#I keep thinking something really is going to happen and I’ll have a ptsd attack

[the-sappho-of-lesbos]

Well I have my bag packed for tomorrow. I found an outfit I don’t think I’ll get too upset in.

Have my portable charger. Just had a shower. Fingers crossed tomorrow goes well and I don’t freak out too much

[the-sound-of-her-wings]

hi! can i please request a kaz brekker x reader fic based off of episode 5 of season 2 (despise your heart)? when kaz panics in the market reader finds him and takes him somehwere safe and gives him his gloves, and in that moment kaz kinda of realizes how he feels about the reader. and then the poison fog the reader hallucinates about kaz and him finally making physical contact and giving her love and she thinks it’s real until someone shoves the antidote in her mouth, once she regains consciousness she rushes over to help kaz and kaz sees her pulling him out of the water and the readers just sitting there holding his face and anything else you wanna add !

if it’s a little complicated i understand, thank you have a great day :))

You were always in plain sight

❀ Word Count: 2,145 ❀ CW: Panic Attack, Discussions of Trauma, Pining, Admissions ❀ A/N: Added a few more scenes than requested. I hope you enjoy!

He’s going to panic, you think to yourself. 

In fact, his body was already panicking, even if he wasn’t. Nina is too focused on the target's heart rate to notice, but Kaz’s heart rate has been slowly increasing ever since he took off the gloves.

You watch as the woman they were meeting with gets up, and Kaz goes to follow. Unfortunately, another woman immediately runs into him, spilling tea all over the front of him, and definitely accidentally touching him.

“Give me his gloves,” You whisper to Inej.

She hands them over silently. You put on your own set of gloves, a pair you keep on you in the event something like this happens. 

Nina places her hand on top of Kaz’ and you watch the life drain from his face. And then he’s running.

“You follow the target. I’ve got him.” You say. 

It doesn’t take you long to catch up to him, but by then he’s already completely disassociated and in complete panic. You take him by the arm, leading him to an empty alley, careful only to touch the clothed parts of his arm. Even with your hands in gloves, you are worried any kind of touch to his exposed hands will send him spiraling further. 

He collapses to the ground in an unceremonious heap. 

“You were supposed to follow her,” He says.

“Inej has it covered.” You reply, sitting down on the opposite side of the alley, a decent distance from him.  

There’s a moment of silence before you add, “Someone had to follow you. You can’t be by yourself when your…” And you don’t know how to finish the sentence. Traumatized? Panicking? Having a PTSD flashback to an event you refuse to discuss with anyone? “...like this.” 

It pains you to see him so deep in his own pain, so desperate to keep other people out of it. To keep you out of it. You place his gloves close to him, but far enough away that it doesn’t look like you’re trying to touch him.

He notices your gloves, “When did you-?”

“A while ago. There just in case-” And you cut yourself off with a sigh. In case this happened. “Do you want me to stay?”

Yes? Kaz thinks, but he’s still panicking too much to say anything. In fact, the thought sends him into even more of a panic, because he’s not ever had a thought like that before. 

“I’ll be on the other side of the alley. We’ll regroup once you’ve had a chance to calm down.” You say, leaving him to decompress.

XXXXX

“Nina wants an explanation,” Inej tells you as you watch over Kaz from a distance. He’s finally come out of the worst of it and is now trying to act like nothing happened. It’s a behavior that you simply have never gotten used to, despite years by his side. 

“Then tell her the truth.” You say.

“Which is?” Inej asks. She sometimes thinks you know more than she does, but that’s not really true. You both know exactly the same thing about Kaz- which is that Pekka Rollins killed his brother and that he absolutely cannot stand another person’s touch. 

“He had a panic attack.” You reply. “She’s not going to tell the others, is she?” 

“No. But I think Jesper should know. He hates it when we leave him out of the loop.” Inej states. 

“I think I’m going to try to talk to him this time. See what else is going on.” You say, watching as Kaz sits down, clearly deep in thought. 

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” 

“I didn’t think you’d be happy about that idea.” You say, cleaning the dirt from under your nails.

“He will open up when he’s ready.” Inej tries to reassure you.

“We both know he’d never be that vulnerable.”

“Then why ask?” She asks.

So I know how to fix it. 

“Let’s just get this over with, shall we? The world isn’t going to save itself.” You state, heading towards Kaz and the rest of the group to figure out the plan. Maybe you’ll ask him once all of this over.

XXXXX

“We should talk about what happened in the market.” You say, sitting on his desk. 

“Must we?” Kaz replies, lowering the newspaper he had been reading to meet your gaze.

“Yes.”

He set the paper aside, making his way over to you. He towers over you in a way he’s never done before, closer than he’s ever been. “What do you want to know?” 

“I want to know what happened.” 

“You saw what happened,” He says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“I want to know why, Kaz.” You respond. 

“Why?” He retorts. Is he flirting with you or just trying to get under your skin?

“I want to fix it. Or prevent it or- I don’t know! I just. I never want to see you like that again. I don’t want to see you suffer.” 

“It won’t happen again,” He reassures you, a gloved hand coming up to caress your face. You block it with the back of your forearm.

“Won’t it? Jesper told me what happened when you got thrown in that cart together. I watched as you tried not to panic while helping Inej clean her wounds. Do you think I can’t sense your heart rate when people get too close to you? That I don’t know exactly how your body reacts? Who hurt you so badly that you can’t even be physically near another person without wanting to vomit?” You ramble, letting out all of the questions and feelings you’ve been holding inside for all of these years.

“Pekka Rollins” He replies, the answer he gave you before. It’s always been the answer, and in some ways, it really is the truth. 

“Kaz… I just want you to let me in. You carry so much inside of you that you let nobody see. But I want to see it… I want to understand.” You say, and you want to reach out and hug him but you know he can’t receive that kind of affection. 

But then he does something you aren’t excepting. Slowly, he begins to remove his gloves. He sets them on the fireplace, one by one. One of his ungloved hands traces its way up the side of your neck and rests on your cheek. You gasp at his touch. 

And then you are staring into each other’s eyes, into each other’s souls. Like you’ve always seen each other- like you’ve always known. Kaz plays his cards close to his chest, but you don’t. Nina has teased you for it relentlessly.

When he kisses you, you can’t believe this is happening. It’s perfect. These are things he would only do in dreams. These are things he would only say in dreams. These are…

“This is a dream,” Kaz tells you, or rather, the Kaz of your imagination tells you as he ends the kiss.

“I know” You reply, opening your eyes.

You see Inej hunched over you and taste something disgusting in your mouth. 

“We were poisoned. Go to the door- Wylan will give you another antidote.” She says before leaving to go wake up Jesper.

You crawl your way to the door, still feeling the lingering effects of the poison. “Wylan. Antidote?” You croak.

Once you are given the butterfly, you make your way over to Kaz, the only person still under the effects of the poison. 

XXXXX

Kaz is confused. He wakes up, back on that mountain of bodies in the river, but his brother is alive.

“Jordie?” He asks, confused.

His brother stares at him, full of rage. Without a word, he begins to drown him. Just when Kaz has almost lost all of his oxygen, his brother pulls him back out from under the water.

“Who are you without your vengeance?” Jordie yells. 

“Kaz. Wake up” You say, one gloved hand cupping the side of his face, the other moving his jaw to try to force him to chew. He can’t hear you.

“What is the worth of life if you have no one left to fight for?” Jordie asks, before plunging him under the water again. 

“Kaz” You repeat, and he hears you this time. “You’re going to be alright” 

You come into focus in a water gaze, the remnants of the poison still giving a dreamlike quality. It takes him a few moments to realize that it’s no longer a hallucination and that both of your hands are on his face. Gloved hands.

You pull your hands away from his face as soon as you see him come out of it. 

“Sorry,” You say. 

You don’t have to apologize, he thinks. 

XXXXX

“Kaz, a word?” You say, wanting to get him alone. You’ve obtained the Neshyenyer and are getting ready to head to East Ravka. 

He nods in acknowledgment while the others in the room make no effort to leave.

“Alone.” You add, so the others get the picture. 

Everyone exchanges suspicious glances with one another except Kaz, who is only looking at you. Nina winks as she passes you on her way out of the room. You resist the urge to roll your eyes. 

You position yourself by the door, a good five feet away from him, in order to respect his boundaries. The boundaries that you’ve consistently had to cross recently to protect him.

“What do you need?” He asks. 

“Are you okay?” You ask. 

Of course he isn’t, but you want him to admit that. You suspect he’ll respond with something defensive, something clever, something like “Why wouldn’t I be okay?” or “Why does it matter?” or “We have a job to do”. For it to be like the dream. 

“Are you?” He responds.

“No. And I’m getting a little tired of pretending I am.” You answer honestly. The difference between you, and all the other crows, and hell, everyone else that you interact with, is that you aren’t emotionally repressed. You don’t hide it under a sense of revenge, don’t mask it with a face of no emotion, and don’t keep your true thoughts and feelings hidden under a veil of humor. He told you it was a weakness, once. 

“You’re still wearing the gloves.” He comments.

You glance down at your gloved hands and then back at him. “So I am.”

“You don’t have to do that for me.” You don’t have to do anything for me, He thinks. 

“I know.” You say, “I just don’t want to hurt you.” 

There is a long silence as you look at each other, not really sure what to say.

“I wanted you to stay,” He states, looking away from you. Almost as if he’s ashamed that he’s allowing himself to be this vulnerable. “When you asked me in the alley… I wanted you to stay.”

You feel your breath catch in your throat at the admission. Maybe the poison-induced hallucination wasn’t too farfetched after all. 

“I’ll stay.” You take a step towards him, still unsure of his boundaries. Still unsure how close or far you can get without causing him pain. 

“Will you tell me why?” You ask. I can’t help you through something when I don’t know why it causes you pain.

“I don’t know if I can,” It’s the first genuine answer you’ve gotten out of him in a long time. 

“When we were poisoned I- you were in my hallucination,” You admit, taking a few more steps closer to him.  

“What happened in your hallucination?” He asks. Throughout this, he’s made no effort to move from his seat at the table, but his heartbeat has become steadily faster, stronger. 

“I was angry at you- but you seemed to understand why. And you took your gloves off and touched me and- that’s how I knew it wasn’t real.” You reply. “What did you hallucinate?” You add, not wanting him to ruminate on your confession too long. 

“My brother was drowning me,” He states.

“I’m sorry,” You say, reflexively. 

“He asked me, ‘What is the worth of life if you have no one left to fight for?’ and then I saw you,” You’ve never seen him sheepish before- vulnerability doesn’t exactly suit him. 

“Oh,” You breathe. “So what now?” 

“We go to East Ravka.”

“Right,” You say, trying not to let the disappointment show in your voice. “Time to save the world. Again.” 

“We’re not saving it. We’re just getting paid.” Kaz responds.

You steel yourself, trying not to beat yourself up for thinking you were finally getting somewhere. That this would be anything more than words.

"After. We will discuss us after." He adds, quelling your doubt. "We still have a job to do."

You nod.

"I'm here if you need me." You say, turning to leave.

"I know," Kaz replies.

[jasntodds]

Petrichor Chapter 6 Teaser - Full Chapter coming 08/09

Pairing: Jason Todd x Fem!Powered!Reader (little bit of fwb) Teaser Words: 1,648  Chapter Warnings: Swearing, fluff, angst, ptsd, panic attack, blood, canon violence, bruises Summary:❝Pylades: I’ll take care of you. Orestes: It’s rotten work. Pylades: Not to me. Not if it’s you.❞ Gotham is home, not just for Jason but for you, too. And now that you’re both finally back home, together, you’re ready to see where this next chapter brings the two of you. He’s your best friend and you’re his. And you both might want a little something more with being back home, the place you both feel most comfortable. Surely, nothing could possibly go wrong now. A/N: I've been rearranging chapters 6-9 because of what I want to happen in chapter 7 so here we are with a teaser lol If the format is wonky, I'm sorry. I literally hate this post editor with a burning passion and it's giving me all of the problems atm You can add yourself to the tag list below, ask me to be tagged, or you can follow my library blog @jasntoddslibrary  and turn on notifications if you prefer that!! I love feedback, I swear it keeps me posting on a weekly basis 😭

It wasn’t that Jason was violent. That was never it. He could pick a fight just as good as the next person. But it was out of survival. It wasn’t because he liked the bloody and bruised knuckles. Or coming back with his body covered in shades of navy and maroon and the pain that went along with it. It was how he had to survive. Fight or die. Fight or let people take advantage of him.

He was small. He got lucky he grew taller as he got older but he was a small kid. It was either learn to fight and take what he could or get taken advantage of or die trying. It was learn to fight and hold his own or deal with whatever his dad would dish out or the new guy his mom brought home that didn’t really like kids. It was never that he wanted to be violent.

He was just angry with the world. Robin gives him the outlet. Robin lets him be violent in a way that’s productive. Robin lets him choose violence. Robin lets him pick fights that matter. Robin lets him let the anger and the violent side of him be a good thing instead of something that hinders him and something people find to be annoying and a nuisance. Robin has given him so fucking much including that outlet and he can’t lose it. And he just gets so fucking mad when he thinks about it. He's mad about it being taken away and mad at Bruce and a little mad at you for getting to use his outlet as your own, even when he knows that’s not fair.

It's the anger that always got the best of him. Not the violence.

“Where’s your head, Jay?” You ask, looking over your shoulder from the targets as Jason sits on the floor behind you.

Jason snaps away from his thoughts, looking over to you. “What?” He furrows his brows up at you.

“You're quiet and you’re never quiet unless something is bothering you.”

It's only been a few days but you know him better than anyone. It's been rough for him not having Robin. He wasn't Robin, technically, in San Francisco. He wasn't supposed to be anyway. He was supposed to be taking a break but that didn't seem to bother him as much as it does now. You're not entirely sure what the difference is this time but whatever it is, you've got this feeling that there's something more going on. Something's poking at his head.

Jason shakes his head. “Want to get back out there.” Jason scoffs.

You nod. “Yeah…” You suck in a breath, looking at your target full of knives before you move to sit in front of him. You match his position, stretching your legs out right beside his with your hands on the floor behind you to hold your weight. “You sure it doesn’t bug you I go out?” You ask.

Of course, it bothers him. That's his thing. But, it's yours, too. Maybe it wouldn't sting as much if you weren't going out with Bruce. But, there's nothing he can do about it and it would be wrong for him to even try. So, he bites his tongue about it.

“It’s fine, it’s your thing, too.”

You shake your head. “Yeah, but if it bothers you, I can wait until you get Robin back or I can just go out on my own.” You offer.

The first night Jason was benched, Bruce asked if you'd still join I'm for patrol. Jason assured you it was fine. So, you went and you talked later about it. He swore up and down it would be fine. You like to go out on patrol. You like to help people and who is he to try and take that away from you? You'd never do that to him.

“You think Bruce will be okay with that? You going out on your own?” Jason quips.

You grin before you let out a laugh. “Well, probably not anymore.”

Jason furrows his brows, his eyes scanning over your face. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

You bounce around how to tell him about your conversation with Bruce earlier without including the stuff about him. It's hard because on the one hand, you respect Bruce but on the other, he can be a little insufferable. And Jason looks up to him for reasons you don't really think you'll entirely understand. It's not your place to speak poorly of him to Jason. So, you tell him but you hope he doesn't ask what sparked the conversation in the first place.

“We, uh, we had a moral disagreement today.” You chew the inside of your cheek as you raise your brows.

“Ah,” Jason nods his head. “That why you don’t wanna go out tonight?” The moral disagreement doesn't surprise him. He knows how you feel about all of it but he is a little surprised you even brought up to Bruce.

“Amongst a few other things but yeah. I think he might think I’ll kill people now.” You roll your eyes.

Jason lets out a snort. “What the hell did you even say to make him think that?” Jason shakes his head. “Wait, let me guess.”

“I’m listening.” You gesture a hand for him to continue.

Jason clears his throat. “You should kill the Joker. He’s a piece of shit maniac clown who kills people for fun. He should be dead.” Jason grins at you. “Sound about right?”

“Shut the fuck up.” You groan through a laugh as you tilt your head back. “No.” You shake your head at him. "I said he was a homicidal, psychotic, sadist." You state. "And that he should die, yes." You mutter softly while Jason lets out a booming laugh.

He is certain you'll never let it go which he doesn't blame you for. He gets it. He doesn't like his dad but a part of him still wanted to go after Two-Face. Dick went after Zucco. Parents are killed and their kids want to take revenge. But, he also knows you and he doesn't think you'd ever actually try to kill anyone, but especially the Joker. You have more self-preservation than that.

“And he said something about we don’t cross that line or whatever?”

“Yep.” Your eyes widen as you nod your head. “Him and Dick think it’s ridiculous as if Dick didn’t feel that same way, ya know? But it’s the Joker. So, uh, I might have said his death is inevitable.” You scrunch your nose and maybe that was the wrong choice of words.

Jason eyes you carefully and there is something going on with you, too. It's one thing to have the moral disagreement with Bruce but to actually say anyone's death in inevitable seems a little off. Jason's so wrapped in his own anger, he's started to wonder if he's missing anything with you.

“Okay seriously, what the fuck is going on?” Jason nudges your leg with his.

“Nothing. I don’t think I really meant it or anything but I kind of wonder if Bruce thinks I’m serious and thinks I’m like a ticking time bomb or something.” You roll your eyes.

“Did he take the shit from you? The suit or anything?” Jason questions and he is getting increasingly more curious what even started that whole conversation and got you mad enough to say anything to Bruce.

“No. Why?”

“Then he doesn’t think you’re gonna out and kill people.” Jason chuckles. “He'd take it away and send you to Leslie if he thought you were serious.”

“Oh, well that’s a relief.” You chuckle softly. “Still don’t wanna go out tonight though.” You shake your head.

Jason pulls his legs to his chest, resting his forearms over his knees. "What started the whole conversation anyway? Did something happen?"

You pause and you hate lying to him. It's the one thing you really don't do with him. But, telling him why Bruce even talked to you, that just doesn't seem fair. You worry he might take Bruce's concern the wrong way. Maybe it'll send him spiraling even further. Maybe it's best if you just keep that to yourself.

"Nothing." You shake your head. "It's nothing, really." You assure him before you suck in a breath. “Seriously though, if you have a problem with me going out, you can tell me.”

The switch back the topic at hand does not go unnoticed and that's also uncharacteristic of you lately. You tell him everything that bothers you and what leads to it bothering you.

"Right, no. I said it's fine." Jason states. "If something's going on with you, you'd tell me, right?" Jason questions.

You nod your head. "Of course. Nothing's, uh, nothing's going on. You need to stop worrying." You offer him a cheeky grin and he knows you're lying. "Look, Jay, if it weren't for you, I wouldn't stand a chance out there. I know it's hard being benched and I don't wanna make it harder for you."

He knows you're lying but he can't figure out why you would lie to him about something like that. It doesn't seem important or serious enough to need a lie. Maybe a part of him is even hurt you won't tell him. But, he knows it's not fair to push because you don't push him when he's adamant about not tellin you. He hopes you'll tell him later when it's not so fresh.

Jason scoots closer to you, resting a hand on your thigh. “I’m fine, alright? Go out kick and some ass, with or without Bruce.” Jason grins at you. “Stop worrying so much.”

“I’ll always worry, I love you.” You smile wildly at him.

“Yeah, I love you, too.” Jason chuckles softly. “Im fine, I’ll be back out there in no time.”

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[cultofdixon]

Fight for Yourself, Fight for Me

Daryl Dixon [PLATONIC] • They/Them Pronouns • You were always going to be your father’s little archer…even when all the responsibility for several lives rest on your shoulders • ANGST/SFW • TW: Anxiety Attacks / Nightmares / PTSD / Scars / Canon Violence / Illness / Injuries / SH Scars / Depression

Requested by: Anon

“Look at that” Lori smiles pointing out to Daryl the way Carl was trailing his kid around the campsite. “What yea think they’re talking about?”

“Anythin’ but the hell going on”

Y/N has always been like that. Talk about anything else BUT what was happening around them. To give people a sense of normalcy back but also for the kids.

“Wait so Batman has like. No superpowers at all? Just that his parents died and now he seeks revenge?”

“I wouldn’t really call it revenge. He never uses a gun. Never kills. Uses his gadgets to catch the bad guy and like. Shakes them down until they spoke” Y/N continues as they loaded up their hunting rifle which on cue made Daryl whistle for them. “Should find you some comics. Doubt it’ll be batman but hopefully something interesting”

Carl was about to ask them more when they started to head toward Daryl and Lori causing him to sprint over.

“Where are you going?”

“Y/N is going hunting with their dad. They’ll be back in a few days”

“Can I go?”

“No Carl. You need to stay here. Where it’s safe”

“But they get to go! They’re a kid—-“

“They are eighteen.” Daryl hands them back their pack as Carl continued to glare slightly. “They are my kid. But an adult to yea”

Y/N couldn’t help but notice the kid’s eagerness to go with them resulting in Daryl growing impatient.

“Y/N we gotta—-“

“I’ll meet yea by the tents, old man” Y/N states hearing him grumble as he left. “Carl you can’t come. Cuz you’ve got an important job here”

“What is it?”

“Hold down the fort. Dad and I are gonna get food, and the Atlanta group is out. Leaving only a few to keep an eye on everybody. Can I trust yea to keep the house afloat?”

Carl nods smiling as Y/N ruffles up his hair smiling themselves.

“Good. Be back in a few days, buddy”

It’s been two so far since they left to track down the deer Daryl had spotted tracks for a bit ago. Y/N followed shortly behind their father staring at their feet for the most part since it’s been a bit with no signs of the deer. They suddenly ran into Daryl when he stood still for a moment catching them off guard.

“I’m not playing statue in the middle of the woods, dad…”

“Did yea want a sibling?”

“That’s random” Y/N scoffs, stepping ahead of him to ready their aim and take the shot on the squirrel. “But no. I like being an only child…would’ve wanted more time with mom though”

“Mm. Me too, kid” Daryl watches their surrounding so they could pick up their catch. “You’re close with that Grimes kid”

“I wouldn’t really say talking about superheroes makes us close”

“You used to only talk to me about superheroes”

“Are you jealous of a child?” Y/N laughs a bit, even more when their dad groaned to the question.

“Nah. Just.” Daryl shrugs kneeling to check the faint tracks to see how long it’s been. “Little shit looks up to yea is all. Don’t want that going to your head”

“I don’t think it will…?”

“Listen. I don’t mean like what the cop is having. The savior complex shit. I’m talking the toll that raising kids can have on somebody” He admits as he picks himself up continuing to follow the tracks with his kid shortly behind him. “You care a lot. You’ve always have been that way…even for people who don’t deserve it. Like Uncle Merle. But I don’t want yea to forget about yourself. How you’re feeling will always matter, kid. I don’t want something terrible happening to make you forget that”

Y/N didn’t know what to reply to that with, but Daryl knew that they understood the best that they can.

Even when he watched their kid grow protective of the youngest Grimes. Then the youngest Greene.

He doesn’t want to lose them, or want them to lose themselves…

“Let’s go hunt” Daryl gestures with his eyes to outside the house the group was currently staying in after the barn burned. “We’ll be back soon”

“Can I come?” Carl tugs at Y/N’s jacket as they quickly shot it down with a new reason of having to keep an eye on his mother for her and the baby’s safety. They managed to get him to listen by giving him tasks that keep him there.

As they were heading out, Rick stopped Daryl talking to him about scavenging places as well as finding whatever meat they can get their hands on. He even tried to join them but Daryl drew his line clearly. He wanted to be alone with his kid, without any more drastic changes.

“I think Andrea could still be alive”

“Maybe” Y/N kicks a door open to one of the abandoned houses in their neighborhood. “She did almost kill you so, I’d let her back in but not with open arms”

“I’m still standing aren’t I?”

“She also gave a knife to Beth when she was thinking of killing herself.” They instantly went toward the kitchen to find any canned foods. “Might have to knock some sense into that son of a bitch before letting her back in. Hell. Not even my decision…everybody following Rick…”

“You’re allowed to share your thoughts, Y/N”

Y/N’s body tensed hearing such as they felt like anything they would say to Rick wouldn’t get anywhere. He and Daryl are one and the same when it comes to protecting their blood…but Rick making all the decisions made it hard to think for oneself.

“Rick won’t listen. He’s just protecting his kid”

“You’re protecting his kid and wife more than he is. You have them your blanket, your extra rations,…hell, saved that kid from walkers more than he did.” Daryl frowns watching Y/N take all the cans they can carry. “I’m looking out for yea, Y/N. I don’t want to lose my kid to somebody else’s short comings…”

“You’re not gonna lose me…I just wish things were different”

I just wish things were different

Y/N frowns watching Maggie stumble out of the prison in tears with a small baby in her embrace. They noticed Carl’s frozen state when he stepped out and how Rick fell apart upon hearing the news of his wife dying. They slowly approached the kid as he looks up at them with a blank expression that suddenly turned to silent tears rolling down his cheeks.

“C’mere kid” Y/N brought Carl into their embrace comforting him the best that they could. All he wanted was to cry for a moment in the comforts of someone who he knows he’ll be safe with.

Their dad’s declare about “not losing another” made everyone act on such. Daryl left with Maggie to get formula for the baby, Hershel checked her out with the help of Beth, the rest of the group took care of investigating the rest of the prison. Leaving Y/N to take care of Carl while Rick was indisposed.

“What was it like for you…”

“What?”

“When your mom died…”

Losing a parent tends to always feel like it just happened yesterday. Even if Y/N was ten when they lost her.

But for context.

Y/N wasn’t a mistake. Or planned really. Daryl hit it off with their mom who was a total stranger he met and asked out one day. First date hit it off to where the slim chance of getting pregnant did indeed happen. He was scared, of course. Didn’t want to be like his father. Didn’t want to be in the bullshit he’s in with Merle with a baby around. But she was ever so kind and patient that the 9 months they had gotten to know one another.

Then life slowly became all about Y/N and both of them were happy on such. Even Merle cleaned up most of his act to be able to spend time with the little one.

Their life was perfect in its own special way. Didn’t need much of anything besides their family.

Missing field trips meant spending time with Daryl at the garage he worked at

Weekends were always a new adventure to anywhere

Bad days were always met with cuddles from their mother

Bullies never bothered to mess with them when Uncle Merle was the one to pick up the kid

The list could go on…and last about ten years. One day Y/N was sat at the couch by both of their parents having a talk about what it means when someone gets really sick. Again, they were ten. Old enough to understand what being sick means, but still young enough to not believe that their mother was sick and one day wasn’t going to come home.

It was sudden. She just. Never came home. The only thing that came home were her belongings and a broken Daryl.

I can never forget the look in my dad’s eyes when he tried so hard to tell me without breaking Y/N frowns looking at Carl with their own pain resurfacing to that question. “One day she was here. The next…she was gone. It’s been years but I’ll always be sad about it. Your mom meant the world to you…the pain will be awful at first, but as life goes on, you’ll always remember the good things you had with your mom. That’s all that matters”

To be frank. Y/N never wanted to become a parent, and in the apocalypse that confirmed matters. They didn’t want to raise a child in a world that they could die at any given moment compared to the old world. Hell. They were still a kid in Daryl’s eyes, always…so when Lori died, this switch in them flipped and all that mattered…was making sure her kids were safe. Taken care of. Loved.

“Y/N coming back today?”

Daryl nods looking up at Carol and her offering of food she has just prepared. He’s been waiting at their spot all morning and was relieved none of the spawn came around to take their attention away. But he thought too soon on the matter when Carl came running over.

“They back yet?”

“Nope. Just waiting” Carol smiles noticing Daryl tense expression. “Hey, how about we go find that favorite blanket of theirs and get it to their watchtower?”

“But I—-“

“Come on. You know they’ll appreciate it more coming from you” Carol smiles directing Carl out of there which relaxed Daryl enough to have a good mood when seeing Y/N’s bike approach the gate and the Woodbury folks took care of opening it to let them in.

As Daryl got up from his spot, Y/N rolls up next to his bike putting the kickstand down before getting off and hugging their dad when he draws close.

“Run into Michonne?”

“Yeah, brought back some of the shit she found along with my findings” Y/N smiles setting their pack down on the bench he was sitting on previously to show him what they’ve got.

“You’re really spoiling them kids” Daryl laughs a bit finding things like books, comics for Carl, formula and baby blankets for Judith, a few clothes for Beth…at least they got canned foods amongst other things that benefit others. “Did yea find what yea needed?”

“No, but it’s cool” Y/N picked up their pack once more to carry it all inside. “There’s also arrows on the back of the bike” and with that last note they went to put everything away and give such to whoever they went out in the run for.

Soon Y/N found themselves on the top bunk of their place trying to rest as Beth laid on the bottom one reading one of her books keeping company.

“How’s Uhm. What’s his face?”

“Zach? We aren’t anythin’” Beth says in a hush whisper in mind of the baby sleeping in its makeshift cradle that was a laundry basket. “I don’t think he notices me”

“I wouldn’t wait for him to make a move. You really like the guy? Just be honest. Honesty doesn’t hurt” Y/N states as Beth rises from her place in the bunk closing the book a bit too loudly making the resident on the top bunk tense.

“Yknow what! Imma do it”

As Beth leaves, Judith started to sob from her spot making the exhausted Y/N rise from their bunk jumping down to the floor before picking up the little baby. They picked up the little baby sitting on the floor leaning against the bunk beds gently rocking the littlest Grimes.

Daryl went to check on them after giving them some time after returning. He stops at the gates finding Judith asleep on their chest as they were also fast asleep with their head back on the bed.

“Someone’s gotta take care of yea” He whispers taking the little baby from them returning the sleeping baby into the basket before carefully picking up his baby and laying them down in the bunk.

It’s been this way for months. Y/N taking trips out and returning with things everybody else needs or ask of them to get. But ultimately forgetting themselves in the mix. And especially the way they are protective over “their” kids that when the illness came through…Rick had carried their passed-out sick form to the cellblock.

When Daryl came back he heard about Y/N and haven’t left their side while they rested. He kept everyone out of their quarantine cell. Wouldn’t let anyone see them because they put everyone else above themselves and granted he should’ve done something sooner about it…but others hardly noticed their struggling.

“Yea ain’t allowed to die. Fuckin’ won’t have it. Told yea that when yer mom died.” Daryl frowns squeezing their hand hearing his heart pound in his ears making him stress even more. “Lost her, lost Merle, you ain’t following them”

It was weird that Y/N wasn’t waking up instantly like the others when the medicine has been in their system for a while. But they were exhausted.

Even when the prison fell around them.

No dad. No kids. No anybody. Y/N woke up to nothing but injuries of the fallen debris. Nothing too concerning but enough to frustrate their tired form as they crawled out of the rubble and to the surface of their collapsed cell block finding dead people and walkers.

Dad…

Carl…

Beth…

Judith…

It kept repeating in their head when they managed to get out of the infested area with the little belongings they scavenged.

Y/N felt like they were walking for days with no end. They saw the signs for Terminus and thought about heading that direction but if shit went south they had virtually nothing to protect themselves or anyone who joined along the way. They eventually found themselves in an abandoned house curled up in a corner listening to the sounds of nature and the rapid beating of their heart.

What if I don’t find anyone

Did I just lose my remaining family to an attack

They could be dead

Where’s Carl

Hopefully the kids are safe

They could be dead

Hershel’s remains were in the field…where’s Maggie and Beth

Who the hell got Judith

Where is my dad?

They could be dead

They could be dead

They could be dead

The panic settles in and before the scream ripped out of their chest out of frustration, exhaustion, depression…footsteps drew close. Several. But it wasn’t any of their group.

•

“These are good people…” Daryl frowns watching Joe keep his grip on Rick as he scoffs toward the archer.

“See…now that’s a lie”

Right before the other Claimer was about to grab Daryl, his body dropped to the floor. Confusing everyone in that heated situation. But given the open window Rick took out the leader while Michonne took out the one pinning her. Daryl went for the ones behind him while the swordsman was heading for the guy pinning Carl but right before she even drew her sword, the sound of a shotgun rang through as the guy splatters against the car sliding against the rusted metal until he met the floor. Carl scrambled away from the dead man feeling Michonne’s protective hold wrap around him as the two heard footsteps approaching from the tree line.

“Holy shit” One of the remaining claimers paused in the middle of fist fighting Daryl to see the figure emerging. “You’re still alive?!” He snaps and right before Daryl could land another punch, he dropped the Claimer when a knife was thrown right at his skull.

“I’m a goddamn roach…”

Daryl quickly turned toward the voice finding Y/N drawing close to grab their knife. But add more insult to injury by crushing the man’s skull with their foot. They both drew their handguns to take out the one approaching from behind Daryl and without a second thought after the assholes were taken care of, Y/N wrapped their arms around their dad feeling him tighten his grip on them.

“I’m so tired, dad…” Y/N sobbed holding onto him as he let them fall apart in his embrace relieved they were alive.

The five settled where they were to give them all a break of what had happened. Michonne stayed with Carl in the car with Rick keeping watch as the Dixons were outside of such leaning against it.

“I thought I lost yea…” Daryl frowns resting his head on top of theirs that was perched on his shoulder. “Thought I lost yea to the illness, then the collapse…”

“I should’ve taken better care of myself…then I wouldn’t have gotten sick, and sort of left there”

“I didn’t want to leave your side. I stayed with yea until the Governor came crashing into our home. I tried to go back but Beth saved my ass from getting killed trying”

“I’ll thank her when we find her”

Finding her dead wasn’t what either expected and neither of them hesitate to take the cop down after she shot Beth. They each took their own toll on the matter.

Couldn’t save her, does that have future indications toward his own blood

Couldn’t save her, was there really a consequence for mattering for oneself for a change

Daryl frowns watching Y/N sit beside him after watching what he did with the cigarette in his hand. They brushed off the ash from the burn checking how bad it was as he took his hand away.

“It’s not as bad as what my dad did to me”

“Still shouldn’t have done it. I still need yea around, old man”

The archer rolls his eyes before wrapping his arm around their shoulders bringing them in.

“What did we learn from this?”

“It’s okay to fight for someone else…as long as you don’t forget yourself”

“Good”

[rruhlreviews]

Book Review - First Blood by David Morrell

Long before I knew there was a book called First Blood, I knew “Rambo” meant someone who went into situations with guns blazing, like Die Hard or John Wick. After reading it, I see how film and pop culture have turned the character into something strikingly different. I have never seen the movies, so my review will speak only of the book First Blood. What made the book so special? Would it be as well-known without the film adaptations? Thrillers are naturally inclined to be popular, just like the romance genre, for titillating the audience’s emotions and allowing them to vicariously experience adrenaline. Despite the fact the thriller genre tends to be more plot than character driven, First Blood is unique in the action being completely motivated by the characters’ emotions. This made for a powerful story I could not put down, a modern revenge tragedy, whose popularity was certainly due to its relevance to contemporary issues.

I was excited to learn David Morrell was a Penn State alum, which is not my alma mater but is my state! My copy contained a foreword from the author, in which he explained the idea came from flipping through the news (just like how Suzanne Collins got the idea for The Hunger Games). He saw coverage of the Vietnam war, violence in inner city America, and a story in which police officers arrested ‘troublemaker’ hippies, shaved their hair, and dropped them off in the middle of the desert. He thought, “What if I wrote a book in which the Vietnam war literally came home to America?” (Morrell 3)

On the surface level, it’s a story about men shooting each other, like a Western. Exciting enough for that target audience, but First Blood isn’t any thriller. Deeper, it’s an anti-war reflection that caused division within the divided society it was written for. First Blood was highly relevant to the issues of the 1970s and contains complex, compelling characters in which you really can’t tell who was the protagonist and who was the antagonist.

Neither Rambo nor Teasle are the “good guy” and I felt like we weren’t supposed to be rooting for either of them. Both are larger than life characters, but especially Rambo. See: the connotation of the name in pop culture. No one should be able to keep running with that many injuries, dehydration, broken ribs, fevers, bat bites, and bullet wounds. I would think no one can kill over a dozen men in a quick ambush, during a flash flood, with aforementioned broken ribs. Teasle similarly keeps going despite witnessing the death of his father figure, nearly having a heart attack, and finally dragging himself along with a hole in his abdomen.

As a side note to break up this gritty review about a gritty book: we got a solid appearance description for Rambo, but I don’t remember one for Teasle, and towards the end of the book I realized I should have been imagining him with a notable moustache because it was the 1970s. I must also mention, the sexism was very 1970s. There's the part where Teasle is thinking about Orval's wife and wondering who she'll cook and clean for with her husband dead. Because all women are good for is housework, right? Terrible.

I’ll admit didn’t care for Teasle, coming from the perspective of someone who doesn’t like cops who harass and arrest people for non-crimes such as ‘loitering’ just because they want an ego trip. It happens too often in the real world. No matter what Teasle said about the law or wanting a distraction from his divorce, I read between the lines to know he was ruthless in his pursuit because Rambo had disrespected him. Similarly, Rambo snapped not only because of PTSD and seeing the prison cell; he was refusing to cooperate even before getting arrested because Teasle had disrespected him. I was almost rooting for Rambo to escape, though I knew he wouldn’t. I felt like the Green Beret, proud of how skilled he was. I knew Rambo was not thinking straight, that to him, he was in Vietnam and not Kentucky. It made him a little easier for me to sympathize with than the police officer, though he lost most of my sympathy once his priority stopped being escape and he started hunting for sport.

Even though I agreed with absolutely nothing the characters were doing, I understood every single choice they made and the pathos behind it. Their characterizations were crystal clear, which is something I admire as a fellow writer. Furthermore, I was delighted by the parallel structure of the story. It begins with Rambo and Teasle meeting at a gas station where they butt heads over who is allowed into the town, and it ends with gas stations exploding while Rambo and Teasle hunt each other through town. The ending was cathartic. Despite me not liking either character, I understood both of them, which had me choked up at the end. It could not have ended any other way. This feels bizarre to say, but I was happy the book had the finale it did. I would have been disappointed if it ended in any other way but them killing each other. Their stories were too connected at that point. The hunt becomes a type of love. Teasle was seeing through “the kid’s” eyes. They were both so far past the point of no return, their entire lives narrowed down to one purpose—to defeat the other—so that once their goal was done, they’d have nothing else to live for/no more purpose as a character.

What was the purpose of all of it? All those men died in the woods and the town was burned down, just because a cop harassed a man who was doing nothing but walking down the street? There was no point to the level of bloodshed, but this is a book about the Vietnam war, and it carries the theme that there was no purpose for the war. The scene resonated with me with the Green Beret training officer saying he hated the war, but did his job because he wanted to teach the kids the government sent into the slaughter to stay alive longer. Teasle and Rambo both grew up being taught how to kill and little else. They both brought the war to America.

It’s a tragedy, through and through. It’s Shakespearean. Act I: Rambo is arrested and starts to run. Act II, the rising action: Teasle begins pursuit. Act III, the climax: Rambo kills everyone but Teasle. Act IV, the falling action: Rambo continues to evade pursuit. Act V, the conclusion: the fight in the town and the death of the tragic heroes. Rambo and Teasle both occupy an honored position in society, holding medals, they both have a tragic flaw—the ego/hubris of the classics—which causes the tragedy to happen, and they meet an end they cannot be restored from—death.

[anti-dazai-blog]

26-29- Ango’s epic plot armor (and other complaints)

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Welcome back to the Anti-Dazai Series! I think I should just acknowledge that I have no posting schedule at this point. But the Anti-Dazai Series isn’t discontinued— it’s just taking me longer to create than I was hoping it would. Anyway. Onto a rundown of Dazai Crimes™ in these next four chapters.

————————————

When we last left off, Dazai said he now will get the government involved in this conflict. I sure hope he does this in a normal sensible way, like by explaining what’s going on to them and requesting backup, and not in a Dazai Way, which will most likely endanger people’s lives.

We now return to our protagonist, Atsushi.

After getting scolded (and slapped) by Dazai after the Q incident, Atsushi decides to stay in the agency’s headquarters rather than to go out and risk messing things up again. Kouyou is still being held there, and she asks if he’s here because he “commit[ed] some error that made [him] scamper away from the front lines.” 

Upon hearing that question, he makes a face indicating that she’s right, and when she questions him further, he says “I… I was just trying to protect them all…” while having flashbacks to Naomi and Haruno being injured post-Q fight last chapter. 

If Dazai had chosen something better to say other than “get over it” [the exact quote was mentioned in part 20-25, but it was something similar enough to that], Atsushi wouldn’t be feeling so useless right now. Because he did try his best, and there was nothing he could have done to avoid that outcome. The only person who can do anything about Q’s ability is Dazai, and Dazai was not there with Atsushi at the time to stop it from happening.

Of course, I’m into blaming him for not being there, but I am blaming him for not properly comforting Atsushi. The “tough love” approach clearly failed with Akutagawa, and even though he’s being a lot nicer to Atsushi, in that last Q scene we see him somewhat slip into a tough love approach again. And we see in this chapter that Atsushi is not handling it well, and is taking it quite hard.

Now back to Dazai. Let’s see how his government negotiations are going. 

Seems like he’s meeting with his old friend Ango. I sure hope this doesn’t turn violent..—nope, he’s now pointing a gun at him unprovoked. 

Well at least it can’t get any worse— ah wow it got worse. Dazai just staged a car crash. There is absolutely no way Ango survives this. 

I’m gonna do something I’ve never done before on the Anti-Dazai Series and include a screenshot of the manga, because the amount of plot armor Ango will need to survive this is. a whole lot. I’d really like to elaborate on this scene, but I’m too busy being amazed that Ango survives this.

There is absolutely no way Ango survived that. If BSD didn’t use anime physics, Ango would be very, very dead.

There is a lack of Dazai for a bit, as Kyoka gets captured by the police, Q gets captured by Lovecraft, and Nathaniel abandons the Guild, pushing Francis to speed up their plan of attack. 

But Dazai returns just in time for the Q incident (the actual Q incident, not just a mini fight by the train station). Which is good, ‘cause he’s exactly the guy we need. 

But of course, Dazai can’t handle a city-wide crisis without messing with people first, so when Kunikida approaches him asking about what this mysterious hand-shaped mark that appeared on him is, rather than tying him down to an infirmary bed and sedating him, he chains him up to a chair and simply watches as he has the magical equivalent of PTSD flashbacks [if I’m interpreting these panels correctly]. It is later revealed that not only did Dazai sit around and watch, but he filmed Kunikida for entertainment. I’ll get back to that later, once it’s mentioned in the manga, but keep that in mind.

Meanwhile, Atsushi is fighting for his life out there. With the help of Lucy, Atsushi escapes ((ALSO. It’s really not mentioned enough, but Lucy was the one who originally came up with the idea of the mafia and agency working together to take down the Guild. I’m pretty sure the anime changed it so that it was Atsushi’s idea, but in the manga Lucy suggests it to Atsushi in this scene. I think she deserves more credit than we give her. She’s a pretty cool character.))

Atsushi makes it to the ground safely, and now has the epic quest ahead of him of delivering Q’s doll to Dazai. Unfortunately, Mark is still shooting at him, and manages to hit him, shattering both of his legs . As Atsushi lies on the ground,with two broken legs, reaching for the doll, Dazai spawns out of nowhere and grabs it. Then he reveals that he set up a smoke screen beforehand, and he activates it now.

Sure, it would have been a lot more convenient if he activated it before Atsushi’s legs got shattered, but whatever. What can you expect from this guy, other than this. 

And that’s it for this week’s chapter of the Anti-Dazai Series!! Join me next time when I’ll probably have enough content to stop grouping multiple chapters together like this, because I wanted to include chapter 30 in this entry too, but I scrolled through it and every other panel was Dazai, so I was like “nope! That’s way too much work for today!” and decided that that’ll be a problem for another day.

[whatthisfemsheplikes]

Number 7: "Don't look. I will bandage it for you."

I think this one would be cool with Tori and Wesley. like, Wes gets injured and has PTSD from when he got injured from the thorn bush. Tori tries to help by bandaging etc etc fearplay and angst ensues

Thank you for the prompt! I had fun writing this one, especially since I'm a sucker for any kind of hurt/comfort scene in g/t.

This one is set about a month after See Me ends, so slight spoilers for that for anyone who hasn't read/finished it yet.

CW: blood, PTSD, panic attack

“Are you sure you don’t need any help, Wes?” Tori asked as she bent down to get a closer look over Wesley’s shoulder. He was currently cutting a tiny piece of lettuce into even smaller pieces with a borrower-sized knife on his own small table. During his time learning to read, he’d also been learning to cook with Tori, and the lessons had gotten a lot easier for him ever since they bought more furniture and kitchen tools that were his size. 

He’d only just started to work on cooking by himself, especially so he can make more meals of his own size. Usually, he’d help Tori with measuring, getting ingredients, or even just reading the recipe while she did the actual “cooking” of the food since all of the appliances were human-sized. If Wesley could have his own stove to bake food in the oven or cook something on the stovetop, he’d be excited to try that. At the moment though, no working appliances were available for borrowers. Tori had found some articles on the internet claiming that these appliances were in development, but Wesley didn’t hold out much hope. That wouldn’t stop him from making his own food right now though. 

Luckily, there were still plenty of meals he could make without needing to heat anything up. He did still need a bit of help from Tori since all the ingredients he would need were so much bigger than him, but she’d gone through and cut lots of comment ingredients she had so they were a more manageable size for Wesley. 

At the moment, he was trying to make a salad for his lunch with pieces of lettuce, tomatoes, carrots, and cucumbers that Tori had already cut down to size for him. He was still going back and forth about whether he should add cheese or not, but he figured he’d have a better idea once the salad was done. 

“No, I’m okay,” Wesley replied while keeping his eyes locked on the chef’s knife in his hand. While he was getting more comfortable with cooking overall, he was still a bit nervous about using a knife. Tori had taught him several times how to cut safely and efficiently so he could be as safe as possible, but even just the look of how sharp the knife was still made him uneasy. 

If he stared too long, he’d start to fall down a rabbit hole of fear, usually with thoughts that either started or ended his spiral with the image of Tori in the hospital after she’d been stabbed. He wasn’t there when the stabbing happened, so he didn’t know if Tori’s attacker used a knife that looked like this one or not, but it didn’t really matter to him what kind it was. He’d inevitably start thinking of the scar that still showed on Tori’s abdomen, though it was much more faded than the fresh stitches he imagined when he thought of her in that hospital bed. 

Wesley shook his head to bring himself back to reality. He tried to calm himself by focusing on the comforting warmth of Tori’s gentle breath against his back as she watched him work. 

“I think I can do this myself,” he nodded, trying to be confident. “But I’ll let you know if I need help.” 

“Okay,” Tori sighed behind him. “If you’re sure.” In the back of his mind, Wesley wished that she’d give him some kind of comforting touch, like rubbing his back or even just brushing her fingers against him. Anything to help him feel more grounded and calm. But, he knew she wouldn’t do that while he was still trying to focus and while he had a knife in his hand. 

“I’ll just make my own lunch over on the island then,” Tori said with a smile in her voice, clearly as an attempt to hide her own nerves about letting Wesley do this alone. “Just let me know if you need anything.”

“Okay,” Wesley nodded, keeping his eyes on the knife as he cut through the lettuce. He could feel his eyes growing wider as he heard Tori take a few steps away. He knew she was still nearby, but the fact that he was in his own space now made him feel a pit in his stomach. He felt alone now, and he couldn’t deny that his nerves were at an all-time high now.

After putting down the knife, Wesley carefully gathered the lettuce he’d cut and dropped it into a borrower-sized bowl. Then, he picked up a small piece of tomato that Tori had left for him on the table and he stared down at it while he bit his lip hard. 

“You can do this,” he said with a deep breath. “It’s just another piece of food to cut through. You were taught how to be safe. You can do it.”

Wesley tried to calm his nerves and stop the slight shaking in his hands as he slowly picked up the knife again. With slight hesitation, he carefully sliced into the tomato and felt a small amount of tension leave his shoulders. He was doing this on his own. Sure, Tori was only a few feet away, but he was really doing it all by himself! 

He’d hoped that, as he kept going, things would get easier, but that wasn’t the case with this tomato. Instead, he felt like he was getting a worse and worse hold on both the tomato itself and the knife as his hands kept getting covered in tomato juice. Still, he kept a firm grip on the knife’s handle and felt his eyebrows furrow in concentration. He didn’t want to ask Tori for help. Not when he knew he could believe in himself and make a meal that was completely done by his own hand. 

He couldn’t deny that he was getting frustrated though as he had to slow down his pace from the slippery tomato juice. He knew he could still do this safely if he just took things one step at a time and didn’t rush anything. Eventually, an idea struck him as to how he could potentially help this situation. Maybe he could just ask for some paper towels to clean things up a little bit. Sure, that would still be asking for help, but it mean that Tori would take over cooking for him. He could still make his own food by himself if he just asked Tori for something to clean up the mess with. 

Never taking his eyes off the knife, Wesley turned to his left to look over his shoulder. What he didn’t think about though was that his intense stare on the knife meant that he was turning with the blade still held in front of him. He hardly seemed to notice though as his eyes stayed glued to the cool metal. 

“Hey, Tori. Could you-”

Just then, a loud knock boomed through the kitchen from the front door. By human standards, the knock was probably casual-sounding, but to Wesley, it almost sounded like thunder. The noise startled him so badly that his arms flailed, causing him to drop the knife. The blade slid across his forearm, not deep enough to do too much damage but enough to draw blood, then it fell to the floor with a clatter. 

Immediately, the sight of a long, thin line of blood forming across his forearm made Wesley stare at it with tunnel vision. He could hear a voice reverberate around him, but he wasn’t able to discern anything that it said. It was like he was trapped in a fishbowl, but he hardly cared about that. He was too busy trying to find air to breathe as the cut started to drip fresh blood onto the countertop under his feet. 

This was enough to make him feel all the blood drain from his face as his head felt dizzy. He’d never cared about the sight of blood before, but this was different. As he collapsed on his side to the cold countertop floor, Wesley knew why the sight and the sting of the cut horrified him so much. 

It looked and felt just like the cuts he’d gotten from the rose bushes when he’d tried to escape the pet store. 

The day he met Tori.

The day he almost died. 

As the room around him rumbled with movement and that voice kept speaking incoherently to him, Wesley felt like the stinging sensation was traveling all over his body, just like when he’d been covered in cuts from those thorns. He was convinced that, if he looked anywhere else, he’d see more slices in his skin everywhere. The pain became overwhelming until it seemed to congregate at the spot where he still had his largest scar on his abdomen. The one that almost made him bleed out right before he’d reached his freedom.

Looking at the countertop where his arm lay showed that a small pool of blood had formed from the cut. Surely, he was losing too much blood. Surely, he was going to die. 

His whole body trembled in agony and fear until he suddenly felt something heavy and warm against his side. It was a comforting presence. One he could’ve sworn that he’d felt before. It didn’t move against him, but the sensation made his focus turn to the voice that had been speaking all along. 

“Wes! It’s okay! I can help! Just look at me!” Tori’s panicked voice cut through his thoughts as he finally looked up to see what was weighing down on his side. The familiar sight of pink, soft skin told him that Tori had rested her hand on him, and his eyes traveled from her fingers up her arm until he finally reached her face. 

She looked scared. That was all he could think. Maybe she knew he was dying too. What would she do when he was gone? Would she find someone else? Would she forget about him? Wesley could feel hot tears rolling down his face at the thought, only to realize that he’d clearly already been crying before Tori’s hand shocked him to attention. 

“T-Tori,” he stammered as his body continued to shake. “M-my cuts… from those thorns… t-they’re back. A-am I g-going to d-die?”

The question made Tori’s expression morph from one of fear to one of deadly seriousness. 

“You’re not going to die, Wes,” she said sternly, but not in an angry way. More like she wanted to make sure that they both believed what she was saying. “I grabbed the first aid kit to help. I can help you, but I need to see your arm and I need you to sit up for me.” 

In a daze, Wesley moved to try and sit up, but he started to feel too dizzy. He thought he might collapse back down to the countertop, but Tori’s hand was instantly underneath him to help him up. She moved slowly, raising his head and shoulders centimeter by centimeter until he was completely sitting up with only a little dizziness. All the while, Wesley’s eyes didn’t leave the cut on his arm. The stinging in his abdomen didn’t subside either as Tori’s free hand pushed the borrower-sized table over to him so he could lean against it when her palm that supported him moved away. 

“You’re gonna be okay, Wes,” Tori said in a calmer voice. As quickly as possible, she grabbed the first aid kit from where she’d dropped it at her feet and she carefully set it on the counter a slight distance away from Wesley. When she opened it, she snatched up a cleansing wipe, some ointment, gauze, and a bandage. She thought that would be enough until she set the supplies next to Wesley and realized that the bandages and gauze would have to be much smaller for his size. In a flash, she’d raced over to one of the kitchen drawers, yanked it open, and grabbed the best pair of scissors she could find before approaching the borrower again. 

In an effort to be quicker, Tori haphazardly cut a small square out of the gauze and told herself she’d come back to the bandages later. She held the tiny gauze square out to Wesley on her pointer finger. 

“Can you hold this for me?” she asked with concern in her eyes. “Don’t put it on yet. Just hold it, please.” Without a word, Wesley reached out and took the gauze with his hand from his good arm and held it in his lap. 

“Good,” Tori nodded as she started to rip open the package that held the cleansing wipe. “Now, can you hold out your arm that’s cut?”

“I-I can’t,” Wesley stammered. “The cuts are e-everywhere!” When she saw that his eyes wouldn’t leave the wound, Tori let out a sigh, slowly brought her hand towards him, and tucked her pointer finger under his chin. The movement made Wesley’s eyes instantly lock with hers when she brought his chin up a little. The sight of his shocked and tear-stained face made Tori start to gently stroke his hair with her thumb in an effort to comfort him and calm him down. 

“Wes, listen to me,” she said softly. “Those cuts from the thorns are gone. You’re still safe. We just have to patch up this injury and then you’ll be fine.” While it appeared that Wesley was allowing his body to relax just a little, his eyes started to wander back to the bleeding mark on his arm. Tori gave him a small nudge with the finger that she still had under his chin, and immediately his gaze was locked with hers again. 

“Don't look. I will bandage it for you.” After a moment of hesitation, Wesley finally nodded before he let his eyes close to avoid staring at the cut any longer. Tori felt his body relax a bit more, so she took that as a cue to continue now that Wesley was calmer. 

Still trying to be quick, Tori finished opening the cleansing wipe and took it out of the package, causing a harsh chemical smell to fill the air. The scent made her wrinkle her nose a little, but her face steeled again as she got closer to Wesley. 

“This will probably sting,” she told him as she brought the wipe toward his injured arm. “But only for a second. Just keep your eyes closed, okay?” 

“O-Okay,” Wesley murmured with a small nod. With that, Tori carefully held his arm on the tip of her finger with her left hand and held the wipe in her right. She gave a wince of her own as she just barely pressed the wipe to his skin, causing Wesley to let out a hiss of pain. 

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” Tori rambled before rapidly taking the wipe away. At least his skin looked clean now. He wasn’t bleeding as much anymore, especially since the cut looked like it was only slightly worse than a paper cut, so Tori felt a bit of relief. As gently as possible, she then applied a small amount of antibiotic ointment to the cut before turning her eyes to the gauze in Wesley’s lap. 

“Okay, Wes,” she said as she reached for the roll of bandages and the scissors. “I need to cut a bandage that’s your size. In the meantime, can you hold that piece of gauze on your cut? Keep looking away from it. Just put the gauze on it for a second.”

As Tori slid the scissors through the bandage to make a thin strip, Wesley carefully brought the gauze to his cut and slightly pressed down, all while keeping his eyes closed. The pain around the rest of his body was subsiding as he focused on taking deep breaths. He still felt a bit of sharpness in his abdomen, but it seemed to go away more and more each time Tori was touching him. 

“I’ll take that,” Tori said as she slowly put her own finger over the gauze on Wesley’s arm. “Thanks, Wes. I’m just going to wrap this bandage around your arm and then we’re all done.”

“Alright,” Wesley nodded, trying to keep calm. With a strip of bandage that looked like a thick piece of pasta, Tori carefully pressed one end of it under her finger that held the gauze. She did her best to both hold the gauze and wrap the bandage around Wesley’s arm, but it was proving to be difficult with her large fingers moving around his tiny appendage. 

With a huff to signal a change of plans, Tori let go of the supplies before grabbing onto the counter with both hands. She started to jump towards the countertop and before her feet could land, she had shrunk to less than three inches tall. 

“Much better,” she smirked as she approached Wesley and picked up the bandages to resume. 

Once she started to wrap his cut with more speed and ease, Wesley noticed how the sensations he was experiencing were no longer coming from fingers that were as long as he was tall. They were from hands that were just slightly smaller than his own. 

With hesitation, he allowed his eyes to flutter open before they widened in shock at the sight of Tori sitting next to him on the counter. It had only been a month since he’d learned that Tori was a shifter, and she didn’t change her size often enough for him to be used to the sight of her next to him like this. 

Tori didn’t seem to notice Wesley’s stare though. Instead, she remained focused on wrapping his arm snuggly with the bandage until she was able to tuck the end into the rest of the bandage to secure it. When she looked up, she had a gentle smile on her face that made Wesley’s cheeks feel hot. 

“Are you feeling any better?” she asked as she held his hand. The question and the warmth of her hand brought Wesley back down to earth even more. Somehow, Tori always knew what to do to pull him out of a panic attack, even a particularly scary one like that. Right now, she didn’t seem to realize just how much she’d saved him from falling completely into a pit of despair. She’d helped him so much that even the pain in his abdomen was gone. 

Instead of using his voice to reply, Wesley let out a relieved sigh, straightened his legs out in front of him, and motioned for Tori to come closer with his free hand. He didn’t let go of her hold as she scooted over to him and followed his lead to sit on his lap. When she was settled with her back against his chest, Wesley finally let go of her hand so he could wrap both his arms around her stomach to hold her close. He nuzzled his face into the hair on top of her head and held her just a bit tighter when he felt her hands start to rub up and down his arms. 

“Thank you, Tori,” he sighed into her hair. “Thank you so much.” 

“You don’t have to thank me, love,” she nestled into him even more. “I would do anything for you.” 

“I love you, Tori.” 

“And I love you too. Forever and always.”

[br4inr0tx]

Heyaaa can I get a match up for Attack on Titan? <3

Ece here,21 female cancer entp.I'd prefer a guy but any gender will do :3

I'm usually a cheerful person with lots of energy, I'm quite outdoorsy but an ambivert. I'm that one person who isn't afraid of going to a cinema,concert etc alone xD I don't easily get angry,jealous etc. I'm the calmest person I know,on that matter I'm quite tolerant. Also I tend value my own independency a lot but I strongly respect other's too. On this matter I often called out to be 'cold' or 'uncaring' even though I care for my loved ones unconditionally :// I think I'm not very good at showing emotions,best I can do is to clown around to keep my loved ones happy and honestly I get uncomfortable when people get too emotional too soon in romantic relationships.

Also my love language can be anything but acts of service,they are a little rare D: I tend to go for quality time or physical touch,when I feel comfy enough -which takes some time- I straight up glue myself xD

As for hobbies I like to write,read and to cook exotic foods. I obviously watch anime quite often too D: I generally like trying different hobbies -anything- just to drop it a couple of months in. I very sadly do this when it comes to my romantic relationships too and I feel like I might be an aromantic but the idea of dating with an aot guy is quite charming xD Thank you so much already and I hope this is enough because I feel like I've revealed too much D:

I’ll keep it real; it’s been a long ass time since I’ve touched aot. I think last time I watched it genuinely was 2019. I’m trying my best with these aot requests but I might take them down temporarily, rewatch the show, then put them back up idk.

That being said, you sound like an epic person girl, keep doing you. 👍

PS, I get what you mean with relationships. It’s really hard to date people in the real word- especially when there’s perfect anime dudes who’d be willing (in ones imagination at least) to date you. I struggle with that myself, but know there will be that special person eventually. Nobodies perfect, and don’t keep your standards too high; and eventually you’ll find the one. 🖤🦇

warnings: discussion/depictions of PTSD, Anxiety, and DID.

your Attack on Titan matchup is.. Reiner Braun !!

• I think Reiner would be a good match for you.

• He enjoys your energy. Often times it gets him out of a funk he’s in. Not to mention he’d always give you a cute little pat on the head as thanks for cheering him up.

• He also appreciates the times where you can be really chill. He needs those moments of relaxation sometimes. Hell, you’ve seen what he’s been through.

• Though out of everything, he appreciates your patience. He suffers through some PTSD and DID as far as I’m concerned, so as long as you’re patient with him he’ll be patient with you.

• I believe he’d enjoy someone who’s independent, as he often does things his own way, and would rather not get an ear full from someone who’s a heckler for the rules. Much so, he lets you do your own thing as well as long as it’s not detrimental and hurts you.

• He gets remarks of being cold and uncaring as well, but really the two of you are just either really chill or focused on something that you don’t even notice you have a resting bitch face.

• He thinks it’s adorable when you try to make him feel better. He often goes through identity crisis, so to have someone bring him back down to Earth is nice.

• Quality time is a bit dicey for him, obviously because of his job. If you’re Military Police with him it might not be as much of an issue. Though physical touch happens as much as it can, as Reiner can be very possessive and handsy.

• You’re hobbies always interest him. He’s the type to go through hobbies one month to another like you, but when he sees a hobby you actually stick to he tries to encourage it more and more.

• Also, he’ll fulfill any romantic needs your heart desires, promise~.

• Your runner ups are Erin and Connie!

• Reiner will always have your back, and hopefully you’ll have his?

[immortalecstasy-blog]

You Took The Words Right Out Of My Mouth 18+

Chapter 18/25 Pairing: Eddie Munson / Chrissy Cunningam Need to catch up? Click Here for Chapter One

When Chrissy finally woke up, she was mute. People are sympathetic at first, but when she doesn’t magically get better, she slowly finds herself as one of the ‘freaks’. Lucky for her, there’s one freak in particular she really doesn’t mind finding herself beside. 

Warnings: Slow Burn, Angst, PTSD, Chrissy still got attacked by Vecna but didn't die, Eddie still got mauled by bats but didn't die, Hurt/Comfort, Abuse.

Hopper was already halfway out the door when Eddie pulled up. Stopping him from bee-lining for Chrissy with the calm offer of a cigarette and a touch on his shoulder to lead him towards the swinging bench they had on their porch.

Eddie sat down, his feet leaving the floor as Hopper joined him, the bench swinging for a moment before Hoopers feet planted them down.

“My kids…” Hopper began, “All three of them. Seem to forget I know what went down. Been there, done that. So, I’m going to ask you – man to man – what’s got your girlfriend riled up and my daughter jumping at shadows?”

Eddie hesitated. The Munson Doctrine was very clear on keeping your mouth shut around any kind of authority. But Hopper wasn’t asking him as the Chief of Police. It wasn’t a command. Dude was losing his mind. Eddie got that.

“So… you know, all of Vecna’s victims left gates. Opening to…. There, the upside down.”

Hopper nodded.

“Patrick died, recently. OD’d, and El… El had this theory, and we checked it out. Patrick’s gate shut. It was healing before he died, but.. he died and it was gone. Fred’s is gone, and… Max… Max’s gate is gone too.”

“What does that mean?”

“Chrissy’s is still open. Current theory is if you were one of his victims and you’re not dead, your gates still there. Something could still come through.”

“Max isn’t…”

“She’s brain dead. El can’t find her in her mind, machines are keeping her in some kind of ‘alive’. But…. Her gates gone. Chrissy’s is the only one left, and she’s the only one breathing on her own.”

Hopper took this in. The pair of them lighting their own cigarettes almost in unison.

“How are you holding up?” Hopper asked, half-way through his cigarette.

Eddie snorted. “My girlfriend thinks if she kills herself she can save the world.”

“She said that?”

“Wrote it.” Eddie admitted, “I’d not seen that fucking whiteboard pointed at me for months, not when we’re just us. And she… she couldn’t get a fucking word out. And today – fuck, I don’t even know what happened, I— I don’t know.”

Hopper’s hand clasped his shoulder, squeezing slightly too hard.

“That’s what has them all playing soldiers again? The gate in your old trailer is still active?”

“Not active,” Eddie amended, “It’s… it’s got like this… skin over it. But, the others have all disappeared, so everyone is freaking out. Fred and Patrick are dead, but Max…”

“Ah.” Hopper realised, connecting all the pieces together. “Okay. Yeah. I get it.”

Eddie nodded. Moving to twist the rings on his hands and finding only stinging knuckles, belatedly remembering that his rings were tucked away in his jacket pocket, unable to fit back over his swollen fingers.

“Chrissy’s alright.” Hopper reassured him after a beat of silence. “She’s tougher than she looks.”

“Don’t I know it.”

“How about you? You holding up okay?”

The usual lie was on its way when Eddie faltered, “No. Nah man, it’s all fucking… shit’s way too crazy for me, you know?”

Hopper nodded empathetically. “Me too, to be honest. Been dealing with this shit for years and it still… I mean hell, my daughter has superpowers. How’s any dad supposed to get used to that?”

“Hell if know.”

Hopper sniggered, clapping Eddie on the back again and standing up. Eddie had had his legs tucked under his body and the chair swung wildly as Hopper stood so that he had to quickly untangle his limbs, his sneakers skidding across the porch decking to right himself.

“Come on. You can stick around for dinner – I’ll get Joyce to give Claudia a ring.”

Eddie followed Hooper inside, awkwardly accepting a hug from Joyce that was both welcome and entirely unexpected.

Chrissy was sat of one of the armchairs in the living room Hopper led him to. Wrapped up in a blanket that was almost comically too big for her, draping over the sides of her chair and forming mounds on either side of her.

Will was sat on the sofa beside her, in the seat closest to her, drawing in a sketchbook. But Eddie could tell he’d picked that position to guard her.

Chrissy looked up at him as he approached, opening one arm so the blanket fell away, inviting him in.

He obeyed without question, scooping her briefly out of her chair so that he had room to sit down and then placing her back on his lap, tucking the blanket around them both so that it covered her again, kissing the top of her head as she burrowed into his shirt.

He didn’t say anything. Will was still with them, so he knew he wouldn’t hear from her anyway, and he… he didn’t know what the right thing to say was.

Chrissy stayed nestled against him, stroking along his arm, and then playing with his hand. He hissed when her finger glanced over his knuckled and she recoiled for a moment before leaning in to study them. The swelling, the fresh cuts, the lack of rings.

She looked up at him, and he didn’t need words – written or spoken, to read her, to hear her.

What did you do?

Eddie glanced at Will, but he was steadfastly ignoring them, all his focus on whatever he was drawing.

“I had a fight with a sink.”

She frowned, clearly unprepared for his answer. Her head cocked slightly to one side Who won?

“I want to say me?”

She smiled, which was the closest to a laugh he knew he’d get.

“You okay?” He asked, and she nodded emphatically. He nodded back, his chin bumping the top of her head,

“Okay then.”

She looked up at him sympathetically, and then confusion crossed her face as she touched his jeans. Frowning, she groped at his jeans. Are you wet?

“Yeah… maybe the sink won.” He admitted. Remembering his damp jeans.

They stayed under the blanket, quietly huddled together, Eddie’s face buried in her neck, finding an indescribable comfort in the soft skin of her neck, the feel of her steady pulse against his cheek. He stayed like that, breathing her in, until Joyce called them for dinner.

Hopper offered Eddie a can of beer, but he shook his head.

“I’ll drive Chrissy home later.” He explained, secretly pleased at the respect that briefly flashed his way as Hopper returned the other can to the fridge.

“I’ll have one?” Jonathan offered.

“Then buy your own.” Hopper told him, taking a seat at the table beside Eleven.

Will was the last to join them, dragged away form his current art project.

The conversation flowed okay, stilled in places that Eddie suspected was more from the merged family than from his and Chrissy’s presence. Separately, they were all used to living with Eleven, the Byers were used living together. But Hopper was a new element to them, and the boys were a new element to him. For Eleven, she was used to both Hopper and the Byers, but not together. So even though she was the bridge between then all, it seemed even Eleven felt a little divided. Becoming Joyce’s Jane one minute and then Hopper’s Eleven the next, staring at her plate in the spaces in between..

They seemed to be settling down okay overall, but it was still all new enough that they were all on their best behaviour. Apart from Jonathan, who seemed so spaced-out Eddie was genuinely envious.

His stash was currently empty. Some fucking dealer he was. But he’d spent two weeks at Rick’s with no phone, hated using Claudia’s phone to call his suppliers and had generally just faded himself out, buying out his own supply. He’d have to sort something out soon. One night without a little bit of medicinal help brought the nightmares back, and he was currently riding three dry days in a row. Maybe he could blame the newly out-of-order restroom on that?

Jonathan caught his calculating glance, and after a slow blink and full body sway, gave him a slow nod.

Eddie glanced away quickly before anyone else noticed. It was clear that the adults at the table – at least – knew Jonathan was high as a kite. Hopper had caught him and Chrissy smoking, but he didn’t think it was wise to enact a drug deal in front of the Chief of Police. Even a cool one. Especially with the day he’d had. He hoped Chrissy would never find out just how close he’d been to being expelled. Not because she’d be angry or disappointed, but because he knew she’d blame her panic attack on his own… whatever the fuck it was.

Joyce and Chrissy disappeared with Eleven after they’d finished eating. Leaving Eddie with Hopper, Jonathan and Will. All of whom he knew to varying degrees on their own, but had no idea how to interact with as a trio.

He was more than relieved when Will shyly asked him if he wanted to see his current art project, and was more than happy to flee from the table and follow Will back into the living room.

Will picked up his sketch pad, and then paused. He’d evidentially only given Eddie a lifeline to get away from the awkwardness around the dining table.

“I don’t need to see it yet.” Eddie told him. “You can wait for the final product if you want. We can just chill out.”

This seemed to give Will the confidence to hand the sketch book over, and Eddie was absolutely fucking stoked when he looked down to see himself, clad in heavy armour, holding Chrissy in his metal-clad arms. She was a princess. Cone hat and net train and all.

Eddie grinned. “You have to show Chrissy.” He told Will, gazing down at the drawing in wonder. He didn’t really feel like a knight in shining armour – if Will had switched their outfits that would have been more accurate, even if Eddie didn’t quite suit pink. But it wasn’t their costumes, or the castle ruins in the background, that took Eddie’s breath away. It was how he had drawn Chrissy’s expression. That shine in her eyes, the wrinkle in her nose. He couldn’t even figure out when Will would have ever seen her that carefree, that open, and yet he had captured it perfectly.

“Can I have this?” He asked.

Will nodded, “It’s not finished yet though.”

Eddie frowned, “It’s perfect.”

Will shook his head, “I… I was going to paint it.”

Eddie shrugged, handing the sketchbook back over, “It’s awesome man, seriously.”

“I painted everyones miniatures.” Will rushed, as if he’d been dying to let Eddie know this little fact for ages.

“They told me.” Eddie admitted, staving off wounding Will’s feelings with a quick “They look awesome. I should get you to paint all the NPC’s and Monsters – but, it would ruin the next campaign. You’d know what was coming.”

“I’m in the next campaign?” Will asked, ignoring the compliment.

“Obviously.” Eddie said, nonplussed. “Man, you absolutely crushed Strahd. I know you were using a fresh character, but dude I have to play with Will the Wise. I’m not taking no for an answer!”

Will beamed, “Really?”

“Yeah man! I’d make you a shirt, but they’re kind of a no-go right now.”

Will laughed, just as Eddie heard a knock from the doorway and glanced over to see Chrissy and her whiteboard.

‘Ready to go?’

Eddie nodded. “Just give me five minutes with Jonathan. Come look at this, come here.”

Chrissy sidled over and Eddie waited for Will to hand over the sketchbook before disappearing down the hall to Jonathan’s room, giving a perfunctory knock on the door before letting himself in.

He was barely in the room before Jonathan was thrusting a ziplock bag at him.

“Thanks man.”

“Yeah, no worries.”

“How much do I owe you?”

Jonathan waved his hand dismissively, “You’ve done me a couple solids in school and stuff. We’re good.”

Eddie tucked the bag away in his jacket, “You sure?”

“Uh huh.”

Eddie assessed just how high Jonathan was and decided he’d double check on this little arrangement when Jonathan had a clearer head.

It turned out that Will was happy to give Chrissy the sketch he’d refused to give to Eddie. She was clutching it to her chest as they waved goodbye to everyone and got into his van. Eddie noticed that on the back of the piece of sketch paper was a string of digits in Eleven’s handwriting. He thought it was a little presumptuous of her to graffiti the back off Will’s work, but he had more pressing matters at hand.

“Don’t let your mom see it.” Eddie warned, and Chrissy shook her head, cradling the drawing protectively against her chest, wrinkling it.

“Do you want to talk about what happened today?” He asked as he pulled out of the Hopper-Byers driveway.

“Do you?” She asked.

“My thing? Not in the slightest. But I want to hear about your thing,”

“Tell me yours, I’ll tell you mine.” Chrissy offered.

“Do you want to tell me?”

“No. But I want to know yours.”

Eddie grinned, “Okay, so… either we tell each other. We both feed our curiosity and admit our sins, or we can just.. leave it.”

Chrissy considered this, “Can we leave it?”

Eddie nodded, slowing down as they reached the scarcely used intersection. He angled the van back towards town when Chrissy reached out and took hold of the steering wheel.

“Can we go to Rick’s?”

Eddie glanced over at her, deliberating.

“Go home first.” He told her, “Say Goodnight. Go to bed. I’ll do the same, and then I’ll come get you. Have you back by morning.”

Chrissy nodded, seeing the sense in his plan.

There were several faults in his plan that Eddie figured out at he went. The first was that Dustin sleeping body was between him and the easiest escape route, and that he still didn’t have his own front door keys just because he hadn’t need them. He ended up taking the backdoor keys. There was only one set, but no one really used them.

Successfully not-waking Dustin (not that he’d have cared) and getting to his van was the easiest of their challenges. He killed the engine in his van early, letting her roll silently down the road for as long as could on Chrissy’s Street.

As he climbed out of his van he pulled up the collar of his jacket as if that would disguise his identity in the slightest. He probably should’ve borrows one of Dustin’s caps and dumped his vest. Ah, fuck it. He was here now.

He knew from watching Steve stealth into her bedroom (totally not jealous) which window was hers and waited until all the other windows had gone dark before going to stand beneath it.

“Am I really supposed to climb out of the window?” She hissed angrily as he approached, and he had to stifle a laugh.

“I mean, I just used the door, but… whatever you want, princess.”

“Wait there.”

Chrissy disappeared, the light in her room fading away. The silence was deafening but after several agonising minutes he heard the click of her front door and carefully made his way over the grass to meet her.

“Is this really a good idea?” She asked.,

Eddie shrugged, “No. But it was your idea.”

Chriss debated for a moment, and Eddie was about to tell her he’d be happy with a goodnight kiss when she seemed to make up her mind.

“You know how to set Rick’s stupid alarm clock, don’t you?”

Eddie nodded.

“Okay, c’mon.”

She took hold of his hand, pulling him towards his van.

“You’re so naughty.” He told her, his jog across the grass turning into a happy little jig, dumb-ass smile across his face.

Chrissy struggled not to laugh, her shoulders bouncing as her face contorted.

“Stop it!” She wheezed, pulling him up to the van and dropping his hand by the driver’s door and continuing around the front to get to her side.

They hadn't been back to Rick's since fall break.

Honestly, it had never even crossed Eddie's mind that they could sneak back out there, despite how much time he spent daydreaming about the two weeks they'd spent hidden away there. He'd been concocting all sorts of scenario's in his head for weeks of ways they could get time alone again, had been seemingly permanently horny for the past month, trying to get his hands on her whenever he could.

Now here they were, and Chrissy was straddling his lap and slipping his bandana from his pocket and... nothing.

His hand was fucking killing. His body still in shock from his outburst and subsequent rampage, his mind still racing to try and fill in the blanks on what had set Chrissy off so badly.

He caught her wrist when she went to tie the bandana around his eyes.

“Don’t…”

Chrissy faltered. “Is everything okay?”

Eddie almost laughed but he managed to reign it in. He didn’t know how to describe what he wanted, what he needed. He’d never been a touchy-feeling person, wasn’t always comfortable with the blasé way everyone around seemed to be with hugs or shoulder touches or whatever. It was different with Chrissy, obviously. But usually it was because he wanted to touch her – or be touched – in a much less PG way than what he wanted now.

He licked his lips, automatically moving to twist his rings “Can we just…Ow.” He released his injured fingers and shook them out, making it worse.

Instead of finishing his question, he wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in her neck and inhaling the combination of perfume, and face cream and shampoo and that extra something that was just Chrissy.

“You just wanna cuddle?” Chrissy asked indulgently, like she was talking to a little kid. He nodded against her neck, sighing as her arms wrapped around her shoulders, one hand gently resting on the back of his head.

She started to stoke his hear and he felt an unexpected rush of tears. He tried to blink them away, but they were too quick for him. He tightened his arms around her, pulling her further up his lap.

“I’m sorry, baby.” She told him quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. “I should’ve been there for you today. I should’ve made sure you were okay.”

Eddie shook his head disbelievingly, “S’not that.” He mumbled into her neck. “You don’t have to be sorry, I’m.. I’m the…” he let out a shuddering breath, “I’m sorry Chris.”

“What for?” She asked, still stroking back his hair, rocking them gently side to side.

“I ran away.” His voice was so small she barely heard him, but it broke her heart all the same.

“Eddie, no. Baby, don’t…”

“I thought you were dead.” He whispered, tears flowing freely down his face and bleeding onto her neck.

“I thought I was dead too.” She pointed out, crying with him now. “Even when I woke up in hospital I thought I was dead. I don’t blame you Eddie.”

“You should.”

She shook her head again, “I kept wishing he’d really killed me. I was so mad at him for breaking his promise to take me away from it all.” She admitted. When he didn’t say anything she continued.

“I’m not mad at him anymore. I’m so so glad I’m alive, and that’s because of you. Are you listening?”

He hummed against her neck.

“Not because you helped kill him, or... made me a mixtape, or... got high with me. You just… I never felt like I was… less, with you. You just… you didn’t treat me any differently. Like I was broken or weak or—”

“Well, you’re not.”

“No, I know.” She agreed. “and I know you ran away. Anyone in that position would’ve ran Eddie. I know I would’ve.”

“You wouldn’t.” Eddie told her, finally emerging from his hiding place against her neck, pushing her hair out of her face. “You’re my brave girl.”

Chrissy grinned, covering his hand with hers and holding it against her cheek.

“Would you run again now? Knowing everything?”

“No.”

“Then stop letting it eat at you, Eddie.”

“Poor choice of words.” He joked, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards.

“Idiot.” Chrissy laughed, releasing his hand, and pulling her sleeve over her thumb to clean up the tear tracks down his cheeks. “Is that why you had a fight with a sink?”

“I kind of… fought the whole restroom. Principal Higgins is not impressed.”

“Eddie!”

“It’s fine. Ms Kelly came to my rescue so, I’m not in trouble.”

Chrissy looked mollified, but she wasn’t all too impressed either.

“I just… I feel like I keep letting you down.”

“Well, you don’t. So pack it up.”

Eddie smirked, “Yes ma’am.”

Chrissy grinned, “That’s more like it.”

Sneaking out to Rick’s in the middle of the night became a regular – and very dangerous game. Eddie thought she was growing too bold, and Chrissy would’ve reluctantly agreed with him, except that with Eddie snoring gently beside her, that red sky and sinister whispering didn’t come to her and torment her at night, calling out for something to come to them, to… complete them? Chrissy didn’t understand it, but she felt the longing in the whispers. The one night her mom had been up late and she couldn’t sneak out – she’d got Eddie to sneak in. He hadn’t stayed for long, his heart in his throat the whole damn time even as he took in every inch of her bedroom.

She didn’t seem to mind him pawing through her things, giving him an amused nod when he started pointing at things to get permission for a closer inspection, even if she had been planning on get getting handsy with her rather than the layer of papers on her desk, or the knick-knacks on her shelf – or the junk piled in one corner that she needed to donate or toss out.

Perpetually curious, Eddie smoothed out the crumpled-up piece of paper he’d accidentally knocked to the floor, recognising Chrissy’s handwriting. 

Your my mom, I won’t always like you but I will always love you. I promise that I’m doing everything I can to heal, but I need you to promise that you’ll let me. That you’ll give me the space I need to figure it all out.

If you can do that, if you can promise, then I’d really like to come home. Please?

Eddie raised one eyebrow and then waved the piece of paper at Chrissy.

“Oh. That’s what I gave mom when I got home from Ricks.”

“Is this why you’ve been able to get away with murder recently?”

Chrissy shrugged, “That, or guilt. I don’t really know. She did promise.”

Eddie resisted rolling his eyes, putting the letter underneath an almost-empty bottle of perfume on her desk. He was glad Chrissy’s mom had let up. He felt much better knowing Chrissy spent barely any time at home, and that she was getting proper meals most evenings, but he didn’t trust Laura Cunningham any more than he’d trust a demogorgan.

He couldn’t understand why Chrissy had come home, even if he’d let her win that one. But more than that, he couldn’t get his head around Chrissy’s blind faith in a woman like her mother. Someone that had hurt her, bullied her. Eddie could never be like that. Not with his dad, not with anyone.

“You kept your uniform?” He asked in a whisper, brandishing the tiny green cheerleading skirt from on top of the pile of stuff in the corner to change the subject.

“It doesn’t fit anymore.” She whispered back, stifling a laugh as he tossed the skirt over his shoulder dismissively before opening a box and recoiling at the creepy china doll he found inside.

“Yeah, there’s a reason she stays in the box.” Chrissy teased, before tipping her head to one side. “Eddie, what are you doing?”

“I’ve never been in a girl’s room before.” He explained. Then as an afterthought added “Well, I’ve been in Nancy’s room, but she wouldn’t let me touch anything.”

Chrissy watched fondly as he made his way around her room, slightly more cautiously now that he’d uncovered the (absolutely possessed) doll.

“You know, the normal protocol when you’re invited into a girls room is to sit on the bed with them, maybe fondle them instead of all their stuff?”

Eddie raised his eyebrows.

“Your girlfriends room, anyway.” She amended, patting the bed.

There was a noise from downstairs and they both froze, listening intently.

“I should go.” Eddie whispered regretfully when it seemed like it was safe to speak again. Chrissy nodded, looking unhappy.

He gingerly stepped across the room to her bed and cupped her chin. “I’ll fondle you tomorrow, okay?”

Chrissy had to fight not to giggle.

His parting kiss scorched her lips, awakening a deep ache that spread across her entire body. She briefly contemplated following him out of the window, or summoning him back, but she could hear the low hum of the television downstairs and couldn’t justify the risk.

When she’d told Eddie how tempted she’d been the next day, He had smugly pointed out that if Chrissy hadn’t insisted on going back to live with her parents, she’d have made their lives infinitely easier.

“and safer.” He added one morning when he’d casually slipped this little fact into conversation for the millionth time as he dropped her off just as the sun was starting to appear on the horizon. She cut him off with a quick kiss.

“See you at school.” She said with a yawn, climbing out of the car.

“We’d get more sleep too.”

Chrissy ignored him. He was wrong about that one.

Eddie had two exams today. Math and US History. He’d always got through math okay, and had managed to pass US History the second time round. The third should hopefully be no different, even with his hand still protesting every pen stroke.

It was tomorrow that would be the real test. For both of them. Their foreign language exams.

Ms Kelly had tried her best to stagger their exams so that Eddie could sit in with Chrissy, but after she’d saved Eddie from expulsion, she wasn’t in Principal Higgins best books. Of course it was Chrissy that was going to suffer for his mess.

There was no chance they’d be able to get to Rick’s again tonight. Robin was coming over for one final attempt to drill el gobbledygook into his denso head, and Chrissy had originally planned on going to Family Video to hang out with Steve. The theory had been that it would be a typical quiet weeknight and there’d be dribs and drabs of strangers to try to talk infront of with plenty of recovery time in-between. Steve barely knew a single word of French, but that didn’t matter.

It would’ve been a good theory. Except that Chrissy’s ‘safe list’ was still only Dustin and Eddie. She had managed a few words to either of them with other people in the room, but it was still only the two of them she could talk freely to.

The new plan was to talk to Dustin in his and Eddie’s room while Dustin continually changed frequencies on his radio, so that there was a high chance that no one was listening, but a possibility that either Will or Nancy (both selected by Chrissy) would hear.

Eddie couldn’t see how this would help. But he plastered on an encouraging smile and told her she had nothing to worry about, even as his stomach backflipped.

“Eddie, you’re not listening!”

Eddie let out an exasperated groan, “I’m trying Robin!”

“No, you’re not!”

She put her hands on his shoulders and forced him to look at her.

“You. Are looking at that door. You’re thinking about how Chrissy is screwed if Dustin can’t dig out the chatterbox we all know is hiding somewhere in there. That is not helping. It’s not helping you, and it’s not helping Chrissy. Do you want to know how you can help Chrissy?”

“Huh?”

“Español! Edwardo! Español!”

Eddie batted Robin’s hand from his shoulders, scowling.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yes. Alright.”

“En español!

“Sí.” Eddie said grumpily.

“Good, now ask me where the restroom is.”

Eddie wracked his brain, his eyebrows drawn.

“Dón… Dónde… está el baño?”

“Muy bien! Cuáles son tus pasatiempos?”

Damn it he knew this one. He did. She was asking him what… what he did in his spare time? He hadn’t been able to think of anything to begin with. Robin had reminded him that he didn’t actually have to answer honestly, he could make up whatever crap he wanted as long as he said it in Spanish.

“Mi pasatiempo favorito es tocar la guitarra”

“Qué música te gusta?”

He knew what she was asking only because she asked this every time. He was screwed if his teacher didn’t follow ‘what do you do in your free time?’ with ‘what music do you like?’ because that was the question he’d be answering.

“Mi favorito es metal.” He recited back.

Robin only released him when Dustin has freed Chrissy, and by that point he was exhausted and his head was throbbing. It wasn’t the words that were hard, it was the different order they went in, the stupid gender thing, all the weird idiosyncrasies that he couldn’t categorise in a way that made them easy to pull from his brain. He could remember complete sentences and what they meant, but if he was asked something new, something without a pre-prepared answer he knew he’d be a goner.

Chrissy grinned at him, but her nose didn’t do that cute little scrunch so he knew it was as fake as the one he gave in return.

“Comment ça s'est passé?”

Chrissy waved a hand dismissively and shook her head, Robin’s toothy grin twitched but she kept it in place. “You’ll be fine.”

Steve picked Robin up when he finished his shift and offered to drive Chrissy home. It was dark and cold, so Eddie had planned to drive her home anyway even though it was such a short trip it was barely worth putting a seatbelt on, but he kissed her goodnight and watched her leave.

When Steve’s taillight had vanished, he turned to look at Dustin.

Dustin shook his head sadly, “She managed for a bit, but then… I think she got in her own head and she clammed up.”

Eddie sighed.

“Ms Kelly is sitting in with her though, right?”

“She hasn’t spoken to Ms Kelly since Patrick’s autopsy results came out.”

Dustin looked crushed, and Eddie wished he hadn’t said anything. He ruffled Dustin’s hair and shut the front door. “I think she’ll manage.” He lied.

“Yeah, no yeah, of course. Definitely.” Dustin lied in return. “What about you?”

“No te preocupes hermanito.”

“What does that mean?” Dustin asked.

“It means I’ve got this, shit head. Go to bed.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not what that means.” Dustin laughed, letting Eddie shove him down the hall.

Robin might have just been able to fill his head with enough prepared sentences to get him through. It wasn’t as easy as when they’d practised. Robin tended to speak quiet slowly for him, and he was used to how the words sounded when she said them, so there were a few occasions where he just couldn’t figure out what he was being asked. She’d prepared him for that too though. ‘I’m sorry, could you repeat that again?’ and ‘I didn’t understand that. Could you repeat it slowly for me?’ were two of the phrases she had drilled into him until he could recite them effortlessly.

But even slowed down, there was one or two questions that he had to give up on, and judging by the amused look on Miss O’Donnell’s face there had definitely been one he had misunderstood and given the wrong answer for. She smiled at him when he was done though, and that was definitely a first.

When she told him he was free to go, he thanked her (in Spanish, hoping that may be worth an extra credit) and then went to Chrissy’s locker to wait for her to finish her own exam.

He waited.

And waited.

[poetic-beats]

Feeling very eh idk guess my brain just hates me right now so thats fun….hopefully I’ll be getting an appointment soon with my psych and care co-ordinator or w/e at the new mental health team I’m currently under cos I moved out of area for my old one. So far the new CMHT seems pretty good they’ve said they are going to set in motion a lot of things but now I’m just left waiting to see when that’ll happen. I know some of it is gonna be a long wait list like for therapy but hopefully I’ll be given a psychiatrist and an appointment date set soon they said they were going to refer me for a diagnostic something or other appointment as some of my symptoms sounded like it could be trauma related and potentially ptsd/CPTSD symptoms so and they’re going to do an assessment into my anxiety too so they can get a better idea of how to treat it I suppose. Especially as my old psych never really asked me too many questions about it and never like identified what kind of anxiety disorder I have besides acknowledging my struggles with social stuff and panic attacks he wasn’t all that interested and just said yeah sounds like an anxiety disorder and gave me some meds for my panic attacks which didn’t work and then moved me onto x meds which havent been great so before I did move prescribed me a different drug that I’ve yet to start it tbh as I kinda want a set of fresh eyes to look over everything and re-evaluate my meds before going ahead as he was rather questionable on some things and Im just not 100 on his decisions as some contradicted my very first psych who I saw for yrs before he retired who I did trust. So I’m just a little iffy about it especially because he had a habit of not even listening to me when I was talking about side effects I had or issues and so im just very like not entirely confident in some things.

Anyways so yeah that’s my little life update I guess - things are kinda up in the air I have good days and I have bad days I was doing pretty good up until like maybe two or three days ago so I’m hoping I can break out of this idk I dont wanna call it depression I dont think its like super severe enough to be that but its definitely a low mood with some anxiety sprinkled in right now, but yeah hopefully I can get out of this low mood soon hopefully its not a sign of a relapse into a longer mood shift or something that is going to downward spiral me into a bpd depression which would be a lot worse I don’t want to have a full on bpd depressed breakdown so I’m trying to keep myself occupied. My cute little cat helps hes adorable and he is one of those cats who always wants to be held and I love that because its perfect for me I love that I’ve got a cat I can pick up and hold and give all the attention too. He’s definitely the cutest thing ever.

[tb-gerschutz]

Chapter Nine

Word Count: 3,401

Trigger Warning(s): cursing, possible panic attack (maybe PTSD), etc.

Summary: Veronica and Whiskey travel to the snowy landscapes of Denver, Colorado in time for the holidays...

******

“Where the hell are we supposed to go now?” I asked in a panic, as Whiskey and I drove north along Interstate Thirty-Five. 

I was already deep into yet another panic attack, and it was all because Balor was closing in on us, and my fear of death was already engulfed into a huge bonfire already. I didn’t want to die the way my twin brother did—so young and so unexpected. At his funeral, I made a promise that I was going to live a life that he never got the chance to live. I was going to make sure I live my life to the absolute fullest, which was something my twin could never do. 

I had to survive for the sake of my twin. 

By this point, I was already shaking so bad that I couldn’t control it. My breath quickened, and my heart was racing. Beads of sweat were forming all over my face, which only added to the evidence of me having a panic attack.

“Sugar, I don’t know where to go, but I’m sure we’ll find somewhere,” he said, trying—to no avail—to reassure me. 

“Well, Whiskey, it sure doesn't seem like that,” I answered. “Balor’s onto us, and I’m afraid that he’s gonna close in on us, and—and—Oh God. I can’t breathe.”

That’s when Whiskey pulled off to the shoulder, parking the truck and quickly turned toward me. 

“Listen to me, Veronica,” he said seriously, grabbing me firmly by the shoulders. “Just breathe for me. Breathe in—breathe out.”

I tried to breathe in and out slowly, just like Whiskey told me to do. But it wasn’t working worth a shit. “I still can’t breathe, Whiskey. I’m trying everything I can, I swear!” I said.

“Keep breathin’ for me. In…and out,” Whiskey said. “In…and out.”

Slowly but surely, my breathing became more regulated, and my heart was now beating regularly now. I was starting to calm down and forget about what happened moments prior. Thank God for Whiskey for dropping everything to calm me down. I don’t know what I’d do without him. 

“You okay, sugar?” he asked, his eyes softening. 

I nodded, taking in one more deep breath and letting it escape my lungs. “Yeah. I think so.”

“You sure? Because I can pull off somewhere and get ya somethin’,” he said.

“Yeah, Whiskey. I think I’m okay,” I said. 

We continued to drive north along the interstate as if nothing happened. And even though we were in silence, Whiskey and I enjoyed each other’s company. But once we arrived at an exit, Whiskey suddenly took it as a small detour. I didn’t know what was going on because this wasn’t like him.

“What—what the hell, Whiskey? Where are you taking us?” I asked.

He smirked. “You hungry, sugar?”

Immediately, I breathed a sigh of relief. “Yeah. I guess I’m a bit famished.”

“Good. Because I’m hungry too, and we’re getting somethin’ to eat,” he answered. “And you’re comin’ with me.”

I shouted with delight. “Yay! I love food.”

“I know you do,” he said. “That’s why I’m pullin’ off. Food tends to make everyone feel better. It might make you feel better after that panic attack.”

“Yeah. Sorry about that,” I apologized. 

He gave me a quick glance as we pulled into a parking spot at a nearby McDonald’s. “Sugar, you don’t ever have to apologize for having a panic attack. It’s somethin’ you can’t control. And I’ll be here to help you through that. Always.”

“Really? You don’t mind that I might have a panic disorder?” I asked. 

Whiskey shook his head side-to-side. “Of course, I don’t mind. What did you think? That I was gonna break it off because you’re dealing with a possible panic disorder? Hell no! That’s not how I roll. No matter what you may be dealing with, no matter what may be going on…I’ll be here. I’ll be here to support you through it all. Forever and always.”

I smiled. “Thanks, Whiskey.”

“Anything for you, sugar,” he said. “Now, come on. Let’s get some food and hit the road again.”

We went inside, and I tried so hard to contain my excitement. The type of excitement where I’d jump up and down in the air, squealing like a little kid. But now, I was a full-grown, adult woman with a dangerous yet stable job and a loving boyfriend. I had to learn to regulate my emotions whenever I could. 

“Okay, sugar. Get whatever you want,” Whiskey said, pulling out his credit card as we were at one of the kiosks. “I’ll pay for the two of us.”

I looked at him. “Really?”

“Yes, really. I gotchu, sugar,” he said. “Get whatever you want.”

“Can I get multiple things?” I asked.

He nodded. “Abso–fucking–lutely! Get as much as you want. I gotta make sure you’re all good for the long road trip ahead.”

So I ended up getting multiple items. For now, it was two Big Macs, a twenty-piece McNuggets, a large set of fries, and an extra large chocolate shake. 

“Damn, sugar. You hungry?” he asked.

I nodded. “Oh yeah. I’m famished. Plus, gotta stock up. Who knows when the next exit might have fast-food right there for us.”

Eventually, Whiskey and I got our food, which apparently was a lot. But Whiskey didn’t mind paying for all that. 

“Don’t worry ‘bout it, sugar,” he said, helping me carry the food back out to the truck. “I love spoiling ya.”

“But I feel bad, ya know?” I said as we backed out of the spot and drove off. 

“Why do you feel bad?” he asked. 

“Because I don’t pay ya back,” I answered. “My daddy always taught me that if others go out of their way to help you, you have to pay them back. Now, I ain’t paying you back, and it—it just goes against my moral creed, ya know?”

He shrugged. “Yeah, sugar. I know, but I don’t mind spoiling you. I don’t mind spending money on ya. I don’t need paid back for committing a service out of the kindness of my heart.”

“Then, what can I do to pay you back? That way, I feel better,” I said.

Whiskey shook his head. “Absolutely nothing.”

We continued driving north on Interstate Thirty-Five for a while. Our plan was to keep to the busier roads so that we made sure that we weren’t being followed. It’s a good thing that we weren’t because knowing Balor and how irate he is right now, I wouldn’t be surprised if he started getting on me and Whiskey’s asses. 

Whilst driving, Whiskey decided to strike up some conversation to break the silence between us. I could tell that he didn’t like the unbearable silence between the two of us, and all he wanted right now was to hear my voice. It comforted him, I guess. It made him forget about all the worries he had about the war against Balor. 

Trust me. Being with Whiskey made me forget about my fight against Balor, too. 

“So, sugar. Christmas is comin’ up,” he mentioned. 

I nodded. “Yeah. I realized that back in Oklahoma City. I don’t think I got you anything.”

“That’s okay,” Whiskey said. “We could do some shopping as soon as we get to our destination. Of course, we’d probably have to do it separately, just so we keep the element of surprise.”

“Yeah. Kinda figured that,” I said, “but yeah. I don’t know. I don’t even know what to get you.”

Both corners of his mouth hooked upward in a slight smile. “Sugar, I don’t care what I get. As long as I have you as my girlfriend, I don’t care. Having you in my life is more a gift than anything.”

“Aw,” I said. “Thanks, babe. I appreciate it, but if you had to have one thing for Christmas, what would it be? And don’t say me because you’re already gettin’ me.”

He chuckled lightly, and that smile remained on his face for the longest time. It made my heart warm whenever he smiled, and I could assume it was because of the self-confidence I had. Before Whiskey, I was never involved in any sort of relationship before. I never had a boyfriend before, and he was my first boyfriend ever. So I never really had that experience of making another loving man laugh and smile. 

“I mean, I’ll be honest, sugar. I really don’t know what I want,” he said truthfully. “Over these past several years, I’ve been so focused on my work and being the best Statesman agent I can. Lately, I haven’t been able to think about all that because of all the chaos that has unfolded. My main priority has been protecting you and keeping you safe.”

“I understand, Whiskey, but you don’t need to protect me all the time,” I said. “I’m a big kid. I can watch out for myself.”

Whiskey sighed. “I know, sugar, but if you die, it’s on me. That’s my fault. I’d feel responsible for letting you die, even though I could’ve done somethin’ to keep you safe. I just—I gotta keep you safe so I don’t go through that guilt again.”

“What guilt?” I asked in a concerned tone. 

“The guilt of losing you,” he answered. “The guilt of knowing I could’ve done something to save you, but I didn’t. I went through that struggle once, and I ain’t going through that again.”

Even though I didn’t let it show, I knew that my heart was crying for Whiskey. Like me, he’s been through a lot. His high school sweetheart and unborn son were killed in a robbery gone wrong, while my twin brother was murdered despite his pure innocence. In a way, Whiskey and I were bonded by tragedy, and it drew us closer together. We helped each other grow into better people. And had our paths not crossed two years ago, we wouldn’t be who we are today. 

* * * * * *

After several more hours of ultimately fleeing from Oklahoma City, Whiskey and I finally cruised past a particular green sign welcoming us inside the huge city limits. Denver, Colorado—a cold yet infamously busy place. Sure, it has its upsides and downsides, but I can’t exactly judge how it is until I see it for myself. This is one of the few cities that I haven’t had the chance to visit yet, and I sure look forward to temporarily residing here. 

Just until Balor and his men decide to catch on and find us here. 

“Welcome to Denver, sugar,” Whiskey said cheerfully. 

Mind you, I had just woken up from a two-hour catnap, where I slept like a rock. I could not be bothered, nor woken by anything. Not even Whiskey slamming on the brakes so suddenly couldn’t wake me. 

“What?” I asked groggily. 

“We’re finally in Denver,” Whiskey said again. 

I looked around to see all the wondrous, futuristically modern downtown region of Denver. Long story short, it did not look like what it was back home in Chattanooga. In a way, it was more—out there. Like, it had more to offer. More people knew it by name compared to Chattanooga, and I didn’t mind that at all. As long as my hometown doesn’t get destroyed, I do not care if people don’t know about Chattanooga. 

“How long was I out?” I asked Whiskey. 

He didn’t skip a beat when answering. “Two hours.”

“Damn. And I said that I was gonna take a catnap,” I added. 

“Well, you took a damn good one ‘cause you were out like a light for several hours,” he said. 

I rubbed my eyes as Whiskey continued to drive through what I would eventually realize was downtown. “How much was I out?”

“Like, if I slammed on the brakes the hardest and most suddenly I could, you still wouldn’t wake up,” he answered. 

“Damn! I was out like a light,” I said, as Whiskey drove out of downtown and toward the outskirts of town. 

He quickly gave me a confused glance, then turned his eyes toward the road ahead. “You’re not even gonna ask where we’re going?”

I didn’t hesitate as I gave my answer. “Eventually, I was, but I was focusing on Christmas. It’s stressing me out somethin’ awful.”

“Aw, sugar. Why’s that?” he asked. 

“Well,” I started. “First of all, I won’t be able to spend time with my family for the holidays. That pisses me off greatly—but I have to keep them and myself safe from that motherfucker who’s hunting us down. On top of all that, I won’t have my twin brother with me again, and I haven’t got you anything yet.”

I let out a low-toned scream that could have easily been classified as a frustrated growl. “I’m just—very stressed out right now, ya know?”

“I know, baby. I know,” he said. “I’m stressed out too, so you’re not alone.”

My eyes softened as small pieces of my heart shattered along with Whiskey. “Really? I didn’t know.”

“That’s right, sugar. I’ve been stressed too,” he confirmed. “With no family to be with anymore, I—I pretty much have to spend my holidays alone. Then again, I’ve been alone for a while now. Ever since that all happened years ago.”

“But, Whiskey, you got me now,” I said. “You have me, and I ain’t ever gonna let you go that easily. That’s not how I roll, alright? I’m always gonna stick by your side, and there’s not a damn thing you can do to change that. I’m stuck to you like glue, and I’ll be that way for the rest of my life, if that’s what it takes.”

Both of us remained silent for a while, as those words struck our hearts in the right place. Sure, we both may lead stressful lives—albeit in a different way. But Whiskey and I know damn well that we’re going to stick by each other’s side, no matter what happens. Ever since I first met him, I knew damn well that I was going to be with that man for the rest of my life. 

I was practically stuck with him.

Still, I was adamant about sticking by his side through thick and thin. Even if he didn’t like it and thought of me as annoying, I was definitely going to stay with him. Whatever it takes, I will be there. Through thick and thin, I’ll stay here. No matter what. 

* * * * * *

Whiskey and I came upon a huge ski lodge not too long after driving through downtown, and let me just say—it was huge. Sure, it was no Dollywood, but it was big enough to get lost in, at least. We were definitely in awe over the beauty of it all, and we knew all too well that we could easily get lost if our heads weren’t screwed on right. 

“What are we doing here?” I asked. 

Whiskey parked the truck with quick ease. “Welcome to our Christmas retreat whilst we hide from Balor.”

“How did we pay for all this?” I asked curiously. 

He shrugged. “Don’t worry about it, sugar. I got it covered.”

We ended up going inside the lodge because it was freezing outside. So freezing that if Whiskey and I stood out there any longer, we probably would’ve got frostbite. And at this point in the game of cat-and-mouse with Balor, I do not want to have to get sidelined because of preventable frostbite. 

I mean, my run from Balor got stalled two years ago when I broke my ankle. God, that fucking hurt!

But at least it didn’t cause me and Whiskey to keep this fight going longer than Balor intended to. I didn’t think I’d get this far in such a dangerous war like this one. Of course, I can’t attribute all of my success to myself. I have to thank Whiskey too. If not for him, then I wouldn’t be sane enough to continue, let alone keep fighting. 

“Go warm up by the fire there, sugar,” he said. “I’ll get us taken care of.”

“You sure, Whiskey?” I asked. 

He nodded. “Yeah. I’m sure. Go get your little hands warmed up. I’ll take care of this.”

I decided to follow along with Whiskey’s advice and get my hands warmed up by the large, grand fireplace nearby. There was no point in pushing back against him, so I figured it was best if I cared about warming my hands in the first place. He was most likely tired from all the driving we did, so he’s probably not in the mood to fight with me today. Good thing I don’t intend on putting up such a fight.

While Whiskey worked out getting him and I checked in, I sat close by the fireplace, holding out my hands close to the flames that brewed from within. My fingers tingled as the warmth of the fire slowly warmed my hands, which meant that my limbs were slowly defrosting. 

“Good news, sugar. I got us the best suite the lodge has to offer,” Whiskey said cheerfully. 

One of my eyebrows hooked upward with confusion. “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean, I got us the best suite the lodge has!” he said proudly. 

“The best?” I asked. 

Whiskey nodded. “The absolute best!”

Only then did he practically drag me over to where he was previously standing. We wanted to be right there when those working here got the go-ahead to show up to our suite. I guess I could say that Whiskey was more excited about seeing this suite than I was. I mean, I had all the excitement in the world, but I sure as hell wasn’t as excited as Whiskey was. 

He was over the moon, as a matter-of-fact!

Perhaps Whiskey was excited by the fact that he got to stay in such a grand lodge and got the best of the best. Then again, I couldn’t know for sure. Throughout my two years of being with Whiskey, I’ve learned that I always have to prepare for the unexpected. He’s bound to enact a plan that I didn’t expect him to take, and once he gets in the right mindset, there’s no slowing him down. That means I’m forced to go along for the ride. The bumpy ride. 

On the other hand, Whiskey could have a secret plan cooked up that I don’t know about. He could be following that, and I could be completely clueless over it. In my defense, I have the perfect excuse to be clueless over Whiskey’s secret plan. My mind has been completely focused on the fight against Balor, and it’s exhausted me endlessly over the past two years. Or, Whiskey has become exceptionally mastered at hiding a secret from me. I don’t know. I could care less right now. 

All I care about is winning this long-standing war against Balor Devlin.

“Sugar,” Whiskey called out. “Hello? Earth to Veronica!”

I snapped out of my daze and put myself back into reality. “Oh! Sorry, Whiskey.”

“Got caught up in your own little world again?” he asked. 

I nodded shamefully. “Yeah. I guess so.”

He smiled. “That’s okay, sugar. You’re allowed to get caught up in another world. That’s one thing that makes us human.”

“I’m glad that you’re one of the only people, other than any of my family, that can put up with my crazy ass,” I said finally. 

“Don’t worry about it, sugar,” he added. “I love you just the way you are. You’re independent, tough-as-nails, protective—and you always speak your mind. That’s great. Not to mention, you’re a bit sheltered and quiet, but once you open up to someone, you’re extremely heartwarming, caring, and fun to be around.”

I let Whiskey’s words sink in while I followed the lodge employee to our suite. Whiskey was right at my side through it all, mainly because we’ve become inseparable a couple years ago. Right after we started the mission of trying to take down Balor. 

We all know how our first attempt at taking him down turned out. 

But all Whiskey and I can do now is to win against Balor in the long run. If we can successfully tire Balor out and wait for the right opportunity to pounce, then the two of us actually have a chance to bring this war to an end. 

[mt-musings]

Bluebell

Chapter 49

After being abruptly transferred to the BAU at what she suspects was Gideon's request, Cassie Boann struggles to find her footing. Shy and solitary by nature, the transition is made all the more difficult when Dr. Spencer Reid seems to take an almost immediate dislike to her. Unfortunately for them both, their respective areas of expertise leave them paired off more often than not. But when Cassie's past literally starts hunting her, Spencer is forced to consider that he might, in fact, not hate her at all.

Quite the opposite, actually.

Spencer Reid x OC

Warnings: Canon typical violence, kidnapping, stalking, drug use, blood, injury, death, PTSD, eventual smut, more tags to be added

Series Masterlist

Read on AO3

49. Feel the Silence

“He’s targeting brunettes,” Spencer said as she poured over autopsy reports from the previous two victims. 

“There’s an excess of rage in the attacks. In two out of three he’s broken the breastbone. That takes roughly nine-hundred and fifty pounds of pressure,” Cassie replied without looking up. 

“Did you hear what I said?”

“He’s targeting brunettes. Doubtless they’ll be a run on the local beauty store.”

“Cass, I’m telling you, you need to be careful, you fit the profile.”

She looked up, biting off her quip that she fit the profile for about fifty-three percent of their victim types. “It’s fine, Spencer, you know I’m careful.”

“I know, but it doesn’t make it any less worrying. He killed the last girl in the ten minutes between shuttles.”

“Well, we better catch him fast then,” she said, turning back to the evidence. Spencer had begun to worry more since finding out about Hadeon, something that should have been endearing, but she found mildly irritating. She knew it wasn’t how he meant it, but it felt like he was questioning her capabilities as an agent, her ability to look after herself, and she’d worked extremely hard and continued to in order to keep in peak condition for the field. There was a reason she kept three guns on her at all times in the field, that she’s kept a knife lodged in her boot since everything had happened in Montana last year.

Nothing had changed since New York, since Frank, except for the fact that he now knew. 

It didn’t help either that Gideon was off, had been since returning from bereavement. She didn’t say anything, knew it was perfectly understandable, all things considered, but she couldn’t help but feel if Spencer needed to worry about anyone, it should be Gideon.

She certainly was.

They hadn’t spoken, really, since she’d left his apartment. She’d tried a few times, but he’d always given her short, one word answers or declined her calls. She knew he needed time, knew it would be a while before the extent of the trauma he was working through even properly processed, never mind started to heal. 

She wished she could do something to help. 

She sighed and shut her files. “I’m going to see what Gideon and Hotch have working. Text me if you think of anything.”

“I’ll go with you.”

She shot him a look. “Spencer, I can walk to the other end of campus. You have interviews to get through with JJ. I’ll see you later.”

She left before he had a chance to argue. It took her ten minutes to cross the campus to where Hotch and Gideon were going over the school’s new security measures with the local detective. 

“Have you gone over campus security personnel?” She asked by way of greeting. 

“We have the Dean pulling files now, Prentiss and Morgan are conducting preliminary interviews,” Hotch replied. 

“Who has access to the safety shuttle schedule?” 

“It’s posted on the school’s website and hardcopies went out to staff and students.”

She made a face. That didn’t do much to narrow their pool then, though it was still most likely to be someone within the school community. Her money was still on someone within security—the timing was just too clean. 

She glanced at Gideon as he surveyed the scene. He seemed out of it, almost distracted. It was disconcerting—he was always the first to say that the focus always had to be foremost on the case. 

“What did you and Reid find out from the coroner?”

“Nothing that we didn’t already have an idea of. No particulates of use, nothing note-worthy as far as weapon, standard Bowie with an inch or so of serrated blade at the base. Spence and JJ are interviewing girls at the east dorm, where the latest victim lived.”

Hotch nodded. Cassie glanced at Gideon as the detective rattled off the plans for the new security camera, only half listening. She followed his gaze, finding nothing but a few gnarled trees. He looked away as if caught. 

He avoided looking at her the rest of the day, avoided talking to her unless absolutely necessary—something that made the afternoon particularly difficult, considering she was supposed to help him interrogate their prime suspect. After all, he was a raging misogynist with a special hatred for brunettes—she was just the person to agitate him so Gideon could get him talking. 

It didn’t work though, not really. They got about fifteen minutes in before he lawyered up. The way Gideon looked at her on their way out of the room made if feel like it was her fault. 

She didn’t speak to Gideon the rest of the night. She didn’t try. She guessed it would only make it worse. 

She stopped outside his hotel room on her way back from the vending machine. She knew he was hurting, knew he missed Sarah terribly, felt crushed by the guilt of her death. She wished she had the right thing to say, knew something to make it even a little more bearable. 

She balanced a bag of peanut M&Ms on the handle without knocking.

When he’d first pulled her out of the woods in Montana she wouldn’t eat, wouldn’t talk, wouldn’t look at him. Until he’d come back to sit by her bed in the hospital with a bag from the vending machine. He’d sorted through it, filling a paper cup with just the blue ones. It was the first thing she ate in a week. 

She doubted he even remembered it. 

She turned toward her own door, looking forward to a few hours of fitful sleep. They’d caught the guy, at least. Now their only problem was going to be holding him. 

She didn’t hear about the murder-suicide until after the ambulance had shown up. She’d been at the dorm with Spencer and JJ, going over Anna’s room. 

She hated that she was glad she hadn’t been with Prentiss and Morgan, hated that she was glad she was spared the ten minutes of futilely trying to staunch the bleeding, of being soaked in the blood of two murderers. 

She should have felt worse for the girl, Anna. She knew she should have—she was clearly ill, clearly suffering. It still didn’t change the fact that she’d killed a girl to see what it felt like, to try and get Tubbs to make her his next victim. A girl she’d claimed to like. 

A girl who would never grow up and graduate, or start a career, or a family, a girl who’s family would spend the rest of their lives coping with her loss. 

She wished she felt bad for Anna. She should, she knew. She was a troubled kid. Still, she only felt disgust. 

She pushed it down, trying to ignore it. 

She glanced over at the other side of the plane where Gideon sat, pretending to sleep. She knew by the set of his shoulders he was still awake, mind reeling. 

“Cass?” Spencer asked softly, diverting her focus. 

“Yeah?” she asked, voice equally as quiet, keen not to disturb the rest of the team that was either sleeping or reading. 

He didn’t say anything else, just slipped his hand around hers and gave it a gentle squeeze. She squeezed his back. 

It was the last shred of normalcy before everything fell apart. 

First was the fact that Hotch was suspended for two weeks, the team grounded until he returned. They all knew it was a horseshit call, that Strauss had it out for him, but they couldn’t exactly do anything about it. 

Gideon didn’t come in after the case. He didn’t answer her calls, either. He wasn’t at the apartment, or the hotel, and she checked with his friend Dr. Louis in the ornithology department at the Museum of Natural History—he hadn’t heard anything from him since everything had gone down with Frank. 

So she called again. She called and called and called and called for days, and each day the dread in the pit of her stomach grew. No one else could get a hold of him either—he’d blown off his and Spencer’s weekly chess game without explanation and Spencer had slept the night in his office waiting for him to show. She knew Spencer didn't want her to know, but it was fairly glaring that he was in the same button up and trousers as the day before.

And now Prentiss a no-call-no-show. 

She glanced at him across the table, brows furrowed, cataloguing the shadows under his eyes. He raised a brow and she looked away, towards the newest carnage on the screen. 

She swore under her breath as JJ outlined the case, flipping through the coroner’s reports. The rib extraction was particularly brutal, completed antemortem and judging from the wreckage left behind, probably done with some sort of chisel. The marks were inconsistent with those that would have been left by a handsaw, too irregular to be done with a hobby saw. 

Humans certainly were creative in the way they mutilated one another. 

Her mood only soured further when she stepped on the plane to find Section Chief Strauss already aboard. 

Cassie sat next to Spencer, spying on her behind their seats with one of the dental mirrors from her kit. 

“You know, from this angle she almost looks human,” JJ said, voice too low to carry. 

“That’s a stretch,” Cassie replied, sinking lower in her seat.

“Has anyone talked to Emily yet?” Spencer asked.

“She was gone before I heard the news.”

“Now we’re down two agents and Gideon’s MIA,” Morgan said.

“Doesn’t Strauss ever—“ Spencer began but Cassie elbowed him as she watched her stand and stride towards the group. She tucked the mirror out of sight before Strauss could see.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but I believe it’s protocol to brief everyone before we arrive at the crime scene,” she said. JJ smiled—the warm kind that didn’t even look fake. 

“Yes Ma’am.” She listened to JJ run over the case with kid gloves, watching Strauss’s face. She wasn’t a field agent, after all—she was a pencil pusher, her only focus protecting the Bureau’s ass.

In other words, useless. 

She watched her physically recoil from just one of the crime scene photos that Morgan dropped on the table, watched her try and play it off as if nothing happened. She met his eyes before he stalked off to the other side of the cabin, before opening her own files and splaying them over the entirety of the table. Spencer gave her a look, but didn’t say anything about it as she started rambling about suspected tool marks. 

---

Milwaukee was going just about as well as she could have expected with Hotch, Gideon, and Prentiss gone. 

Which was to say, shit. 

She hadn’t been able to find anything on the latest body that proved useful until she had a weapon to match the wounds to and the lab, as usual, was backed up with samples from other cases and wouldn’t have any results back for at least two days. Strauss had already managed to insult the lead detective, who’d worked the Dahmer case, who actually knew his stuff, in less that ten minutes of meeting him. 

Luckily for them, he had a longer fuse than she did. 

She was about one moderate inconvenience away from telling Strauss exactly what she thought of her leadership and field capabilities, that she’d effectively hamstring the team and was too entrenched in her dumb little castle of Bureau regulation that she couldn’t even see that her obstinate rigidity and unwillingness to adapt to their given environment was costing them real, actual, human lives. A consequence she didn’t even have the stomach to look at properly. 

Maybe Cassie would have been less likely to want to bite Strauss’s head off at any given moment if it hadn’t been her signature that had come on more than a handful of the denied requests to re-open her parents’ case on the grounds of it being ‘a poor use of resources.’ Maybe it would have been less likely if she hadn’t been the first one to deny the re-testing of evidence when Cassie had first started at the Bureau, that she didn’t consider the massive failings of the Lab division in the 80s and 90s a good enough reason to ‘waste money re-running samples on a case without leads.’

She pushed into the empty conference room, the tang of blood still sharp in her nose, her throat raw from vomiting. It was getting harder to stomach the smell of it, since Sarah, since Rebecca.  She’d have to consider the eucalyptus oil she kept in her bag if the bodies kept piling up, going full Silence of the Lambs like she’d advised Spencer to do nearly a year ago when he was struggling with the stench of decomp. She had to do something other than opt to carry around a miniature toothbrush to scrub out her mouth every time she was met with an eviscerated corpse. 

She was losing her edge.

She dialed Gideon. It was almost a reflex at this point. She snapped her phone shut at the sound of his voicemail and swore, turning back to the map on the wall. She traced the radiuses Spencer had mapped out from each school to fit the timing of each disposal. Even operating under the smallest of possible radiuses left them with dozens of square miles to cover, with an unsub who’d already begun to observe their patrols and circumvent police presence. 

It was still too much to cover. At least before the next woman’s heart was carved from her chest. 

“Shouldn’t you be going over the newest body? That is your job, isn’t it, Agent Boann?” Strauss asked sharply as she entered the room. Cassie made a face, glad she was facing the board.

“It’s Dr. Boann,” she replied without turning around.

“That is your job Dr. Boann?”

“With all due respect, Section Chief, I know how to do my job, both theoretically and in practice. In fact, I’m good at it, so I suggest you leave me to it. Preliminary autopsy report is on the table, particulates should be back in 48 hours, which makes them fairly useless to us at the moment.” 

She didn’t wait for a reply, instead stalking out of the conference room before she could dig a deeper hole. She spotted Morgan next to the door, no doubt just having listened to the whole exchange. 

“You’re going to be the next one on leave if you keep it up,” he said, dropping a hand on her shoulder. 

“Yeah, well, we need an actual Unit Chief to coordinate the search, but instead we’ve got the lion, the witch, and the sheer audacity of that b—“

“Watch it, Miss Morticia. I like having you on the team.”

“I don’t like her,” she said, with more venom than she intended. Morgan raised an eyebrow.

“I noticed. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you be mean on purpose. I thought she was going to throw up on the jet.”

“She’s a liability and detriment to the investigation, and somebody ought to tell her if she’s to arrogant to see it for herself,” she said, knowing she sounded defensive and probably childish. Still, she was nearly past the point of caring and knew he at least felt similar. 

“I’m not saying, you’re wrong, I’m just saying keep your head down and your mouth shut and focus on the case. You wouldn’t be running your mouth off like this if you weren’t on edge because of Gideon.”

“Maybe I’m on edge because we have twelve hours before we find the next woman with her heart ripped out.”

Morgan didn’t contradict her, though he gave he gave he a look that told her he didn’t quite believe her. “Come on, we have about four thousand school records to comb through."

---

Spencer watched Cassie flip her phone over and over in her hands as she watched Emily in the back of the ambulance. It had become a nervous habit the last two weeks, ever since returning from Flagstaff. He’d looked at her call history the other day when she’d been in the shower, just to confirm his suspicions. She’d called Gideon an average of thirteen times a day for the past week. It had been less the week before, only four or five times. 

None of them had been answered. 

Spencer hadn’t been able to get a hold of him either, going so far as to sleep in his office to wait for Gideon to show for their usual chess match. He’d told JJ not to mention it to the others—he hadn’t told Cassie, hadn’t wanted her to worry even more.

She wouldn’t talk about it with him, brushed it off every time he brought it up—he was fine, he was grieving, no, of course she wasn’t worried. He knew it was a defense, knew she didn’t want to let on just how worried she was. She’d been spending more time at the lab, barely sleeping at his place, taking the first Metro in to Quantico, rather than meeting up and riding in with him as had become their habit. By the time he’d get in she was already working, hair damp from her post-workout shower, her lips pressed into a thin line, the shadows under her eyes growing darker by the day.

The part he hated most was how similar her behavior was shifting to her first few months with the BAU, though there was a ragged edge to her now that hadn’t been there before. He’d seen a hint of it in Chicago, when she’d returned to the precinct after discovering the shoddy CSU work, ready to rip Gordinski a new one. He’d seen it again on the plane with Strauss, how she purposely displayed the most disturbing autopsy images while going off, in detail, about the force and tools it would require to create the wounds, as well as the extent to which the victim would be conscious for it. They were things she usually kept to herself or skated over with just the bare relevant details, but something in the way Strauss had reacted to the first crime scene photo Morgan had tossed her had set her off. 

He crossed to lean on the hood of the police car next to her, watching the local PD bustle in and out of the house. 

“Prentiss should get an MRI,” she said finally, without looking away. “She took an NSAID earlier for a headache, with coffee, both of which are blood thinners and increase the chance of hemorrhaging.”

“You should tell her that.”

“She’s more likely to listen to you.”

He glanced at her, searching her face for an edge of hurt or bitterness at the statement. There was nothing, as if it were just a statement of fact. He moved his hand over next to hers, close enough that their pinkies barely touched. She gave him a small, sad sort of smile. 

She nearly jumped as her phone rang and quickly turned it over to read the caller ID. He watched her shoulders slump as she read ‘Smthsn AnthLab X DrG.’

“Sorry,” she said as she a stood up.

“Don’t worry about it,” he replied, watching as she stepped away to the back of the car as she answered. He listened to her rattle off a litany of results and incoming remains off the top of her head, chat about a visiting specialist out of the Netherlands arriving next week. He hung back a moment before crossing to the ambulance and relaying what Cassie had told him about the MRI.

“I’m sure I’m fine, Reid, but thanks for checking in.”

“It was Cassie who brought it up, actually. She just, um,” he trailed off, unsure of what to say. Prentiss just smiled, furrowing her brows as she found Cassie in the crowd of officers still on the phone, one hand covering her eyes as she ran through something rapid-fire. 

“I’m glad you’re not quitting,” he said, giving her a tight-lipped smile.

“Me too,” she replied. “I’m ready to head home, though.”

The plane ride back to Quantico was uneventful. Most everyone slept, except Cassie, who spent the flight glued to her laptop, a fresh set of remains on her screen. Spencer tried to make sense of what, exactly, she was trying to work out as she flipped through the images, but quickly gave up in favor of slouching in his seat and closing his eyes. 

He woke just as the plane started its descent, face pressed into Cassie’s shoulder. She was still working, though she leaned her head on his affectionately as she felt him stir. 

“I’m going to have to go to the lab tonight, Spence,” she murmured, voice low from lack of sleep. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s going to be late by the time we get back.”

“I know, but there’s a backlog of partials that came in from that nightclub bombing in Tampa and it’s all hands on deck.”

“Can you come over after? I don’t care if it’s late—“

“Spence—“

“I’ve seen you three times in the last two weeks.”

“You see me every day.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I’m sorry, it’s just—it’s been crazy, and I’m still trying to find a balance,” she said. He knew it was half true. He’d overheard enough conversations between her and Dr. Garvey and Ayesh and the rest to know they were swamped. Still, he knew she was overloading herself to keep busy.

“I know. Just—I don’t care if it’s late, come over?”

She surveyed him a moment before smoothing out his sleep-rumpled hair. “Okay. I’ll try not to be too late, okay?”

“It’s a deal,” he said, giving her a bright smile. 

Previous Next

[hollyhomburg]

Before I Leave you (Part 22)

(Omegaverse au, Mafia au, Bts x Reader)

Summary: After finding you in such a compromising position, the pack has their questions (and a few confessions)

Tags: self-esteem issues, self-hatred, self-disgust, mentions of sex and sexual dynamics, BDSM mention, dom/sub undertones, discussions of consent, panic-attacks, PTSD, hurt/comfort, copious amounts of cuddling, fluff, Confessions, First kisses, hickeys, 

W/c: 11.9k

A/n:  I think updates every two weeks are as much as I can handle right now. i’ve been feeling burnt out with my life recently, luckily i have the next few chapters (mostly) written- so i’ll try to keep it to two updates every month! this chapter was really hard to write~ but i hope you’re as excited as i am when you read this!

You're not proud of what happens next.

You're not proud of the way you shoot to your feet but it's a purely primal thing, the sudden burst of adrenaline at being caught in such a compromising position. You stand up too quickly, the dizziness making you teeter, blood rushing to your head. The fear and adrenaline pumping through your body are both misplaced, but it’s too hard to sort through what’s really happening. You are at once a victim of your instincts and a conduit for them. Little more than fear living with a pulse.

And below that, a single thought- a horrifying realization; You have forgotten what it feels like to be afraid.

Fear was once something that kept you alive, the adrenaline was your friend first before anything else, oversensitive instincts that held you with soft hands and told you how to act safely. How is it that you've forgotten this? how is it that you’ve shred your protective layers so easily? To do away with your survival instincts- even unintentionally- feels like a betrayal of your body.

You don’t remember the adrenaline rush feeling quite so bad.

Did you really feel like this all the time? The half sort of sickness, the extra fission at the edge of your vision like a short shutter speed on a camera, the blur and graininess turned up on, too many warm tones playing on the edge of your vision.

There isn’t enough time to take in this situation and figure out if these threats are real or imaginary. No time at all when Jin’s coming at you with his hands out first. He takes one step closer to you, within touching distance and a voice in your head is yelling at you to run. “Baby-“

You don’t know how you fit through the space between him and the door but you do, tripping on something and breaking out into a run. Knocking your hip hard onto the side of the dresser by your door, knocking over someone's cologne and a few beauty products that clatter to the floor.

Safe- You need to get somewhere safe- and that place isn't here. Your door has a lock on it- that should be enough. Nest- have to get to the nest- it’s the only safe place in this house now. And even that might not be enough. Away- you just need to get away from-

"Wait-" his hand is on your shoulder for a split second before you shrug it off, a weird pitiful noise echoing on the fringes of your awareness, broken and echoing. You run, but Jin is close behind- Jin who knows what you've done- how is he home? he wasn't supposed to be home- he wasn't supposed to know-

He has longer legs than you by several inches, for every three strides you take he only has to take two. You were doomed from the start really.

One second you're stepping through your doorway and the next a hand is going behind your head cushioning your body from where it hits the wall, another hand at your waist, turning you just a second before you pass through. Your back hits the wall the thud startles you, making you gasp.

You can’t even properly breathe, every breath a hitching hiccup when he leans close to you. Holding you in place so that you can’t slip away again. 

Oh, so the pitiful noise was you wasn’t it- your gasping sobs, and the weird thing happening with your vision was tears, carving hot paths down your cheeks.

"Don't be angry- please don't be angry with me Jin- I’m so sorry. Please don't-” your palms are pressed flat against the wall, trembling like a leaf in the middle of a downpour. You smell like a rainstorm, acid rain that pelts and melts statues and cities. A sadness and hidden darkness that seeks to take everything with it when it ebbs and flows.

Please don’t hurt me.

Jin’s whole body goes rigid, every inch of him down to his atoms freezing at your words. He very carefully holds you tighter, hands settling on either shoulder. Jin never means to shackle you with his touch or to hold you against your will but if he lets you go into your nest- he doesn't know what could happen, What other conclusions you might come to on your own and the damage they might do.

Do you really think Jin could hurt you? Has he been such a bad packmate that he has you believing he could ever lay a finger on you out of anger? Do you still not trust them?

Is this the kind of fear they’ve sowed by letting you see the scene with Jungkook and then giving you no explanation for it? Foolishly believing that you would understand they were protecting you without any intervention on their part.

Jin hears the words, even if you don’t say them.

Jin makes a soft rumbling in his chest- as soothing as it is deep. He leans in close, intent on scent marking over your head intent on giving you a little bit of a pheromone rush to calm you down like he's done countless times before. But you flick your chin up, showing your throat; a gesture you should only ever show an alpha and not an omega, even one like Jin so high in the hierarchy. It's a slap in the face.

Showing your neck when you’re afraid, it’s a last-ditch effort to appease a predator. How many times have you had to do that? And how many times had it worked to keep you out of harm's way? How many times hadn’t you been able to escape harm too?

Your mating mark glistens with sweat, a shade darker purple than usual. Bruised looking, taunting Jin with stories and hurts that he doesn’t know how to heal- he can’t fix you if you won’t let him see your wounds. Is this how you got that mating mark? Bearing your neck as a last-ditch effort to get safe?

He takes your chin between his thumb and forefinger and draws it down, ignoring the stunned look on your face. Blinking away fresh tears in surprise a horrible little wrenching gasp going through your lips that Jin never wants to hear again.

"Listen to me, okay?" you still, but not entirely, your chest still heaving and your breath still coming in these horrible little gasps, not like you feel better but like you're trying not to make too much noise your whole-body trembling. One of your tears drips from your chin onto Jin’s hands and he knows it’s just his imagination but it burns his skin like acid.

His words hover, off his train of thought, and then before you can blink he's picking you up. The ground pulled out from under your feet and his hands swooping- One under your knees, another around your shoulders.

You have to grasp at his shoulders to stay in his arms, calling his name in surprise but he doesn't pause. Jin is strong- but it’s dizzying- the frightening edge to everything as he moves quick- driven by instinct just like you were. Only a few steps through the open door before Jin is depositing you safely in the confines of his nest- the pack's nest. The only safe place for a pup so unhappy- safe for a pup who’s still having a panic attack, gasping breathes that come every few seconds, either hyperventilating already or near it.

He sets you down a little roughly into the nest- too panicked and too hurried as you bounce a little. Jin’s frame is wide, his shoulders have never felt so broad until the momentum from his steps takes him too far and he ends up looming over you, knees splayed wide around you.  

But it's a nest- it's meant to be as comfortable and safe as possible. You flop against the pillows and piled blankets, their scents hovering around you in a dizzying cloud so close and so dense. Every line of Jin's body hovering over you, from his hips to his thighs, to his chest, so close the warmth of his body soothes every ache in you.

He looks down at you and for a second it holds himself back from sinking down, covering you with his body so that nothing else can touch you- nothing can hurt you. An omega shielding another with their body in their nest- well- that's about the safest place for a pup to be, add an alpha and you're set.

You whimper as Jin looks down at you. His eyes hot and heavy, not angry- but firm Your brain doesn’t know the difference. His hand on your cheek is soft- but you still flinch away from it- face tilting right into his wrist, as he holds himself above you.

His words don’t come out right with his panic, "I’m never going to hurt you, never. Listen to me okay? You don't have to be afraid because nothing you could do could make me stoop to such a low. here." he takes your hand in his, pressing it over his heart and then fumbling with his shirt, the top button popping off, getting your palm on his skin. "Is my heart beating fast?"

"No" you whimper out. Tears are still hot on your cheeks, dripping down your neck you can’t stop them. You hate how crying makes you feel, dizzy and puffy and ugly. You tremble with the force of keeping your sobs in.

"Do I smell angry?" Jin is still the picture of calm, his voice never rising above normal speaking volume. Low and honey-like he borrowed Jungkook’s scent and let it spill from his mouth. your nose is inches from his wrists but there's nothing there, nothing but the trances of his scent- Jin doesn't even smell upset.

"No."

"Do I look angry?"

"No, but Jin-" he doesn't wait for your answer, scooting back onto his knees, bringing you up and onto him in the same motion with an impressive show of strength. Your thighs end parted around his, his in-between yours, his hands on your hips to seat you firmly in his lap. 

Slick blooms in the air when your legs part around his and you settle your full weight into his lap- a remanent of your misbegotten hours and not a sign as he manhandles you close and then closer- as close as possible, bundling up all of your worries and your hurts in his arms. One hand threading through your hair to keep your head pressed to his scent gland and his forearm wrapped tight around your waist, rocking you slightly, a soft humming in his throat, a purr- but not a genuine one.

Jin is so large that even sitting in his lap, you still have to look up to see his face searching it for a hint of anger. He just tucks your face into his shoulder, nose pressed up against his scent gland to breathe in a deep jagged lungful of thick whipped cream, sweet and soft and cloud-like. Gentle and delicate- the opposite of the pack omega who holds you so close, the muscles in in arms poised to snap- to shield you from all the horrible corners of the world-

Even if one of those corners is inside your own head.

Jin has always been a big omega, tall frame and strong shoulders, when he was younger, he faulted himself for it a little- just slightly, wishing he was tiny and dainty like the standard. But he’d trade all that wanting in a heartbeat for this, the strength and comfort that lines his body like a weighted blanket. Jin is strong for a reason and that reason is this.

"Breath in for me- out, there’s a good pup." You hadn't noticed, had you? how you'd been panting even then, breath coming in startled gasps, your lungs expanding and deflating under Jin’s hands at a frightening pace. Don’t pass out- please don’t pass out on me pup.

He takes your hand again, putting it on his chest, breathing in deep and holding it- “like this pup, perfect- there you go” You match your breaths with his, and slowly Slowly- your scent recedes, the storm dimming until it's just fog and mist. Your scent-neutral and a clean slate.

In the middle of Jin’s nest, he holds you and teaches you how to breathe again.

~-~

When you wake, your eyes are puffy and your face feels swollen, sensitive when it brushes against a coverlet, your face hidden beneath a blanket that someone’s pulled over you. Your body is so tired that feels like you’ll sink in between the sheets and become one of the pillows. Maybe that would be a softer life for you, an inanimate object- one that can’t think and feel and hurt and mess perfect things up. 

But somehow you doubt it could feel better than this. 

The recent past remains distant under the heavy lullaby of A warm chest that expands behind you, another at your front, buffering you like a buoy would bob in the ocean, an ocean made of milk apparently. If the scents of Yoongi and Jin have any bearing on your dreams. 

There are rough words on the edge of your consciousness, the way the thunder rumbles on the horizon, hidden lightning, and secret storms hidden under the weight of clouds like you are hidden beneath this blanket. It’s hot underneath, your consciousness a tangle of bodies pressed against yours. 

Your mind works at a snail pace and it takes a few minutes of wading through the last vestiges of sleep but eventually, you become more aware of what’s going on around you. The scents that you nose through in the bed and on the air are both comforting and familiar, a balm to the frayed edges of your mind. 

There are other people in the room, someone with heavy steps moving, an alpha, and a tired sigh. You burrow further into the warm bundle in front of you to evade it. Long fingers that card through your hair slowly and gently, fingers that scratch at the side of your temples pause when you move, and then start up again. 

Only one person touches you like that- Yoongi. Pleasure frissons on the edge of your vision, little mini fireworks of happiness and you burrow further into the bed- the nest and the person in front of you. Though you realize upon further sniffing that this person is not Yoongi- they just smell like Yoongi a lot, Yoongi is the one pressed along your spine. The chest in front of you rumbles as you nuzzle your nose further, catching on an edge- the collar of a shirt, the button of it pressed now to warm skin. 

Warn voices as rough as they are tense, the chest in front of you speaks, the pattern of the thunder discernible, “You are not allowed in my nest if you keep talking that way Namjoon- chill. No one’s hurt, we’re both fine, the pup just-“

Something interrupts Jin, an action you cannot see. Your mate responds, his voice quiet behind you, you can only hear Yoongi because he’s so close. “We’re gonna wake her.” 

The bed dips under a weight, heavy knees. A loud sucking, like liquid through a straw and a cautious hushed “Jk, quiet down.”

It’s only then that you remember the sex toys, being discovered when you were sure that you wouldn't, the betrayal on Jin's face, the running, and Jin chasing after you. Having a panic attack so violent that you passed out near the end, black splotches that danced on the edge of your vision until they descended and took you with them.

You play dead, trying to keep your body still so that they don't know you're awake, but your breath goes stuttery. Your nose aches when you breathe in, throat raw from crying. It aches, your mouth dry. You don’t want to move, you don’t want them to know you’re awake, to confront your betrayal yet. You're not ready.

There must be something in your body that betrays you, a sudden stiffness to your bones that lets gives you away because everyone falls silent. Jin shifts, his hand smoothing up and down your back a little less gently. Yoongi’s hand is in your hair still soothing you, but rubbing a little harder fingers tucking your hair behind your ear and out of your eyes to check if they’re open but theyre screwed shut tight. Your mate whispers your name, and you answer with a quiet whine.

“Looks like the pup’s decided to join the land of the living.” Lips on your forehead glide in the shape of a smile. “How are you feeling sweetheart?” You squirm tirelessly, your body too warm, the blankets are so heavy here. The air is heavy too, feels like gasping down syrup when you breathe in (though that could be just Jungkook's scent, as every present and as thick as ever- it coats the bed in thick layers).

You keep your brow pressed tight to the side of Jin's jaw, feeling his slight stubble, 5 o'clock shadows that's just a little chafing. “Don’t Wanna wake up. Scared.”

Jin’s scent shifts before he gets a handle on it, sitting up slightly turning your world from vibrant panoramas and ecstatic clouds into this- the nest room, the pillows are not the shadows of an oncoming storm and Namjoon’s soft humming at your words is not thunder.

“I know sweetheart, I know” there is something so sad in Jin’s voice, a breaking too. he sits up completely, taking you with him and settling you against his front. The metal button of his slacks dug into your stomach with every breath, he hadn’t even gotten up to change, had he? 

Did he sit with you here until the others got home? How long have you been asleep? the light outside betrays early evening, it's not dark in the bedroom, but it's shadowy enough to turn on a light.

When you open your eyes, the only light on is the one in the closet.  

Jungkook is looking a shade past devilish in the door, his outfit a little more formfitting than his usual ‘just got done at the gym’ look that you've grown accustomed to. You remember- they were on a date- and shit- they’d come home to this, you hope you didn’t ruin it.

He wishes you could appreciate how the green houndstooth pattern does wonders for his skin but he’s more concerned with your mental state right now. Giving a particularly hard and loud suck at his half-finished drink, “Give me a second, can’t eat food in the nest. after that I’ll cuddle the fuck out of you.” 

He gives another particularly hard suck, the sound rippling, as Jin and Namjoon have a staredown over your head. Namjoon’s perched on the edge of the bed, also in more date-like clothes than usual. Jin's chin raised in challenge.

"Let me in- the god damn nest- Jin-"

"Not until you stop smelling like a god damn bar." the pack alpha whines, you sniff at the air and true to Jin’s words- the alpha does smell angry, the coffee to his scent has gone all baileys Irish cream and not comfortable mornings. At a single whiff, you re-tuck your face back into Jin’s shoulder. Taking a fresh breath of the pack omegas scent to clear your aching nose of it. Jin gives Namjoon a look over the top of your head as if to say 'told you so.'

If ever there was the question of who the real leader of the pack was- it's answered with that little interaction.

On the way home, Jungkook had dreamed about telling you about his date, he’d have loved to gush to you between now and dinner and shared all the secret special looks with you, hoping maybe- that talking about his date with Namjoon would make you want to come on one too.

There are more important things to worry about and talk through now. Especially given the fact that when he’d walked into this room his second favorite dildo had been sitting in the middle of the floor and not safely locked away in the closet for later use.

Unusual if not a little funny- but actually not funny at all when it made you smell so sad. That had certainly de-railed his and Namjoon's afternoon plans for those sex toys, you're a lot more important.

The dates are always fun, the half flirting half careful touches that reaffirm their bonds. That’s a pretty way of saying that Jungkook loves when he gets to flaunt his pack alpha to the world. Jungkook lives for the jealous looks other people give them when they all go out, the burning want that people have for his situation but could never sate. How lucky they must think him to be the youngest in a pack like this.

They haven’t all gone out in a while- because going out without you would feel like they were leaving you out of something that you belonged to. One-on-one dates feel easier by comparison.

Jungkook has daydreamed it though, back and forth- as many iterations as it takes to scratch that particular itch in his brain. Daydreams full of picnics in fields of flowers and you in a long-patterned dress, daydreams full of beach dates, late at night or early in the morning- spontaneous when you wake up at 4 am to see the sunrise.

Or out at some bar or fancy restaurant- maybe one of Namjoon's hospital fundraisers with the 8 of you dressed to the nines on the receiving end of every envious stare.

He wonders what it would feel like to be at the center of those stares with you. To have you draped over his lap or his arm, contained on a single chair to better be watched by the alphas and by Jin- not to let the precious omegas stray too far. Would you be shy at a stranger’s jealousy or would you stare them down the way that he does?

He imagines leaning in and teasing at your ear with his teeth and with his words. “Which one of us do you think they wish they were? You or me? or do you think they wish they were our alphas?”

There he goes again- Jungkook's daydreams getting away from him again and distracting him from the immediate and very important present.

His point is that it’s always a good day if he goes out with his pack, spending time away from domesticity makes you appreciate it more. Even if it had Jungkook daydreaming about something else that he’s not allowed to want, not yet- not until Namjoon and Jin say it’s time.

It’s frustrating- the waiting. Jungkook is admittedly not the most patient person in the universe, but Namjoon and Jin have rarely if ever lead the pack astray and Jungkook trusts them implicitly the same way he trusts his own heart to keep time.

Somehow coming home to this does not violate the sanctity of the day, nor had Namjoon bolting at the first scent of your panic, Leaving Jung-kook at the door, sipping at his almond milk peanut butter and dark chocolate smoothy. “Shit- Joon- no-“ running the same way someone might call back a dog that had accidentally gotten off-leash, chasing a squirrel or something.

Now there is you, blinking awake in Jin's nest- apparently having discovered their sex toy collection, if Jin's tense explanation minutes ago was anything to go by. "I don't know which one made her panic but I'm never letting her get near them again- she- she had a panic attack Joonie. We need to be more careful- I can't believe we just- left them out in the open like that- what were we thinking?"

“I think you were thinking that she was less interested than she obviously is Jin- she’s not a pup- no matter how much you call her that.” Jungkook’s jab hadn’t made the best impression. But that's a suspicion that they couldn’t confirm until you wake.

But the bickering is quiet now with you sniffling and shifting as you slowly wake. The air is still tense as the two of them stare each other down, Jungkook sucks at his smoothy extra hard. The shift in the air is near tangible, the second Namjoon and Jin’s scents stop pushing at each other like two opposing storm fronts. Jin’s hand shifts from pressing at the alphas shoulder, keeping him at arm's length and away from you- to rounding out softer.  

Namjoon is not a threat- Namjoon is the perfect solution and one moment Jin is pushing him away from the next he’s tugging him closer and there is a warm chest pressing against your back again. Beside you, Yoongi sighs making room for Namjoon.

You close your eyes again, though it’s not because it’s bright. You don’t want to look at Namjoon- to know how he’s looking at you- if he’s feeling betrayed. You know you don’t have any right to feel this upset or feel this scared when it’s your own fault this happened.

But the fear builds and you have to know how upset he is- ripping it off like a band-aid, You look up, and from the look in his eyes and Jungkook’s, hovering on you in the same way that Jin looks, a little unsure, like they don’t know if they should be angry or not. Immediately makes you retuck your face down below the covers.

 (You’d never know it wasn’t anger- but just the fact that everyone in this room wants to smother you with their bodies and kisses and soft little “it’s okay pup’s” that would turn you into a melted pup-puddle in the nest).

“Honey” Yoongi’s voice is that- honey and chiding in equal measure, you don’t want to look at your mate's face either.

Your words are muffled “I know I can’t hide forever just-“ you want thirty more seconds of this closeness with Jin, before he tells you how badly you fucked up, how much this breach of trust hurt him. You sniffle, tears threatening you once again when it hits you what you've done.

“Sweetheart it’s okay.” Somehow you can’t believe Namjoon when he says that, even when he folds himself back behind you, his arms searching for your body underneath the blanket, hidden by the layers of fluff but still there holding around your waist. A pressure that soothes up and down your spine.

A safe harbor that you never knew you needed and never thought you’d feel. Namjoon, Namjoonie- hooking his head over one of your shoulders, his cheek pressed to your temple, smelling safe and warm and so big behind you. His scent finally shifting from liquor back to its usual coffee. Namjoon and Jin are the two largest in the pack and as the smallest you’re practically hidden between them. 

The way you inhale jaggedly- air that doesn’t go in right like your chest is too tight to expand properly, makes Namjoon want to grab his stethoscope from his doctor's bag and check your lungs himself. He repeats nearly the same words that Jin did minutes ago, nose nuzzling through the top of your head. “Breath sweetheart, there you go. That’s a good pup.”

Yoongi wiggles closer to you under the covers, hand finding yours easily- fighting for real estate. This is the only reason why he’d ever really been worried about your adjustments to the pack- that he’d have to fight for an inch edgewise. But maybe the others do have months of comforting and cuddling to make up for, yoongi will let their smothering of you slide even if he's used to comforting you being a one beta job.

And besides, your scent shifts the more Namjoon touches you, sweetness that breaks through the rain, ebbing and flowing rainstorms. All Yoongi really wants at this moment is to make you feel better, once you’re truly settled- then they can talk about what he came home to.

Namjoon pets over your head, re-tucking your hair behind your ear you tilt your face more into Jin and his palm falls on the nape of your neck almost unintentionally.

 Every cell in Namjoon’s body stands up straight. It’s not a scruff- it couldn’t be without Namjoon purposefully squeezing the back of your neck, pinching both of your scent glands, and depositing his own scent there. But at the barest suggestion of that kind of contact, you melt forward into Jin’s chest, going truly boneless.

You don't know why your body thought that Namjoon would scruff you. Even if you want it- he's not your pack alpha and your body would have only had that extreme reaction if he was- if your bodies recognized each other that way. It’s not a conscious choice. Alphas can scruff omegas that they have no connection to but it doesn't have the same reaction- more likely to evoke anxiety and a paralyzing fear than relaxation and omega space.

Namjoon would also have to want to settle you, his body would have to be ready to deposit his own settling pheromones against your skin to make you relax even slightly. It’s foolish to hope that he would- especially now.

Namjoon’s hand leaves the back of your neck before it has the chance to do any real damage, “Sorry” Namjoon sounds chagrinned, but he doesn’t move much farther.

Jungkook is happy to set the smoothy on the dresser, hopping up and into the nest, Jungkook is hard and solid, another comforting presence around you as he jostles the four of you.

He lies back, curled partially around Namjoon’s back, leaning on one shoulder. His arms flexing under his body’s own weight. Hand on your calf over the covers squeezing reassuringly, then freezing.

"I really hope I didn't just squeeze your ass but if I did, I'm not gonna apologize for it." He teases, grinning up at you.

“Jungkookie-”

You fidget, and like Yoongi can sense or feel down your mating bond how close to being overwhelmed you are, he sighs, putting a hand on Namjoon’s shoulder and pulling the alpha back, he goes- but not easily. His whole body tight, eyes threatening- like if Yoongi’s not careful Namjoon could also decide to scruff him too.

It would work- Yoongi knows it would.

“Let me take her for a second.” The transfer is easy and smooth, you even help a little even though your body feels like it's weighed down with lead weights. Muscles sore and tired from all of that adrenaline cycling through. Energy that you never expended but still paid for, Yoongi knows you must be exhausted.

Yoongi’s hands are cool on the back of your neck, scratching gently then holding you hard. You don’t always get touch averse but Yoongi knows how to hold you when the flares of it are passing, it might only last a few minutes and maybe- it was just a lot to wake up to so many hands on you and then Namjoon’s almost scruffing.

Your hands tug insistently on the front of Yoongi’s jacket and his hands go hard around your waist, under your shirt. Skin to skin like you need- the weird half touch starvation and half revulsion- a dizzying mixture until you finally pull him closer. Yoongi's nose gets pressed to your mating mark and all he gets is fear, acrid rain, waves of it.  

“Oh pup, you don't- they're not, I’m- we're not angry.” Yoongi doesn't know what else to say, even less what to do. You can’t figure out if he’s read between the lines, seen the mess you made of their sex toy collection or if they talked about it before you woke.

Maybe this doesn’t surprise him, maybe he’s seen something, a hovering in you- a neediness that was characteristic but also deeper than your usual wants ran. Or maybe he’d accidentally opened your laptop to look up something home-reno-related on YouTube and found it open to something unsavory. Either way, your mate knows the hovering secret look that Jin sends him, something like, 'don’t- just don’t bring it up.'

But that’s not going to leave you satisfied, avoidance won’t solve this. You turn your face up to Jin, eyes swimming with a fresh set of unshed tears, it's only going to get worse, you’re only going to feel worse if you don’t apologize, your words and your pulse jumping. You will not let yourself go non-verbal now even if your mouth feels so tacky. You're as safe as you're ever going to be with Yoongi's arms around you. Your mate won’t let anything happen to you; your mate will keep you safe.

A horrible hidden voice that thinks you are not deserving of all this love and care says that if Yoongi lets Jin hurt you then you will accept it, then it’s deserved. Maybe it would be easier if Jin didn’t look just as unsure as you do, teeth digging into his lower lip hard enough that it makes it white.

“I'm sorry Jinnie- I don’t know what I was thinking I-.” Now, this just won’t do- having you and Yoongi even inches away in his nest is too much for Jin to bear and he scoops both of you up, ignoring Yoongi's "yah" his muscles straining, trying to find a good medium between holding you and letting you and Yoongi have your space. 

The blanket falls from around your shoulders, leaving you feeling relieved to get cold air on your skin and yet- overwhelmed with the sudden lack of barrier.

“Sweetheart, it’s fine, I’m just-“ Jin only has an inch of frustration, an inch of anything negative for this whole situation. Maybe it’s better to expel it now than store it and let it build up to resentment however slight. Kind of like Jungkook’s punishments- it’s better to get it out at once and deal with it so that the negative emotions don’t linger. Jin wipes away your tears with his thumb.

“If you have questions- I wish you’d told us- rather than look around on your own.” Jin’s voice shakes, “Without explanation, the things in those boxes can be scary. I'm sorry we scared you. I’m sorry I scared you before- I shouldn’t have chased you- I should have known better. I’m sorry pup, I’ll never do that again- I promise.”

It doesn't make sense, why Jin is apologizing, you shake your head stubbornly, messy hair jumping with your movements. “I’m not scared- they didn’t scare me not really? but I shouldn't have even been in your room without asking-”

Jin freezes, sitting up rim rod straight- “what?” the words come out in a rush, word vomit like you can’t keep them in. Your hands roll in the front of Yoongi’s shirt, toying with the edge anxiously. Your mate's hands instantly rub closer, running up and down your arm, under the sleeve, and over your shoulder, massaging gently.

“After Monday- when I saw you and Joonie and jk- I just wanted to make sure he was okay- and then I fell down this rabbit hole on twitter and before I realized it- I was looking at like- so so so much porn and there was this video with this little cat mask and-"

"Woh- woh- woh sweetheart- I'm gonna need you to slow down and back up- cat mask?”

You swallow. Peering up at namjoon below your eyelashes. “I looked it up, BDSM, that’s what you guys do? right?” 

Jin feels like he's choking on his own tongue, his own saliva drowning him. Namjoon’s hands' fists in the sheets, Jungkook has the gal to laugh at their twin pairs of flushed cheeks. The youngest omega rolls over so that he’s curled around you and Yoongi, pressing his face into the beta’s hip. Yoongi jumps at the contact- apparently not expecting it. Jin might find it strange if he wasn’t so focused on you.

Jin doesn’t know what to say, even less what to do. Swallowing hard and looking down at you. You turn a little, fiddling with Yoongi's hand, to look down at Jungkook, still nuzzling close to the two of you.

“Now that’s something I didn’t expect- but I can’t say I’m not happy.” He giggles, muffled by the fabric.

Your hand falls to his fluffy hair, "You mean you're not angry that I went through your things?"

Jungkook shrugs "as long as you didn't use them on your own, I honestly don't think anyone cares, and that's only because Joonie and Jin like to watch and look after us when we-"

"Kookie!" if he was wearing his collar that would get him more than a firm tug.

The grin he sends Namjoon and Jin is nothing but mischievous. “Pup-“ but Jungkook’s already pulling himself up, sitting on his knees and leaning in to bump his forehead on your shoulder, giggling.

He cocks his head at you like a bird, “I'm more curious about your research- what did you like- what didn’t you like? Wait no- I Wanna guess- pet play- yeah- definitely pet play- and oh! what about bondage- “

Jin laces a hand in Jungkook’s hair, tugging hard, “pup- now’s not the time.”

Jungkook doesn’t look upset, peering up at Jin with the widest puppy eyes possible. “But hyung you have to have noticed how she really really likes being called pup so it only makes sense that if you called her puppy-“ You whine, high pitched and open.

Yoongi wishes there was a way to steal you away, he’d rather have heard about this in private before- hell Yoongi isn't sure you shouldn't talk about this alone and then re-join the group later. 

While being with the pack and talking this over with them is not unsafe for you this might be better handled on a more one-on-one basis. Not with Jungkook’s playful teasing and especially after the mention of bondage which has Yoongi's cheeks flaming. A quiet reminder of Yoongi's own preferences that Jungkook is well aware of (that little shit).

The ropes in that box belonged to Yoongi first, and you don’t need to know that yet. 

So the teasing smirk really isn't for you- no- it's for Yoongi.

It's not like he's never thought about this with you, about what it would feel like to push you into a more obedient headspace during sex, something softer and more pliant. If he's honest with himself- you've long displayed submissive tendencies and visibly enjoyed it when he acted more dominant. It's not truly anything like what Namjoon and Jin have with the others- nothing quite so formal, but Yoongi can't say he's surprised by this turn of events, not even a little.

God- it feels like you’re in the middle of a tug of war, Jungkook’s hands on your sides, Yoongi’s on your back, and Jin’s on your shoulders. The back of your neck still tingling from Namjoon’s touch. So many hands, so much touching. You feel dizzy with it, but it’s Jin that cups your cheek, tilting your face up to his commanding your attention.

“If you were so curious why, didn’t you just ask us about it?”

“Scared.” Words are hard, and for you, they’re even harder when Jin makes you meet his gaze like that.

“What were you scared of?”

“Couldn’t- screw it up, I love- I love the cuddling, the- the kisses.” you’re stuttery, your hand’s laced with Jungkook’s and he squeezes back a rhythm as if to say 'I love it too' without words. It settles you- brings back your words a bit. Enough to articulate this.

Jin makes a questioning noise in his chest, not a whine and not a purr, and for what feels the millionth time in your life living here with them- you wish that they just got it- that you didn’t have to say what they’re all thinking. Hoping to let you down softly by not addressing it isn’t helping.

You hang your head, looking at your hands because you can't bear to look into Jin's eyes any longer. “I don’t want to guilt you into giving more than you want to give and I know you don’t want this with me. I’ve messed this up with my own curiosity- I shouldn’t even be curious about your sex life- it’s not my place or my right to know that information. I’m not worth a spot in this pack and that’s even more clear now.”

The pack is their pack- it’s not yours. No matter how much you want it to be. Namjoon is not your pack alpha and Jin is not your pack omega. Even though you’re in the middle of their nest right now, their faces are ready and waiting and utterly open-mouthed in shock at what you say.

Maybe Jungkook isn’t the only one with a brain full of misfiring neurons and betrayed genetics. Maybe your past has shaped the way you think about yourself so fully that you can’t possibly read between the lines of their confusion.

Has all of the softness over the last few months meant so little for you, Jin cooking for you- calling you pup, letting you into their hearts and their lives so fluidly. Why do you assume so instantly that more intimacy will screw it up?

Does the fact that Jungkook’s basically gone to second base with you on their couch every afternoon since you first kissed mean nothing to you? Your words don’t clarify anything, making all their heads spin.

Jungkook doesn’t want to call you dumb for a multitude of reasons but screw it- he's pissed. Finally he understands why Namjoon and Jin have such firm reactions to it when he talks down about himself.

“Hyung, what’s the kink called where you’re attracted to stupid people?”

Jin’s hand is already in Jungkook’s hair but it’s Namjoon who reaches out turning Jungkook's head forcibly to make the omega look at him. The lilt to Namjoon's eyes is dark and as threatening as the pack alpha ever gets with their youngest (a title that jungkook won't have for much longer)

“If you don’t settle, I will do it myself and it won’t just be with words and a few tugs Jungkook.” Somehow- the full name does more to settle him than anything else would. The warmth in his cheeks at being scolded gets pinched at by Namjoon’s fingers a little meanly. “Am I clear?”

“Yes alpha.”

Namjoon articulates his words very carefully. Unfortunately- this kind of misalignment isn’t anything they’re not used to- it reminds him terribly of Hoseok and the state that he'd first come to the pack in. A heart full of hurts and hands that didn't know how to go about healing.

The first time they ever kissed, Namjoon still remembers his words, how surprised he'd been that the pack alpha had leaned across the kitchen table while they tried to figure out the billing- Hobi who’s always had more of an eye for keeping everything organized than any of them. 

‘Oh! If you’re feeling needy, I can call one of the others! I’m sorry you had to kiss me.’

I’m sorry you had to kiss me is no different from I’m not worth a spot in this pack. Both say the same thing, I am not worthy of your affection and your love. No one's ever said they loved me and meant it.

There are some things that abuse takes from you and others that it gives and teaches you. Both you and Hoseok have learned that your gut reaction and assumption should be that no one wants you, that you are unlovable and undesirable to a fault, even if it's the furthest thing from the truth.

At least they’ve got one person on their side here, at least you believe that Yoongi loves you- that Yoongi wants you. That will help them convincing you that you're wrong. Challenging someones world view is never easy, especially when it comes to a view they hold of themselves. But they’ll try as long as they need too- Namjoon knows that they’ll sit here in this nest until you understand that none of this affection has been put upon them, that all of it is gladly had and sought after.

Falling in love with people- maybe it’s not a choice, but to nurture this actively and carefully is certainly an act of effort and purpose. In the same way one might choose to nurture a garden after finding a flower that they liked, store the seeds for later and plant them when the ground is warm and ready and the sun is less than shy.

The sunset cuts perfect slices of orange sunlight across the room, turning the crown of namjoon’s head a little halo when he leans back, vanishing the next second when he leans closer to you. Like orange slices or one of the pans in one of Tae’s eyeshadow pallets labeled peachy daydreams.

Hobi was always the one who was best with plants, Tae a close second, both of them full of a hidden light that growing things recognize and lean towards. Namjoon has always been too clumsy even though he likes plants and likes them a lot. Half of the reason why Hobi collects plants is because he knows it makes the pack alpha happy.

Namjoon is not a little kid with a bright plastic trowel trying to nurture this love- he is a pack alpha. And he knows what to do with a chance when it’s given to him.

Namjoon’s hand remains on the back of Jungkook’s neck and will stay there as a very careful reminder until this conversation is done. Even though he looks to you, voice as soft as velvet and twice as careful with what he says as usual. “Can you repeat back to me what you just said, line by line sweetheart?”

“I love the cuddling? the kissing?” you look away, fingers playing with Yoongi’s shirt still, something omegan in you satisfied by the texture. Your skin feels hot, and you tuck your shoulders in. Namjoon strokes down your back, one long line his knuckles skim against Yoongi's chest when you shift and turn to look at him.

“We know sweetheart, we like it too- keep going.”

“I don’t want to guilt you into this?” you whisper uncertainly, you tuck your chin. Jin manhandles you slightly, setting you out and getting his hand on your calf to massage it lightly. Your shoulders are in Yoongi’s lap and your feet in Jin’s. He moves you every few seconds to try and find the right position. A new soft thing to be incorporated into his nest- obviously at the center where only the most important things go.

It’s not exactly the statement that gave Namjoon the most pause, but it’s a fine place to start. “Why do you think that’s the only reason why we’d want to have that with you- is guilt the only possible motivator? Or could there be another?” Namjoon will take the time to walk you through this, even if it takes all night.

“I- I don’t know- I guess I think that because I’m me?” you avoid asking at their affection like someone would avoid putting their hand on a hot burner. But you say it like it’s the perfect explanation. Like the words warrant no further questions.

Namjoon’s patience is infinite, even Yoongi shifts restlessly behind you waiting for the breaking or the tell-tale displeasure in your scent, anything that shows you need to be whisked away into privacy.

Yoongi has been waiting for this moment since he first brought you into this house, has been waiting for them to fall in love with you as he did and voice it. But it’s not enough to simply happen, you need to want it to happen too. The smell of your displeasure still lingers- an oncoming rainstorm like a threat.

Yoongi's arms tighten around your waist when Jin says “Please explain what you mean by that.”

Maybe in the future making you talk about your feelings will become some sort of punishment, and they'll make you unpack what you mean like this in front of all of them and articulate your emotions so fully and completely only make you write lines of the opposite. Bartering kind words about yourself, ripped from trembling lips, for kisses and orgasams.  

You don’t want to say it, you know how the truth sounds, how self-deprecating and horrible they think you’re being to yourself when in reality- it’s just a fact.

You’d backtrack and take it back just to avoid this- argument that you can feel hovering below the surface but it's hard to lie and even harder to consider getting away with it when their eyes are trained on you like this, examining your every word under a microscope. You will be honest about why you think you’re not worth this- even if they have to wring it out of you.

“You know why. I’m not the same as other omegas- I’m damaged.” Yoongi moves to cup your cheeks, well acquainted with this part of you but nervous.

Jungkook makes a dismayed noise, sitting up, hair all sticking this way and that looking more put out than he should be. “Even if that was true, why would that make you any less deserving than I am? Then Jin is?”

Jungkook’s equal parts indignant and endeared, not grasping the brevity of these words and the seriousness with which you confess them. But maybe things shouldn’t be as tense as Jin feels they are. Maybe this isn’t dangerous. The five of you safe in his nest. The scale tips back and forth- good and bad, happy one moment then not the next.

Your scent swoops, the sweetness dimming and transforming into rain as you bite your lower lip, Yoongi pulls you tighter to his chest. A caution in his words, his worry endless when it comes to you. “Guys-“

“I’m just- I’m not- I’m not anything like you are kookie.”

You shift out of Yoongi’s arms even though he tries not to let you go, to keep you in a place where those words feel less lethal. You lie down closer to Jungkook, cheek to the side of Jin’s nest, rubbing your cheek a little an unintentional scent mark. 

You smell so sad, so small too, the scent barely fluffing out. Maybe your body is just too tired to properly scent mark, it's an underlying sign of sadness and a belief so complete that you believe you shouldn’t even try to leave a bit of yourself here in a place of such intimacy.

Seokjin is going to raid your entire fucking closet if that’s what it takes- putting every item of yours in this nest to stake his claim- so that it smells so completely of you that you won’t be able to ignore the fact that they want you. You wouldn’t even need your clothes, would you? Jin could get you in his alphas clothes so that you always smelled like them, maybe that would make you finally feel safe. His nostrils flare at your words and the urge to scent mark you into a happy haze almost takes over.

It only matters if you feel safe, not if you actually are, every kind word and promise they speak only stands to matter if you believe them. There is nothing that could hurt you here or in this nest, but none of that matters to Jin if you still smell so unsettled.

You reach out a hand, lying so close to kookie but yet so far, you move to cup his cheek but think better of it letting it fall to the comforter limp- like the action would take more energy than you have in your little body. 

Have you ever been hesitant to touch him? It feels like ages ago that you ever felt unsure like this. You stare at him, eyes going from his delicate jaw to his wide eyes like the backside of the universe.  His eyes twinkle at you almost like they can see every wish you've ever made and tried to pin to a passing shooting star.

“You’re- you’re the perfect omega, you have to know that right? You’re happy all the time and you make them laugh more than you make them worried, you’re pretty enough and strong enough for anything. You’re- you’re very worth loving alright?”

All of them are too chicken, too chicken to say what they actually want to and maybe that’s the problem. Predictably, Jungkook is the one with the most balls out of the three of them.

Jungkook barely lets your words hover in the air before he retaliates, his words a near hiss at first “and you’re not? what makes you think that you’re not everything I am? you make them smile too- I’ve never seen Yoongi so-“ Jungkook’s eyes flicker up to meet your mates, tears tugging, jungkook is an angry crier. “happy- he’s happiest when he’s with you. He loves you.”

“Yoongi was a fluke.”

Jungkook surges forward closing the distance between the two of you pressing forward to kiss you clean on the mouth, trying to put every ounce of love and wanting that he has in his little body into the kiss, pulling himself over you to press you into the sheets.

His tongue rolls hotly against yours, wet and exploring and you sigh kissing back- but his lips dominate the kiss, he nibbles, then bites softly at your lower lip, teasing. If Jungkook’s mouth tastes like honey, golden and sweet- what does the rest of him taste like?

If you can’t believe that you’re worth this love just as much as him- then maybe he can give you a little bit of his- just a drop of his sunshine. Maybe it’s futile, maybe you can’t transport self-worth from one person to another or make them believe it with just a kiss, but Jungkook’s going to try and try his hardest to make you see what he does- mark his words. Even if it takes years and years of kisses and a love so incandescent, you’ll burn up with it.

He keeps his forehead pressed to yours, nuzzling in with his nose, even when he breaks apart, pressing you into the nest like it will make you feel how serious he is, how much he believes the words, “I promise that he’s not.”

Where are the alphas? They should be back here doing their job of loving you senseless. Jungkook doesn’t want to be patient, he wants it to happen now. Namjoon is the only one here and he’s pressing his luck by keeping his distance. “If we didn’t care about you- we wouldn’t worry.”

There is a single tear at the corner of your eye. You can’t respond to the words, a whine dying in your throat as you nod. Not entirely convinced, not yet.

It’s no surprise that Jungkook’s words make you want to cry a little. They care for you they care for you they maybe love you runs over your head, same sounds but different meanings. Thoughts babbling like water over river rocks, bubbling up into little warm tears that speckle your cheeks.

“Oh pup.” You choke on your words, hands scrabbling at Jungkook’s back to pull him in closer, and the other omega tucks his chin over your shoulder. Molding his body in your shape. Let me imitate all the ways you are good at being loved and loving, let me learn, please.

A hand goes in your hair again, thick and wider than the others, Namjoon. Namjoon Is looking down at you, eyes swimming with something that looks an offal lot like pain, he scoots forward, pausing for a moment before he leans over Jungkook, he moves softly and slowly so he doesn’t startle you. Jungkook lets his mouth slide down your neck, teeth teasing more and more.

The tear on your cheek won't linger for long as Namjoon presses his lips to the spot it’s infected, wiping it away in the tenderest way he can imagine. Kissing away the first tear and then the second. Your sadness trapped in the corner of his mouth forever and your cheek sparking with how gentle he was- skin so sensitive from just a small kiss on the cheek.

You’re embarrassed by the small gasp you let out. Jungkook’s kiss made you breathless, chest heaving once again- but you’re embarrassed at the tiny, almost near-silent noise that you make when Namjoon just simply kisses your cheek. Mouth lingering and then pressing again. Pecking first at one and then the other, thumb hovering on your jaw and then your mouth.

Your lips part, your breath teasing on your skin. But he doesn't kiss you there. Not yet- not with your sadness still on his tongue. No- when the pack alpha kisses you for the first time it will be a happy moment, and you won't even remember this or feeling so sad with them touching you. Namjoon can feel your first kiss hovering in the air and saves it for a different day.

When he pulls back, the pack alpha doesn't look offended or bothered, and you wonder why you expect him to be even though he’s the one that kissed you. He scoots closer and Jungkook parts from you, just a little blinking up at Namjoon in tandem.

Jungkook doesn’t look jealous that their alpha has kissed you and after a quick look at Jin- neither does the other omega. He’s looking at you with a small smile playing on his face, but the pack alpha doesn’t let you look away from him for long, taking your chin in his hand and tipping your face up to his. Thumb pressed to the edge of your lip.

“Jungkookies right. We worry about you all the time- I worry about you all the time.” Namjoon sucks in a shallow breath, “we worry If you’re safe at home and if you’re happy. That’s what we want, but not-” Namjoon swallows, steadying himself. “But not all that we want. If you want to be apart of this- apart of our dynamic with Jungkookie, like what you saw- if that is something that you want or wanted to explore in the future, then we can make it happen.”

“At your pace” Jin affirms, hand sliding down Yoongi’s wrist and squeezing at the betas hand reassuringly.

The alpha nods, “at your pace, and safely” Namjoon agrees. Jin rolls his eyes with an endeared glance at the younger who’s watching Namjoon like the pack alpha has just given him the best gift on Christmas morning.

“God knows this one has a proclivity for all things dangerous, and I don’t know if Namjoon could handle another sub like Jungkookie-“

“Hey!”

Namjoon grins, ducking down like he can hide his smile from you all. “not- that you’ve agreed to be that yet, we should talk more. You shouldn’t decide if you want that with us tonight, you should sit on it.”

“But if you don’t want to then don’t promise- “

“Listen to me.” Namjoon has never hinted at a controlling or dangerous tone with you before. But the seriousness is plain on his face. He dares to speak the words without startling you. “You do not have to worry about what we want and if we want you. You are not forcing us, this is our choice- as much as it is yours. Do you understand me?”

“Yes” Namjoon’s eyes quirk, and you blush, trying to look away but not managing it. He waits on bated breath and behind you, you can feel Yoongi’s small grumble, a happy noise.

“Yes alpha.” You finally amend, Cheeks flaming.

Jungkook has at least taught you one thing, Namjoon leans forward, pressing another kiss to your forehead that makes you jump. A little reward for being a “good pup.” He croons, fingers now daring to glide down your throat, you squeak when the brush against your scent gland. Sensitive, skin that only a few people have touched and only fewer have loved. You and Namjoon linger close even though his fingers leave you. And behind you, another hand joins the fray.

Jin strokes a finger from your temple to your jaw, massaging at your scent gland lightly, rubbing his wrist along your neck in much the same way Yoongi had, marking you. Jungkook gives an indignant huff, moving to bite Jin's hand before he can snatch it away with a laugh. "Hey! I found this spot first! find another to mark."

The pack omega just marked you. It’s not the first time- but here in his nest- it means something different. You turn your face up to Jinnie, to watch him as he does it.

Lips parting as Jungkook's kisses to your neck turn to little nibbles and then to sucks, he's never given you a hickey before though he's tried before Jin had the Opportunity to stop him- but he doesn't stop the youngest omega now, petting over your head and grumbling while Jungkook sucks a mark onto your neck. Every few seconds laving his tongue over the sensitive area making you gasp.

Yoongi and Namjoon watch, eyes swimming with something undefinable as you do it. You’re not ready to assess Jungkook’s words, to believe it yet. It’s dangerous- the last time someone loved you that wasn’t Yoongi- things didn’t go well.

You blink up at Jin, glad for the distraction from Jungkook’s words and his attention, they drink down the way your pupils dilate, trying not to lose yourself to the exquisite torture of Jungkook's mouth. After a dozen moment of careful sucking where you struggle and fail not to show how much you're enjoying it. his mouth leaves your skin with a pop; ducking down to kiss the red mark with a loud smack, "there!" a satisfied hum in his throat.

Love is filling Yoongi’s throat, so thick and dense at the picture of the four of you all snuggled close like that, watching the way you turn your neck subtly so that Jin can see, an approving hum- That he doesn’t even realize when he starts to cry.

Yoongi’s chocolate scent has been more oceany and sea-salty for a while (he can't control it like jin can- the anxiety of the last few minutes has been eating him alive). The four of your heads shoot up at his little noise, and he opens his arms. You’re already pulling yourself over to him. 

“what’s wrong Yoongi- are you-“ he leans his cheek into your hand, letting the few tears that want to come out come out.

“I’m just-“ he thinks back, the supercut of the last few months, your abuse and the last year hasn’t been easy on either of you. His heart aches when he thinks back to the two of you so hopeless, the first time he dared to kiss you and how you flinched away- if you’d told that Yoongi that he’d one day be watching you giggle through a ticklish hickey given by Jungkook well- he wouldn’t have believed you, would have called you crazy or worse.

Things are not entirely okay yet, there are still hidden demons, hidden secrets, but this isn’t terrible. Maybe things won’t be better forever, maybe there are other challenges, the demons in your head aren’t entirely exorcised- he knows that they won’t be for a while, that it will take more than kind words and a suit of armor to slay that dragon. 

But this is good- a better turn of events of today than he’d thought possible when he’d gotten a tense call from Jin, voice hushed because you’d cried yourself to sleep on his chest and he didn’t want to wake you.

 Yoongi knows to appreciate the good moments when they come, to store them gently and tide himself over for the moments that are not- this moment will live- glowing and lovely in his chest like a stubborn flower that just won’t die. An invasive species gladly welcomed through naivety or hubris.

Namjoon grins at him- “oh you fucking sap.”

“I am not a sap!” only Yoongi can look absolutely adorable with his wet pink cheeks and pout while still managing to look indignate. “I’m just- I'm just fucking happy okay.” Your mate's hands on you are as gentle as always while Jungkook whines behind you at the loss of his new favorite chew toy.

Yoongi is so expressive with his body and he holds you now, hands skimming up before settling on your shoulders. He sniffles wetly, lifting his head from where he was nuzzling into the side of your head, the spot where your hair gets knotty after you sleep. Yoongi is in love with every inch of- even the disjointed edges.

“I’m okay, just give me a second.” For weeks, he’ll wonder how you made it this far, his chest is so tight with pride he might burst. He wonders if this is what it feels like when a baby bird spreads their winds, his bones press to your bones and he peers up at you like you are a marvel.

You settle yourself back after kissing him on the forehead- a move maybe imitated from Namjoon- but maybe you learn how best to love from people loving you and it feels like a hello from the alpha across the room when your lips touch his temple. You play with the hairs on the back of his nape, like you’re trying to reassure him that you’re still here when you turn back to Jin.

Its just one last apology, you promise the last time you’ll say sorry for this. “I’m sorry for going through your things, without asking, and I’m sorry for invading your privacy when I should have just asked, I know it’s not an excuse for my behavior, but in my mind, it was safer to find out as much as I could so I knew how to approach you about it without you hating me.”

“We could never hate you pup.” Namjoon just about wants to pull both you and Yoongi into his lap. Curse Kim Namjoon for not being born with 8 pairs of arms like an octopus- to better hold his loves with. He’d scoot closer to you but the 5 of you are practically on top of each other right now. 70% of the nest is completely uninhabited. Though Jungkook seems to be doing a good job of making it 69% with the way he’s sucking on Jin’s neck to leave a mark in an identical place to where he left one on you.

“So this is how it happens right?” Jungkook is giddy, giggling happy and squirming against the nest when he finally lets jin be, the other omega doesn't react except for a fond roll of his eyes. “We’re gonna kiss and do more stuff now that we’ve talked about it right?”

Jungkook starts so shift again, trying to get to you and Yoongi- probably to leave more hickeys- if he tilts his mouth right he can probably give you one in the shape of a heart and he thinks you’d love that-

“Wait-“ Namjoon has the unique ability to turn all of you, pack alpha or not- he’s commanding. “I have one more thing to say, it’s been on my mind for weeks, I’ve- I’ve wanted to say this to you for a long time.

"This feels out of order- like we never should have gotten here- before all the other things. I don’t want to start this without- starting that.”

You pout, and Yoongi can tell somethings not connecting in your little brain, he holds you tighter like he can keep it from hurting that way. “What do you mean?”

Namjoon’s never been shy, not since Jin trained it out of him. And all of that work- shaping him into a true pack alpha helps now as he straightens, trying to make his shoulders feel broad enough to carry the weight of this responsibility.

Namjoon knows how to have the exact balance of soft and firm, powerful and protective, without being pushy. He takes your hands in both of his. Your hands are tiny comparatively, calloused from all the disinfectant. Yours are delicate and perfect- the nails bitten down a little bit but Namjoon thinks they’re beautiful.

Namjoon wets his lips with the tip of his tongue. “I want you to be a part of our pack, officially. Please-” His eyes flicker up to Yoongi, for just a second then back down to yours. Settling back into a slightly more formal sitting position.

Usually- propositions of courting are done on one knee, not dissimilar to marriage proposals but this- this is the right time for this. Jin would snap at him if he tried to get out of the nest to do it now.

“Please allow me the honor of courting you.”

~-~

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[hertzwritings]

The Barber boys and the bakery chapter 2

A/N: I’m trying to take care of my physical and mental health these days, and it seems like an actually IMPOSSIBLE task. Which is why I escape into this fluffy world of the Barber boys and their baker. I’m BLOWN AWAY with the response to this, and I’m glad to see you guys loving it as much as I do. Also, a GIANT I love you and thank you to @buckyshattergirl​ who pretty much co-wrote this. 

You can buy me a coffee here, and I’ll write you a personalized something – the sky is the limit, my loves!

Remember, feedback feeds the soul (min in particular) and my requests – and askbox – are always open – there’s no limits, because I am me and I have none.

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Pairing: Andy Barber x female reader

Contains: language, fluff, mentions of panic attacks, mentions of PTSD, a sliver of angst, spoilers for Defending Jacob (mostly the last two episodes)

W.C: 3.000

 The sleepover

Andy was normally never one, who got surprised or taken aback about anything. He usually stayed on top of everything, knew the most outcomes, but Y/N had kind of invaded his life and he had no idea how anything was about to go, when she was near. Since the first time they met, she and Jacob spent a lot more time together at the bakery. After a while, Andy told Jacob that he could just bring Y/N home, because he was worried about Jacob walking home alone at night. If he was being completely honest, though, he kind of also wanted to see her. It was also nice knowing someone was around to keep an eye on Jacob, when Andy couldn’t be home. It actually added something, he hadn’t experienced in his house in a while, which was Jacob’s laughter and the smell of baked goods. The house became a home, slowly, but surely. One thing was a new house, but even in the old house with Laurie, it didn’t feel like this. Happy.

Which is why he wasn’t surprised to see her shoes – covered in flour, of course – in the hallway, when he came home from work and toed his own shoes off, before letting his bag fall to the ground. What he didn’t expect, though, was the loud noises coming from the living room – it sounded like a mix of singing and two cats dying. He frowned and walked towards the sound, and – though it shouldn’t surprise him – found Y/N and Jacob standing across from each other, screaming out the song that played in the background. At further inspection, he saw that it was a movie, not a song, and before he had time to figure what movie, they both began singing (dying?) again.

“YOU” Jacob screamed. “ME, we’re FACE TO FACE BUT WE…” Y/N gestured wildly. “DON’T SEE EYE TO EEEEEEEYEE!” Jacob jumped on the spot, before continuing. “WE’RE LIKE FIRE AND RAAAAIN!” Y/N screamed. “FIRE AND RAAAAIN!” Jacob was in his feelings, clearly, because he was on his knees now. “YOU REALLY DRIVE ME INSAAAN… Oh, Hi, Andy.” Y/N stopped singing and waved, and Jacob paused the movie before standing up and waving at Andy. “Hi, dad.” “Hi, kiddo and hi, Y/N. What’re you guys up to?” He asked, slipping his jacket off. Y/N’s eyes lingered on his arms for a moment. “We’re doing a duet. Clearly.” Jacob said with a grin. “Oh, that’s what that was? I could’ve sworn it was a catfight.” Y/N gasped. “Heathen. We sounded amazing.” Andy raised his eyebrows at her. “What, uh… Have you guys had anything to eat yet?” He asked, rubbing his neck – he tried very hard not to stare at Y/N, who wore a gorgeous green dress, that let him see a lot more cleavage (and tattoos) than he had expected. He shouldn’t be looking, but it was kind of hard to tear his eyes away, when all he could think about was tracing her tattoos with his tongue. What on earth was happening to him? Jacob’s eyes moved back and forth between Andy and Y/N, before he scoffed and pointed at Y/N. “Disrespectfully, dad, Y/N is here.” Y/N laughed a little at that and pointed to the kitchen. “I accidentally made enough pasta to feed a small army.” It wouldn’t be the first time. Andy had come home after a late night at the office and found that Y/N and Jacob had made pizza, which was just about enough to last them for a month (“Dad, we needed to make all of them, how else were we going to get all the toppings on there?”), and the time before that, she made lasagna. There were still two full lasagnas in the freezer as they spoke. “A large army.” Jacob interjected, and Y/N playfully rolled her eyes at him. “Yeah, yeah, I’m used to cooking for one, sorry if my pasta-proportions are a little off.” “By like… A lot.” Jacob grinned and looked at his phone. “Oh, I’m headed up. We’re playing Resident Evil.” “Who’s we and what’s Resident Evil?” Andy asked, slightly confused. Jacob rolled his eyes. “You’re seriously too old for your own good. We are Derek, me, Ashleigh, Hope and Sam. And I’m not even going to try to explain the beauty of Resident Evil.” And with that, Jacob turned on his heel and went up the stairs to his room. Andy laughed a little and his heart skipped a beat, when he saw how Y/N looked up at the stairs, her eyes soft and a sweet smile on her lips. She turned to him. “Teenagers, right?” He nodded. “Are you hungry?” She asked and smiled at him – it kickstarted his entire system. How a smile could make him feel like this, he didn’t understand. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, I could eat.” “Well, come along then, Hotshot.” She laughed and led the way to the kitchen, where she began heating up the dinner – it smelled amazing, and he couldn’t help but admire her as she stood in his kitchen, an array of very inappropriate thoughts running through his mind. How she would look bent over the breakfast-bar. How she belonged here. He pulled himself out of his head when she spoke again.

  “I think Jake might need a therapist.” She said softly. He frowned. “Huh?” He already asked Jacob if he wanted to go to therapy to deal with everything that had happened, but Jacob had responded with “If Imma be sad, Imma do it with pizzaz”, and they kind of left it at that. She piled a bunch of pasta onto a plate and handed it to him, before she opened a wine next to her like it was second nature to her to give him a glass of wine – his favorite, he realized. She placed the glass next to his plate and poured herself some too, before she sat down in front of him, biting her lip. “I know…” She paused and took a sip. He followed her, allowing the wine to calm his nerves a little. “I know Jake’s been dealing in his own way.” “With pizzaz, if I recall.” He said softly, jabbing his fork into the pasta. He liked the pride on her face, whenever he ate something, she made. “Yeah, with pizzaz. I think…” She sighed. “Listen, I know I’m not really in a position to say anything about this, but lately… He’s been off. I don’t know why, maybe we’re nearing the anniversary of something…” She looked pointedly at Andy, who swallowed thickly.

Truth was, they were nearing the anniversary of that fucking day. The day, where Laurie drove the car into the side of a bridge, hysterically asking Jacob if he killed Ben, and it left a lot of marks on Jacob. Not physical, but Andy knew his son, and he knew that Jacob was dealing. Not well, but he was trying. “All I’m saying is that maybe he’d do good with a few sessions. I know a few great therapists, that specializes in trauma in young adults and PTSD. I can give you their numbers, if you want them.” He sighed and rubbed his forehead. “Listen, Y/N, I appreciate you trying here, I really do, but…” “I get it. Not my circus, not my monkeys, right?” She narrowed her eyes at him, and he saw a sliver of the same fire, she had in her eyes the day he met her. “Listen to me, Andrew…” He almost lurched back in his chair. Oh, she was scary when she was like this – and it was the first time, she’d ever used his full name and not just called him Hotshot or Andy. “That kid? He’s the single most amazing kid, I’ve ever met. He’s kind, he has the biggest heart, he has a hell of a lot more understanding of the world and the people in it, than anybody who’s been through what he has, should. He is doing his best to hide the fact, that he’s terrified, feels alone and scared, because he doesn’t want to burden you with it. I’m telling you right now, that kid would walk through hell and back if it meant keeping you happy.” “I am…” “I’m not done.” She cut him off and took a sip of her wine. “He doesn’t want to talk about what happened, but I read the news when the trial started. I know what he went through, although I’m pretty sure there’s way more to the story than he’s been willing to let on. I also know that he cannot bear this alone, Andy. He needs help.” She leaned back in her chair and her eyes softened. “I know you think you’re helping him by not talking about it, but you’re not. I… he loves you so much, that little shit, but you’re both knuckleheads, that won’t talk about your feelings.” Andy was reeling. Was he hurting Jacob by not forcing him into therapy?

  “I don’t want to force him.” “You don’t need to. You need to be honest with him, tell him you know he’s dealing with a lot, and you want to help, but you understand why he doesn’t want to talk to you about it. That it’s okay to admit you’re not okay, because it is.” He sighed and he almost had a heart attack when her hand softly laid on top of his. How was she so warm? He was quiet for a moment, before he turned his hand and held onto hers tightly. “My ex-wife is…” He said slowly. “She, uh… She tried to kill Jacob.” “Excuse the fuck you me?” Y/N was seething. “It was the nail in the coffin. Laurie had been… We were creatures of habit, I suppose, that’s why the marriage lasted so long. I was already considering leaving, and then she drove the car into the side of a bridge with Jacob in it. They got away both relatively unscathed, but…” “I’m going to murder her. You’re a good defense attorney, right?” He smiled a little. “I don’t think I can defend you if you’ve made your intentions on murder clear.” “Damn.” She sighed. “I know he needs help; I know he bottles up… I just have no fucking clue how to reach him, Y/N.” “I’m telling you, if you would just talk to him…” She stopped talking and her eyes narrowed, looking up the stairs. “What?” He asked when her hand slipped out from his. “Something’s wrong.” She said simply, before she stood up from the table and ascended the stairs with wide strides. He frowned. How could something be wrong? He listened for a second and realized that the sounds of chatter had stopped completely from Jacob’s room. In the same second, he stood up himself and moved to go up the stairs himself, Y/N appeared again, but carrying Jacob. At first, Andy was mostly surprised at the fact that Y/N was strong enough to carry a 15-year-old who was just as tall as she was, but then he saw her face, and the way Jacob had buried his face in her shoulder.

“Can you get me ice-water, Andy?” She asked frantically. He nodded and quickly poured ice and water into a cup for her. She gently moved to the living room, where she sat down on the couch with Jacob still clinging to her frame. His shoulders were shaking. “What’s going on?” He asked, handing her the ice water. “Panic attack, I think.” She mumbled, her free hand carding through Jacob’s hair. “Listen, I need you to do two things, okay?” He nodded, his eyes on Jacob. He looked so damn small and frail in this moment. “Yeah, I…” He wanted to take over, but he was frozen. His hands felt cold. “Andrew, look at me, please.” His eyes snapped to hers. She smiled softly. “He’s going to be okay. I got him here, we’re good. Just listen to me, it’ll help him, okay?” He nodded. “Good. I need you to go get the stuffed bunny in his room.” “The stuffed… He threw that out.” She shook her head, dipping her fingers in the ice water and gently moving her cold fingers over his face. “No, he put it in his closet. Go get that for me, okay?” “Okay, yeah.” He ran. When he got to Jacob’s room, he barely had time to think over the picture, he saw on his nightstand, and went straight to the closet, searching for the bunny. He found it, and when he turned again, he saw the picture again. His heart skipped a beat, but he didn’t have time to dwell on it, and rushed down the stairs. He heard her voice before he saw them again. “Hey, Jake, you’re okay. You’re safe, okay? Just focus on the way, I’m breathing. Breathe with me, baby. You’re okay, I’m here. Your dad is here.” Andy swallowed the lump in his throat and ran to the living room, handing her the bunny. “Thank you.” Her voice was leveled, calm and soothing, and she slowly pried Jacob’s hand from her shoulder and put the bunny in it – he instantly began rubbing the matted “fur”, and it seemed to soothe him, because after a few seconds, he lifted his head from her shoulder and exhaled a shaky breath. “Good, Jake. You’re doing great. Andy, come here.” She patted the space next to her, and Andy didn’t hesitate. He sat down, wrapped an arm around her shoulders to card his fingers through Jacob’s hair, and Jacob stretched his legs out to rest on Andy’s legs. He moved his free hand to his legs, gently rubbing circles on it. “Why did you want the bunny?” He asked softly. She smiled. “Uh, textured objects like this can help ground a person having panic attacks.” He nodded. “Oh.” He looked at her. She exhaled, and Andy saw the fear in her eyes; he knew it all too well, because he felt the exact same way. “What’s the other thing, you needed me to do?” “This.” She replied. He nodded and they stayed like that for what felt like forever, silence enveloping all three of them. Despite the reason why, they were sitting like this, Harry’s House playing softly in the background (Y/N must’ve put it on at some point), he couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude towards the younger woman next to him, while also feeling something akin to… Well, he didn’t know. She felt like home, and it looked way too natural for her to sit with Jacob like this. She could be his mother, if he didn’t know them. The thought passed him as quickly as it left him, but it left a wide crater in him, because he realized that maybe he wished that she was. That he had met her, not Laurie, and had a life with song and too much food and a happy Jacob, if she was in it. Fuck.

“You want to talk about it, bubba?” She asked, when Jacob’s breathing had evened out. She bit his lip and looked to Andy, who smiled comforting. “You can say anything, Jacob. You know that.” Jacob nodded, and his fingers played with the ear of the bunny. “The game…” Jacob began, and Andy almost cried – his voice was so small, like he was embarrassed. “There was a car-crash in it. I just… Couldn’t.” Andy saw her eyes flare. “Hey, that’s okay. You’ve gone through something bad, Jacob. You can’t always control when or if these things happen.” He said, squeezing Jacob’s leg. “Listen, I think…” Jacob nodded. “I need therapy, huh?” Both Andy and Y/N nodded. “Maybe it would be good. Maybe.” Jacob said, and Y/N stroked his hair. “Jake, there’s nothing wrong with needing help to sort out your feelings. It doesn’t make you wrong.” “Y/N?” he looked up at her with big eyes. “Yeah, bubba?” “Can you stay? Like… For the night?” She looked to Andy, who nodded once. “Yeah, of course. Anything you need, Jake.” He sighed in relief and slowly got up from her lap. He suddenly looked so much younger than his 15 years. “Thanks. Dad, uh…” “I’m coming.” He stood up too, and led Jacob up the stairs, looking at Y/N. “I’ll be right back.” “Take your time.”

He helped Jacob get ready for bed and tucked him in just like he did when he was younger. It brought a strange sense of comfort to them both. “Are you okay, buddy?” Jacob nodded, hugging the bunny to his chest. “I think I just… I don’t know.” “That’s okay.” Andy kissed his forehead. “Listen, I think that we might need something else than just therapy.” “Like Y/N staying here for the rest of my life?” Andy chuckled. “I don’t know if she’d want that, buddy.” Jacob scoffed. “You’re both idiots.” “I’m going to ignore that, bud.” Andy sighed. “How about this weekend… We’ll go to the shelter, huh? Look at a dog or something?” Jacob’s eyes lit up. “What? I thought you didn’t like dogs!” Andy thought about it – he thought he didn’t. but whenever he said the words, I don’t like dogs, and I don’t want one in the house, it was Laurie’s voice echoing. “I do. I thought I didn’t, but I do.” Jacob grinned widely. “Also…” Andy grabbed the picture frame from his nightstand and held the picture out to Jacob, who blushed. “What’s this about, Jacob?” Jacob shrugged. “She fits better.” He simply said.

Andy couldn’t deny that. The family picture from a vacation in Mexico, where he, Laurie and Jacob held each other, was as he remembered it; except the fact that Laurie’s face had been covered with a cut-out polaroid of Y/N smiling widely. She did fit in better.

--------------------

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[cjsinkythoughts]

Suits, Dresses, and Heels

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader

Word Count: 4000

Warnings: !FATWS SPOILERS!, Cursing, More Mentions of PTSD, Gun Violence, Slight Mentions of Drinking, Club Dancing (You’re all gonna hate me for that part, but I’m not sorry)

A/N: Here’s Part 4.2 - The Second Part to Episode 3 - as requested. This is a little more scene-by-scene, but there are some off-screen moments. I’ll be posting Part 4.3 (which will have the rest of the episode) later tonight.

There’s a bit more information on Reader, but not as much as the last chapter. Sharon comes in during this part, so you get to see her and Reader’s relationship.

Also, I have mixed feelings about Zemo at this point. Not in the story, the Reader’s not a fan as you learned previously, but for me personally, he’s surprised me a couple times by coming back and helping.

Anyways! Thank you so much for reading! This isn’t beta’d so excuse any mistakes! Check out my other parts before you read! Thank you again! Stay tuned, loves!

FATWS MASTERLIST

cjsinkythoughts MASTERLIST

!SPOILERS UNDER CUT!

The dress was far too tight for your liking, and showed way too much skin. Not that you didn’t like being a tease every once in a while, but for this mission, you’d rather have more cover and movement.

You had to admit though; Zemo had nice taste. The dress fit deliciously - which made you wonder how he got your size. The color and cut was devastatingly flattering. Plus, he let you do your own makeup.

Being the only female, you were in a separate area of the jet getting ready. Once you were done, you made sure to knock, even though you’d walked in on Sam changing too many times to count while on the run and had seen Bucky answer the door in nothing but a towel. It was mainly for Zemo’s sake, just a warning that you were walking in whether or not they were ready.

“Damn, girl! You clean up nice!”

You rolled your eyes at Sam, painted lips quirking up as you studied him, shooting him a wink. “You should try a mirror, Sammy.” You turned to Bucky to find him staring wide-eyed and slack-jawed at you. “What do you think, Buck?”

His mouth snapped shut and he cleared his throat, eyes exploring the dips and curves your body. “You…” He blinked once. Twice. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, his intense eyes making you heat up, before he shook his head. “You look good.” He rushed out, before spinning on his heel shoving past Sam who was snickering.

“Where’s Zemo?” You noticed he wasn’t in the main area of the plane when you walked in.

“Rearranging our ride once we get there.”

You huffed, fixing your hair. “Oh God. We’re really doing this.”

“Yup.”

“Okay.” You looked down at yourself before looking up at the boys. “Something’s gonna go wrong, isn’t it?”

“Absolutely.”

“No doubt.”

Giving a slight groan at their simultaneous answers, you nodded. “Let’s try not to screw up too badly, boys, alright? I at least want to live long enough to see Peter graduate.”

Sam rolled his eyes with a scoff. “That kid’s a punk.”

“You’re a punk.” You shot back.

Bucky raised his hand. “I second that punk thing.”

“For which one?”

“Both of them.”

You chuckled as Sam gaped at Bucky, who shrugged innocently. The former assassin tilted his head in your direction to shoot you a grin and a wink, making you laugh more. Shaking your head, you go to make a joke when Zemo walked in.

“It’s time. We’re landing now.”

And just like that, the teasing atmosphere dissipated, leaving you anxious and regretful.

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

You walked by Bucky, arm linked with his metal one, listening as Zemo told Sam about his “character” he was to play.

“He’s a known womanizer - always has a gorgeous lady on his arm.” Zemo gestured towards you. “It’s the only way they’d let in a woman.”

“Aren’t we going to see a woman?” You questioned, gently patting Bucky’s metallic bicep when his hold on you tightened.

“Which makes it more imperative that you don’t act threatening. Women don’t make the same mistake men do; they don’t underestimate other women.”

You nodded. He had a point there. Bucky faced you, a frown on those pretty lips. “I don’t like this.” He mumbled.

“You think I do?” You whispered back. “With you being him again? Even if it’s just pretend? And need I remind you whose idea this was?”

“I know, I know. Just…” He sighed. “Promise me you won’t get hurt on purpose.”

Your forehead creased. “Why would I-?”

“To protect people. You always do. And I get it, I do. It’s why you started this in the first place, but…save yourself first, this time, okay?”

“Buck-”

“Promise me.”

It wasn’t often you could see the fear in his eyes, hear it in his voice, but you could then. Unable to do anything else you nodded, a soft, “okay” falling from your lips. He nodded back, pressing a kiss to your head, before letting you go as a car approached.

Bucky helped you in - the heels you were wearing were no joke - before sliding in himself, Sam getting in on the other side of you. “And you two can’t be…” Zemo gestured to the two of you as the car started moving, eyeing your still connected hands. “Doing that.”

“This isn’t my first theater production.” You snapped at him. “We’ll be fine.”

He raised his hands in surrender, turning back to look out the windshield. Once you arrived, you gave Bucky’s hand one last squeeze, before accepting Sam’s hand to get out on his side, linking your arm with his like you were doing with Bucky earlier.

“I finally get to see one of your performances, baby.” Sam grinned at you.

You smirked back. “Best seats in the house, too, Smiling Tiger.” He groaned at your jest, nudging you playfully with his elbow as you giggled.

“This way.” Zemo cut in, jerking his head in the direction you’d be going. You took a breath, steeling yourself, before the three of you nodded at each other and followed his lead.

You found the fellas reactions amusing, their heads turning to study and scan everything they could see. You were more subtle in the way you analyzed your surroundings, feeling a bit more at home in this situation than, say, fighting super soldiers on top of semi trucks.

Your jaw tightened, as did your grip on Sam’s arm, when Zemo started speaking Russian, the four of you pushing through a crowded bar. Sam ran his fingers over your arms, giving your hand a little squeeze, silently reassuring you.

It was a bit obvious Sam hadn’t done much undercover work, put he stayed in character and you were impressed. Especially when the bartender started cutting up the snake, which you had to look away for because if there was one thing you couldn’t do…it was snakes. You nearly gagged when Sam reluctantly downed the drink. 

Bucky eyed you, lips pursed in a way you recognized as him trying to hold in a smile. That made you feel a little better, hiding your own smile by turning into the crook of Sam’s neck. “Not. Funny.” He growled through clenched teeth, lips not moving.

“Kinda is.”

He grumbled under his breath, before the two of you tuned into the conversation between Zemo and a thug that came up, learning about the apparent power broker of Madripoor, which you a bit of from your time undercover there.

Sam held you tightly when Zemo turned to Bucky, knowing what was about to happen.

You didn’t like it. You didn’t like how easily aggressive he became. You didn’t like the little smirk Zemo gave as Bucky attacked. You didn’t like the cellphones being pointed in his direction. You didn’t like it.

“Didn’t take much for him to fall back into form.” You gave Zemo a warning glare, a shaky breath leaving you.

He’d been doing so well. At least, for someone who had been through what he had. Especially considering it’d only been a few months since he’d been pardoned - half a year since everyone came back. You knew bringing Zemo on board had been a bad idea, but-

A squeeze to your hand pulled you out of your thoughts. You let out an inaudible sigh of relief as Zemo allowed Bucky to let the man he was choking go.

“Selby will see you now.”

One step down. You hoped that would be the hardest part, but you knew it most definitely wouldn’t be.

“You good?”

Bucky sniffed, giving you two a curt nod, before following Zemo. You bit your lip. “That wasn’t really an answer, was it?”

Sam shook his head. “No. No it wasn’t.”

Selby wasn’t exactly what you were expecting, but you’d come to expect that. You stayed on Sam’s arm, giving the guards coy smiles and playing with the fake nails you had on in faux-boredom.

When she purred at the man besides you, you and Bucky glanced at each other, with you resisting the urge to scrunch up your nose. “And who is this gorgeous creature?”

Your eyes snapped back to Selby, giving her a slightly bashful smile. “Celeste Addams. Pleasure.”

“Trust me, dear. The pleasure is all mine.” Alright, you thought as she scanned you with a smirk. She was swinging for both teams. You could work with that. “What’s the offer?” She looked back to Zemo.

Zemo gave her the offer - information about the super soldier serum for the Winter Soldier and the code words to control him. Your blood boiled as Zemo touched Bucky, fingers grabbing his chin. You swore, once this whole thing was over, you would kick Zemo’s ass. You should make a list, just to keep track of all the things he’d done, and no doubt would do, to piss you off. That way he’d know why exactly you were beating his ass.

A name came up, Dr. Wilfred Nagel, along with the knowledge that the super soldier serum was, in fact, in Madripoor. You and Sam met eyes. Second step down.

But before they could get anything else, Sam’s phone buzzed. You ducked your head, closing your eyes, mumbling “fuck” when you saw it was Sarah. Sam’s responses just made you inwardly cringe even more.

“The bank, yeah. We laundered so much mo-” He chuckled nervously. “Yeah. They’ll come around.”

Is he fucking serious? For the love of God, Sammy…

And then she called him Sam. Next thing you knew, Selby was shot and you, Bucky, and Sam were taking out a guard each, you growling at the fact that you couldn’t use your legs because the dress was too damn tight.

You had no choice but to trust Zemo’s lead, but word traveled very quickly here, and less than a minute after walking outside, you were getting shot at.

“C’mon!” Bucky grabbed your arm, pulling you besides him.

“Can you not right now?!”

“I can’t run in these heels!”

You glared at Sam, the killer six inchers on your feet feeling like hell. “Hell no! You did not just say that in front of me!”

“You started it!” You scowled at him, following Bucky into an alley, only to duck as shots rang out. Chest heaving, you looked around for the source of the bullets that killed the men chasing you.  Your “guardian angel” as Zemo put it.

She soon appeared in all her stunning, blonde badass glory. “Sharon?”

Sam quickly explained the situation, trying to get her not to shoot Zemo who she had a gun pointed at.

“I stole Steve’s shield, remember? I also took the wings for your ass,” she pointed the gun at Sam, then Bucky, “so that you could save his ass, from his ass.” And the gun was back on Zemo. She shot you a smile. “And your ass is looking beautiful as always.”

You grinned back. “Thanks. You’re not looking too bad yourself.”

As she spoke, your lips turned down. You had tried calling her after Germany, but it always went to voicemail. First thing you did when you got back was try to get everyone pardoned, but it was a process. And then you found out about Wanda and ever since…

Sharon was your first real friend. She was only a couple years younger than you and had been one of your first partners during your time with SHIELD. And the fact that she’d been on the run for years now, even with the Blip, her family not having seen or talked to her since…that was exactly why you couldn’t take a break. She was family and you found there was nothing more important than family. But when she needed you, you were out searching for someone who didn’t want to be found.

How were you supposed to choose between two sisters? How could you cope with the fact that you chose the wrong one?

“Sharon, we need your help.” She laughed at Bucky’s statement. “Please,”

She glanced at you and you nodded. “I’d appreciate it, Share.”

She gave a sigh before nodding. “This isn’t over. I have a place in High Town. You should be safe there for a while.”

She turned and started walking, and you were about to follow, when you remembered something.

Spinning around, your fist connected with Zemo’s cheek, Sam and Bucky shouting in surprise while the man stumbled back. “Don’t you fucking dare touch him like that ever again, or I will break every bone in your body.” You threatened, your expression twisting into a scowl as you grab his hand and bend it awkwardly. He grunted but didn’t move, knowing one wrong turn would break his wrist. “Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal.” He ground out.

You pushed a little more, making him wince, before letting go and rounding back to Sharon, who was smirking at you. “Let’s get moving.”

“Yes, ma’am.” She jerked her head back over her shoulder to where a car was waiting, leading them over.

You quickly followed after her with Bucky on your heels and Sam dragging Zemo along. Speaking of heels, as soon as you got in the car - getting shotgun for the first time ever at Sharon’s insistence - you prodded the stupid shoes off your feet.

“Nice kicks.”

“Yeah.” You scoffed. “Unless you’re trying to kick.”

“Did you rip the dress?”

“I was tempted to.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll get you in something more comfortable. And you’ll look just as good. Not that you wouldn’t look good in literally anything.”

You chuckled, giving her a look. “Let’s not test that theory.”

She smiled back, nodding. “Fine. I’ll let you pick something out.”

Sam huffed, crossing his arms best he could, being squished with the two other fully grown men in the back seat. “Women.”

The two of you exchanged looks, rolling your eyes at the three pouting guys. “Men.”

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

“I’m gonna go check on the boys. But I’ll be right back.”

You nodded, looking through her closet. No dresses. And absolutely no heels. Flats, if you had to, but you’d definitely prefer sneakers right now. You decided on shorts and an off-the-shoulder blouse, grateful for the looser clothing.

“They’re idiots.”

You laughed and looked over at the door as Sharon entered. “Yeah. I know.”

“Cute.” She commented on your outfit, sitting on her bed. “They explained the situation. Sam said if I help, he’d clear my name-”

“Sharon.” You sighed, biting your lip. “I tried. I really did. I-”

She shook her head, smiling at you reassuringly. “No, I know. It’s why I’m not mad at you. Sorry I didn’t call back. How’ve you been?”

You shrugged. “Fine, I guess.”

“Even with the whole ‘Cap is back’ thing.”

“Walker’s the government’s pet. He’s not Captain America. He’s not…”

“Steve?”

Looking up at her from the ground, you nodded. “Yeah.”

“Do you miss him?”

You smirked, wagging your eyebrows at her. “Do you?”

She rolled her eyes, tossing a pillow at you. “It’s kinda weird now, isn’t it?”

“Maybe a little. But I can’t blame you. Have you seen him shirtless? Good God.”

Sharon laughed, shaking her head as you joined her on the bed. “How come it’s always you getting wrapped up in these things?”

“I have no clue.” You chuckled, crossing your legs underneath you. “First I’m answering a phone call from Bucky at five in the morning and next thing I know, I’m being kicked off of semi trucks, breaking criminals out of prisons and running in six inch heels.”

“You answer Bucky’s calls at five in the morning?”

You gave her a look. “Sharon-”

“No, no. Hey. That’s cool. Some girls like bad boys, some like jocks, others like nerds. You like super soldiers from the 40’s. Everyone’s got a thing.”

A playful shove turned into a pillow fight, which turned into a sparring session, during which you pin her on her back. “You’re getting better.” You complimented, getting up.

She glared at you, taking your outstretched hand and letting you pull her up. “I guess that’s why you’re an Avenger.”

“That’s still weird to say.”

“Why? You’ve been an Avenger since, what? Ultron?”

You nodded, straightening your clothes. “Officially, anyways.”

“Right. Because you were there for the Battle of Manhattan as the secret seventh superhero.”

“Yeah…I miss it. The anonymity. I’m pretty sure I’m one half the Senators’ speed dials.”

Sharon frowned, brows pinching together. “What about the other half of the OG? Where are they?”

“Thor’s in space, Bruce is MIA - which I can’t really blame him for - and Clint’s retired with his family.”

“You think he’s gonna stay retired?”

You shrugged. “I hope he does. He’s been trying to retire for years. He deserves it. Knowing him, though…probably not.”

Sharon crossed her arms, nodding at you. “So that leaves you.”

“Yes it does.”

“Do you ever think of taking a break?”

You gave a half-sigh, half-groan, making her smirk in amusement. “It’s…come up a lot recently. I dunno. I think I’m burning out, anyways.”

“What makes you say that? I was watching you guys with Selby. You’re still one of the best I’ve ever seen.”

“I-I’ve been having…problems.”

Her eyes narrowed, her hands setting on her hips like a mother about to scold her child. “What kind of problems?”

“Just flashbacks. Of different things. It happens at random times. Certain triggers; something someone says or does, or something I smell or hear.”

“PTSD?”

“Something like that.”

“Has it affected you in the field?” Hesitating to answer was answer enough and she nodded. “Then…maybe it’s time you do start considering retiring.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “At 36? There’s no way.”

“C’mon. It’s not too late for you to settle down. Go one a few dates. Meet someone. Maybe have a couple kids-”

“Woah, woah. Slow your roll.” Your features scrunched up in incredulity. “Pump your breaks. No one said anything about marriage or kids.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m just saying…think about it. I heard even Bucky’s been on a few dates.”

It was your turn to narrow your eyes at her, hearing the suggestive tone in her voice and seeing the eyebrow raise. “Yeah. He has. A few. I told him to. Told him it might be good for him to, I dunno, get back out there.

“Or, you could just…go out there with him.”

“Not you too! Have you been talking to Sam?”

“Is it Steve? Is that what’s stopping you? Because you know he’d just want you to be hap-” She stopped as he phone vibrated, grabbing it and reading the text. “Company’s arriving.” She pointed a finger at you. “You got very very lucky. This conversation isn’t over. I’m not dropping this.”

You bit your cheek and nodded. “Alright, mom. Can we go party now?”

She breathed out a laugh and nodded. “Yeah. Let’s go party.”

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

“Hey, gorgeous! There you are!”

You smirked at the boys as they met you near the top of the stairs, eyeing Sam and Bucky appreciatively. Damn, could Sam pull off a turtleneck. And Bucky in black and skinny jeans? Sharon sure had good taste. “Today’s the day for attractive outfits, huh, gentlemen?”

“I’ll say.” Bucky hummed, glancing at your own outfit. “You look beautiful, doll.”

“You look very dashing yourself, Barnes.” You grin, pulling at the lapels of his black blazer and fixing the collar. You smoothed your hand down the front of his shirt, looking up at him with an eyebrow raised when he caught your wrist, keeping your palm over his heart.

He clenched his jaw, taking a breath, before letting it out, almost dejectedly, and letting your hand go. “Um,” He cleared his throat, hand falling down by his side. “Did, uh, did Sharon say anything more about these friends of hers to you?”

“Nope.” You shook your head. “Just told me to enjoy the party.”

“I guess we should go enjoy the party, then.” Sam nodded towards the stairs, where the music was floating up, her guests already pouring in.

You made your way downstairs, looking around the room. Sharon sure did know how to throw one, that’s for sure.

People were pushed together, dancing to the beat of the music, drinking, with colored lights flashing every which way. Bucky’s hand found yours almost instantly, and you smiled at him. “C’mon.”

“What?” His eyes were wide as you dragged him towards the groups of people dancing. 

“Dance with me.”

He shook his head violently. “I-I can’t.”

“I thought you used to be a dancer?”

“Used to. And I was a swing-dancer. Not…” He gestured around to the people bobbing up and down, moving their bodies with each other.

You waved dismissively, pulling him closer. “All you need to do is feel the beat. I’m sure you can do that, can’t you, Mr. Tough and Scary Assassin?”

He licked his lips, looking around nervously. You brought his hands to your hips, making his eyes snap back to yours, your own arms winding around his neck. You started moving rhythmically, nodding your head to the music, smiling up at him and giggling at the adorable concentration on his face.

“You, uh, you go to parties like this a lot?”

“I specialized in undercover operations, remember? I practically lived at these places for some of them.” He licked his lips, his grasp on your hips tightening. “Loosen up a little.” You laughed, catching his jaw between your fingers and making him look at you instead of the crowd surrounding him. You scratched at the scruff, speaking softly, but loud enough for him to hear. “It’s just me.”

He nodded and, slowly, a bit hesitant, started moving his body with yours, relaxing his tense muscles the longer you two danced.

“Nice hit, by the way. With Zemo earlier.”

You shrugged, turning in his arms, biting your lip when he pulled you closer, your back to his chest. “I didn’t like the way he grabbed you. It was unnecessary. I was thinking of making a list, actually.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” Your arms wound around his neck again, your head falling back to his shoulder. “Of things he’s done so far that warrant’s me beating his ass once this is done.”

He chuckled, warm breath tickling your cheek, thumbs tracing circles on the bare skin just above the waistline of your shorts. Your own fingers had found home in his hair holding his head where it was, his lips centimeters away from your ear. “Share it with Sam. I’m sure he has a few things to add.”

Your breath hitched as his metal fingers danced along your bare navel, arm tightening around your waist. “I’m sure he does…I thought you said you can’t dance.”

“I guess I just needed to warm up. I’m a bit rusty after eighty years.”

“Don’t seem that rusty to me.” You breathed out, turning your head to look at him. His tongue ran across his lips again, his eyes glancing to your own.

“Hey, guys!” The world and your situation came crashing down on you, the music you didn’t realize you’d been tuning out, along with the crowd’s boisterous laughter and cheers, rushed back to yours ears. The little bubble with just you and Bucky shattered. You both stepped away from each other; you cleared your throat and pushed down the heat that had nothing to do with the hundred bodies in the one room, while Bucky rubbed the back of his neck, the tips of his ears red with no help from the colored lights. Both of you were panting lightly, avoiding eye contact with the other three staring knowingly at you. Sharon nodded her head, gesturing behind her. “I found him.”

Sam nudged Bucky - who was staring at you, his jaw ticking and his throat tightening as he swallowed thickly - before jabbing his thumb in Sharon’s direction. “Here we go.”

You nodded, eyeing Bucky with a small smile. “Here we go, Buckaroo.”

[crumbledcastle28]

Chapter 1: a tug

Warnings: PTSD, sadness, depression, panic attack, mentions of violence

Author’s note: this is part one of my series called “Burning Red.” This is kind of boring because it is a set up for the main storyline, but I hope you enjoy it! Any constructive criticism and support is greatly appreciated. And if I missed a warning, please let me know!!

After everything you’ve seen, everything you’ve done, everyone you’ve hurt, it felt good to just lay low.

A mechanic on tatooine was not what you imagined, but it did the trick.

No one saw you for who you truly were, and that made you happy.

Well, except for Peli.

You came to her sick and angry and alone, and she nursed you back to health. You would be rotting in the desert if it wasn’t for her, and you felt you owed her a little something.

So, you used your “uncommon” set of abilities to help her with her mechanics in any way she needed.

This included: cooking, cleaning, repairing, negotiating, and most importantly, defending.

Peli was no dummy. She knew you had more experience in that field than she did. So she recruited you, and paid you back with whatever she had laying around. A new outfit once and a while, a warm bed, a hot dinner, and a couple of credits so you could go shopping and get out of her hair.

You couldn’t blame her. You were a hell of a lot of trouble to be around.

Constant nightmares, paranoia, and regret surrounded your aura like a fog. Any normal person wouldn’t notice, but someone like Peli could. And it pissed her off a good majority of the time.

“Stop moping and help me clean this oil off my droid,” and sentences like this one, were said pretty frequently around your place.

Was it even your place? All you did was survive. Is that enough to say you lived there instead of just survived there?

You really liked Peli. She gave you a base. A “home” of sorts, and for that you were forever indebted.

But something in you always called you back to your real home, and that scared you more than Peli’s tough love. More than you could even describe.

~~*~~

It was a pretty normal day on Tatooine. The wind howled, the sand covered everything in its wake, and the heat. You would never get used to it.

You were eating your breakfast when a ship landed on the landing pad, and you could already tell it was a doosey just by the way the left engine was sputtering.

If this ship explodes, we better get a damn good pay, you think to yourself.

The ramp starts to open and you take that as your queue to start the walk to your makeshift room. It was really a storage room, but you didn’t mind.

When you get there, you squat down to the ground behind your door and grab your apron and set of tools. You knew Peli would need some help with this ship.

You hear the ship’s ramp hit he ground and you feel it.

A tug.

Not even a tug, a lurch. It felt like a rope had been tied to your soul and pulled you back into your old self.

This was a tug you hadn’t felt in so long. So long, it almost knocks you off your feet.

I closed myself off from this, you think. I shouldn’t feel this. I don’t want to feel this.

You already feel a headache coming on from the shock and ache in your bones, so you start walking back to the landing pad to tell Peli you aren’t feeling too well.

If I get recognized, we are both dead.

You’d rather get a scolding from Peli than a scolding hot gun wound in your chest.

“Hey,” you hear Peli shout at the client, and you pick up your pace. Your heart is hammering in your chest and you feel the panic ooz through your body.

It’s been so long since you’ve felt this, but you hate how it makes you feel alive.

You finally make it to Peli and you see her speaking very loudly (she doesn’t like to use the word “yelling”) at what seems to be your client.

But this is no ordinary client. This is a Mandalorian.

A very broad Mandalorian who, no offense to Peli, could knock her out in his sleep.

You had heard legends of their kind. But worst of all, you had fought them. And damn were they good.

You hadn’t seen any since the purge. You had heard rumors of them hiding under ground, but they had always been peaceful people. You hated how they got dragged into a war.

“You damage one of my droids, you’ll pay for it,” Peli says, and you really wish she would use a more peaceful tone.

The last thing you want to do right now is fight a very impressive looking Mandalorian covered entirely in beskar while your entire body is tingling.

Is he the one who is force sensitive?

“Just keep them away from my ship” he says, and you are surprised at how well he is taking Peli’s annoyance.

“Yeah? You think that’s a good idea?” Peli responds in a tone dripping with sarcasm and you take this as your moment to try to sneak away.

This however, was unsuccessful.

“Come on y/n. Let’s take a look at his ship,” she says and the Mandalorian turns his helmet towards you.

You probably look like an absolute mess. Your chest is heaving, you are sweating, and you are not at all prepared to do any sort of repairs. You are basically in your pajamas. The Mandalorian’s gaze has you nervous enough, but this familiar feeling in your stomach has you dizzy and nauseous.

Just hold on......

You start to follow Peli to the ship while still looking at the Mandalorian. You learned very early on in your life to never take your eyes off a predator. He follows your form and you try your best to mask his incredibly strong force connection gripping your chest.

This man isn’t even trying to hide it? It’s almost as if he is reaching for me?

You make it to Peli where you finally take your eyes off of him. You can see why Peli was so mad now.

“Oof! Look at that,” she says as she scans the ship with her eyes. “You’ve got a lot of cabron scoring up top. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were in a shoot out.”

Oh my God, he was in a shoot out.

This is really not good. This man could have been followed and you could be surrounded at this very moment. You were a skilled fighter, but those kinds of odds were almost unbeatable. Especially when you were still trying to hide your identity.

You are so tense you feel like you could snap. You still feel his eyes on you, and you are praying to whatever is out there that you can just stay alive. That’s the only thing you’re good at.

“Name’s Peli Motto. That’s y/n,” she says as she points to you with her wrench.

She did not just tell him your NAME.

“This is my operation. You’re not gonna find a better mechanic on the planet,” she says as she leaned in closer to the engine.

“Yeah, I’m gonna have to rotate that. You’ve got a fuel leak. Look at this, this is a mess. How did you even land?”

All you wanted to do was scream.

He is a MANDALORIAN who was just in a SHOOT OUT. He is probably being FOLLOWED and we could be dead because of ME.

“That’s gonna set you back,” she says.

She is concerned about MONEY right now?

Peli is a smart woman, but she was walking you into a trap. You didn’t want her blood on your hands. You didn’t need any more of that.

All of this is happening while you are still on the verge of a panic attack.

This Mandalorian is strong with the force. It is squeezing your lungs and your feet and your hands and your brain. All rational thinking is out the window. You had to get out of here before he manages to suffocate you.

God you hate this feeling. A few years ago you lived with this constantly. It became a part of you. Something you enjoyed. But now...

“I’ve got five hundred imperial credits,” the Mandalorian says.

Imperial credits. Great. How did he get his hands on those?

“That’s all you got? Well..” she says and looks back at you.

“What do you think,” she asks in a teasing tone.

You try to plead to her with your eyes. You are sweating beyond belief and your brain is about to explode.

She tightens her brows in confusion at your state, but continues to bargain.

“That should at least cover the hanger,” she says and you feel your jaw almost drop to the floor.

How can she not see it?

“I’ll get you your money,” the Mandalorian mumbles and you try to take a deep breath. Passing out in front of one of the fiercest warriors in the galaxy who may be here to kill you would rip off the last bit of pride you had left. If you are going down, you are going down with a fight.

“I’ve heard that before,” Peli responds and looks at you in a joking way. Like she was trying to coax you into laughing with her.

You try to chuckle back, but it just comes out in a low breath.

You sound insane.

“Just remember—,” the Mandalorian starts

“No droids. I heard ya,” Peli finishes.

“Why do you think I keep this girl around,” she says chuckling with a pat on your back.

You muster up the strength to smile and feel holes burning in your head from the Mandalorian’s gaze.

He really knows how to stare.

The Mandalorian leaves the hanger, and it takes everything in you not to pass out right there.

You thought with him leaving it would die down, but it’s only getting worse.

“Are you ok,” Peli asks and helps you lower yourself to the ground.

You are breathing frantically now and your hands are clutched to your chest.

“He has it,” you say and you know Peli knows what you mean.

She looks at you with wide eyes and you see the realization on her face.

“Oh my god.... he was in a shootout,” she says.

“Uh huh,” you breathe out. The desperate force connection is starting to fade and you feel your lungs fill up with air once more.

“He could have been followed! Or he could be here to—“

“Kill us,” you say. Peli hates when you finish her sentences, but there was no point in caring right now.

“Ok. Get inside. If I need you I will call for you,” she says and you nod, slowly getting to your feet.

You start to walk back to your room, with Peli’s arms guiding you, while taking deep breaths, but you freeze when you sense something else coming out of the ship and you snap your head to the ramp.

“What,” Peli says as she follows your gaze.

Your heart flutters. The force is slowly starting to ease its nasty grip on you.

If you didn’t sense the creature, you would miss it.

A little green baby, wrapped in what looked like a potato sack, was strolling down the ramp, looking directly at you.

“It’s him,” you say.

“He has it.”