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romerona · 3 months ago

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Ethera Operation!!

You're the government’s best hacker, but that doesn’t mean you were prepared to be thrown into a fighter jet.

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Awkward!Hacker! FemReader

Part II

You knew today was going to suck the second your alarm went off and you briefly, genuinely, considered faking your own death.

Not in a dramatic, movie-worthy kind of way. No, more like… vanish-into-a-data-breach, throw-your-phone-in-the-ocean, start-a-new-life-in-Finland sort of way.

But instead, you got up.

Because apparently, national security outranks your crippling fear of flight—not that it makes the simulator any less hellish, with its cold metal, stale coffee, and that faint chemical tang of fear.

You were strapped into the rear seat of a flight simulation pod, hands locked in your lap like they might betray you at any moment and start mashing random buttons. You exhaled slowly as your eyes flicked across the control panel. So many switches. So many lights. Half of them blinked like they were mocking you. The other half were labeled with words like “altitude” and “engine throttle” and “eject.”

Great.

You adjusted your headset as the technician’s voice crackled through. “Sim will start in thirty seconds, Doctor. We’ll be monitoring vitals and control input from the tower."

You forced a nod, even though your stomach was already trying to escape through your spine. Your breath fogged the inside of the visor. You clutched the tablet tethered to your vest like it was a stuffed animal and you were six years old again.

“Try not to scream this time,” came Cyclone’s voice through the comms, calm and flat like he was asking you to pass the salt.

You offered a shaky thumbs-up that somehow felt more like a surrender flag.

The sim operator spoke next, voice crackling through your headset once again. “Doctor, your objective is to remain conscious, keep your hands away from the panel, and activate the Ethera interface when prompted. We’ll simulate turbulence, evasive maneuvers, and mild G-force changes. Ready?”

No. Never.

“...Sure.”

The sim lurched forward with a roar, and your whole body snapped back into the seat. You let out a startled “whuff!”, eyes wide, heart in your throat. The room around you—walls disguised as sky—blurred as the machine banked hard to the left.

“OhmyGodohmyGodohmyGOD—”

There was no gentle start. No soft acceleration to get your bearings. Just a violent jolt forward, and then you were climbing—straight up, like gravity had been turned into a weapon and pointed directly at your lungs.

Pressure slammed into your chest. The world outside the cockpit blurred. You couldn’t hear anything except your own heartbeat.

“WHY ARE WE TILTING—”

“Initiating evasive pattern,” came the tech’s voice, calm as ever.

The sim jerked again, this time into a sharp roll. The world flipped sideways. Your ears popped. Something primal in your brain screamed: This is how you die.

Your ears were ringing. Your pulse thundered against your ribs. Somewhere beneath the pressure and panic, you could hear the tech’s voice cutting in again—calm, detached, and utterly unhelpful.

“Doctor, you need to deploy the program,” he said. “Fifty seconds. Starting now.”

Oh, shit, you couldn’t even see straight.

Your breath came in short, shallow gasps as the simulated jet banked hard to the right, pressing your spine into the seat like it wanted to keep it. The G-forces made your vision tunnel, your stomach lurching somewhere around your throat.

Your hand fumbled toward the tablet mount, fingers shaking so hard they were basically useless. You tapped the corner of the screen. Missed. Tapped again. The jet jolted. The tablet shifted. Your palm slammed into the side instead of the input.

Forty seconds.

The Ethera prompt blinked up at you—green, glowing, go—but it may as well have been a mirage. You squinted through the dizziness, swore under your breath in three languages, and tried again.

Thirty-five.

The turbulence kicked again, harder. Your chest seized. The tablet slipped slightly in its latch. You tapped the input.

Too late.

“Simulation failed,” the system announced flatly. “Target missed.”

Everything halted—the motion, the noise—everything except your pulse, which pounded on like it hadn't gotten the memo.

The sim pod cracked open with a sharp hiss, releasing a rush of cool air that hit your sweat-slicked skin like a slap to the face. You didn’t move. For a second too long, you just sat there, fingers clenched around the armrests like they were the only things keeping you from unraveling completely. The silence pressed in, thick with the weight of your own embarrassment, humiliation settling low and heavy in your gut like a stone.

Your fingers fumbled at the release on your helmet, hands still trembling from the G-forces and adrenaline. The inside of your mouth tasted like copper and failure. You tugged off the headset next, wires dragging like they were reluctant to let go. Everything felt too loud and too quiet at the same time.

Your boots scraped against the cold floor as you shakily swung your legs out, and there he was, Vice Admiral Beau Simpson, standing with arms crossed, expression carved from steel.

You wanted to disappear into the floor.

He didn’t speak right away. He just looked at you. Not angry. Not even disappointed. Just… calculating. Like he was already assessing the cost of putting you on a real jet.

“I missed the mark,” you said first, because silence felt worse. “I know.”

Cyclone gave a short nod, like that much at least didn’t need explaining. “You froze.”

You exhaled slowly, willing your heart to stop trying to beat its way out of your ribs. “Yeah.”

His eyes didn’t waver. “You had a job. Not to fly. Not to fight. Just to stay calm. Deploy your program.”

“I know.”

“And you failed.”

You stood on legs that didn’t feel like they belonged to you, one hand gripping the edge of the simulator for balance, the other still clutching the edge of the tablet even though the prompt had long since vanished.

“If this had been real,” he continued, “that satellite would still be feeding your government false intelligence. That jet would’ve been intercepted. And you, Doctor, would’ve been dead, and so would've your pilot.”

You flinched. Not visibly—hopefully—but the words hit harder than they should have. You stared at the scuffed metal floor, heart thudding against your ribs.

“You’re not a soldier,” he said. “And you’re not trained for this. That’s clear.”

You opened your mouth—maybe to apologize, maybe to defend yourself—but he raised a hand, cutting you off with one sharp motion.

“That’s not an excuse,” he added, voice sharp. “It’s a reality. One you’ll have to overcome, and fast. I don’t expect perfection but I do expect progress. And I expect you to walk into that sim tomorrow knowing what you did wrong—and ready to fix it.”

You blinked hard, your pulse pounding in your ears. “Yes, sir.”

Cyclone gave you one last look—disappointed, but not hopeless—and then turned, then paused, glancing back.

“And see medical,” he added, almost as an afterthought. “You’re pale as hell.”

Then he walked away, boots echoing down the corridor, leaving you standing there with a spinning head, a shattered ego and the feeling of wanting to curl up and cry.

As you moved to make your way toward medical—because yes, apparently nausea, disorientation, and a near-death experience weren’t enough on their own— you skidded to a stop just short of slamming into a very broad chest.

Of course. Of course, it was him.

The handsome, mustached pilot. The one who’d handed you your tablet like it was a glass slipper, back in the briefing room. The one who hadn’t laughed when you dropped it, but definitely thought about it.

His hair was slightly mussed, curls pushed back from his forehead like he’d run a hand through them one too many times. He held two water bottles, one in each hand, like he wasn’t sure if he meant to stay—or if he’d just pretend this was a casual “what a surprise” moment if anyone asked.

You froze. He straightened.

“Hey,” he said, voice softer than you expected. A lot softer than earlier. Less smirk, more... sincerity.

“Uh… hi,” you said finally. Nailed it. Pure elegance.

His expression didn’t change much, maybe just a flicker of amusement at the corners of his mouth. He held out one of the bottles. “You looked like you could use this.”

You hesitated—more from surprise than anything else—then took it. You took it, fingers brushing his as you did. His skin was warm—too warm for how cold you felt. You tried not to notice.

“Thanks,” you said quietly, unscrewing the cap with hands that still trembled, ever so slightly. The water was blissfully cold against your throat, but it did nothing for the embarrassment still curdling in your stomach.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice gentler than you expected.

You hesitated, then tilted your head in a noncommittal shrug. “Define okay.”

A ghost of a smile touched his face. “Not crying, not puking, not passed out? That’s the general baseline.”

You cracked a reluctant laugh. “Oh, sure, I’m totally thriving.”

He nodded once, and the silence settled again—less awkward now, more… charged. The kind of quiet that hummed between words. The kind that made your skin feel too tight.

He looked like he might leave, but then he didn’t.

Instead, he shifted his weight, adjusting his grip on the second water bottle like it was some kind of anchor or maybe just something to do with his hands while he said, “You weren’t terrible in there.”

Your stomach jolted—sharp, unexpected. Like missing a step on the stairs. Heat bloomed beneath your collar, crawling up your throat as your fingers tightened around the plastic water bottle.

“You…” Your voice cracked a little, and you cleared your throat. “You were watching?”

God. No.

Why did you ask that? Why would you ever want confirmation?

His expression shifted—just slightly. Not quite sheepish, not quite smug. Just something in the middle.

“I was passing by,” he said, entirely too casual.

You groaned softly, dragging a hand over your face. “Fantastic. I didn’t just humiliate myself in front of the brass. I also had an audience.”

“Don’t take it personally,” he said, his voice laced with something between amusement and sincerity. “We’ve all been there.”

You raised an eyebrow. “In a classified sim seat with national security riding on your ability to not pass out?”

He grinned wider. “Well. Maybe not exactly there.”

You scoff, shaking your head as you take another sip of the water.

“You’re not supposed to get it right the first time." He said, "No one does. You think the rest of us were born knowing how to pull 7 Gs without losing our lunch?”

You didn’t answer. Not because you didn’t believe him—maybe part of you even did—but because if you opened your mouth, you weren’t sure if it would come out as a laugh or a cry.

He noticed.

“You know, most people don’t get in the backseat of a fighter jet without years of prep. You? You've got a couple of days, a tech background, and a pulse. That’s it and you still got in. That counts for something.”

You stared at him. “Why do you even care if I mess this up?”

He looked at you then, long and quiet.

“You built something that could change the world,” he said with an easy shrug. “That kind of genius doesn’t come with an eject handle. So yeah. I care.”

You looked away fast, suddenly too aware of how warm your cheeks were.

He leaned back again, casual as ever. “Besides, if I'm the one you are gonna fly into enemy territory, I’d rather know you’re not gonna scream the whole time.”

You snorted. “I’ll scream quietly. Into my elbow. Like an adult.”

He chuckles and you looked at him. Really looked at him. Still in partial uniform, flight suit unzipped to the waist, sleeves tied and hanging loose around his hips. His shirt clung to his chest, slightly sweat-damp at the collar, and that damn mustache made him look both out-of-place and weirdly grounded at the same time.

He wasn’t just handsome. He was kind of infuriatingly steady.

“Can I—” You paused, surprised by your own voice. “Can I ask your name?”

His brows lifted, just slightly, like the question had caught him off guard. But then he shifted forward and extended a hand—open, easy, completely steady in a way that you most definitely weren’t.

“Bradley Bradshaw,” he said. “But most people around here call me Rooster.”

You blinked. “Rooster?”

A grin tugged at his mouth, soft and lopsided. “My call sign. It’s a long story.”

You hesitated for a beat, then reached out and slid your hand into his.

His palm was warm—really warm—and calloused in a way that made you feel every inch of the difference between your worlds. His grip was firm but not overwhelming, grounding. Like he knew exactly how much pressure to apply without overdoing it. His fingers curled around yours with quiet confidence, like this was nothing, like it didn’t send an unexpected little jolt of awareness all the way up your arm.

Your hand was smaller than his, your skin cooler, trembling just enough that you hoped he didn’t notice—but something in the way his thumb shifted, just the tiniest bit, made you think maybe he did.

You weren’t sure how long you held on. Long enough to register the strength in his hand, the steadiness, the solidness of someone who lived in the sky but was somehow more grounded than anyone you knew.

“Y/N L/N,” you said finally, your voice softer now. "But I guess you already knew that.”

He gave a small nod, his eyes not leaving yours. "You're hard to forget,"

You didn’t let go right away.

Neither did he.

Then, as if realizing the moment was hanging just a second too long, you both released at the same time—too quickly. Like a secret exchanged and immediately tucked away.

You took a half step back, pulse thrumming in your throat, fingers still tingling from the contact.

Bradley, however, didn’t step away immediately instead, he lingered for just a second longer, watching you with a look that wasn’t teasing or cocky or smug. Just something quiet and steady, then he smiled—small, crooked, the kind that didn’t feel all that teasing but still carried that glint of mischief behind it. The kind of smile that said he saw more than he let on.

“You’ll get it,” he said, voice softer now. “Not today. Maybe not tomorrow.”

His eyes flicked to yours, and something about the way he looked at you—like he meant it, like he believed it, made your chest tighten.

“But you will.”

You opened your mouth, unsure what you were about to say—maybe thank you, maybe don’t say that unless you mean it—but the words never quite made it past your lips.

Because Bradley gave you one last look, a flick of something unreadable in his eyes, then turned down the corridor, water bottle still swinging lazily from his fingers while you stood there for a moment, then finally exhaled. “Okay,”

Days went faster than you were ready for.

You hadn’t slept much. Not from fear exactly, though there was plenty of that still hanging around like a ghost in your chest—but more from the afterglow of adrenaline. The kind that leaves your body tired but your mind racing.

You’d replayed Bradley's words a dozen times. You’ll get it. You weren’t sure if they’d stuck because you believed them… or because you wanted to.

But when you arrived at the simulator bay, you were expecting to meet with Cyclone, just like every other day, but he wasn't there waiting for you.

It was a new pilot.

She stood near the simulator controls, arms crossed loosely over her chest, already in her flight suit, her expression somewhere between mildly unimpressed and genuinely curious.

“You’re my new project, huh?” she said as you approached.

You blinked. “Um. I—guess so?”

“I’m your point of contact now,” Phoenix said, nodding toward the simulator. “Cyclone thought a different approach might help. And I volunteered.”

You tried not to look too relieved. But you were. God, you were. Cyclone, well, he was rough, for lack of better words, Rooster had been kind, yes, but his presence was a lot. Intense. Distracting.

Phoenix, on the other hand, had that kind of practical, no-nonsense confidence you could actually lean on. She didn’t feel like a storm waiting to happen. She felt like structure.

“I’m Lieutenant Natasha Trace,” she said, extending her hand. “Call sign’s Phoenix.”

You shook her hand, your grip steadier than yesterday—though your palm was still a little clammy, and you were pretty sure she noticed.

“Y/N,” you said, then added with a tired smile, “Doctor. Uh, the nervous one.”

Phoenix huffed out a short laugh, a glint of something sharp but not unkind in her eyes. “I read your file.”

She stepped back, folding her arms as she leaned one hip against the edge of the sim console. Her stance was relaxed, confident, comfortable in her own skin in the way only someone who’d already proven themselves a hundred times could be.

“I also watched your sims,” she added, voice casual.

You winced, your smile turning into a grimace. “Oof. That bad?”

She tilted her head, as if considering how honest she wanted to be. Then gave a light shrug, eyes steady on yours. “I’ve seen worse. A lot worse.”

You let out a low hum, arms crossing loosely over your chest in mock thought. “That’s… reassuring.”

“Isn’t it?” she said, with just enough of a smirk to make you feel like she was on your side. “You hadn't passed out nor puked. You followed instructions until your brain short-circuited. Classic first-timer move.”

You laughed under your breath, surprised at how easily it came.

She finally looked at you then—steady, knowing. “We’re not here to make you into a pilot, Doc. We just need you ready for the mission. The rest? We’ll cover you.”

Something in your chest loosened at that.

Support. No condescension. No sharp edges. Just a quiet kind of strength you could lean against.

“Thanks,” you said. “Really.”

Phoenix nodded once. “Let’s get you in the seat.”

Inside the simulator, everything felt smaller than you remembered.

Not physically—just heavier. Like the air had thickened, like the walls had learned your fears from yesterday and decided to lean in a little closer.

You sat in the back seat again, the tablet already secured to its mount beside your right leg. Your fingers hovered near it, not quite touching, like it might bite. You could already feel your heartbeat in your palms.

“Straps secured?” Phoenix’s voice crackled through the headset. Her tone was crisp, even, the kind that didn’t rise to meet panic—it smothered it before it started.

You exhaled and gave a tight nod, forgetting she couldn’t see it. “Y-Yeah. Good to go.”

“All right,” she said. “We’re starting slow. Just basic turbulence patterns. No evasive maneuvers, no tricks. You’re not here to impress anyone. You’re here to breathe, and press a single button when I tell you.”

You nodded again, this time speaking aloud. “Sure.”

The sim hummed to life around you, and your body tensed automatically—like it remembered what came next, even if you swore it wouldn’t be that bad.

“Relax your shoulders,” Phoenix said, as if she felt the stiffness from her end. “You’re holding tension like you’re about to punch the air.”

The screen in front of you blinked to life. The sim took you airborne, but the motion was slow this time—steady, like a calm climb on a commercial flight.

You forced yourself to breathe out slowly and unclenched your jaw, trying to follow her lead. The shaking wasn’t nearly as bad as the previous day's simulated madness. No rolls. No sharp drops. Just steady pressure. Unnerving, but survivable.

Your eyes flicked to the screen.

The prompt glowed softly. Ethera. Standing by. Timer: 02:00

“This is just a systems check,” Phoenix said. “You don’t have to engage. Just keep your eyes on it. Notice the screen, your pulse, your breath. You’ve got time."

The pod dipped gently into a banking curve. You swayed, stomach flipping. "Keep breathing, Doc."

You gripped the edge of the seat, fingers twitching. “This still counts as breathing, right?”

“As long as you’re not blue in the face, yeah.”

You smiled—barely—but it helped.

The Ethera interface activated on the mounted tablet in front of you. The same prompt, The countdown. You glanced at it and your heart gave one uneasy thud.

“Don’t rush,” Phoenix reminded you, voice even. “One thing at a time. Don’t try to win. Just try to finish.”

You nodded again, reaching out slowly—deliberately—and tapped the screen to begin the simulated deployment sequence. The code began to unfold, and the sim didn’t break into loops or chaos. It kept going. And you were still breathing.

Your hand trembled slightly, but you stayed focused, eyes on the sequence as it loaded in steady green waves. The turbulence passed. The sim steadied.

“Ten seconds,” Phoenix said. “You’ve got it. Keep it locked.”

You kept your hand on the panel. You didn’t blink. The screen counted down.

3… 2… 1…

Deployment successful.

The soft chime of success echoed in your headset.

“Target received,” the system confirmed.

You blinked, then blinked again. “I… I got it?”

“You got it,” Phoenix said, the faintest edge of pride in her voice. “Nice and clean.”

You slumped back in the seat, suddenly aware of just how hard your heart had been working. Your eyes stung—not from panic this time, but from sheer relief.

“Doctor,” Phoenix said after a beat. “That was not bad.”

You couldn’t help the grin that broke across your face, exhausted but real.

And when the pod finally powered down with a gentle thunk, and the hatch hissed open, you realized you’d done the whole thing without white-knuckling the seat.

You’d finally made it through.

Phoenix was waiting for you, arms crossed, leaning one hip against the console like she’d known all along you’d handle it.

You stepped out, legs a still stiff, but your head was clear.

“Not bad,” she said, and this time her smile wasn’t just professional. It was small, but real. “No ejections. No nausea. No hysterics.”

You let out a dry laugh, breath catching on the edge of it. “Just mild existential dread.”

She shrugged, cool as ever. “That’s standard issue.”

Then smiled—really smiled—for the first time since this whole classified, terrifying, completely-out-of-your-depth mission had begun. The kind of smile that pulled dimples you hadn’t felt in days.

“Thanks,” you said again, quieter this time. Not just for the training, but for not making you feel like a burden.

Phoenix nodded once, like she already understood all of that.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” she said. “We need to move faster. Real evasive sequences. Simulated pressure. Maybe even some yelling.”

“Yours or mine?”

She smirked. “We’ll see who breaks first.”

You laughed again—easier this time—and for the first time, it didn’t feel like you were pretending.

By the time the week came to an end, you and Phoenix had become friends.

Not in the polite, nod-in-the-hallway kind of way—but the real kind. The kind built through shared silence in the simulator bay, through low chuckles after a successful run, through Phoenix’s calm voice in your headset, cutting through the static and the fear. She never coddled you. Never sugarcoated anything but she never made you feel less, either.

There were moments where fear absolutely took over—where your breath hitched too high in your chest or your fingers trembled too much to find the prompt in time and there were other moments, rarer but growing, where you managed. Where you pressed the button, where you kept your head above water.

Phoenix never made a spectacle of either.

When you panicked, she talked you down, when you succeeded, she just clapped you on the shoulder, tossed you a bottle of water, and said, “Told you. You’re getting it.”

And somehow, that meant more than any standing ovation ever could.

By Friday evening, you had survived four more simulations, logged two successful Ethera deployments, and stopped referring to the ejection lever as “that red death stick.”

Progress.

“You coming to the Hard Deck tonight?” Phoenix said casually, already slinging her duffel over one shoulder as you both headed toward the lockers.

You blinked at her, caught off guard. “What?”

She paused mid-step, turning just enough to glance back at you with that crooked grin she reserved for moments like this—half dare, half invitation.

“The Hard Deck,” she repeated, now walking backward toward the hangar doors. “Bar. Pool tables. Bad decisions. You in?”

You stared for a beat too long, processing.

The Hard Deck.

You opened your mouth. Closed it. You’d heard about the place in passing—mostly through muttered comments and laughing threats. It had sounded like a local haunt. Loud. Messy. Full of people who knew exactly what they were doing and didn’t care that you didn’t.

“Wait, is that—like, is that a thing?” you asked, trailing after her. “Do people… actually go?”

Phoenix raised an eyebrow like she wasn’t sure if you were messing with her. “Only the ones worth talking to.”

You hesitated.

She paused at the doorway and tossed the final hook. “You’ve survived a week of sims, didn’t puke on anyone, and haven’t cried once. That makes you officially less pathetic than half the new guys. You’ve earned a drink... So?

Your brain, naturally, tried to stall. A bar? With actual people? And more pilots? But your mouth moved faster.

“Uh—yeah, sure,” you said quickly, the words tumbling out before your usual social panic could hit. “I could go for a drink.”

Phoenix gave a little nod, like she’d already known your answer. Like this was the inevitable next step in whatever strange, reluctant journey you’d found yourself on.

Then she jerked her chin toward the exit, already on the move.

You hesitated. “What now?”

She didn’t stop walking.

“You go back to wherever you’ve been hiding, put on something that doesn’t scream ‘high-stress lab goblin,’ and I’ll swing by in an hour.”

You blinked. “That specific, huh?”

Phoenix half-turned, walking backward again like she had a personal vendetta against stationary conversations. “It’s a bar, not a Senate hearing. No briefing, no simulations, no threat of fiery death. Just drinks. Loud music. Maybe pool. Probably bad flirting.”

And with that, she was gone—leaving you standing in the middle of the hangar, sweaty, slightly stunned, and suddenly very aware that you owned exactly one outfit that wasn’t issued or work-adjacent.

Oh no. Now you actually had to get ready.

A/N:

Heyyyyy, OMG the support for this story is wild, thank you all so so muchhh!! I honestly did not think it would get this much attention, my first draft was actually a Charlie's Angel reader lol, but I'm so happy you all enjoy this version. I did try to make it as realistic as possible, after all reader does not like to fly I can only imagine being put in her position, so she being frozen out of fear and not completing the mission feels real, at least to me.

And my apologies it took me so long to put it out. Part III is already in the works, so I think it will be out soon.

Thank you all so so much for the support and the comments and reblogs, really.

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nitikapharmaceutical · 3 days ago

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adinathinternationalindia · 7 months ago

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krunaldigitalads · 11 months ago

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karnavatienggdigital · 1 year ago

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writingsbychlo · 4 years ago

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smoke and fire (04b)

word count; 7050

summary; you wait hours for news on the young boy, and when the results are finally in, it looks like a breakthrough with thomas might be on the horizon.

notes; this is the second half of part four since it got so long, hope you guys enjoy!

warnings; reference to injury.

Trying to make yourself a little calmer, and distract yourself from how you were feeling, you peeled the gloves from your hands, dropping them in the nearest trash can and searching to find some toilets. The mirror did not offer you a reflection you were proud to see, tear-stained cheeks that cut through sweat-caked dust in tracks, messy hair and red eyes; like picturesque misery.

There was blood on the clean fabric of your button-up shirt, and your medical bag held little that would be able to help, but you were sure you could at least make a start. Holding your hand under the dispenser for soap, the soft humming made by the machine as it deposited a small pile of foam into your hand was enough to break the rigid silence, and you let out a slow breath. Logically, you knew it wasn’t your fault that he was injured, the boy was almost an adult, he was old enough to make his own decisions, and yet you’d let yourself become attached, you’d tried to offer him advice that had backfired, and so you couldn't help but feel partly responsible.

The water ran pink as your skin was cleared, before shaky fingers were coming up to undo the buttons along your top. The long-sleeve top worn underneath wasn’t the warmest of items, but it was better than sitting in a blood-soaked shirt, and so you folded the crisp white uniform up carefully, tucking it into your bag and letting out a sigh. With hands cupped under the cold water tap, you let your palms fill, before leaning over the sink and splashing your face carefully with the water, rubbing away the grime and salt present on your skin until it felt fresh and clean once again.

Your eyes were still lined with red and your throat was still raw, but both of those would begin to fade as you finally began to get a hold of yourself once again. Your head was hurting, both inside and outside, the tight ponytail your hair was pulled up into made your scalp ache as you released it, and you rubbed your fingers gently through the strands to try and soothe that pain, making a note to find some water for your oncoming headache soon.

Finally, it was enough, hair flailing loose around your shoulders once again and skin clean, at least feeling a little more comfortable than you had, and as you patted down the pockets of your bag, you found your phone again, grateful that Newt must’ve tucked it in there when he’d gone back to the van for you, because you were sure you’d left it on the dash. There was a text from Newt, just having arrived back at the station, saying that he'd spoken to Vince and everything was cleared up, while Brenda had also left a text saying she was hoping that both you and the boy were okay.

A voice cleared in front of you, snapping your attention away from where you were trying to think of how to reply, clicking your phone off and looking away to find the source of the disturbance. Allison was standing before you, a gown on her body and a scrub cap on her head, but she’d shed the mask and gloves, for now, smiling a little as she began to undo the ties behind her back and neck.

“I came to give you a little update about what’s going on.”

“Already? It’s only been, what, forty minutes?” Panic flared up inside of you once again at the speed at which she was emerging, but the soft smile and a chuckle she gave to you was reassurance enough.

“Don’t worry, the kid is doing alright. Doctor Hale is great at his job, and it’s all going smoothly.” You rubbed your hands down along your pants, clearing sweaty palms and standing up to be the same height as her. “He’ll be going into the ICU after this, so why don’t you walk with me now and I’ll take you up to that waiting room, it's a little more comfortable and private than the corridors.”

“He’s going to be alright, then?”

“He’s going to be just fine.” She confirmed, waiting a second for you to grab your bag and swing it onto a shoulder, before she was setting off through the halls again, guiding you as she made her way towards the elevator. “He lost a fair amount of blood, but we’ve got him on some bags now, and his levels are steadying again, he’s starting to get some colour back, so we’re happy with that process, and his heartbeat is stronger.”

You watched as she pressed the button to signal the machine, silver doors reflecting back at you, and you felt positively exhausted as you slumped upon hearing the good news, tensions and adrenaline finally being able to slip away. “What about his legs?”

“Well, we won’t know much about any of it until he wakes up, and we can test his response to stimulus when the drugs in his system wear off and we can replace the anaesthetic with general medication, but the shattered leg has been set and is due to be wrapped in a cast, it’s all we can do, but it isn’t looking the best on the outcome.”

You winced, knowing there was nothing more you could have done, but you still hated to know what the repercussions might be. The elevator ride was silent, as was the walk to the waiting room, and yet none of it was uncomfortable, she was simply a companion at your side who had brought you a little peace, and when you were of a more stable and clear mindset next time, you’d thank her properly for being so kind to you, and make a better effort to get to know the nurses here, but right now, you didn’t have the right headspace for anything other than taking it ten minutes at a time.

“There’s not much more we can do now, it’s all about recovery, really. You did some great work out there, we’ve cleaned and applied new stitches to his wounds, I did it myself, and I promise they won’t burst any time soon.” You nodded your head, trying to absorb all the information that you could, but your mind was spinning, only focusing on the fact that he was going to be okay. “We’ll keep him in the hospital for a while, and check on him, his head has been patched up, luckily it was a crack and it hadn't splintered, so we’re happy with that.”

“When he comes out, will I be able to see him?”

“Yes, you can.” She turned to smile at you now, holding the doors open to a much nicer, and empty waiting room, you being the only person here, nobody flying past busily, phones ringing and conversations being had, it was calm and serene, and exactly what you needed. “Doctor Hale is going to come and talk to you more comprehensively himself while they get him all set up, and it shouldn’t take too long for the anaesthetic to wear off. As soon as he wakes up, we can get him started on some real painkillers that won’t knock him out.”

“Excellent.” You sighed, brushing yourself off for invisible dirt a story anxiety took over, before looking back to her. “Thank you so much, I can’t even tell you how much it all means to me.”

“It’s no trouble, truly.” She placed a comforting hand on your arm, squeezing lightly. “You’re one of our own. Derek, uh, Doctor Hale, he feels like he really owes the fire department, so he would do pretty much anything for you all. House ‘21 was one of the firehouses involved in saving his family when there was a house fire. He has a big family, and he almost lost them a few years ago, this is the least he can do, he feels.”

You had no idea, you’d never been anywhere long enough to reap the seeds of good acts so far down the line, but you felt proud just to be able to associate yourself with the team, to be a member of Firehouse ‘21, even if you hadn't been there for that event. They were a great team, a wonderful group of people, and you were proud to be associated with them. You weren’t sure how long it would last, but for the first time in a long time, your first thought wasn’t the next immediate escape route.

“I’m going to head back in there, now. It shouldn't be much longer.”

You nodded, watching as she walked away, and leaving you alone in the peacefulness of the waiting room. There was a table, stacked up with magazines and a water machine in the corner, chilled and humming slowly, and you made your way over towards that firstly. Taking one of the flimsy little cups, you held it under the nozzle, pushing on the button of the cold water, and watching as it filled up, the temperature making your fingers cool as it moved toward the top.

Taking it back over to one row of chairs, they were much more comfortable than the others, the hard plastic being replaced for soft cushioning, warm and inviting, and you slumped down into it. Shuffling through your bag, you were grateful to find the half-used try of painkillers you'd hidden in there for personal use, thanking a past version of yourself for thinking ahead, and popping two of the small tablets out, placed on your tongue and reaching for the cup. Several swigs of the water, until the cup was empty, washing them down and enjoying the cool feeling washing along your throat and soothing the burn, and you felt a little more refreshed immediately.

This time, as you filled it up, you took a moment to observe the room you were in. A small, ornamental water fountain sat on one of the counters, soft sounds of trickling water as you neared it, and it was relaxing just to be around, stacks of little pebbles to create a water fountain, and blue lights to make the pool of water seem clearer, you lips flicking up at the sides. There was a radio, it wasn’t turned on and you didn’t intend to do so, but you admired its place here, the room filled with things all around so that there was something to calm and relax every type of person, no matter what their comfort was, and as you settled back down into the seats, you found you weren't quite so stressed anymore.

Producing your phone from your pocket once again, you sipped at your water, the headache you had finally beginning to recede, and you replied to Brenda, a thumb swiping rapidly across the screen as you thanked her for her concern, and gave her an update that he was due out of surgery any time now. You replied to Newt too, once again thanking him profusely, as yet another batch of unrelated guilt began to make itself known, surfacing as you realised you’d just abandoned your partner to do all the work.

Neither of them replied, both messages being left on ‘read’, and you simply hoped that they were having fun with the team, getting to relax and destress after a long day, and they weren’t torturing themselves in the same way that you were.

The elevator chimed, not too far away, the other end of the corridor, and you paused. Following it, there was the sound of wheels, moving along the corridor, squeaking a little as a bed rattled, before fading away, and your heart leapt in your chest as you resisted the urge to stand up and look out, staying sat where you were. Your suspicions were confirmed, however, when the doors opened up, the doctor who you’d seen only a couple of hours ago appearing once again, and you pushed yourself up to your feet as fast as you could, meeting the doctor, who looked a little frazzled and worn out, but optimistic nonetheless.

“Doctor Hale, hi.”

He smiled a little, ducking his head. “You can call me Derek. I’m not your doctor.” Your cheeks heated a little bit, mumbling his name as you grew used to the feel of it in your mouth, and he cleared his throat. “So, you ready for that update?”

“Absolutely.” You confirmed, and he turned his body, placing a hand on your lower back and guiding you back towards the doors.

“How about I tell you on the way to the coffee machine, because I’m desperate for a double espresso, three times over.” You grinned, laughing lightly as you agreed, just the thought of such a drink making your mouth water, and you grabbed at your bag, swinging it onto one arm and letting it dangle as you followed behind him. He held the door open for you, guiding you through the halls, and you followed after him, falling into a comfortable pace beside one another. “First of all, do you happen to know his name? We can’t get anything up on file, and we can’t put him on medications until we know if he has allergies.”

“All I know is that he’s called Aaron, I think. He’s been here before, though, should be on file. I brought him in a couple of weeks ago for the injuries on his stomach.”

The man beside you nodded, taking the pen from his pocket and writing down the name on the back of his hand. “Alright, well, I’m pretty optimistic about how Aaron is doing. He’s all set up in an ICU room now, and as soon as he starts to come around, we can let you in to visit him. While you’re in there, we need you to try and get some contact details, his parents, anything like that, so we can try and get him on file, if we can’t find him in the system, but we have a lot of Aarons’.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“His leg is now in a cast, we set it as best we could, but there was more damage along his spine, so I’m not overly optimistic about that. I don’t know how bad the paralysis will be, but there’s definitely going to be some loss of movement there, he won’t make a full recovery, not from a fall like that with his injuries.” It wasn’t a surprise, you had been anticipating the worst, and so far, everything beyond being told he didn’t make it was just a blessing. Stopping before the coffee machine beside a nurses desk, the screen flashed to life as he swiped his card through the holder, greeting him with his ID on screen, and he began to program a selection of shots and syrups into the blend. “What are you having?”

“Oh, I don’t have a-”

“My treat, let me buy you a coffee. I get a doctor discount on it anyway.” You couldn't resist the charming smile he gave you, shrugging a little and laughing under your breath. “Alright, Derek, surprise me. I’m not that fussy.”

“I take that as a challenge.” He confirmed, setting to work on making your brew, and as the machine hummed to life, he returned to the topic of your patient. “We pumped his stomach, we ran a few tests and flushed his system out. You might not like me too much when I tell you this, but with the contents of his stomach and the harm he got into as a minor, with nobody here to explain it, I have contacted the police and child authorities.”

“I don’t blame you, Doc. I really don’t. All I want for this kid is the best in life, I encouraged him to get out of that whole gang-lifestyle, I feel responsible for him even being here, and I-” You cut yourself off as you realised you were rambling, your lips pursing shut, and the coffee maker beside you beeped. He grinned, picking up the second coffee and handing it over to you, but only after pressing a plastic lid onto the top of the coffee cup. Bringing it up to your nose, the sweet smell of delicate spices and warm coffee filled your nose, and you hummed happily at the delicious blend. “Thank you.”

“Just so you know, you saved that kid’s life. You brought him here and he’s safe, you’ve done the best you can, and you did great.” You sighed, blowing at the steam on your coffee and taking a moment, a few deep breaths, settling yourself in the moment. “When he wakes up and starts to surface, we’ll let you know. If you give me your details, I’ll keep you updated on how he does.”

“Sounds like you’re asking me for my number there, Doctor Hale?”

“I thought I told you to call me Derek.” He beamed, both of you knowing it was only a joke, before he was holding the pen from the pocket of his coat out for you and grabbing a piece of paper from the nurses stand. Placing down your coffee, you wrote down your name and number, handing it back over to him, and he looked at it for a moment, repeating your name, before putting it into his pocket. “You can head on back to the waiting room, and I’ll come and get you in a little while when he’s awake, and we’ve got him on something to keep the pain off.”

The device on his belt beeped, calling him away to another case, and he was leaving, a wave on his fingers as he picked up his coffee, and you were left to try and navigate your way back to the waiting room alone.

There were signs up along the walls, but every turn you took felt more confusing, muted coloured walls and total silence feeling more like your new norm as you navigate the maze of pathways, letting out a relieved sigh as you finally caught sight of the same doors you’d come through earlier. There was movement behind them, your heart sinking a little as you realised the peaceful loneliness you had was broken, but you knew other people would be here to visit their families.

Your bag would still be laying on the floor, where you’d left it before leaving to find coffee, and as you made you way back along, the people behind the glass became a little clearer. Blond hair, brown hair, strawberry and jet black. Pushing the door open, your jaw dropped a little as you looked across the group, all eyes turning to face you, and your heart raced in your chest.

“What are you guys doing here?”

“We’re pausing movie night!” Chuck was almost yelling, his enthusiasm getting the better of him, and several members of the team shushed him, while others snickered. “Sorry. We’re pausing movie night.”

“I see that, but, uh, why?”

A few looks were shared among the team, and Newt sighed, standing to his feet from where he’d been lounging in your chair. “Because we’re your team, and we care about you. You’re here for the kid, and we’re here for you.”

He took your coffee from your hands, sniffling it, and winking a little before raising it up to take a sip. His eyes widened a little, before he was gulping down another mouthful, and you snatched it back with a protesting noise.

“That’s good coffee. Where can I get one of those?”

“Doctors only.” You mumbled, a sweet smile on your lips as you took a sip, and he stared at you for a second.

“Are you telling me you made a friend other than me? You really are getting comfortable here.”

You shook your head, pressing it back into his hands after another mouthful of coffee, gifting it to him. Brenda was holding her arms out to you, a sweet smile on her face as you paused for only a second, before falling into her arms and letting her wrap you up tightly. The moment you squeezed her back, there was another body wrapping around you, making the pair of you giggle as Chuck joined the hug, and you whined at the overwhelming heat that was encasing you when Newt joined in too.

Elbowing yourself free, you wriggled out, popping free and finding the rest of the team still wearing sweet smiles, all standing around and waiting patiently. “Thanks for coming, you guys, it really means a lot to me.”

Settling down with the company of your team, Newt slumped beside you, a backpack of his own on the floor, and he picked it up, roping it down on your lap, and the weight of it winded you a little.

“What was that for?”

“I brought you the clothes from your locker.” You raised a single brow, opening the bag and finding your hoodie and leggings inside, as well as your more comfortable trainers than the ones you wore to work, a little sigh leaving you. “Figured you’d want to be comfy, and you smell a little bit musty and bloody.”

Lifting the edge of your top to your nose, you took a whiff, faint traces being picked up, nothing overwhelming, but it certainly was present. Everybody else had changed their clothes as they left their kit at work, or went home to shower, but no matter what, you appreciated it all.

“So, you gonna’ give us a little update on the kid?”

“Oh, yeah.” You wiped at your nose, feeling yourself get a little emotions, before pulling one leg up under yourself and turning to face him. “So, he’s doing alright. They’re worried about his legs, and they pumped his stomach, but they’re confident about his recovery and they’ve put a cast on his leg. He’s out of surgery now, they’re waiting for him to wake up.”

“What about his parents? They got in touch with them, right?”

“They haven’t got any information on him yet.” You sighed, rubbing at your forehead. “They want me to go in and ask him to give up his information as soon as he wakes up.”

“Well, look alive, because here comes a white coat with determination. A good looking one at that, dark hair, tall, I would be all over that if-”

“Newt!” You hissed, the door opening, and he laughed himself into silence as he brought the coffee to his lips. Standing up, you gave him the bag back, making sure to drop it into his lap with equal the force he’d dropped onto yours, and he spluttered a little, glaring at you and kicking his leg out at you as you walked to meet the doctor. “He’s awake?”

“Yes, he is.” Derek spun on his heel, the two of you walking away towards the main doors, and you turned over your shoulder to scowl at your partner for the kick, a sugary-sweet and sly grin on his lips as you scoffed. “A lot of your friends have shown up, huh?”

“They’re my team, they came to support me.”

“Hey, I think it’s sweet.” He shrugged, guiding you along the halls. “So, he’s in a little pain, nothing awful yet as he’s still waking up, so he’s a sort of woozy. Focus on asking him his last name, if we can pull up his account we can see his allergies and get him some meds, but if he doesn't want to give it up, we need to know about the medicines.”

“What do I tell him when he starts asking questions?”

“We’re going to test his reflexes as soon as we get his medicine sorted but before it kicks in, though they may not be fully comprehensive on the total movement and reflex he can get back.” He stopped outside of the door, and peering in through the glass, you could see the young boy. The hair from the top of his head was shaved away, around the sides too, black locks were gone and bandaging wrapping his head. He was clad in a gown, and the blankets were tucked up around his body, staring up at the rod as he frowned, looking entirely displaced. “Press the button on the side of his bed when you’re ready for us to come in, I’ll wait at the nurses’ station.”

“Thanks, Derek.”

He dipped his head in a nod, taking a step back, and you entered the room. He lifted his head slowly, confusion on his features for a second as you clicked the door shut, before he was huffing again.

“Hey, kiddo, how you feelin’?”

“I don’t know.” He mumbled, words a little slurred, and you took a seat beside his bed, pulling the chair over, and his head rolled from one side to the other, cheek pressing to the pillow to look at you, but his gaze was unfocused. “My arm is itchy.”

“That’s just your drip line for meds, you’ll be fine.” He made a shocked face, as though you’d reveal the secrets of the universe to him, before his face was screwing up again.

“I hurt a bit too. Everywhere.”

“I know, and we can get you some meds, alright?” He nodded his head, silence falling around you both again, and he was using one hand to scratch at the bedding, toying with the loose thread in the beige blanket, and sighed. “You gonna’ tell me your last name, so we can get you registered and checked in on the system?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’ll call my foster parents.” Your heart stopped for a moment in your chest, and just when you thought it couldn't get any worse for him, you found out the poor kid was in the system, no wonder he’d turned to family wherever he could get it. “I don’t want them to know.”

“Don’t you think they’re worried? You’re going to be here for a while.”

“They’ll be disappointed in me.” He whispered, and you reached out, taking the young boy’s hand in your own, and squeezing lightly. “They’ll bring my little sister, she thinks I’m brave and strong.”

“And she’ll still think that!” He huffed, rolling his eye sin denial and tuning to stare back up at the ceiling. “I get how it feels to not want to let someone down, and to feel alone. I have moved between so many firehouses to find my home, and I’m still looking. I have, like, no friends outside of work.”

“What about your blond friend?”

“He’s a work friend, that doesn't count.” You teased, and he turned to look at you again.

“Do you hang out outside of work?” You paused, thinking on the people who were filling the waiting room right now, simply to support you, and you wondered if that counted, but the boy seemed to be going on anyway; “See, outside friends.”

“Alright, smart ass, the point is that I understand how you feel, and you should let me call your parents, so that you can have people who love you here with you. What do you say?” He was quiet, the moment dragging on, and as the cogs in the clock ticked loudly, the ‘second’ hand moving around, and as the third minute of silence passed you by, you gave up on any hope, You wondered if he’d fallen asleep, his eyes having slipped shut, and you squeezed his hand a little, his hand squeezing back after a few moments, signalling he was awake.

“Edge.”

“Huh?” You perked up a little, your elbow having been resting on the bed to support your head on your fist, before you were moving to look up at him.

“My name is Aaron Edge. I’m already in the system, I had asthma as a kid.” You cheered a little, reaching around for the handle instantly and pressing the button for the nurse’s desk.

“I’m so proud of you, kiddo.” The door opened a second later, a short red-head nurse escorting Doctor Hale, his brows raising a little as they came in, and you gave him a subtle nod. “This is Aaron Edge, and he’d love some painkillers now.”

“We’ll get that sorted out. This is nurse Martin, she’ll be looking after you, Mr Edge.” She left the room a second later, heading away to get it sorted out, and the doctor took a step closer to the bed. “How are you feeling, big guy? You gave us a scare there, but you're brave, and I know you’re going to be just fine.”

“I have a headache, and I feel itchy. Is that just my nerves?”

He tried to push himself up a little in the bed, his arms giving way under the pressure, and you moved, helping him sit up so you could position his pillows behind him to help him sit up. “Well, actually, that’s the beginning of the withdrawal. It’s not going to be great, but you’re young. We can get you in a great rehab program, and whatever you were on we can get you off. You’re young, you still have prospects ahead of you. It’ll be a tough road, you think you can do it?”

His hand tightened around yours once again, and he turned, vulnerability written on his face. You gave him a nod, and he stared at you for a second longer, before returning to give those same gestures to the doctor.

“Now, I just need to run a final test, alright?” Producing the pen from his pocket, he lifted up the blanket to reveal both of the boy’s feet, and held the end to the pen, never popping the button to reveal the inked tip. “Relax your foot for me.”

He did so and he dragged the tip of the pen up along the sensitive underfoot, everything still for a second, before his toes twitched, and you let out a little cheer, the boy in the bed jumping in shock. “What?”

“You still have movement in that foot?”

“Did I not before?” He panicked, sitting up further to peer down at his legs, and it seemed that in his drowsy state, he was only just becoming aware of the cast wrapped around his leg. “What about the other one?”

The cast sealed over most of his foot, but Derek reached down with the pen, dragging it along the space under his toes, and there was no movement. He did it again, still no reaction, and you nibbled on your lower lip. “Tell me when you feel something?”

Moving the blanket from his body, his leg was exposed, the cast ending just below his knee. He poked at the knee cap, then a rough inch further up, moving in inch segments as you waited, before his leg finally flinched just after the pen pressed over his mid-thigh.

“Well, we can get you into some physical therapy, and see how the healing of your leg goes, and what happens after that.”

Tucking the pen back away, the red-headed nurse entered the room once again, a needle and a small glass jar in her hand, and she was ready to add some medicine to the bag for him. “I’ve called your family, and they’re on their way. I’ve got some medicine for you now.” You squeezed his hand again lightly, letting go as the nurse moved to start setting him up a new line for his medicine, and Derek was busy filling out details on the chart that sat at the end of his bed.

“I’m going to go back to my team now, alright?” The kid turned to look at you, nodding his head slowly. “You keep your promise this time, alright? I believe in you, do it for your little sister. Be better.”

“Thank you for helping me.”

“You’re welcome, kiddo.”

You ran your hand over his cheek, giving him a gentle smile. As the medicine began to kick in, nurse Martin began to talk to Aaron about his family, and what had been said on the phone, and for the third time tonight, you were navigating the ICU wing halls. Stepping back into the waiting room, all eyes turned to you again, brows raising, and you nodded, shoulders slumping in relief.

“He’s going to be okay, and his family is on the way.”

A chorus of cheers took up around the room, and you nodded your head watching as they all began to get to their feet, coming over to offer their congratulations and comforts about how worried you’d been, and how much better you must be feeling, which was completely true.

Newt cupped your face, pressing a large and wet kiss to your forehead, and you scowled, wiping the mark on your skin. “I think you need a drink, love.”

“Kenny’s Bar?” Gally offered, and a series of acknowledgements and agreements going up around the room. You’d heard them talking about that bar before, it seemed to be a house favourite but you’d never been along with them before, and it felt like some kind of initiation ritual or rite of passage.

“You should go and change first. Get comfy, I’ll wait for you.”

“Actually, if you guys go on ahead, I’ll wait.” Thomas stood to the side, scratching at the back of his neck as he met your eye, shrugging a little before looking around the small group gathered around you, who seemed equally as shocked as you were. “Seriously, I mean it. We have some things to talk about.”

“We do?” You questioned dumbly, and he fixed you with a pointed look, before you nodded your head. “Right, sure, yeah, okay. I can work with that, I guess. I mean, if you don’t see me in the next twelve hours, you know who I was with last.”

“Uh-huh.” Newt eyes his friend sceptically, the two seeming to have a silent conversation all with that eye contact, before Newt was rounding everyone up. “Go get changed, don’t take too long, we’ll see you soon.”

He hugged you gently, before guiding the rest of the team out of the building, pats on your arm and squeezes of your hand as they all passed by and discussed who would be designated drivers and drop everyone else at home, each discussing driving their cars home and coming along to collect them as they went. You waved Newt’s bag at Thomas a little, jabbing a thumb over your shoulder, and he nodded his head, tension forming between you both as you slipped away to find the bathrooms.

You were already learning your way around the halls of this building well, locating them easily enough, and stepping inside. Pulling out the contents of the beg, you sealed yourself inside one of the cubicles, putting the lid down and taking a seat on top of it. Toeing off your shoes and leaving them on the floor, you were wiggling out of your crisp uniform trousers, slipping into your leggings, bouncing as you tugged them up your legs and wiggling as you got comfortable. With some simple sneakers and your hoodie on, you were feeling much more relaxed and comfortable.

Stuffing everything else inside of the bag, you zipped it up, heading back to the waiting room, and finding Thomas with his hands shoved into his pockets, your bag on his shoulder, and he offered you what looked only mildly like a forced smile as you made your presence known.

“Ready to go?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be.” He nodded his head, letting you go through the door first as you stepped into the halls and back towards the elevator, total silence sitting in the space between you both. As he pressed the button, it was almost immediately ready for you, and you stood on opposite sides of the box as you waited for the doors to close again and sink back to the lobby. “So is this the part where you decide the hatred is too much, and actually kill me?”

He laughed, a lightweight and short, but genuine, laugh. Looking up to you, he shook his head a little, amusement still sparking in his eyes. “I don’t hate you. I mean, I don’t necessarily like you, but that's because I don’t know you, and I didn’t really give myself the chance. We got off on the wrong foot, and that's partially my fault.”

“It’s mostly your fault.”

“It’s, like, fifty percent my fault!” He argued, and you clicked your tongue, shaking your head.

“Ninety.”

“Seventy-five.”

“Fine.” You huffed, surrendering to the deal again, and he gave a toothy grin. “Go on with what you were saying.”

The doors chimed as they opened up, and you fell into step beside him as the two of you began to head towards the doors to the building, letting him guide you as he headed towards his car, trying to form his words, and you waited patiently. “Look, the point is, I know you’ve been a good partner to Newt. Especially today. You went down there to look after that kid because you knew Newt couldn't take it, and while he’d never admit that to either of us, we both know it’s true.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. We flipped a coin, and I lost.”

“Do you always flip winning sides over to take a loss?” He questioned, clicking his keys as the sleek black car came into view, and your face flushed with warmth, not having known anyone else had seen that. “Exactly my point. I know I’ve given you a hard time. I have my reasons, okay? It fucking sucks, and no, I don’t want to talk about it. Maybe you understand, maybe you don’t, but I’m trying to apologise, okay?”

He held the door open for you, the passenger seat readily available, and you dropped your bag into the footwell, standing in the way but not taking a seat as you stared up at him. “Okay. I forgive you. I probably shouldn't have been so uptight, but I was hurt too, and I didn’t take that well, so I guess this is me apologising as well.”

“So, we’re cool, now?”

“Sure.”

He nodded, the two of you staring at each other for a moment longer, and that same dreadfully awkward tension settled over the part of you as neither of you knew quite what to say. Just because you’d called a ceasefire, didn’t mean that there was a sudden connection, it didn't mean that pain and resentment were gone immediately, it just meant that you had agreed to process and move on from it together, instead of dwelling and letting it fester. “Her name was Teresa.”

“What?”

Your eyes snapped back up to his face, but he was staring at the ground, arms resting on top of the door, and he was picking at his nails. “The last paramedic, the reason I was so mad.”

“I thought you didn’t want to talk about it?”

“I owe you an explanation, so I guess I’m forcing myself to.” He sighed, running a hand through already messy hair. “She was.. a wildcard. Passionate and funny and just this real source of energy, you know? Kinda’ like you. She skipped out on us all of a sudden before shift one day, a better offer somewhere else, she didn’t tell us, but she just up and left. I was hurt, I thought I meant something to her.”

“I’m sorry, Thomas..”

“No, I am. Because all my suffering was emotional. She was Newt’s partner, he had to try and handle a case on his own because we couldn't get a replacement in before a call came, and that's the day he injured his leg. He fell through a couple of burning floors, top to bottom of the building, shattered his leg like that kid. Nobody knew where he was, he had no partner to call it in. Minho found him, unconscious from smoke inhalation and carried him out.” He let out a shaky breath, and you dared to reach out, placing a hand over his as they sat joined, and squeezing lightly. “I don’t blame myself for the accident, it had nothing to do with me. But, for whatever your own reasons are, I know you’ve jumped between houses a lot, and I was worried about Newt again. He’s my best friend.”

“I promise you, I won’t ever do that.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t think Teresa would either, but then a better offer came along.” He sighed, lifting a thumb to rest over one of your fingers and stroke lightly as he sought his one comfort from your touch, and you squeezed his hands once again. “I shouldn't have compared you to her, and I’m sorry. It was unfair, I don’t even know you.”

Quit consumed you both once again, and there was nothing else to be said, only the weight of his confession hanging in the air, before you were perking up a little, realising how to gently move on and bring his mood back up. “You any good at pool?”

“Uh, what?”

“You know, pool. In bars. Does this bar have one?” You encouraged, his eyes meeting yours again and brows furrowing with confusion.

“Yeah, it does.”

“Well, you said you didn’t know anything about me. First thing to learn is that I’m amazing at pool.” He stood up a little more, smiling softly as he took your bait to move on from the conversation, and there was a slight twinkle of mischief in those honey-brown eyes. “Winner buys drinks?”

“Alright, I’ll take that deal, but only if we play darts afterwards. At which I will kick your ass, because I am fucking great at it.”

“You’re on, Thomas.” He chuckled, letting you step into the car and shutting the door behind you, the conversation being stored away for now, to think about when you were alone and process the details, but for now, you had bonding to do, with your teammates; for the first time yet, you genuinely considered the possibility of setting up roots somewhere, and making real friends that would last.

#thomas #firefighter!tommy #thomas x reader #thomas/reader #smoke and fire #SAF #tommy month #tomuary #tom-uary #thomas the maze runner #thomas x reader smut #thomas/reader smut #dylan o'brien #dylan obrien #dylan obrien x reader #dylan obrien/reader #dylan obrien thomas #dylan obrien the maze runner

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firebrands · 5 years ago

Text

chances are | steve/tony

1.9k, T, unconscious acts of affection as told through the avengers’ POVs + fluff and getting together | “stony bingo prompt fill: unconsciousness | on ao3

***

1. Acts of Service

Clint’s halfway through his cereal when Tony walks in, suit jacket in hand. His sleeves are rolled up and his tie loose around his neck. He takes one look at Clint and sighs dramatically.

“I hate being alive,” he says, slumping over the coffee machine and mournfully pressing buttons to make himself a drink.

Clint snorts in response, used to the melodrama of Morning Tony.

As if on cue, Steve enters, carrying a box of donuts and a cup of coffee.

“Tony!” He says, grinning brightly. He sets the donuts down. “Glad I caught you before your next meeting.”

Tony remains slumped over the coffee machine, making a sad sound as it slowly whirs to life.

“I got you coffee,” Steve says gently. He places it on the counter in front of Tony, and from where he’s seated, Clint can see that his smile has faltered, a little.

Huh, Clint thinks to himself.

“God answered my prayers!” Tony says, jumping to life and taking the cup. He takes a sip, then turns to Steve, surprised.

“You know my order?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, coloring slightly. Clint only notices because he’s watching them closely. “I remembered you had a big meeting today and figured you’d need a pick me up.”

Tony looks down at his coffee, trying and failing to hide his smile.

“Thanks,” he says.

The kitchen goes quiet, save for the coffee percolating.

“Well what about me,” Clint cuts in, because it’s just too much.

Steve laughs, and looks a bit grateful for Clint’s interference. “I got the team donuts.”

“Well, I’m off,” Tony says, clearing his throat. “Thanks for the coffee, Cap.”

“You’re welcome.”

Tony hesitates at the door, and he turns to say something else, but Steve beats him to it.

“And don’t worry about your report from yesterday, I got it covered,” Steve says in a rush.

“Oh,” Tony says. He blushes a little, and Clint briefly considers stabbing himself with his spoon. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” Steve waves Tony off. “Go on, you might be late.”

“They can wait,” Tony says, smirking at Steve. “But okay. Thanks, really.”

Once a few moments have passed and Clint is sure Tony’s out of earshot, he turns to Steve with a raised brow.

“Never expected you to play favorites,” he teases.

Steve rolls his eyes. “Go eat your donut.”

2. Quality Time

It’s a perfectly normal Tuesday afternoon. That in itself should have been warning enough, but Bruce is sitting comfortably beside Tony on the couch, and he figures that he ought to make the most of the silence. Tony hums absently to himself as he adjusts calculations on his tablet. He’d come up from the workshop earlier to ask for Bruce’s help, and elected to stay upstairs in case he needed Bruce’s input again to save him the trip.

Then Steve steps out of the elevator, evidently freshly showered.

“Hello,” he says, smiling at them. Bruce nods in response, then goes back to reading.

“Hey,” Tony looks up from his tablet and stands up. “How was the mission?”

“Fine.” Bruce tries not to eavesdrop, but can’t seem to focus—he’s read the same sentence thrice now.

“Wanna get a snack?” Tony asks. “It’s been a minute.”

“Yeah?” Bruce looks up just in time to see Steve scratch the back of his neck, looking vaguely embarrassed and a bit flushed. “I’d like that. If you’re not too busy.”

“Of course not,” Tony says, smirking. “Come on, there’s an apple pie in this cafe I found that has your name on it.”

Bruce frowns back at his book. Tony had mentioned earlier that he was working on something urgent, hence the need for Bruce’s support.

Evidently, it wasn’t as important as getting pie with Steve.

He hears the doors to the elevator slide open.

“Oh, shit,” he hears Tony hiss. “Bruce?” He shouts, across the living room.

“I’ll pass,” Bruce says, waving his book at them. “Enjoy the pie.”

He bites back a smile when he sees both of them blush at the same time, then look away from each other. If he were a more scheming man, he’d discuss this with the rest of the team. But he isn’t, and he goes back to reading.

3. Words of Affirmation

Thor slumps down on one of the seats in the quinjet and lets out a sigh of relief. The battle earlier was exhilarating, but he hadn’t gotten any rest the night before.

He’s about to nod off when Steve speaks. Thor cracks an eye open to look at Steve talking to Tony.

“The new suit you made,” Steve says, patting his side as if to make his point, “it fits like a glove. I have a much better range of motion.”

“Great.”

“Seriously Tony, thank you. It means a lot that you keep working on upgrades for us.”

Thor watches as Tony turns an amusing shade of pink.

“Yeah, it’s—it’s whatever.” Tony turns away.

Thor sits up a little straighter. “Indeed, Anthony,” he says. Tony stops in his tracks. “Even I, for all I’ve seen, am amazed at your abilities.”

“Oh,” Tony says, looking shocked. “Thanks.”

Steve beams up at Thor. “See. Like I said, you’re amazing.”

Tony’s blush deepens, and Thor laughs.

They arrive in the Tower soon enough, and it’s still early in the day that Tony can still make it to meetings. Steve and Thor are eating their second breakfast in front of the TV when Tony steps out of the elevator, looking immaculate despite the frown on his face.

“You okay?” Steve asks. He shifts forward, as if to get up, but stays seated.

Thor quirks an eyebrow at the movement, but Steve doesn’t notice.

“Yeah I just.” Tony waves his hand around, not finishing the rest of his sentence. “I think I need a coffee, or fifty.”

“Sure, let me,” Steve says, apparently deciding to finally get up.

“No I—I was just saying,” Tony sputters, following Steve into the kitchen.

Thor huffs, brings his bowl of cereal, and goes into the kitchen as well.

“It’s the least I can do,” Steve says, already pouring some beans into the grinder. “Seriously, Tony. You’re already doing so much, it’s honestly kinda amazing how much you juggle every day.” He turns to Tony, looking a bit embarrassed before he finishes by saying, “Well, I guess my point is, you weren’t exaggerating when you said you were a genius, huh?”

At the compliment, Tony turns to Thor with a look of disbelief.

Thor scoops a large amount of Froot Loops into his mouth. From behind Tony, Steve gives Thor a look.

“Indeed,” Thor says, chewing a little before adding. “You are a marvel.”

Tony makes a few strangled sounds, accepts the cup of coffee from Steve, and turns to walk out.

Thor is sure that both he and Steve notice that Tony stands a little straighter, despite his sputtering.

4. Physical Touch

Natasha notices it first over dinner. Tony touches Steve almost incessantly, first to get his attention to pass the salt, then a pat on the back to say thanks for cooking, then ruffling Steve’s hair when he makes a joke.

She decides, as Steve and Tony jostle over who does the dishes, that this is for further observation.

Then, as it is, the world’s on fire.

Still, on the quinjet, Natasha turns to Clint and tilts her head toward Tony and Steve’s general area, her eyebrows raised.

Clint looks, then snorts. “Maybe we should put up posters.”

They don’t have time to say anything else, arriving at the scene of the AIM attack. Natasha’s too focused on staying alive, listening on the comms for the next move, when she notices that a line has gone silent just as the battle winds down.

She finds them first; surrounded by rubble and quiet. The tenderness of the scene almost takes her breath away. “Is he—” she starts. Tony looks up, startled, his hand stopping mid-motion from stroking Steve’s hair away from his face.

“Yeah, I. Medical’s on the way.” Natasha breathes out, and fully takes everything in now that she’s adjusted to the threat level.

Tony’s helmet is on the ground, right beside Steve’s. She picks them up as she walks toward them, watching the way Tony cradles Steve’s head to his chest, keeping his head elevated. With his other hand, the one not carding through Steve’s hair, he’s pressing down on a hole in Steve’s stomach. He keeps touching Steve, his hand moving erratically from Steve’s hair, to his face, to his shoulder, his neck. When Natasha finally gets close enough, she can barely hear Tony whispering.

“Stay awake, I got you,” Tony says, and Steve is looking up at him, probably too exhausted to speak, but his eyes are open. There’s a bit of blood on the side of Steve’s mouth, and Natasha only notices it because she was wondering why Steve was smiling.

5. Giving Gifts

Steve takes a deep breath before he punches in his code for the workshop. As he enters, the volume of Tony’s music goes down considerably.

“Ah, Steve,” Tony says, lifting goggles up and off his face before turning to smile at him. “C’mere.”

Steve keeps his hands behind his back as he walks, his fingers flexing around the book he’d brought along. He takes another deep breath.

“Before you,” Steve pauses. “I mean, I was out this afternoon and.” He pulls the book out from behind him—a first edition copy of Tolkien’s Unfinished Tales. “You mentioned it was the only one missing from your collection,” he finishes.

Tony looks down at the book, taking it gingerly in his hands before looking back up at Steve. “You remembered,” he says, sounding shocked. “I mean, thanks. Wow. You remembered?”

“Yeah,” Steve tries to smile. He’s not sure if he actually achieves it. “Anyway. You said you wanted to talk?”

“Oh,” Tony says, looking away. If Steve wasn’t so focused on his own shyness, he’d say Tony looked a bit timid, too. “Well, this is perfect, really, because I got you something too.”

He turns around and pushes things around his workbench, then turns to Steve with a flourish. “A few weeks ago you talked about how you never got to see Europe during peacetime, and well…” Tony pauses and licks his lips. “I figured you’d never gone on vacation, either. After everything. So.”

He hands Steve a piece of paper, and when Steve glances down at it, he sees a printed ticket and an itinerary.

“I have a bunch of places there anyway, so you can stay wherever you want, JARVIS can set you up,” Tony says in a rush.

Steve holds the paper, then looks up at Tony, smiling a little.

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Well,” Steve stops himself from fidgeting, and swallows hard when he meets Tony’s gaze.

“Maybe you’d like to take some time off so you can read.” he gestures to the book in Tony’s hand, only to notice Tony's white-knuckled tony’s grip on it.

It gives Steve a sorely needed boost in confidence. “I was thinking we could go on vacation together.”

Tony makes a soft, choked sound. “Huh?” Then he holds up his hand. “Wait. Really?”

Steve bites his lip and looks away. “I mean, if you have the time.”

“If I have the time,” Tony repeats to himself, sounding disbelieving. “Steve.” He steps in front of Steve, forcing him to meet Tony’s gaze. “I have all the time in the world for you.”

A laugh bubbles out of Steve, joyful and unbidden, and a little bit shocked. “Good,” he says, reaching out and holding Tony’s hand, which is as disgustingly sweaty as his own. “Good.”

#stevetony #stony #superhusbands #steve/tony #steve rogers #tony stark #mcu #clint barton #thor #natasha romanoff #bruce banner #things i write #fluff

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the-blackholeus · 5 years ago

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Consequence of Stubbornness (Dmigori Oneshot)

(I’m a little bit sick and had the desire to write a oneshot, and so this was born. Have fun reading.^^

Summary: After nearly ten years, Dmitri has fallen sick. It is on his beloved husband to care for this stubborn man.)

---

“I told you running around the yard with nothing but a thin shirt would have consequences.”, Grigori huffed as handed his husband another thick blanket, watching as he wrapped it around himself. “S-shut up. I-I was out t-there for h-half an hour. N-normally I don’t g-get sick.”, he growled, curling up on the couch while burying his face into the thick, fluffy material.

“Да, because you usually wear your uniform, and not a sleeveless shirt and simple jeans. I told you I could take care of the delivery so that you don’t have to come to the complex, but being the stubborn idiot you are, you, of course, refused and came in nothing more than clothes that you wear in summer.”, he huffed and sat down, reaching out for the tablet that stood on the small table that was placed between the black couch and the fireplace, which was currently lit, the cracking of the fire sounding in the dimly lit room.

He handed his grumbling husband a cup of hot tea, carefully taking a sip of his own before leaning back, making sure not to come too close to his beloved so that he wouldn’t get sick as well. “You’re not the youngest anymore Dmitri. You need to start to take care of yourself.”, he sighed, taking another sip while the head of the old warden snapped in his direction, his face turning pale for the split of a second because of upcoming nausea that came with the dizziness. “I may not be the youngest anymore, Grigori, but may I remind you that I defeated my “elites”…”, he spat the word like they were poison on his tongue. “…with almost no help during training? I may be old, Grigori, but I’m just as fit as the rest of you.”, he growled, hating that his spouse just reminded him of his old age. He already felt old enough compared to him, no need to rub salt into his wounds.

“I know you are strong, Dmitri. Nobody doubts that. But…I’m just scared of losing you. When I think back to that one time where you almost died to that infection just because you refused to stop working, I…”, he broke off, swallowing thickly as he remembered watching the doctor hook his husband on all those machines, telling him that there is only a slim chance of survival.

The old warden sighed and reached out, setting his large hand on the blue-eyed male’s shoulder. “I know you’re only worried, but I promise you that I’ll be fine. I just need…a few hours…uh, days…”, he corrected himself as his husband shot him a dangerous look. “…to recover, and I’ll be fine. That was an infection back then, Grigori. This is simply a consequence of my own stubbornness.” The younger male sighed and nodded, taking another sip from his tea before standing up, letting his fingers run through his curly hair. “Fine, I believe you.”, he muttered as he felt the hot liquid run down his throat, warming him from the inside out.

A few minutes of silence fell upon them and the second in command of “The Wall”, reached out for the remote on the desk, turning on the TV. He sipped through the programs, searching for something that would entertain them while waiting for the soup to get ready Grigori had set up to help Dmitri’s sore throat.

After searching for a few minutes, he found a crime movie. Deciding to watch this, he set the remote on the couch and pulled his legs up. The fear of getting sick forgotten, he robbed over to his beloved and leaned his head on his shoulder, cuddling against the mess of blankets that were wrapped around him. He could feel that he was, despite all of them, still shivering violently. “Are you still cold?”, he asked, making the other sigh.

“Д-Да, a little bit.”, he admitted and cuddled deeper into the warm material. “But I’ll be fine.” “You and your stubborn head.”, he growled and wrapped his arms around him, forcing himself into the mess of blankets and right next to his husband. As soon as he wrapped them around them, Dmitri cuddled up to him like there was no tomorrow, taking all the warmth the other had for himself.

“A little bit…Sure.”, Grigori sighed, but there was a grin on his lips, which was only growling larger as his husband grumble. “S-shut your mouth, idiot. Why did I marry you again?”

A chuckle escaped the healthy one’s throat and he snuggled against him, wrapping his arms around him. “Because you loved me.”, he whispered, his voice filled with amusement. “And you still do. Don’t deny it, I know it’s true.” The warden growled lowly but gave a frustrated sigh afterward. “Да, that’s true…sadly…”

What was once a chuckle was now a throaty laugh, and the younger male leaned down to press a kiss on his long, gray hair. “Alright, whatever you say.”, he breathed when he finally calmed down and leaned back, pulling him with him. Dmitri grumbled once again, but it was too quiet to understand.

He curled up, closing his beautiful, sharp golden eyes, feeling tired thanks to the sickness. He felt how his husband’s hands ran through his thick locks, and slowly, he felt how slumber overtook him. He began to grow more and more tired, ready to fall asleep in his beloved’s lab, whose dark ocean blue eyes almost fell close too, but before he could, Grigori pushed him off and ran into the kitchen.

“The f*cking soup!!”

#dmitri johannes petrov #dmitri petrov #grigori olyat #oneshot #sickfic #dmigori #poor dmitri #Henry Stickmin #henry stickmin series #henry stickmin collection

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katymacsupernatural · 5 years ago

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A Flash of Blue

Michael!Dean x Reader

1400 Words

Written For: @heavenandhellbingo, @spnkinkbingo

Squares Filled: Angel Tablet (HH), Marathon Sex (Kink)

Summary: During college Y/N is turned into a prophet. Quickly snatched up by Michael!Dean, she helps him with a spell. A spell that doesn’t go as planned.

Warnings: Slight angst, nsfw, 18+, spell driven sex, dub con, marathon sex

With the Angel sitting there, watching you closely, you ran your fingers along the tablet once more, your heart racing. The stone was cold underneath your fingertip, the etchings catching against your skin.

To anyone else, it looked like a bunch fo scribbles, markings carved into a stone that made no sense. But you had been handpicked by God himself to make sense of the tablet. To be able to read it when no one else could.

You were a prophet, a fact that didn’t make you happy. Especially when the Angel Michael had found you, kidnapping you and forcing you to bend to his will.

“Well,” He spoke slowly as he moved to his feet, his long black coat settling like a cape around him. “What have you figured out?”

“I...It takes more time than this…,” you stuttered as he grasped your chin, turning your face to meet those beautiful green eyes of his. Eyes that flashed blue when he was annoyed. Like right now. “I promise, I’m looking as fast as I can!”

His hand moved from your chin, wrapping around your neck, squeezing just tight enough to remind you who was boss. “Look faster. I’m growing impatient.”

He pushed you back into the chair before he vanished from the room, giving you a chance to breathe. Your breaths were shaky, your hands trembled as you tried to figure out exactly what you had gotten yourself into.

You had been in college, studying to become an archeologist when this voice spoke to you. The next thing you remembered was waking up in this room, able to read what he called an Angel Tablet.

You had quickly lost track of days, stuck in this windowless room, shackled to the table with only a small cot and a couple of chairs the other furniture in the room. Michael came and went as he pleased, bringing you food and water, releasing your shackles long enough for you to use the restroom.

He never told you exactly what he was looking for. Just that he needed all the information on that tablet. That he would kill you if you didn’t do what he said. So you swallowed your questions and did as the handsome man asked.

After giving yourself a pounding headache, you had finally deciphered something. It talked of Angels and a spell that could enhance their powers. Or at least that’s what you thought. It seemed simple enough, even though you had never heard of most of the ingredients. Black salt, the finger bone of a smaller saint. The grace of the Angel along with blood from a human. It gave you a chant to say, the words ancient-sounding and hard to grasp.

“Well?” His deep booming voice echoed through the small room, shocking you so you almost dropped the stone tablet. He strode forward, taking the tablet and placing it safely on the table. “Have you figured anything out?”

You nodded nervously, completely overwhelmed by the proximity of the man in front of you. He was tall, towering over you, his wide shoulders trapping you in. You were drawn to him but scared at the same time, and it was so confusing.

“I have this spell,” you spoke up, your voice shaking slightly. “It talks about enhancing powers? For an Angel. But I don’t…,”

“That’s perfect!” He exclaimed. “With a spell like that, I could rid myself of those pesky Winchesters and their stupid friend Cas at the same time. Then this body would truly be mine.”

You wanted to ask whose body it was but smartly kept quiet. But you couldn’t help wondering about what you had just heard. If he truly was an Angel and that wasn’t his body, then who was the poor handsome man that was no doubt trapped inside with him?

Michael clapped his hands together. “Let’s get to work then!”

With a snap of his fingers, all the ingredients were laid out in front of you along with a large stone bowl. “Listen, I’m not sure I can do this,” you whispered. “I was just a normal girl, in college. Planning on what Saturday party I wanted to go to! I have no idea how to perform a spell!”

Within the blink of an eye, he was on you, trapping your body against the table, his hand wrapped around your neck. His thick thighs trapped yours, his hips pressing yours painfully against the edge of the table. You cried out, but he didn’t care. His eyes flashed blue, his lips raised in a snarl. “Listen, I don’t care about your previous life. You’re a prophet now, and as soon as you become useless to me…,”

His words wavered off, but you knew what he meant. As soon as he lost interest in you, well…

Gulping, you reached for your notes. “I can...I promise..,”

He released you and you took in a deep breath. “Good. Let’s get started.”

The spell was rather easy to prepare. The ingredients were ground into the stone bowl. His grace slipped from a small cut on his neck, your blood from a deep slice on your wrist. With everything mixed together, you spoke the words, feeling them deep in your soul, swirling around you like a deep blue fog.

Michael stood in front of you, his arms stretched wide, his long black coat gone, his white sleeves rolled to his elbows. His eyes were closed as the fog circled him, swirling and wrapping around him like silk. “I can feel it,” he whispered, his eyes vibrantly blue as he glanced down at you. “It’s working!”

As quickly as the fog started, it stopped, and you waited with bated breath for the results. Knowing that you had a hand in creating a monster. A killing machine.

“I feel..,” he spoke, flexing his arms when his eyes widened incredulously. “Wrong. This spell. Are you sure you read it right?”

“I...I think so,” you stuttered. “Why?”

“The only thing growing even more potent is my...lust,” he answered. In a blink he was in front of you, his lips hot against your neck. You tried pushing him away, but your attempt was feeble as you lifted your head to give him better access.

“The spell. What did you do wrong?” He breathed against your neck before nipping at the tender flesh, his hand slipping into your pants, cupping you without warning. You jerked but had nowhere to go as he cornered you against the wall, his body crushing yours.

You should have been fighting against this, but you had been drawn to this man from the start. So instead of pushing him away, you threaded your fingers through his hair, pulling his mouth to yours.

His smile could be felt through his kiss, his lips harsh against yours as his palm rubbed roughly against your sensitive nerves. His finger brushed against your entrance, slightly pushing it’s way in before pulling away. “Too many clothes,” he ground out, and suddenly you were naked in his arms.

His movements were a blur, his fingers driving you to the point of ecstasy before pulling away. His lips were everywhere, hot and heavy against your skin, leaving you wanting. It wasn’t until he filled you to the brim that you were able to come undone.

The wall quickly became the bed, the ancient wood creaking and groaning under his thrusts. He came undone while you screamed his name so loud the walls shook.

An hour later you were straddling his waist, his thick cock still deep inside you, your legs shaking as you shook your head. “No, no more,” you pleaded, but his hands were tight on your hips, moving you up and down.

“I...can’t...stop,” he gritted, bucking his hips up to meet yours, and you came so hard you almost blacked out.

You had lost track of time. Michael had laid claim to you on every single piece of furniture in this room. The bed more than once. Your entire body ached, you were chafed and dehydrated. Michael lay across from you, his arm loosely across his naked torso. Scratches covered his chest, and hickeys covered his neck. “Do you...think that...the spell’s worn off?” You breathed heavily.

His green eyes flashed blue, his erection proving your words false. With a growl he was on top of you, ready for another bought of marathon sex. A bought you weren’t sure you would end up surviving.

Dean/Jensen Tags: @acortez82 @acreativelydifferentlove @adoptdontshoppets @a-girl-who-loves-disney @akshi8278 @bebravekeeponfighting @bi-danvers0 @brindz30 @cap-just-said-language @colette2537 @deansgirl215 @flamencodiva @hamiltrash1411 @its-not-a-tulpa @jerkbitchidjitassbutt @justanotherwinchester @just-another-winchester @karouwinchester @keikoraventeller @krys198478 @librarygeekery @magssteenkamp @misspygmypie @mlovesstories @mrsambroserollinsacklesmgk @mrspeacem1nusone @nothinbuttrouble2 @ria132love @ruprecht0420 @sortaathief @superseejay721517 @squirrelnotsam @team-free-will-you-idjiot @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @torn-and-frayed @tricksterdean @wonderfulworldofwinchester @woodworthti666

Forever Tags: @aditimukul @alexwinchester23 @algud @amanda-teaches @andreaaalove @artisticpoet @atc74 @be-amaziing @camelotandastronauts @caswinchester2000 @cpag7 @chelsea072498 @closetspngirl @docharleythegeekqueen @emoryhemsworth @ericaprice2008 @esoltis280 @foxyjwls007 @gh0stgurl @goldenolaf25 @growningupgeek @heyitscam99 @hobby27 @horsegirly99 @imsuperawkward @internationalmusicteacher @iwriteaboutdean @jayankles @jensen-gal @just-another-busyfangirl @karlee-fay-my-wayward-son @lifelovelaughangell123 @li-ssu @linki-locks11 @littleblue5mcdork @lowlyapprentice @maui137 @mersuperwholocked-lowlife @mogaruke @monkeymcpoopoo @musiclovinchic93 @nanie5 @percussiongirl2017 @plaid-lover-bay25 @roonyxx @ronja-uebrick @roxyspearing @samanthaharper2018 @samanddeanmyheroes @sandlee44 @shamelesslydean @simonsbluee @sillesworldofwriting @sgarrett49 @spnbaby-67 @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester @spnwoman @superbadassnatural @thatcrazybookwormgeek @thewinchesterchronicles @vvinch3st3r @wecantgiggleitsafandom @whimsicalrobots @winchester-writes @zombiewerewolfqueen

#heavenandhellbingo #spnkinkbingo #michael!dean x reader #michael!dean x you #katy writes #spn fanfic #supernatural reader insert #spn x y/n

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bramblepeltao3 · 4 years ago

Text

IDK where else to put this indulgent nonsense so, as one does, I’m putting it on my Tumblr.

Hey do you like my fic where I have an OC who is a gremlin girl and do you also like the Prince!Prompto AU trope and do you want to read a few loose little narrative bits about those two things coming together?

No?

Here it is anyway!

The clock in Prompto’s room sounded out to anyone who listened that the time was now eleven in the morning. Since it was a Thursday, this meant the start to the worst hour of his week, every week, for his whole life.

Every Thursday at eleven in the morning, Dr. Besithia would come by for his weekly check up. The Prince would spend the time trying not to show too much emotion as the doctor used a variety of needles to inject and extract numerous fluids, all while chastising him for being a waste of his and everyone else’s time.

It didn’t matter how strictly Prompto followed the doctor’s orders, or how much control Prompto had over following them in the first place. He never got any better, and he was always made well aware that it was his own fault. The prince of Niflheim was a sickly recluse, so sheltered from the public that many would even doubt his existence. And at fifteen years old, he was lonely and listless and so very tired of living like this.

The door to his bedroom began to open, and Prompto mentally steeled himself for another hour of angry commands, needles, and insults.

“Dr. Besithia to see you, your highness.” The attendant said with a bow. Prompto nodded in return, sitting upright on the edge of his well cushioned bed. The least little rebellion he could maintain was forcing that unpleasant old man to come to him.

But the person who stepped through, all dressed in well ironed white, was not Dr. Besithia. Not at all. This doctor was a woman, and much younger. She bowed slightly upon crossing the threshold before making her way over to him. Prompto, in spite of himself, felt compelled to stand and greet her like the well mannered young man he was supposed to be.

“A pleasure to finally meet you, highness.” She said with a small smile. She looked sad, but gentle, and seemed to be staring at something right behind his own eyes.

“I...I was expecting, I apologize…” Prompto was used to being ogled and visually picked apart by people. Something about her green eyes felt softer. Less invasive and judgemental. Perhaps it was all wishful thinking but her gaze seemed almost kind.

“You were expecting Dr. Besithia?” She asked.

Prompto nodded.

“You’re looking at her.” She smirked. “Doctor Delphia Besithia. Verstael is my father. I understand he was completing your weekly heath assessments, but business for his Imperial Majesty has become...pressing.” The doctor crossed the room over to the little seating area where the work was usually conducted. A clear table, two chairs, plenty of places to hook up Verstael’s array of electrical instruments. “Luckily I’m now officially a licensed medical professional myself, so I’ll be taking over for him.”

Prompto almost couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “So...Dr. Bes-...Verstael won’t be…?”

“You know, why don’t we call my father Dr. Besithia, and you can refer to me as Dr. Delphia. Does that work, your highness?” She asked, setting the large case she was carrying on the table and opening it.

“Yes. I mean, I think that would work fine. Doctor.” Prompto joined her at the table, removing his coat to reveal his bare arms and taking a seat on his usual side of the table.

“So I went over your medical record on the way over, it seems like my old man kept to the same routine every week for a long time. Not all that surprising, except he usually at least tries to change things up whenever he doesn’t get results…”

Prompto cringed. “Yeah, it’s my fault. I just wasn’t trying hard enough.” He sighed, casting his eyes to the floor. He could feel her gaze staring into him once again.

“Your fault?” She asked. “Did my father tell you that?”

He felt himself beginning to sweat. Soon she’d understand just how awful of a patient he really was, and all the gentle niceness would end. She’d grow to hate and resent him just like Dr. Besithia did, he was sure.

“Dude. That’s bullshit.”

Prompto snapped his face up to hers, the bluntness of her assertion shocking him. The doctor had such a look of concern on her face.

“He was your doctor. Treating you was his job. If you weren’t getting better, that’s his fault. Not yours.”

Prompto blinked in confusion.

“If it makes you feel any better, and I doubt it does,” she started retrieving the same instruments he was always used to, “he’s like that with everyone. Everything is always someone else’s fault. No way his genius could be to blame!”

By her tone, Prompto inferred she’d suffered at his words just as much.

“So, let’s start with the easy part. How are you feeling today, your highness?” She asked, taking the other seat and smiling at him.

“How...um, well I’m…” Prompto was not prepared for this question. Easy part, indeed. “Tired, I guess. Like usual. I get dizzy if I stand too long.” And now his heart was pounding in fear. Did he answer wrong? Was that something he could do?

She was typing on a tablet resting in her lap. “Hmm, how about sleep? Do you think you get enough?”

Dr. Besithia never gave Prompto so much time to talk like this. It felt...strange. “I sleep a lot.”

“Do you feel well rested after? Or still tired?” She asked, still typing.

“Oh, uh...I guess I haven’t really thought of that? I’m sorry...guess still tired.”

“Hey, you don’t have to apologize for anything, highness. Okay, if it’s alright with you I’d like to start taking your vitals now.”

...did she just ask him permission? She did. And she was waiting for his answer.

He nodded. And the next thing to strike him was just how gentle she actually was. She never grabbed, but waited for him to offer his arm or hand as needed. She didn’t yell or snipe or speak critically of him. He wasn’t sure how to feel about this. It was oddly terrifying, somehow.

“Alright, your blood pressure is a little low, so we can start with that. There’s a few simple things we can change to try and get it stabilized. Hopefully that will help with the dizziness too!”

Prompto sat in stunned silence as she prescribed such basic things like drinking more water and adding salt to his meals. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. It felt...too easy. After years of living like this, there was no way it could actually be so simple.

“Unfortunately I am going to need to get some blood for lab work, if that’s ok, highness.”

He felt like he might cry. She actually listened to him, and asked him to talk to her. If she really was replacing Besithia going forward, maybe things would actually get better. Maybe... He hoped she never got sick of him, and he’d do everything he could to prevent that.

“You can call me Prompto, um, Doctor. Please.”

She looked at him strangely, like he’d just told her there was a behemoth on her shoulder. But then she smiled again. “Why don’t you call me Del then, Prompto? Has anyone ever told you you have great veins? This is going to be so fast.” And surprisingly, it was. The whole ordeal was over so quickly he couldn’t believe she’d actually done it.

“Alright, unless there’s anything else you’d like to discuss, I think that ends our appointment today.” She began packing everything back up. “And if anything comes up at all, I’m only one floor away!”

“Wait, really?” Dr. Besithia always made a point of reminding him he had to travel a long way for these appointments.

“Yeah, I’m here at the palace full time. Another perk of the job. If you need anything at all, just ask your attendant. I’m here for you Prompto, any time.”

It took everything in him to maintain some amount of regal composure and not start crying. Somehow, for the first time, he had hope. And if nothing else, there was someone here who might actually listen to him.

---

Delphia bowed to the prince before turning and walking to the elevator. She held herself together perfectly until the elevator doors closed behind her and she was granted ten seconds of complete isolation. An hour’s worth of suppressed, extreme emotion bubbled out all at once in a large gasp for air. Her chest felt tight and her eyes burned with the threat of tears.

You have to do this. You have to do this. You have to be here for him, because no one else will.

Delphia composed herself just as the doors opened again. It was another two minutes before she made it to her office which she thankfully had to herself. She opened the door and flipped on the light.

And really, she should have expected that she wouldn’t actually get to be alone just yet.

“Doctor Besithia, how is our young charge on this day?” Chancellor Izunia, hat in hand, bowed to her.

“Terrible, but you already knew that didn’t you Ardyn?” She didn’t have time for his fanciful speech patterns and flowery prose right now. She had samples to run.

“Looking a bit red eyed yourself, Delphia. Hard first day on the job?” He tailed her to the workstation, watching carefully as she washed and gloved her hands.

“Why do you always ask questions you already know the answer to?” She asked, getting the little centrifuge ready to go.

“The same could be asked of yourself, Doctor.”

She sighed. “My father’s been purposefully keeping him ill. Or at least below a functional baseline.”

“You’re certain?” Ardyn asked like a child giddy about knowing the punchline to an old joke.

“Verstael did the same tests, same treatments, same everything over and over again despite no improvement. There’s only one reason you don’t change up the treatment plan.”

“Because it is working as intended.” Ardyn smiled in that wicked way that made her feel like a small rabbit being eyed by a wolf.

But this rabbit had an understanding with the wolf.

“Exactly. But here’s what I find really interesting.” She looked up from the samples currently shaking at a dizzying rate in the machine. “Whatever was going on, you wanted it to end.”

“Oh do walk me through your process of deduction, Delphia. Your brain is always so intriguing to pick.”

She rolled her eyes. “Cut the shit. You knew I’d see these numbers and figure out what was happening immediately.” She pointed at him accusingly. “When the Emperor gave Father his orders, you made damn sure I was the one who took his place.”

“Who better to take over the father’s work, than the daughter?”

“My graduating class had 44 other young doctors who would have been eager and willing to take up his job and do it unquestioningly. Exactly at his direction, no critical thought or deviation. And you insisted on the one singular doctor who, you knew for a fact, wouldn’t. And that, Ardyn, is the most suspicious thing of all.”

“You do wound me, young one. But all the same please go on, I am on the edge of my seat.”

She considered not continuing, just to piss him off. But she couldn’t resist any opportunity to show off. It was a problem. So on she went.

“Verstael takes pride in his projects, particularly the ones he...made from scratch.” She felt sick, thinking of the thousands of lives just like Prompto. His life was anything but easy, but it was worlds above that of his many, many brothers. “If he was interfering with the prince’s health on purpose, it must be because someone above him told him to. And there’s only one person who could tell him to do anything.”

Ardyn smiled, somehow even wider.

She began the process of sterilizing her instruments, taking her time with each.

“The Emperor wants the Prince to waste away in poor health, hidden from the public and with zero sense of self worth to boot. Which is curious, since the Emperor was the one who commissioned a prince in the first place! Which leads me to believe Iedolas wanted this from the start. So. Why create an heir and then sabotage him?”

“Perhaps because the heir is meant only to act as a symbol.”

“Mmmhmm.” Del had considered as much. Hearing it from the chancellor cemented it. “A means of reminding the people the monarchy is here to stay. But Project Deathless is right around the corner, or so Father claims. And if it comes to fruition, then Iedolas is the monarchy. Forever.”

“Who needs an heir when you never plan to retire?”

“Who needs an heir beloved by the people, capable of leading and inspiring a coupe before you have a chance to gain immortality?”

“In the meantime, the chain of succession is decided by blood.”

“And the snakes in the cabinet can’t finagle their way into increasing power, at least not as easily.”

“Delphia I do love our conversations, not many can keep up quite like you.”

“Like father, like daughter.” She sighed. “So where do you come in, Ardyn? What do you get out of Prompto getting better?”

“Is it not enough to see a poor child suffering, and wishing to see him well again?”

“No, it’s not.” She replied, despite the unsaid implication hanging above them. Once, she was that suffering little child. And he healed her bruises and did what was needed to get her out of that hell hole. But that was a long time ago. And they were both very different now.

Ardyn hummed in response. “I would like to hear the good doctor’s hypothesis before the big reveal.”

She sighed. This man was so exhausting. But he was the only person worth talking to, somehow. “I think it's suspicious because you have no interest in the throne. Well, not this one at least.”

“And…” He smirked, telling her she was on the right track.

“And what a coincidence that our little prince is the same age as Lucis’ little prince.”

“What a coincidence indeed!”

The centrifuge stopped, the samples were ready for testing.

“I think you have a use for him in your little tirade against the Astrals and your brother’s descendants.” She snarled.

“And what use would that be?”

“I don’t know.” Delphia leaned over the workstation, looking Ardyn in the eyes. “But whatever it is you’ve got planned, if it ends with Prompto hurt or dead, I’m putting a stop to it. Now.”

Ardyn clicked his tongue in disapproval. “Now now, Delphia, you wound me.” He clutched his hand over his chest in mock insult. “Such accusations. I know you too well, little finch. The guilt you feel, unable to end your little brothers’ suffering. It tears at your weak, mortal heart. I have brought you to one who may live, and perhaps even prosper, with your guiding hand and sharp mind. I have no intentions of causing the boy further harm.”

Del didn’t believe that for a moment. Not because he was a liar, though he was certainly lying. She knew what lurked through the chancellor’s veins. What was eating him from the inside out, slowly, with every breath he took. It was getting worse, warping him. He was not the same man who befriended her fifteen years ago. Though bits of that man were still in there. And she knew if she just continued to play along, did what she could to keep those bits floating around alive, she’d get that friend back.

She just needed some more time.

---

“Commodore! Fucking finally. I have a request.” Delphia shouted across the courtyard, having finally found the woman after an hour of chasing down lead after lead.

“Interesting way of approaching someone. Mind an introduction first?”

Delphia tempered her knee jerk instinct to say something rude. “My name is Doctor Besithia, I assume you’re familiar with my father?”

“You mean the quack keeping the prince weak and at his mercy?”

Oh, she liked this woman. “Yep. Well, used to. I’m the prince’s personal physician now.”

“You planning on keeping up daddy’s work, Doc?” The Commodore crossed over to her, looking down with suspicion.

“Not quite. I’ve been going over his notes and I think there might be some...room for improvement. But I might need your assistance.”

Aranea shrugged her shoulders. “I’m a bodyguard, not a nurse. When the prince can leave his bedroom then I’ll have a job to do. Until then-”

“That’s exactly why I’m asking for your help, Commodore.” Delphia smiled. “The prince needs to leave his bedroom.”

“Uh huh. But can he?”

“Yes.” Delphia smirked up at the taller woman. “We’ve been working on it for three weeks, but he’s more than ready now. Of course, he’s not supposed to go anywhere without his retainers. Specifically the one that knows how to hit things with a stick.”

Aranea crossed her arms and frowned. “You’re telling me, after less than a month, Prince Shortcake is already improving?”

And this is where Delphia wanted the conversation to be. She needed to know who could be trusted, and who was in on the whole charade. Where did the true loyalties of the prince’s shield lie?

“Yeah. And if he’s going to keep getting better, he needs fresh air and sunlight. Vitamin D doesn’t make itself, you know. So, you ready to get to work, Commodore?”

Aranea studied Del’s face, obviously searching for answers to the same questions.

“Alright, Doc. Show me a miracle, and we’ll have ourselves a casual little stroll.”

Fantastic.

---

“Fifteen minutes.” Del reassured the two of them. “That’s all you need. Fifteen minutes in direct sunlight with bare arms, that’s more than enough time to get your daily dose of Vitamin D.”

Prompto felt like his heart could beat right out of his chest. It’d been so long since he’d left the palace walls. It was terrifying and exhilarating all at the same time. The doctor was on his left, keeping a close eye on him. Most likely observing his physical state while he walked around.

On his right was Aranea, keeping an eye on everyone else in the courtyard. He hadn’t seen her in so long, he almost ran over to hug her before remembering his manners. She’d been like a sister to him when he was younger. But the weariness of the past seven years took just as much of a toll on her as it had on him.

Behind them, a guard was pushing a wheelchair. It was Del’s idea and insistence. “Just in case.” She said gently. “And there’s no shame in needing to use it.”

He might need it sooner than later, as everything around him was becoming overwhelming. The smell of fresh growing flowers, the sun on his face warming his skin, the light chatter of palace staff meandering around, their shoes clicking on the stone below.

It was making him dizzy.

“Yep, alright dude, easy now.” Del took his hand and helped guide him to the waiting wheelchair. “Take a few breaths, let me know what you need.”

Aranea did not look happy. “Is he alright?”

“I’m fine.” Prompto yelped, sitting up straighter. “I’m fine I’m just, it’s...a lot.”

“I bet.” Aranea smirked down at him.

“Are you okay to stay outside a little longer?” Del asked, voice filled with concern.

All of this positive attention was going to make him just about pass out.

“Yes. I’d like to, at least.”

Del smiled and put a hand on his forehead, wiping the hair from his eyes. “Alright, we’ll keep on. Just give me a heads up when you need to go back inside.”

He nodded. Prompto let the guard push him forward, watching little birds flicker through the sky and listening to his doctor and his shield have a not so private conversation between them.

“Well, credit where it’s due, Doc. Guess the Hippocratic oath still means something.”

“So then, about my proposal…”

“Count me in. Shortcake’s long overdue for some combat training.”

“Gradual, structured, short session combat training.”

“Yeah, I got it the first time.”

“With a lot of padded mats and-”

“Doc, you worry about his bone marrow count or whatever it is you do. Let me do my job.”

If he wasn’t already light headed, that would’ve sent him right over. He’d dreamed about getting to swing a sword around or hold a shield just like one of his father’s soldiers. In fact when he was still little and full of energy, he and Aranea would pretend spar with sticks or paper tubes for hours on end.

He’d all but abandoned being able to do that ever again. And now.

Del stopped and turned to look at him, smiling, her green eyes radiating warmth. “How you doing, Prompto?”

Aranea turned, crossing her arms, awaiting his response. And for the first time in forever she wasn’t looking down at him with pity. He hadn’t seen her look so content since they were kids.

Prompto nodded, smiling even wider. “I’m great.”

---

Cor was in complete disbelief. Not for the reason everyone else in the situation room was, oh no. While everyone else was staring mouth agape at the first recorded proof the prince of Niflheim actually existed, he was focused on the young woman walking next to him. The image wasn’t the closest, or clearest, but there was no mistaking.

That was Del Besithia, the six year old shit head daughter of Verstael, who treated an Imperial military research facility like her personal gymnasium. The little girl who called Cor a ‘dumbass’ in many colorful different ways. The kid who was so lonely and so deluded that she truly believed an army of clone babies were her brothers.

He’d tried so hard to get her to trust him, to get one of those babies to him so they could figure out what exactly was going on. In the end, she bailed on him, and Cor went home empty handed save a few photos of babies sleeping suspended in large cylinders.

From the looks of things, one baby did manage to get out though.

Incredible, really. Seeing the two of them standing next to each other, it was so obvious to anyone who knew what to look for. It was so obvious to Cor; the prince was one of those clones. And his ‘sister’ was his personal physician.

She looked happy. And sure, one still photograph couldn’t fill in a 14 year gap. But she was smiling, and with one of them, and she was walking freely outside. She’d told Cor with zero hesitation she knew she was going to die in that facility.

The look on her face when she made that statement had haunted him since. Maybe this one could replace it. She was fine. She was alive and okay.

There wasn't anything else he could’ve done for that kid.

“To be fair, hardly anyone ever saw Iedolas before he took the throne. And by that point he was already greying.”

“And we have no leads on who the mother could be. The lack of resemblance means nothing; the boy wears the Imperial regalia. That’s all the confirmation required.”

“Yes, but what if-?”

“That’s their prince.” Cor finally spoke up, hoping to end the back and forth guessing games. “Looks to be Noctis’ age as well. Prompto Aldercapt. Keep our eyes on him, I want to know his political and moral leanings before he has a chance to use them.”

The meeting adjourned, and his agents filed out. Cor had more business to get to. Training Gladio, overseeing the new recruits orientation, a briefing on the status of the wall, another briefing on the growing demon population…

He took another look at that photograph. Looking at Del smiling down at the prince, both of them looking happy and peaceful. There was something...pulling at him. Like a fist gripping his heart and trying to rip it from his chest. Something felt very wrong, a lingering threat aimed directly at them. Cor couldn’t tell why, but he knew they were in danger, and in spite of his loyalties he felt like he needed to protect those two.

It was a strange impulse, maybe even something of an instinct. He couldn’t place its origin but he had a feeling a cigarette and some sleep would help dispel it.

Or...

---

“So...guns, huh?” Del frowned, watching as the prince shot off another round down the firing range.

“Your prescription of sunshine and lollipops-”

“I didn’t prescribe lollipops-”

“-can only do so much. He’s lacking the coordination for hand to hand combat, and swords wear out his stamina too quickly. A gun is lighter, easier to handle, and keeps him out of reach of more conventional weapons.” Aranea looked very pleased with herself.

“Well...at least he’s wearing ear protection.” He was also standing with a more determined posture than when they’d first met. And his skin was starting to show a little color, freckles not unlike her own dotting his cheeks and shoulders.

“Emperor dropped in yesterday.” Aranea sighed.

Del felt her stomach drop. If the hypothesis she’d shared with Ardyn was anywhere close to correct, this was bad.

“Prince Shortcake shrank in his shadow, like the past few months never even happened.” The shield began chewing on her thumb, furrowing her brow. “Iedolas just grunted, looking as pissy as ever, and walked away. Poor kid. He’s still got a long way to go on that confidence.”

“You’d think the guy would be even a little bit happy his son was getting better.” Del shrugged her shoulders, hoping the anxiety wasn’t evident in her voice.

Aranea narrowed her eyes, studying Del for a moment. “You know, I really don’t get who you think you’re fooling.” She said before turning back around, walking to the prince to continue coaching his form.

Del blinked. What the fuck was that supposed to mean?

---

“Like, seriously, what the fuck was that supposed to mean?” She asked, several hours later, pacing in her office while flipping through her notes.

“The mind of the Commodore is a mysterious one.” Ardyn had once again invited himself in, leaning back in her chair, boots resting on her desk. “But little finch, you have not been the most subtle in your intentions. There are whispers, you know…”

“Intentions?” She snapped. “Oh how terrible, I want the prince to not wither away and die in his bedroom at the age of sixteen. What fucking whispers, Ardyn?”

“The daughter of Verstael schemes to make the prince completely reliant upon her, such that when he overthrows his father and takes the throne he will do so at her own whims.”

Del pinched the bridge of her nose, feeling a headache rising up. “I’m getting real fucking sick of politics. It’s like no one can do a single nice thing without having some wicked ulterior motive! It’s bullshit.”

“You have seemingly worked miracles, Delphia, in the eyes of the court.” Ardyn flicked at the brim of his hat to get a better view of her. “That is always suspicious.”

“Miracles. Intentions. All I did was treat my patient. I’m...I just want my brother to be healthy! Any sister would want that, much less one with a medical license. Is that so fucking terrible?!” Del was going to snap. Nothing about anything was ever easy in this godsforsaken hellscape of a country.

Ardyn lifted his eyebrows, eyes flickering to the door, before lifting a finger to his lips.

Del got the message. Someone was listening. And they heard...that. Slowly, quietly, she started to step towards the door. She gestured at Ardyn, asking him to talk so it wasn’t obvious they knew.

“Your heart is pure as always, little finch. But when one is steeped in their own darkness for so long, well…”

Del wrenched the door open and shot her head out, seeing no one but hearing fast paced foot steps.

“Darkness tends to be all one can see.”

She took off, down the long hallway, turning the corner. Nothing, not even a sound of a door. Whoever just heard her stupid ramblings, they got away.

“I did warn you to be careful.” Ardyn said from behind her shoulder.

“Yeah.” Del swallowed hard, catching her breath. “You did.”

---

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love-of-fandoms · 5 years ago

Text

The Non-Companion (The Master + OC) Chapter 8

Chapter 8 of The Non-Companion (Master List)

Pairing: The Master + OC

Word Count: 2757 words

The Doctor didn’t take too long to get to the TARDIS, for which Jo was thankful. It was unsettling to be in O’s hut. What was once charming now made her almost want to throw up. She came running through the door, and Jo grinned, standing and walking to greet her.

“What’s up, Doc?” the Doctor rolled her eyes with a fond smile at Jo’s line. They couldn’t go a week without Jo saying it.

“Doctor, why is this house so important?” Ada asked, and the Doctor grinned.

“Because it's not a house. It's a machine that travels in space and time. This is my way back, to finding my friends and saving humanity-” she cut herself off, seeing the looks Ada and Noor were giving her. She looked to Jo for support, who nodded.

“She’s telling the truth,” she said, and Ada and Noor looked to her. “We’re not crazy!” she paused, sharing a look with the Doctor. “Well, okay, we are, but not because of this!” she amended, and the Doctor nodded.

“Give us 5 minutes, and you’ll see!” she promised, before turning to look at the map they had seen earlier, which the Master hadn’t bothered to take down. “ I know what this is. A temporal map, showing every significant person in the development of computers through history,” she began, before turning to Ada. “starting with you!” Jo grinned. There was something about watching the Doctor sort through a problem that always made her feel empowered. “This is the plan, see?” she looked to the two women, who continued to stare at her with blank faces.

“No,” they said together, and the Doctor grimaced. Jo giggled.

“Did you expect them to?” she asked, and the Doctor shrugged. “That isn’t a dig at your intelligence, by the way, you just haven’t dealt with any of this stuff before,” Jo said to the two women, not wanting them to think she saw them as stupid or anything.

“What is a computer?” Ada asked, and Jo shot the Doctor a glare.

“Forget you heard that word! Otherwise I've just disrupted the whole of history!” the Doctor exclaimed, and Jo coughed into her hand.

“Again,” the Doctor shot her a glare, though there was no fire behind it.

“Okay, ahh, my brain’s fizzing, good. The Kasaavin posted an agent on every person on that map. Because that's what spies do. What Barton does. They gather all the data,” the Doctor began to pace, trying to put all the puzzle pieces together in that big brain of hers. “But where does the DNA fit?” she looked to Jo, but all she could do was shrug. She was at a loss. “Kasaavin, technology, DNA. How are they all connected?” she continued to pace for a moment, before coming to an abrupt stop. She turned to Jo with a look of horror on her face. “Human DNA!” she gasped. “That’s what they’ve been testing!” with that she ran to the TARDIS controls, and began to frantically flip levers and push buttons. The Master’s TARDIS was much quieter than hers, instead of the loud wheezing that accompanied Sexy, the Master’s TARDIS sounded more like a continuous hum.

“I bet they started with Barton,” Jo said, coming to the Doctor’s side to help manage the controls. Noor turned to Ada, a look of bewilderment on her face.

“How much of that did you understand?” she asked, and Jo laughed as she looked over her shoulder at them.

“If you understood around 5%, you’re doing great!” she encouraged, and Noor and Ada exchanged another look of uncertainty.

“Where to first?” Jo asked, and the Doctor grinned.

“We have a TARDIS with a working chameleon circuit,” she said excitedly. “We’re breaking into Barton’s office!” with that, she yanked down hard on a lever, and the TARDIS was sent flying through the vortex. They could all see the flashing, swirling lights out the window, and Noor and Ada both ran to the window, looking out to try and see what was happening.

“What is this?” Ada asked, and Jo approached them, looking out the window as well.

“The Time Vortex,” she told them. “Right now, we’re traveling 76 years into the future to stop the Kasaavin from taking the universe,” Ada and Noor both looked at her in shock, though at this point they seemed to at least believe her.

The Doctor landed the TARDIS near a flight hangar, and all four of them exited, looking around.

“So?” Jo asked, turning to the Doctor, and she pointed ahead of them, where they could see someone’s tailcoat flapping behind them as they entered a building. “Is it him?” the Doctor nodded in confirmation, before beginning to walk to the warehouse.

“Let’s go!” she exclaimed, grabbing Ada and Noor’s hands and striding forward to confront the Master. Jo followed along, straining her ears to hear what was being said in the warehouse when they were close enough.

“-live through the 20th century?” that was the Master. “The places I've escaped from. Still just in time to watch you all pay!” he sounded like there was a grin on his face, and the Doctor stopped just before the entrance to the hangar.

“What’s that machine?” Ryan asked, and Jo glanced at the Doctor.

“The fam’s here?” she whispered, and the Doctor nodded.

“Quite independent, that lot,” she muttered back, and Jo’s lips quirked up in a smirk.

“Conversion and transmission. We're transmitting Kasaavin energy around the world all at once, into every device, hitting every human being and erasing their DNA. Simultaneously,” the Master exclaimed, and all of a sudden they heard Ryan shout.

“Yaz!” Jo peeked her head out just enough to see what was going on, and she had to muffle a gasp behind her hand when she saw a white light escaping from a tablet and crawling up Yaz’s arm.

“I can’t let go of it!” she shouted, her body shaking.

“First her,” the Master said, pointing to Yaz. “Then you,” to Graham. “Then you,” and finally to Ryan. It would have been quite terrifying, if the Silver Lady, which sat just behind Yaz, seemed to short circuit, powering down. The Master growled, approaching the statue. “Don’t do this!” he shouted pleadingly, but it laid dormant, smoke coming out the bottom of it.

“Sorry, I think that might’ve been me,” the Doctor said, striding out of their hiding plot and into plain sight. Noor and Ada followed just behind her, and Jo ran to Yaz, throwing the tablet she had been holding to the ground and examining her arm. She took out her sonic and quickly scanned Yaz’s arm, not seeing anything out of the ordinary.

“Are you alright?” she muttered, and Yaz nodded.

“And I’ll admit, it was close,” the Doctor grinned, and the Master snarled, shoulders sagging in defeat.

“No,” he muttered.

“Two can play at embedding things in history,” the Doctor said, and the Master’s glare twitched from her to Jo and back again. “I knew the Silver Lady was important, that you'd built it for a reason. But I couldn't work out why. So I traced its movements through history. When I saw Barton now owned it, we stopped off in his office. Middle of last year. Using your Tardis,” that just rubbed salt in the wound.

“Kick a man while he’s down,” Jo muttered, the Master turning slightly to direct all his fury at her. “Harsh,” she mostly ignored the Master, trying very hard not to look him in the eye. She had held herself well in the gallery, but it was still difficult not to see O in him. Kasaavin began to flood out of the machine, and suddenly Jo didn’t have to worry about trying not to look at the Master anymore, because she screeched in pure agony, collapsing to her knees. Yaz crouched down beside her, gripping her shoulder and rubbing comfortingly, though it did little to help.

“I built in a failsafe to that machine. Planted a virus, if it ever detected the massing of a Kasaavin army in its systems. Total shutdown,” the Doctor explained, glancing worriedly at Jo. “Though I never figured out why that happens,” she grimaced, imagining the pain Jo must be in. The Master chuckled at the sight of the Kasaavin.

“You’re gonna have to explain your actions to them, Doctor,” he said darkly, but the Doctor just smirked, tilting her head to the side.

“Am I?” she countered as Jo began to stand with Yaz’s help. The tingles were all over her body, but she fought through it so she could keep an eye on things. The Doctor addressed the Kasaavin then. “ Listen you lot. I’ve rigged the Silver Lady to exile you back to your own dimension. This planet is off limits. And that deal he did with you?” she brought out her sonic screwdriver, and held it up, pressing the button, and a recording rang through the warehouse. It was the Master’s voice.

“Barton and those creatures do the dirty work and once they are done I get rid of them having destroy your precious human race in the process. Win, win, win.” The Master’s face fell at the sound of that.

“Ohh,” he muttered, beginning to back away from the Kasaavin, who had turned to him. The Doctor smirked.

“That’s your name,” she said. “Don’t wear it out,” the Kasaavin began to mass together, closing in on the Master, and the Doctor continued. “That's the trouble with modern technology. Never know when you're being spied upon,” the Master growled, beginning to stalk towards the Doctor.

“No!” he shouted, reaching out towards her, but Jo grit her teeth and pulled her knife from her boot. In less than a second it had flown across the room and lodged in the Master’s hand. He pulled back from the Doctor with a shout of pain, and looked at her with wide, crazed eyes. In fact, everyone in the warehouse looked at her with wide eyes, shocked that she had done that, and shocked that she had been able to do that through her pain. In a blaze of light, the Kasaavin descended on the Master, surrounding him as he screamed, before blinking out of existence.

The remaining people in the warehouse stared at each other for a moment, and Jo’s shoulders sagged in relief at the loss of the excruciating pain. Her eyes zeroed in on a body, facedown in front of the Silver Lady’s case.

“Who’s that?” she asked cautiously, pointing at her, and Ryan grimaced.

“Barton’s mum,” he answered, and Jo’s eyes widened.

“He killed his own mother?” Ryan nodded. “That’s sick,” again, the fam nodded. They then all turned to the Doctor, who tilted her head.

“What?!” she asked, and Yaz crossed her arms over her chest.

“You’ve got a lot of explaining to do,” she said, and Graham nodded.

“Like what?” the Doctor asked, and Graham pointed at Ada and Noor, who still stood slightly behind her.

“Like who are they?” he asked. “Are we being replaced?!” Jo giggled at that.

“No! This is Ada, this is Noor. 1834. 1943. Helped me out,” the Doctor said with a shrug. The women both raised their hands in an awkward wave, smiling ‘hello’ at the fam. “I’m dropping ‘em back in a second,”

“How did you manage to save our lives on the plane?” Ryan asked, and the Doctor and Jo looked at each other for a moment, both of their eyes wide.

“Shit,” Jo muttered, racing to the TARDIS, and the Doctor nodded, racing after her.

“Be right back!” she called over her shoulder to the fam, grabbing Ada and Noor’s hands on the way.

Jo positioned the camera with a slight smile, pressing record and hopping on frame with the Doctor.

“Welcome aboard!” the Doctor greeted, and Jo gave a dramatic wave.

“You must have a lot of question!” Jo added, and the Doctor nodded, pausing for a moment before smiling.

“First of all, you're not gonna die. Second of all, don't talk to the screens, obviously I'm a recording and can't hear you. Third, don't panic. Especially you Graham,” she pointed at the camera, and Jo smirked slightly. After another moment’s pause, the Doctor spoke again. “Yes you were,” she said, and Jo giggled.

“She just said don’t talk back to the screens!” she exclaimed, rolling her eyes playfully. Jo tapped her wrist, signalling to the Doctor and she nodded.

“Right! Haven't got long. The bomb in the cockpit knocked out the signals from the computer to the engines. But the computers on this aircraft aren't in the cockpit, they're under the cabin floor. Ryan, the app should've opened. Use it to communicate with the engines via the aircraft wiring,” Jo piped up at this point

“By the way, you have shut the cockpit door, haven't you?” she asked with raised eyebrows. “That’s very important, their designed to withstand basically anything,”

“Now, pay attention and do this fast, worried you might lose me if there's a power surge,” the Doctor began. “Don’t tap the buttons too many times, that’ll cause you to dive,”

“Focus on levelling out,” Jo added. “Then the plane’s pre programmed flight plan should kick in,”

“We’ll see you guys soon!” the Doctor said.

“You got this!” Jo gave them a thumbs up before turning off the camera. She turned to the Doctor.

“What’re the odds they actually see the whole video?” she asked, and the Doctor shrugged.

“5%? Maybe?” she answered, and Jo giggled, rolling her eyes.

“Of course,”

After they had finished putting everything in place to save the fam, it was time to drop Noor and Ada off. The Doctor went outside with Noor, while Jo stayed inside the TARDIS with Ada.

“This one is so much different,” Ada said, looking around the Doctor’s TARDIS, and Jo nodded.

“Yeah, she’s got a mind of her own,”

“She?” Ada looked over at Jo in surprise, but she just shrugged.

“Well, yeah,” she muttered. “People call ships ‘she’, right? Countries, weapons, anything really,” she said, and Ada nodded.

“I see,” “No you don’t,” Jo giggled, and Ada gave her a small smile.

“No, I don’t,” she admitted, before bursting out in a fit of giggles as well.

“Glad to see you two having a good time!” the Doctor exclaimed, walking into the TARDIS, and Jo nodded, standing and going to the opposite side of the controls from the Doctor.

“To 1834!” Jo exclaimed, pressing a couple buttons on her side while the Doctor did her part. Ada watched the work in tandem, a look of awe on her face.

They materialized in Charles Babbage’s parlor, and all three of them stepped out. Ada turned to the Doctor, a sad look on her face.

“Doctor, does this have to be the end?” she asked. “All the things I've learned with you and Jo; the advances, the machines. I would dearly love to see more,” she pled, and the Doctor and Jo exchanged a sad look as well.

“I’m afraid I have to do something about that,” the Doctor muttered stepping towards Ada. The girl took a step back, confused.

“What do you mean?” she asked, and the Doctor sighed, stepping closer and bringing a hand to Ada’s temple.

“I’m ever so sorry, Ada,” she murmured, and Ada seemed to realize what was happening, as tears began to fill in her eyes.

“Doctor, what are you doing?” she asked.

“Wiping the things you shouldn’t have knowledge of,” the Doctor told her, sighing heavily. “Including me and Jo,” A tear streaked down Ada’s face.

“But I want that knowledge!” she argued, looking between the Doctor and Jo. “Don’t take it away!” she pled. “Jo! You’re just going to let her?” Jo nodded sadly.

“It’s for the best,” she said, placing a comforting hand on the girl’s shoulder. “Goodbye, Ada,” and then her eyes rolled back into her head, and she passed out. The Doctor caught her in her arms, and carried her over to the lounge.

“Oh Ada, you don't need a preview. You figure it out before anyone. The first to see the potential in things like that. To work out what could be. What they can really do. Computers start with you,” the Doctor said softly, stroking a strand of hair out of Ada’s face, and Jo approached, stroking Ada’s cheek.

“Sweet dreams, Ada Lovelace,” she murmured, the Doctor repeating the sentiment, before they both returned to the TARDIS, disappearing into the night.

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lucarioisinthevoid · 5 years ago

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Heyooo! Does the gang ever have sleepovers or something! I imagine they play those creepy games, like ‘Light As Feathers Stiff As Board’ or ‘Bloody Mary! Oh! And they could do each other’s nails and makeup!

Hah, reminds me of a thing a friend told me, where they dreamed that they were Mike and having a sleepover with all the guards. Good times. Mike doesn’t get to put on nail polish. He’ll lick it off to attempt suicide. Jeremy doesn’t want any either, because he will gnaw it off. But he wants little bows and other fun hair stuff, he thinks that is fun! Polish Phone Guy’s head. It’ll last longer on there anyways and more space for cool patterns. They’ll have a lot of fun, except it will be incredibly stressful, because it’s like keeping five cats in a bag for a whole night. Mike never really sleeps, not with so many people around. The sleepover happens inside of the pizzeria, because Dave said either at HIS home or in the pizzeria and everyone agreed the pizzeria was safer- I mean, more spacious. They kept only the party lights on, and the animatronics locked up. At least until they managed to break out and a wild-goose chase started, including multiple last stands, declarations of wars and salt circles. At the end, the animatronic won the final battle of tic-tac-toe (incredibly work by Chica the mastermind) and now they were allowed inside of the sleepover too- Which meant no further swearing for everyone except Mike, who had the bitch-pass, like he always did. Ah, the benefit of being a virgin. You get to swear in front of ghosts! And capture unicorns, but we don’t let Mike near unicorns anymore after the last time resulted in the evacuation of the entire city. Back to the topic, you can rest assured that everyone WILL play the dumbest games, solely to keep Dave and Old Sport appeased. They do great things!

… LIKE REALIZING EVERYONE IS WEARING VERY STUPID SLEEPING WEAR! “Where’s ya sleepin’ stuff, Mikey?! Come on, me ‘n Sportsy brought our matching bear-bunny onesies, and you have NOTHIN’?!” “Usually I sleep fucking naked.” Old Sport grinned. “… well then, we’re waiting-“ “I can fucking break you.” The verdict of both the psychopaths was in. “Sexy!” Jeremy was way too distracted to listen to them though. “THERE ARE FREDBEAR ONESIES!? CAN I HAVE ONE!? PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE-“ Simon laid on the ground, staring at the ceiling, charging. He wouldn’t close his dial all night. “… they uh- were discontinued because the dye they used was tox-“ “WE’LL GET YA ONE, JERRY! DON’T ‘CHA WORRY!” … LIKE PLAYING SILLY PRANKS! “Phoney, help us bake! WE WANT A PIZZA!” “Uh- what do you need ME for?” “HOW NICE OF YA TO OFFER! First, please open that can of melt-cheese!” “… it’s warm.” “DON’T WORRY ABOUT THAT.” “I’m, uh- I’m not touching it. You probably have already molten the cheese inside, d-do you know how HARD it is to get that out of a phone?!” “WELP, TOO BAD, WE CARBONATED THE CHEESE BEFORE RESEALING WITH GLUE!” At that the thing exploded, coating everyone in cheese. “Worst night of my life…” Distraught Jeremy looked at them, while the other two were laughing. “O-oh man- sir, should I get I some water-“ Mike hissed. “No worries, I fucking got it.” “MIKE NO-“ With that he proceeded to touch the stove, putting it on fire and setting off the sprinklers, drenching everyone. … LIKE PLAYING STUPID GAMES! “Okay, everyfuckingone, listen up. I prepared a scavenger hunt. The reward is a fucking nifty thing, so you better work hard. It may or may not be a gun.” Excited Alice, who was gaining power with every miserable hour the guards spend, jumped around. Joining had been a good idea. Jeremy was concerned. “A- a gun…? Mike, you- you know that would be pretty dangerous-“ “DID I SAY “MAY OR MAY NOT” OR NOT?” “Geez, sorry.” “Great. So, everyone, the hints are hidden all around the restaurant and EVERYTHING could be a hint. If you tell me the right code- whatever that will be- I’ll give you a hint where the next one is. The first to find the X wins. First hint: Party hats. FUCKING READY, FUCKING SET, FUCKING GO!” Everyone rushed off, even the animatronics, leaving only Mike and Simon behind. “Did you, uh- did you really set that all up…?” “Nope.” Together they observed everyone rushing about. … AND WINNING STUPID PRICES! Everyone was cowering together in a corner, as the little Minireena pointed the dangerously dull plastic knife at them. In front of them Mike, looking like a feral animal. “YOU FUCKING CHEATED. THERE NEVER WAS AN X. THERE IS NO PRICE!” Alice tapped her chin, then giggled. Tired and confused Simon sighed. “What… what did she say…?” “That her price will be that we all design her a new dress, each of us one- or she will cut us into pieces.” “But that’s- that’s a plastic knife.” Slowly Alice’s head turned, creaking unnaturally loud for such a small machine. “… she says that’s the reason should make you way, WAY more afraid.” … LIKE WINNING THE DARWIN AWARD! Phone Guy had only left for ten minutes at most to get some ice and some non-descript carbon drink that you can’t prove is a brand name, so don’t even try to get me sued- He walked back into the main area, carefully watching his tablet so nothing would accidentally spill over, but when he looked up for a moment he almost dropped it all. Mike, Old Sport and Dave were standing together, roughly 500 rubberbands tied together, leading to two chairs that where weighted down by endo scraps. On the other side where all the animatronics, Freddy in front, Chica, Bonnie and Foxy right behind him in a line, with determined expressions on the faces. “WHAT THE EVERLOVING H-H-H-HECK IS GOING ON HERE!?” “SLINGSHOT BOWLING!” Old Sport screamed back, clearly excited. “MIKEY IS GOING TO CRUSH THESE ANIMATRONICS WITH HIS HEAD ALONE!” “ONE OF US IS GOING TO FUCKING DIE TONIGHT.” “M-MIKE! WHY DID YOU AGREE TO THIS- TO THIS- TO THIS- MADNESS!?!” “Madness…?” Old Sport started, but Mike shook his head and interrupted him. “FUCK YOU. IF I WANT TO GET SLINGSHOTTED AT MACH SPEED THROUGH THE ESTABLISHMENT I’LL DO IT. YOU’RE NOT MY FUCKING DAD!” “Don’t worry chief.” Freddy responded calmly, his eyes firmly on the other guard. “That hollow-headed guard won’t even put one scratch on us.” Frustrated that his meme had been interrupted, the Orange Man groaned. “… this is Sparta. Great. You guys ruined it.” Letting go of the slingshot, they propelled Mike forward with a speed that could kill multiple men. Depending on where they stood. … like learning how cruel and heartless war is and how nobody wins a war truly, the words of glory and bravery were lies that THEY used to capture young, innocent minds, to chew them up and spit them out without any pity for the lost and traumatized- Mike pressed his back against the wall, sweat running down his brow and his body breathing for oxygen- but he wouldn’t allow himself to pant, he couldn’t, they were listening- There were muffled sounds of pillows and flip-flops being thrown and the guard winced as he heard a cry. All he could do was pray, pray that their fort hadn’t been broken- No, he couldn’t hesitate any longer. Rushing back in, he dodged the projectiles instantly hurdled at him, before diving behind the protective walls of his pillow fort. “Status?” Hoarse he asked Phone Guy who was lying beside him, looking out of a little gap. “They’re getting more and more aggressive. Our walls will not long stand like this. Did you get the secret weapon?” Dropping a few bottles of carbonated juice and mentos, he grinned, manically. Yet still, part of Phoney’s heart hesitated. “… does it really have to come to this? Is that what is left of our humanity? We will never be able to forget this night, Mike. Neither you nor me. We will lay awake at night, thinking about this, thinking about the cries… do you want to add this to-“ With that he forcefully was grabbed by the collar and pulled closer, almost touching Mike’s nose. “You better fucking listen to me, Si. Out there-“ He pointed out. “You’ve been my boss. My chef. You told me what to do and what to say. You had some authority. But now? Now you’re a NOBODY. Now everything that matters is if you can DO what is necessary or NOT. BECAUSE THAT’S WHAT DECIDES THIS WAR, DO YOU HEAR ME?! DO YOU KNOW WHAT WILL HAPPEN TO US? HOW MUCH LONGER DO YOU WANT THIS HELL TO GO ON!? UNTIL EVERYTHING OUT THERE IS A WASTELAND?! UNTIL NOTHING IS LEFT ASIDE FROM DISPLACED PILLOWS AND THE STENCH OF DEATH!? IF YOU WON’T GIVE YOUR FUCKING GO-AHEAD, FINE. I WILL DO IT ANWAYS, I WILL SAFE US- AT WHATEVER COST THAT MAY BE!” For a second it was silent, then Phone Guy finally slowly nodded. “… okay Mike. If we-“ Interrupted by a call from another ford both of them snapped up. Orange Guy’s evil tone was already bad enough, but his words were unbearable. “GIVE UP, YOU ALL HAVE LOST! WE WARLORDS HAVE AQUIRED THE ULTIMATE WEAPON- WE HAVE SODA AND WE HAVE MENTOS. THIS IS YOUR LAST CHANCE TO GIVE UP… OR THIS WILL BE YOUR END.” Instantly Mike’s eyes widened and he sat up, hatefully hissing. “NOT SO FUCKING FAST! WE TOO HAVE MENTOS AND SODA AND WE WILL RETALIATE WITH IT ALL! IF YOU USE THIS WEAPON, NOBODY WILL BE LEFT, I SWEAR TO GOD!” Dave cried out in hatred and anguish. “MIKE! HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO US! YOU WERE THE LAST PERSON I EXPECTED TO BE A FUCKING COMMIE, HOW DARE YOU BETRAY ME-“ “WHAT THE EVERLOVING FUCK DO YOU EVEN MEAN, I’M FUCKING SERIOUS, WHO DROPPED YOU AS A BABY AND WHY DIDN’T YOU STAY DEAD-“ The war was eventually won… but at what cost? Changed my mind, them having a sleepover is a terrible idea and is illegal from now on. Never again.

#the Group #had to put a read more because it went SO long

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