocks your presence in his periphery, a stranger like any other- but your image resembles the one that coagulates in the borders of old memory, the dried blood of you he hasn’t been able to wash his hands of since ‘81. Enough that he does a double take, his eyes wide behind tinted glasses, and he stops, his heart following suit.

He’s seen enough bodies in his time to fill the morgue in his mind twice over, and plenty ghosts to wander coldly among the unmarked graves. Vietnam alone is an unwinding cemetery stretching endless, catacombs along the inside of his skull, lined with what his old shrink would call remorse. Guilt. As if the feeling mattered. As if self-reproach could turn self-flagellation into something so incandescent as redemption. As if the bile in the back of his throat could bring back the dead.

And it couldn’t, because it isn’t… that’s not—

Bell.

It’s in the way you stand, your back rigid, that slight slouch to your shoulders, always dragged down upon you like they bore the weight of the whole world (and they did, once, do you remember?). The pelting of rain smacks off of the lapels of your jacket and ricochets like stars, caught in the light of the streetlamp overhead, but for all he knows or cares it could be raining diamond and all he sees is you- the wrinkling of your nose as you accommodate to the cold, how your cheeks flush at the chill (as they had those nights he pulled you into the darkroom, evidence of your apprehension drowned in the red glow of safelights); your hair is longer, unkempt, but still that same colour (clumps he’d find in his clenched fist when you’d argue yourselves into a wrestling match, pinning each other by the throats to dented walls in Die Landebahn); that scar upon your brow; that wavering line of your lip, pursed and hiding behind your reticence as you always did, and your eyes- your eyes—

—you feel someone watching—

—your eyes turn, and fix upon him with the startled softness of a doe, hunter betrayed by the snapping of a branch underfoot. Adler’s heel crunches against broken glass, his hand lingering right in that threadbare threshold upon the doorhandle, and he can’t speak, can’t move, can’t think—

Open the door, Bell, open the door—

—and you stop outside the cab, your breath caught in your throat. You see a shadow in the alley, in the shape of a man.

The darkness of the alley gives enough cover that you don’t see much, but what you do make out of the man prickles at a part of your mind long dormant: the haughtily broad set of the shoulders; the halo of blond tinted red just beneath the flickering exit light above the door where he stands; the shadow of a strong, clenched jaw; and in the brief glinting of passing headlights as cars rush on behind you, you see a face half gorged by a thick, forked scar, a fissure struck down his furrowed expression. A pair of dark aviator glasses hide those eyes that you know are looking at you, reflecting back nothing but your own bewilderment.

There is something you know. Deep inside that half rotted head of yours, where an incomplete recollection of your existence before you awoke bleeding on that clifftop lies, you feel a twinge of recognition. Familiarity. Something. Something stirring deep in your marrow- a fear inherited, a conditioned surrender, a faded polaroid, a kiss? Your migraine, chronic, comes clawing back with a vengeance, as it does most nights, but this time with a savage fervour that wrenches your face into an involuntary grimace. Where the hole in your head had once been all those years ago it tickles and burns, burrowing into your brain and groping greedy fingers along remnants of memory. It claws at you, digging through your amygdala to find something fresh, something old, something palpable, real, something- anything. Searching what little remains visible to you in the thick fog of your own mind to pin a meaning to this feeling, an answer to your question, a name to that face.

You’ve seen him before. You swear. Somewhere. In a dream, reoccurring, behind a red door. You don’t know how, or why you’d think you recognise him- in those dreams, the door never even opens. Your hand ever stuck on the handle, jammed and impenetrable, what sits behind it forbidden to you. Like not even your own mind wants you to know. It confines you to your ignorance, almost blissful.

Adler’s heart kicks violently in his chest. He shot you. He killed you. He’d heard your death rattle on that clifftop in Solovetsky and the sound was almost like singing, your last word, your last breath. A miserere for your short and fractured life. And he’s looking at your ghost, standing there all owl-eyed and as beautiful as the day he found you bleeding out on that airstrip. Before he took you. Before he took you and collared you and made a damned mess of things.

The only thing separating you from the Bell he knows he killed- his Bell- is the star-shaped scar split across your left temple. The only wound he never had to sit and heal as he belligerently patched you up, poking and preening you like his prize dog. Yet in spite of never seeing it before, he recognises the wound all too well. He put it there himself.

And as you stand there for that brief moment- no more than twelve seconds stretched to an eternity- he thinks for a moment that you’ve put it together. You recognise him. You see him. As he is. You’ve figured him out, Bell, as you always do. You’re the only one to have gotten away with it, nearly. Or so he thought. And now he’s watching a corpse having dug itself out of the grave he put it in, standing there, staring at him. Suppose you’ve always been a dead man walking.

You could do it, he thinks. Turn. Fling your heel round and barrel towards him with all the enmity of a cornered animal. He thinks of the strays, barking. Can picture your mouth frothing at the sides as you sink your teeth down into him- gnarled canines, hooked to your chain-link fence- which he probably deserves. Not an unfamiliar feeling by any stretch, but one faraway enough to seem almost sweet now through the hazy lens of nostalgia. If there truly is a sentimental bone in his body after all, then maybe it’s just for that. Still, he holds his breath, awaiting the killing blow he’s surely due. But it never comes.

You release your held breath, finally, tearing your eyes away from the callous faced stranger. It’s a ridiculous notion. Just an uncanny instance of déjà vu. You don’t know that man any more than you know yourself. You settle on a more rational answer- just one of those faces. And with a disgruntled sigh you rub the scar upon your temple to soothe the ache, turn around, and enter the bar alone.

Adler sighs, his heart sinking from up high in his throat back down to his chest. His hand has latched onto the doorhandle for so long it’s gone numb from the cold, bruised knuckles bluer than they were before (bar fights- not here, but another, as there will always be). He wrestles his jaw pensively, knowing he ought to take it off, keep the door closed, turn away, and leave. Slink back, tail between his legs, to that shithole hotel room to drink himself into a stupor. Let you haunt him there, instead. As you always have.

But he doesn’t. He has no idea what idiocy compels him, what soft, dewy-eyed weak link in him snags on that chain, to willingly wander back into the viper den of reminiscence, but he wrenches his fist around the handle, pushes, and lets himself back into the bar, the thick, hot air hitting him like a drug that he breathes in, tart and sour with the cloy of sweat and alcohol but still faintly- just faintly- of you. Like rain carried along the wind.

And Russell Adler is not a sentimental man.

But from across the bar he hides behind his beer glass, watches as you move about, a phantom, weaving through the faceless mass of people celebrating a championship he cares nothing to follow. You take your order at the bar with a smile he’s never seen on you before, boots folded to tip-toes as you lean over the liquor-stickied top, your perfect mouth pink and sweet and laughing and alive. The world seems to move about you in a haze, an indistinct mist of blurred faces and bottled voices and beyond all the light and life and joy that seems to burn bright around you like a halo all he sees is you.

Maybe, then, he’s a fool.

But it isn’t lost on him, how your fingers skirt across your hair in an attempt to hide the scar upon your temple. Nor is it lost on him how you wince at the feeling, the stars in your eyes dimmed for just a split second as you shiver, like a touch imperceptible running fingers down your back. Nor even the way you fight the urge to look, to follow the feeling of his eyes fixed upon you, and surely not the way you lose that fight, surrendered to it, your sweet face turning and finding him in an instant. Without so much as trying, like instinct, like something as pathetic and saccharine as fate. Your heart called to it, a lighthouse in the fog. Port in the storm. Ships passing in the night but called crashing to the same shore.

(The pieces of you are scattered everywhere, Bell. He finds you in every split seam inside himself. Splintered shrapnel dug through his temporal lobe, severing synapses ‘til they go dark. Even stars die quicker than that. Quicker than you. Is that what it felt like for you, too? When the lights went out, was it him you last saw- or the sky, waxen, over the Arctic? A waning night, a distant moon. The inconsequence of death- brief celestial ephemera.)

The stranger across the bar looks at you, offering nary a smile, eyes indiscernible behind shadowed sunglasses. And where you ought to find his apparent coldness disconcerting, instead you wring out of your chest with a white-knuckled caress a feeling like… comfort.

Sometimes, Bell, you go back to Berlin. You don’t quite know why.

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