#The House of Hanging on Hospital Slope | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

keilemlucent · 3 years

Text

pretty eyes & starshine: ii

(NSFW)

hawks | takami keigo x reader

ao3

part i || part ii || part iii (epilogue)

beta’ed: @shadowworks & @firein-thesky

word count: ~15.2k

Healing takes time, but it’s easier with someone else around who’s on the mend with you.

(You and Keigo learn to start living again.)

warnings: codependency but make it sexc, injured reader, post-trauma symptoms, reader has abandonment issues, angst, ouchies <3

a/n: part 2 :’^) we made it!! soft hurt and very horny codependency that involves keigo’s immaculate d*ck. all that is left after this is part 3 which will be more of an epilogue :’^)

enjoy loves <3

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

The doors to exit the hospital scare you.

How can they not?

They’re... automatic.

The glass panes are wide, sliding and slapping as folks come and go, the quiet ring of metal on metal and the slap of the plastic padding makes your heart race.

Get over it, get over it, get over it—

It’s just some doors, they’re normal.

You’ve walked through automatic doors so many times. Never before had you even taken conscious note of them.

(But that was before you heard them let in that man who—)

Without thinking, you take a little, tentative step back from them.

Consider you are leaving your own slice of healing hell; you are shakier and sweatier than you would’ve liked. Your clothes are like the ones... he used to wear, cheap garments obviously pulled from some industrial multipack that stank like plastic and rubbing alcohol.

You hate it.

But you didn’t have another choice. Your old articles were bloodied and disposed of long ago, and the hospital gowns you wore during your stay were far more uncomfortable than your scratchy, wide pants and crewneck long sleeve the same pale, lifeless blue as your old bed sheets.

It would be enough.

You shift the crutch under your right arm and shuffle the backpack on your shoulders. It contains just enough to get you to the shelter, where they’d supposedly have a bed— a cot, more than likely. You had a toothbrush, some extra socks, and a prepaid card for a single, one-way train trip across the country and into the unknown.

Tears stung your eyes as you lingered by the doors.

It all feels so uncomfortably real. The world kept moving, and you’re reentering it far-more battered and perpetually bruised.

And completely alone.

(The thought horrifies you to your core, but you try to ignore it.)

Despite the time you spent at the hospital, you were leaving without a hint of reverie. Everyone, nurses and doctors and anyone who has fucking eyes is too busy dealing with the casualties that had lasted months.

It didn’t matter how long you stayed. You were just a body. A fucked up one too.

You count yourself lucky to even have the backpack, as cheap and sterile as it smells.

It all unnerves you, but you didn’t have a choice. Numbness settles over you as you accept your future.

There... is a little glimmer that he will show up.

(He won’t. Empty promises.)

(Everyone leaves.)

(Why’d you call him, anyway?)

(Because no one had spoken to you like a human in a month.)

Solitude makes people desperate and crazy.

You are a little crazy, you know. Maybe not in a bad way, but certainly in a way that is eating you up and out in ways you don’t understand. You don’t have the energy sort through it all. You just have to finally start moving forward. Or try to.

Tentatively, you walk toward the doors, stepping out and onto the pavement. You lurch and you would’ve tripped if not for the crutch shoved under your arm.

For the first time in a long time, you suck in fresh air and the trickling sunlight. It feels fresh, cleansing you with each little inhale as you face your cheeks to sky. You have your moment, basking before your journey.

Then someone whistles. You ignore it at first.

The person whistles again, calling out—

“Your ride’s here, starshine!”

Your breath punches from your lungs. You whip your head to the sound.

Though it’s overcast, you do see your morning sun.

Your steps stutter as you nearly trip over your feet.

He is standing, not far at all, leaning against a shiny black car, sleek and expensive and out of place. He’s all overgrown hair and lazy-expressions, one which stretches into a grin as he sees you.

And you see him.

(He really came?)

(Of course he did.)

Your crutch nearly clatters to the ground as you stumble toward him. The moment you waver, he’s running to catch you.

You meet each other halfway.

And without a goddamn lick of shame, the moment you near him, your arms lock around him. Your face buries into the hollow of his throw and you inhale. The scent of him, a bit spiced but mostly skin and sweat fills you. Not a hint of antiseptic.

And you shudder at how good it feels.

He stabilizes the two of you, greedily wrapping his arms around your waist and squeezing as if to give a much-needed greeting.

There’s a moment of heat between you, familiar and blessed and so damned missed that you both share shuddering breaths.

“It’s good to see you, starshine,” He soaks up any part of you he could get to. So casually, he touches like he wants to consume you.

You squeeze him just as hard.

“You came?” Your words muffled into his skin.

He simply nods, and the only confirmation you need to sink into him. Perhaps, there’s onlookers, but neither of you have the mind to care. All you care about is the shift of his muscles beneath your fingertips, the heat of him, his golden, pretty visage—

Like he had so many times, he tucks hair behind your ears and tension drains from him.

So tenderly does he squeeze around your middle where he holds you up, “Let’s go home, starshine.”

You want nothing more.

...

The drive to your new home is long, but you don’t mind.

The world has changed in the months you’d been tucked away in the forest-hidden hospital. As disconnected as you were, you still heard of the unrest and upheaval across the country. The political clashes are marked by the... contrarian billboards lining the highway, new slogans battling each other every mile or so.

The scenery slowly goes from flatlands, to wetlands, to rolling hills that are a lush green. From the safety of the car, you could see that the air even looked wet, and you could imagine the way it would stick in your throat and tacky the tips of your fingers.

“Where do you live?” You finally ask, voice soft in the melancholy softness of the light mist that sprayed the car.

“In the mountains, high-up,” He squeezes your hand (the one he’s been holding the whole ride). Quietly, he adds. “I still couldn’t bear to be too close to the ground.”

He laughs, though it fades into the suddenly heavy air.

This is the world, isn’t it?

You blink, gulping at the face of your reality, and let your eyes go half-lidded as you trace the shapes of growing evergreen as your drive takes you higher and higher.

...

Keigo had made up the guest room for you.

He doesn’t have much for extra sheets and softness, let alone decor, but he does what he can. The bed is made and pressed with clean lines, freshly washed. The curtains on the windows hang heavy, but warm up the room with their clement, tan fibers. It’s a start, with lots of space for you to add your own touches as well.

He’d spent the night prior on it, laboring, like he was preparing a nest as opposed to a simple bedroom.

(It is a nest, but he doesn’t need to accept that just yet.)

There wasn’t anything else to do for a while when he first escaped that fucking hell. He’d really given up. Keigo was uncomfortably content to rot away as he had dreamed of since he’d been burnt. The little, dusty corners of the cabin would’ve made perfect places to waste away in peace and alone.

Except, he didn’t.

Keigo started to make the home better.

He isn’t sure if it was out of some need to just do something, and the outdated, worn cabin was his most available canvas. Part of him is convinced it’s some buried avian instinct, and without the Commission’s constant hovering, he has no reason to suppress those more animalistic urges. The need to nest somewhere cozy and safe took him over, and he had gotten to work.

The cabin is cleaned up incredibly well. New appliances, floors patched and polished. The furniture is mostly old, but it’s obviously been shined and tended to. The living area isn’t horribly large, but it’s more than enough space for the two of you. It has wide windows that looked down upon the slopes and peaks that your home is nestled in. The colors are warm oranges and tans that are easy on the eye. Nothing too red and nothing too blue.

Nothing too imposing.

(Nothing too reminiscent.)

He leads you from the car, gingerly helping you up the rickety stairs to the front door.

The wound on your leg may be ‘healed’, but you don’t appear comfortable in the slightest. Your expression pinches with half of your steps, the bending of your scarred flesh undoubtedly painful. It makes something in his chest squeeze as he navigates you into his house, from the snow into somewhere warm. A place that he crafted all on his own. Shaped with his own hands. A real possession, all his own.

When you enter, you don’t say anything, only tightening your grip on his hand.

“I like it,” You smile, soft and dreamy, worrying the strap of your backpack. “... Are you sure it’s okay for me to stay?”

“Of course,” Keigo assures you. Of course, it was okay for you to stay. “I’m happy to have you here, especially when the other option is one of the shelters.”

You wouldn’t have lasted a day with your bum leg and natural softness.

The thought has him gulping, the heat flaring in his chest as he tugs you closer, ghosting his lips over your temple.

With only a bit of stumbling, he shows you the rest of the home.

...

You’re quiet the rest of the day, curled up on the couch in the same clothes you left the hospital in. There’s clear exhaustion in your face, from the dark circles ringing your eyes and the tremble in your hand and leg. Keigo is content to cover you in a nice knit blanket he purchased down in the nearby town, and let you rest.

His own back burns when he catches glimpses of your scar. It ran down all the way to your ankle, even bleeding onto the top of your foot. The gnarled flesh brings back memories of screaming and metallic exam rooms.

And he, like you, stares at a wall for a while before making dinner.

You can’t manage much.

The TV glows with some show you might’ve watched and been engrossed in it. But the hollow feeling in your chest keeps you submerged in the static of your skull. It’s more comfortable than acknowledging how quickly the picture moves in front of you.

Your only motion is a ‘light’ scratching over the thin fabric of your pants.

‘Light’.

He enters sometime later, bearing food and an easy smile that falls all-too quickly.

“Hey, starshine— oh fuck,” His voice clips as he enters, setting down steaming plates on the coffee table and pulling your hand from your thigh. The tips of your fingers are stained with enough blood to make your eyebrows shoot up.

Your eyes shoot to your leg, where you’d apparently tore through the thin fabric of your pants and torn your skin up without even thinking. So close to the scar—

Heat flares between, light bouncing in your eyes as you cover the hole, “S-sorry, fuck, I didn’t even realize.”

“It’s okay, it happens,” Keigo assures you, softer than you’ve ever heard him. “Let’s clean you up quick and then eat, okay?”

You nod, exhaling a weight from your chest as the light skitters out of your eyes.

And the heat fades from the room. The absence of it chills Keigo, and the abruptness makes his nose scrunch.

He patches you up quickly and with a precision that screams ‘yes, I have done this far too many times.’ The wound isn’t too severe, just a nasty-looking scratch. The dried blood on your finger is wiped away.

You both settle onto the couch, eating in silence.

Something hangs in the air, thick and unsaid. Questions and paragraphs that have been ignored up until now. Not out of will, perhaps just tired negligence.

But, Keigo has always been the blunt type, so he finally asks one of the many facets that needs to be broached.

“What’s your quirk?”

A little surprised sound lodges in your throat with a bite of baked fish, “My quirk? I thought you figured it out already.”

Keigo raises a feathery eyebrow, “I’m a bit slow these days, starshine.”

The nickname makes something settle pleasantly under your ribs, and the light, little orbs of yellow and orange return to your eyes.

And heat fills the room, like it had so many times before. Like those first nights in the common room, stargazing in the lamp and starlight. It’s warmth that bleeds between his bones and tendons, through and through.

Keigo puts it all together, jaw going slack and eyes going wide.

Had he never realized it?

It does make sense, in retrospect and without a sinfully heavy dose of painkillers swimming in his veins. The heat that permeated all of the nights you sat, eyeing the stars and each other.

The odd heat of it all.

You’d been warming the two of you. Souls cold from the sterility of it all.

“That’s your quirk?” Keigo leans in closer, inspecting the little specks of light in your irises. The tell. “This whole time?”

“U-um, yeah,” You worry a hangnail. “I don’t mean for it to be activating all over the place, but it has been since everything happened.”

“Why’s that?”

You chew the plump of your bottom lip, brows pinched.

Without thinking, Keigo bows to the will of the ever-present, needy feeling in his chest and presses a little kiss to your forehead, willing it to smooth away some of your worry.

I’m not upset, the action says, but the cabin is quiet.

“... You know how cats purr?”

Keigo quirks an eyebrow, “I do.”

“Well, I think it’s kind of like that,” You met his eyes, the light returning and the fire-like warmth tickling the hair on your arms. “Cats purr when they feel good, but sometimes, they purr when they’re not doing well.”

“... ‘Not doing well’?”

“If they’re in pain, or if they’re really scared,” You go quiet, tracing a seam on Keigo’s jeans. “They’ll purr to comfort themselves. It’s like that.”

Comfort themselves.

No wonder all those nights you spent together, you felt so warm. It was your quirk—

And you must’ve felt awful.

Part of him feels betrayed, just for a moment, before it dissolves with the watery look you wear as your injured finger traces over his knuckles.

And the heat of you flares.

Your quirk is a part of you.

“I didn’t think to tell you.” Your voice wobbles, yet remains vacant. “‘M sorry.”

You don’t need to apologize.

If anything, the knowledge only strengthens Keigo’s resolve.

...

The first weeks at the house are odd as you both settle into rhythms of living. There’s an orbit to how you choose to live, though it’s not predictable or reliable. It can’t be, there’s no way for it to be. You float around each other like little planets to a fickle sun, unstable and wavering, but elliptical, nonetheless.

You’re both learning to be human again with your own rhythms.

Keigo’s biggest challenge is dragging himself from bed each morning. The lazy bones he thought the Commission had broken and beaten out of him still remain somehow. Now that he has no obligations to tend to at the break of dawn, he thoroughly enjoys lazing about in the sheets, even if he’s just staring at his wood-paneled ceiling wishing that Dabi had finished the job and burned him dead.

He’s doing great.

Despite his sluggishness, you move about on your own.

You make coffee each morning, and curl up on the couch under the same knit blanket. A few patches of the multi-colored throw have been pulled apart by your restless hands.

Neither of you comment on it.

Though Keigo takes longer to rise, you move far less during the day during those first weeks. You’re tethered to the cushion until the sun goes down.

It’s like the nylon straps at the hospital never left your wrists.

Your vacant nature scares him, if he’s honest. There’s an unspoken, massive wound you carry with you, both physically and mentally, and its manifestation is a little haunting.

Keigo knows about trauma, knows about how the mind worked and how to, you know, deal with it. He is— was, a hero, for fuck’s sake. Trauma is in the job description and he’d had his fair share of bruises before he went undercover, before he killed Jin (REALLY don’t think about it—), and lost his wings. He’s stitched himself up by filling up his schedule with anything he could. Distractions. Things to occupy him, help him forget for a while. If that didn’t work, he always had a bottle or two of imported soju that he could nurse.

Again, coping.

The state you’re in is the opposite of coping, it’s being. Existing. The strain you carry from everything shows in you, and the way that it’s manifested terrifies him.

Keigo is smart enough to know to keep a few boundaries. He can’t fix you and he can’t get it in his head that he can. He’ll smother you; he knows he will. The solace he finds comes from being there when you need him, and always being close by.

It’s all he can do to soothe what’s obviously an open wound. He has his own, that you tend to in your own way as well when you can. It’s all give-and-take, naturally and easily.

You’ll find yourselves on the couch together, leaning and touching so naturally, but with no intent. Your little fingers trace shapes over his clothes, hearts and lettering he can’t catch. The heat of you will cling to him, whether your quirk activates or not.

He holds you, simply and truly. Tries to be a new, kinder being.

...

You don’t have much that is solely yours.

You’d been living in an odd combination of Keigo’s clothes and the single outfit you arrived with. It works, enough. Most garments are worn until they’re filthy, but it takes you a little too long to notice.

Keigo notices.

One day, he sits down with you and his heavy, black credit card and helps you pick out... whatever you wanted. The guy is loaded and will be until he dies, and he’s smitten to help you pick out whatever you need.

You’re more challenged by the task.

“I’m fine, you don’t need to do this,” you murmur into his collarbones, narrowing your eyes at the laptop screen. “I have enough.”

Keigo clicks his tongue, rubbing the fraying fabric of your shirt, the same, cheap scratchy fabric from the hospital. Your pants are soft cotton, old ones of Keigo’s that he should probably throw away. You adore them, and spend most of your time in them, too.

“You deserve some nice things that are yours, don’t you think?” He coaxes with some extra soft touches as you glare at the screen.

Perhaps, you think to yourself. Your jaw locks.

You deliberately avoided thinking about your lack of... things. The absence of all the bits of you that you had once carried tugs at something deep in your chest. Grief, probably. Loss at the very least. Your home has been torn apart and you have nothing. Not a single remnant of then except you. And you’re hardly a good cast of the existence you once lead.

The world feels dimmer with the thought.

...

The house gets cold at night.

It’s inevitable, with the chill of the snowy valleys and peaks slipping through drafty windows and cracks in the woodwork. It slunk into the house once the stars rose, sinking bone deep. It’s easier to ward off during the day. The little stray touches and the ambiance of shared presence helps.

But, you slept separately.

It’s cold— so fucking cold in your beds. Keigo hates it. Despises the way how it makes his eyes droop and his body heavier than it should be. Despite not having wings any longer, his other avian traits lingered, and torpor was definitely not in his top three faves. He can only be thankful that he thought to invest in an electric blanket for himself, for his nest.

Though it would be a lot better with you in it, the last thing he wants to do is push you. You’re fragile. Everything is fragile. Keigo has laid awake on more than one night, trying to make sense of all of it, everything and coming to the conclusion that sleeping in his too-big, too-cold bed would have to do.

Sometimes, there’s no way to swallow the state of things.

...

“Your packages are here.”

You look up, eyes wide and sweet.

Oh, yeah. Material goods.

Clothes.

Objects.

It takes a while, but the result of your shopping spree is a small horde of packages down at the town post office, all with your name attached. The idea of so much newness is daunting, but your few remaining garments are threadbare and practically falling apart. It’s necessary, you acknowledge, even if you’re terrified of not living in Keigo’s worn crewneck.

(Change can be good, you remind yourself. The thought is quiet.)

Keigo stands by the door, buttoning up his coat and lacing up his boots as you watch from your soft perch on the couch. The blanket has a new, wide hole picked in it, but you don’t notice.

“Would you like to come with me and pick them up?” Keigo flicks his gaze to you with a careful, easy smile.

You hadn’t left the house since you’d arrived.

The thought sends your stomach knotting and sweat gathering in your palms. You jerk your head side to side, sinking back down into the cushions.

Keigo doesn’t hold it against you. You can tell by the way his expression softens around his eyes.

He leaves after kissing you on the forehead a few times, telling you he’ll be quick to return. It’s not often that he leaves, though he’s always timely on coming back. His excursions are never more than a trip to the town market, thankfully. An hour or two feels like a lot, but the too-still air and quiet of the floorboards without Keigo’s pacing unsettles you.

Not having him near unsettles you. The thought of having him gone for too long shoots something hot and needy in your chest.

(Don’t leave, don’t leave, don’t leave—)

Thankfully, just like always, Keigo isn’t gone for long. And he returns bearing a few armloads of packages and some takeout curry. You take it all, and him, greedily.

(Thank you, thank you, thank you.)

...

It’s a few days later when Keigo wakes to you knocking on his door in the early hours of the morning.

It had been a... rougher day. You had been a bit livelier early on, joining him on the snowy patio for morning coffee and even taking a quick walk around the neighboring forest. With the snow so deep, you could only go so far though. The motion of it aggravated your injury, left your gasping and clawing at Keigo’s arm as the scar tissue pulled.

The scar is still dead, thank god, but the impact is just as present physically as it is mentally for you.

The rest of the day you spent curled up on the couch, taking little sips of water between short naps. That night, you hardly touched your dinner. Keigo was smart enough to cut up some fruit and lay it with a handful of crackers and offer it to you throughout the rest of the night. You nibbled at the bits, but hardly consumed much at all.

You went to bed early, giving him a hard hug before retiring to your lonely room.

Those days are the worse, the bad ones. They’re the ones where Keigo wants to break all the boundaries he still has. The little touches and kisses he gives you are one thing, but there’s much more he wants to do. Craves doing. But, pushing you too far or too hard would break you. He’s smart. He knows that. So, Keigo doesn’t wait. He satiates all those protective needs.

He accepts circumstance, just as he always has.

(He doesn’t understand how much you crave him, but that’ll come later.)

That night, things begin to shift.

His voice cracks with sleep as he calls for you to enter. You linger in the door frame, clutching a pillow to your chest, like a scared child who’s had a—

“Nightmare?” He asks, sitting up and tugging a blanket with him to cover his bare chest.

The cold air of the cabin hits his scars. He hisses under his breath, shoulders drawing tense. You must notice, eyes going a little wider as you recede from his room. The darkness of the hallway nearly dissolves you. His chest aches, hands tightening around the fabric in his fists.

“Come back here, starshine, come on,” Keigo calls, praying you’ll heed him. “It’s alright. What’s wrong?”

Keigo half-recognizes that that’s a very loaded question, but you’re both a bit sleep addled. Maybe it will slide.

Your eyes alight in the pitch of the room, sputtering with little orbs of amber. Your atrophying arms squeeze the pillow, and you take a few more tentative steps closer.

“... We’re safe, right?”

The question surprises Keigo, enough to make his old wounds ache.

One loaded question answered for another.

It’s reasonable to ask. It’s very reasonable to ponder. Keigo has wondered about it too. The townsfolk don’t know who he really was, and he was quite secretive about the initial move. The world hadn’t caught onto the fact that ‘Hawks’ had moved him and his new love to an isolated little cabin in the woods, and hopefully they never would. Society had a lot bigger problems, according to the over-processed news channel he tuned into on occasion.

Keigo was old news at this point.

So many heroes had been called out for poor behavior. Scandal after scandal, coverup after coverup. Corruption, everywhere. It was an industry secret, all of the bullshit behind closed doors. Keigo’s little double-agent schtick and you know, murder of a good man (for the love of god, do not fucking think about Jin) was still bad, but the public had a whole new slew of bullshit to torch people at the stake for.

Still.

He’s glad no one knows about your little hideaway or you.

“We’re safe, starshine. Very safe.”’

It makes his answer easier to say, more honest.

You inch closer from the doorway. There’s a tremble in your shoulders that runs to your hands. You’re only wearing a t-shirt and thin shorts, maybe just panties, he can’t tell. Your scar runs down your thigh and calf, gnarling and twisting the flesh it dared to mar. The seam of it is a shining black that Keigo had failed to notice before.

It reminds him of why you’re so scared and the types of nightmares you must have.

“... Promise?” You stop at the foot of the bed, throat bobbing with a thick gulp.

Keigo gives a sympathetic smile, patting the sheets next to him, “I promise. You’re safe. We’re safe.”

You look skeptical, but climb into bed with him all the same.

Something stirs in Keigo’s chest as you do. As he watches you clamor over the sheets and blankets he... nests in, the heat of it fills him. A combination of yours and his own, spills through his ribs and down to his toes.

He shudders with it, something needy wriggling down from

You sit up on your knees, sinking into the mattress and holding the pillow tight to your chest. Watching, eyes still alight and wide.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Keigo asks.

You don’t, you both know that, but breaking the silence is a start.

You push the pillow against the headboard, trading it to link your fingers with his, over his chest and pressed to the linens.

You squeeze and let out a breath you’ve been holding. There’s a weight to it, like there’s something you’re actually carrying. There has been something you have been carrying, but only you are able to see it— feel it in its actuality.

But, that doesn’t mean you have to shoulder the burden alone, especially on darkened, lonely nights.

He tugs you closer, mindful of your tenderness and the scars you both bear. The night is only lit by starlight, and the room is dark with the new moon. It makes it easier to be closer as you settled into the bedding next to him.

It’s uncomfortable for a few moments.

Despite how much contact you share, this feels different. The little touches, kisses and caresses you trade throughout the day are second nature. Comforting someone else who so obviously needs it. His person who needs it.

(He wonders if you think of him as your ‘person’ too.)

You lay on your side, facing away from him as you fall into his nest, still tense, still on edge and unsure. It reminds him of those first days at the hospital, when you both had lost your tongues and yourselves and just enjoyed the stars together in oddly comforting silence and broken conversation.

It’s a process, he reminds himself.

Keigo slides closer, throwing an arm over waist and adjusting the blankets with his other. There’s plenty, piled on top of each other without much reason. Careful hands properly tuck you into it all, next to him, with him. He brings them up to your chin, pressing stray hairs back into place and laying a trailing kiss or two over the back of your neck.

“... Is it okay if I stay?” Your voice sounds far-off, like the question is more for yourself than for him.

He can feel the unease and fear still bound up in your shoulders. It’s always there, whether it’s a moonless night or a snow-glitteringly, sunny day. The tension he presses his thumbs into is held in all of the muscle of your back, in your hips, your hands— everywhere.

It makes part of him ache.

A few little coos, soft little rumbles, roll from the back of his throat.

Normally, he’d be a bit embarrassed. But at the birdish chirps, you’re falling deeper in the sheets, the nest, and against his chest.

“Please stay,” He assures you with a squeeze. A small comfort, one he’d keep giving.

The odd quiet returns, sans the little sounds in his chest.

Slowly, tentatively, you turn in his arms. Your own lock over his waist, splayed low on his spine. The pads of your fingertips brush scars, the old ones and the new. It makes him writhe a bit in his own skin. It’s unfamiliar, compared to all of the cold prodding and meaningless pleasure he was used to.

It is the closest anyone of familiarity has been to the scars in a long time, and you, preciously, grace him with the softest touch. No expectation in it, just some much-needed, shared bits of love. Once again, precious.

And you both relax into it all. The ambient thrum of the other's body, the shared breath and smells that mingle between you. There’s little pains and stings that never really go away, but with the other so close, neither of you mind.

It’s hard to tell when your quirk settles, and the organic heat you create together fills the rooms and your lungs.

All Keigo knows is that he falls asleep with your lips brushing the hollow of his throat, still and warm against his chest. The feeling of the living rhythm of your body with your breath lulls him off, content and hazy.

...

You never sleep alone after that night.

Keigo pulls you into his room, or you pad in after brushing your teeth and pulling on your soft, soft sleep clothes. The bed feels a lot less big and lonely with the two of you wrapped up in each other, fully giving in.

It puts Keigo at a remarkable amount of ease.

The urge in his chest to ‘keep you safe’ feels the most sated at night, when he can keep as close as you both can bear. Your hands always make their home at the base of his spine, or the fat and flesh between his lower back and his rear. The pads of your fingers rub away years of stored tension and weight, quietly and kindly before you fall asleep each night.

During the day, you’re equally as needy, though you’re slowly becoming a bit more independent. You’re more lucid in general. Though the couch and worn blanket are your greatest comforts (other than him), you’re beginning to stray and poke around the house a bit more.

The shelves have a few more familiar comforts, things Keigo had slowly accumulated to pass the time. There’s a video game console or two he’d never used, a few stacks of books he’d heard were good, and some tucked away art supplies if inspiration struck.

As much as he urges you to take and use whatever you’d like, you’re still tentative. The first few times you pluck a crisp book from the shelf, Keigo’s back aches with how the old muscles that once controlled his wings tried to puff-up non-existent feathers. Despite how it tugs at all the wrong parts of him, he still glows at the progress.

You start to help him with dinner too. That’s some of your favorite time.

There’s a rhythm to it, when you both start preparing meals together. Keigo can’t season food for shit, (though, he’s made leaps and strides with cooking that pats himself on the back for) but he’s quite skilled with a knife. Remnants of his training that have domestic applications.

He doesn’t tell you that that’s why he’s so good at dicing vegetables and paring meat, he just chatters to fill the air. You tend more to the process of cooking, seasoning and watching and nodding along to his words.

The more meals you share in creating, the more you start to speak up.

It’s progress, even in something so small.

...

But progress isn’t linear.

It’s not even a goddamn line and it’s fucking infuriating.

...

The depth of winter bears down on the hills, the house, and the two of you. You’re coping, both of you. But the momentum of it is fragile.

It scares you, secretly and privately.

You feel fragile, and you have for a long time. Your scar remains tender, gnarled and ugly on your leg. You avoid looking at it at all cost, though Keigo has free reign to graze tender touch nearby it.

That’s how you find yourselves, leaning on each other on the cushion of the couch and idly watching the glow of the television. Your cheek tucks over his shoulder and you watch with half-lidded eyes. You’re only half-there as Keigo changes the channel.

He hums after a few moments.

“There’s a storm coming tonight,” Keigo tells you, lips just a touch dry against the shell of your ear. “I’m going to go to town and—”

Oh wow.

You interrupt, fisting the front of his shirt, “Can I come?”

The question stuns both of you.

Your eyes are honest as you peer up, genuinely unsure if you can.

“Of course, starshine,” Keigo assures. You notice the way his eyes, his pretty eyes, look wide and bright. All for you. Wow. “Let’s get you out of the house, hm?”

Getting out.

Time has stretched out and you can’t remember the last time you left for anything more than a little stroll on the backroads, Keigo on your arm. Going to town and seeing people strikes something odd that has your stomach churning.

You’re nervous when you finally pile into the car, both bundled up with hats, mittens and scarfs (Keigo wears a mask to better hide his identity, but he’s sure some of the townies have figured him out.) The tasks are simple. Stock up for the coming storm and make sure he pays to plow their little backroad out once the storm passes. Easy, things that wouldn’t take too long, but it still makes your palms sweat.

Keigo massages your thigh as you drive into town. The comfort of the snowy hills and evergreens disappears, and it has you in goddamn knots.

You squeeze his hand, locking your jaw.

“I’m scared.” You break the silence as the small structures of the town come into view. “I don’t know if this was a good idea.”

You haven’t decided again.

He kneads his thumb into the tension in your thighs with a little smile, “Let’s give it a try.”

“It’s scary, though.”

“I know.”

You pull at a hangnail with your teeth but say nothing else as you roll in and park at the small market.

The first thing you notice is the goddamn doors. Automatic doors.

When you see them, you want to climb back into the car, maybe the trunk for fuck’s sake, and hide like you’ve never hidden before. Go home and bury yourself in a snow pile with how your heart hammers in your chest and your breath catches.

Deep breaths.

You catch yourself, just a little.

You keep walking, Keigo’s hand in yours and you enter the market like nothing feels as wrong as it is.

The store is small, but there’s a decent selection, all things given. Keigo places a basket in your hands, tells you to ‘go nuts’ and ‘literally get whatever you want, especially if it’s salty or sweet’ and you heed him the best you can. He busies himself talking to the clerk, organizing with that honey-voice you crave.

You take a few deep breaths and walk around the market like a normal person.

(Even though, the last time you were in a situation close to this, you got that nasty, cute scar on your leg.)

(You suppress the thought for as long as you can.)

The basket gets filled quickly, but you stuff it to the brim. Keigo picked out plenty of good food, and had learned how to cook decently, but having some... agency felt nice, if not fucking terrifying.

You’ve got your back turned to the entrance of the store when the (automatic) doors suddenly swish open.

A chill so cold and hard shoots down your spine and you freeze, hovering over a box of breadcrumbs.

One...

How long was it between that sound and when he touched you?

Two...

This was a terrible idea.

Three—

It was four—

Four—

Four seconds, you propose, as your heart beats out of your chest and you sweat under your arms. Four seconds from the door opening to pain.

You wait.

And wait.

Nothing.

Just more voices from the front of the store, a figure entering your aisle and then leaving.

You hate the way you're so rigid, tense enough in your shoulders for it to hurt. The ghost of the wound on your leg makes you want to fall to the ground and writhe, but you grab the box of breadcrumbs and try not to think.

It works, and you land next to Keigo, presenting your filled basket to be rung up.

You bury your face into his shoulder and take a deep inhale. Keigo keeps you close, tucked in your side with an arm around your waist. Your anxiety must’ve been quite visible, as he takes to quietly rubbing your shoulders over your sweater.

Things get hazy as you feel safer. Keigo laughs and sways the two of you as he speaks to the clerk.

(Her sons are going to blow your little house out when the storm passes. The family cat recently got out and came back pregnant. Her husband has been reading some odd literature he found on the internet. Something about ‘the strong triumphant over the weak’. Her daughter might be able to return from her foreign university now that the travel restrictions had been lifted.)

Everything moves forward, even if it’s unpleasant.

It’s an awful reminder at an inopportune time.

You watch your feet as you crunch your way back to the shotgun side of the car, only relaxing when you hear the doors lock and the engine thrum.

...

The storm comes, just as the faces on TV said it would.

You’re in the country, in the hills and mountains where the weather is already turbulent and changeable. All the same, the overcast skies dump snow over the land and blanket the world in quiet and cold.

Snow silence sucks the sounds from the air, sans the howl of angry wind.

You’re tucked away and safe. It’s Keigo’s only solace.

After going into town, you keep more to yourself as the storm takes it sweet time rolling in. He recognizes the far off look in your eyes; it’s the one you wore stargazing, but there’s no kind smile on your face. Just a thoughtless frown as you go through the motions of your day.

It makes his chest ache.

(Part of him regrets bringing you with him to the market. It rots part of him, and he can only hope it sprouts again.)

Finally, when the storm truly comes and the hills get heavy and crisp white, a bit more of you returns. Keigo wants to take the fragments you’re willing to give him and tuck them close, horde them and squeeze. The way he’s gotten abashedly greedy for you has him handsier and needier.

He’ll take what he can get, and give what he can too.

It’s easiest to bear at night, probably out of habit. Maybe the time in the hospital fucked both of you up (yes, for sure, it did), but nighttime was the time where you were open and easy with each other.

The storm gives the perfect opportunity to all of your time shamelessly twisted together, only leaving for brief coffee breaks and light meals. Otherwise, you’re both nested.

Pillows and blankets piled on the oversized mattress, all soft against your scars and old scratches. Keigo’s still fond of the color red, he can’t let that go, but he trades in the scarlet that was once his ‘brand’ for a deeper burgundy. All the sensations are rich and velvety, whether it’s the bedclothes you’re wrapped in or the touches you share.

It feels safe.

The feeling is something almost foreign to Keigo. He’s been getting used to it, even as the isolation weighs down on him. No one around means no reason to be so alert. The house isn’t bugged, there’s no villains or Suits watching his every move. He’s just a flightless bird, with no cage, but no captors either.

It feels amazing.

It feels even better that you’re always the heat against his side. That you and your perfect, sweet hands always know how and where to touch. Your words flow easier when you’re so close, so surrounded and so deliciously suffocated.

Keigo fills you up in all the best ways, and you’re finally able to breathe easier.

You tell him your secrets, little stargazing facts and facets of you that you’d held away and far from him before.

“Do you know what cosmic microwave background radiation is?” You ask, sweet as your lips nip at his jaw.

“No, not a clue,” He laughs, the giggle only you get to hear.

You hum, shifting your thighs so it lies over his. Your hips grind, slow and unhurried as wind rattles the windows.

“It’s this ambient radiation that’s just everywhere, all the time, forever,” You tell him, voice going a little huskier despite the fact you’re talking about theoretical astrophysics. “It’s left over from the Big Bang. A little bit of the beginning that never stops.”

“And how do you know all this?”

“A documentary, love.”

The questions fade as your lips slide together, lazy hands sliding into each other's hairs. You pull, only lightly, just to bring him closer. Keigo gets greedy, (again, always), licking into your mouth and tasting you. It’s all cheap coffee and the stale mint of toothpaste, and he drinks you down like the finest nectar. He sucks on your tongue, moaning at the way you keen and shift next to him.

It’s not enough. It never is, so he rolls to sit himself over your hips and grab your jaw in a tight grip. He can’t be too forceful, he can’t— his little birdbrain won’t let him do anything too rough to you, even if neither of you would mind it. He tilts your head just right.

You roll your hips up, breath mingling with his as it hitches and shudders from you. It’s so much, so much good, but it still doesn’t feel like enough.

Keigo pulls away, eyes half-lidded to take in your own blown pupils. It makes something purr in his chest, to see your eyes already glassy and wide for him. Your neck is thoroughly covered in darkened splotches, already sucked and bitten while the storm sang.

Little marks of him.

“You’re all mine, you know?” Keigo nearly moans at the way your expression goes gooey and sweetened. He tightens his grip on your jaw just a fraction, enough to make you gasp before he licks and nips below your ear. Just to make sure you hear him. “‘Everywhere, all the time, forever’, I’ve got you.”

“Y-you do,” you gasp as Keigo shifts your sleep shorts off, pushed away forgotten in the nest. The thin tank top you’re wearing is hardly covering anything, not that either of you care. The nearly-sheer fabric of it stretches over your collars and curves beautifully. It does nothing to hide the way your breaths heave or the sweat and heat gathering on your neck.

You’re bared to him.

And if Keigo’s being honest?

You own each other, in the most pleasantly fucked up way.

“Y-You’re so good,” The word holds weight, so much heaviness. Keigo groans, palming one of your breasts and rolling one of your nipples. It’s ambient, something to occupy himself as he resists your words. Just a little—

Your hand slips into the front of his sweats, bare beneath, and wraps around the velvet of him. Thick and hot, firm in your hand but not close enough.

You squeeze, almost in warning.

“You are good.” You gasp as Keigo pulls off you, leveling gazes with you, all pretty eyes reflecting the starshine and snow. He is good. There’s so much more to it than that, but your poor, fucked up little mind can’t synthesis it yet. Only that Keigo is good, warm, safe, and wholly yours. And you’re his. You stretch to ghost a kiss over his lips. “My good boy, always keeping me safe. You keep me so well.”

He stills, even as you slowly pump in his cock. It twitches in your hand, your thighs squeezing between his hips.

Keigo’s mind races, in the best way.

“That’s it, isn’t it?” He murmurs, head tilting and body sagging to drink down your kiss-bruised lips. More, more, more— “You just need to be taken care of.”

“I don’t need to,” You lie, huffing.

Keigo raises an eyebrow, biting his lips as your grip floats down to his balls, massaging them in your soft grip. It’s tender, weirdly vulnerable, as the whole of you two are.

“Maybe you don’t need to, you’re very capable,” Maybe not right now, but he knows it’s in there. “But you want it.”

“I-I like it,” You scramble the wording, shoving down his sweats, huffing again and urging Keigo to kick them away. Your palm goes to his cheek and drags him closer. “I like you a lot, love you, you know. You make me feel... safe. It’s a good feeling.”

It’s the most honest you’ve been in a long time, and it sits in the air. Keigo remains silent for a moment, silent and trying to control the way his birdbrain wants to take you. Wants to fuck you up and ruin you for anyone else.

You’re his, aren’t you?

“Good girl,” Keigo breaks the tension, squeezing your hips to the point of bruises. His, his, his. “I keep you so good, don’t I?”

You nod, spitting out little affirmatives between kisses. They dot his cheeks and forehead, slipping to his nose and downward. You pull his bottom lip into his mouth, letting out a little half-sob as Keigo’s touch drifts to your cunt, to your clit that’s swollen and untouched.

More, more, more—

“You keep me so good,” You gulp, whining and grinding into the heel of his hand. Slick coats your sex, sticky and hot. “So, so good—”

Keigo drops down the bed, ignoring the flare of his scar tissue, to seat himself between your thighs. They get thrown over his shoulders with a squeeze. His hands cup your ass, slipping a pillow beneath your hips before eating your cunt like he’d die if he didn’t.

It’s one of his favorite things. Stuffing you full of him until your belly swells is another, or seeing the way his cock opens and stretches you until you’re gasping for breath and begging for more, more, more—

Keigo slips a finger into you without resistance. He curls it, unyielding as he massages the little knot of nerves in you that makes you arch and beg for more, for him.

You choke on a sob when he adds another finger, and he hushes you so sweet, tears prick your eyes.

“Starshine,” He coaxes, withdrawing only to give your clit, a few kitten licks and slow kisses. His gaze flickers towards yours, holding your wet eyes. “Doesn’t it feel good?”

You nod, the meat of your thighs squeezing around him. Keigo would be happy to die like this, you soft and opened for him, crying for him. Broken and cracking for him, by his tongue, by his touch, Him. His.

“Who takes care of you?” He curls his fingers, and you throw your head back into the nest of pillows.

“Y-You,” Your voice breaks and you rub at your cheeks.

“Who knows just how to keep you so well? How to make you feel so good?”

He presses a third finger in, tending to your clit as you cry above him. You’re molten around him, and he laps you up until the smell and taste of you is all he comprehends.

This is what you both need, isn’t it?

Each other. All of each other.

Your cries turn sour quickly, and it has Keigo jolting up, fingers withdrawn and leaving you to feel empty. The little sobs turned into hiccupping cries, one's stifled with the back of your hand.

Keigo rises over you, tugging you hand away to get at your cheeks, kissing them soft and sweet.

It isn’t often that you cry, surprisingly. You probably should more often.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” Keigo urges. Please, please, just tell him what the fuck is wrong. He knows, you know, the meat of it all. But please tell him something he can tend to. Something he can stitch up because god, he needs to be useful— “What’s making your cry sweetheart? Tell me.”

You paw at your forehead, “It’s silly.”

You sniffle and look at him with the most unguarded expression he’s seen you worn. The vacancy is gone, the hollowness and pain has been pulled away in the safety of that perfect nest and all that’s left is—

“‘M scared,” You mumble. Your arms curl over your chest, covering what’s primitively most precious to you. “I’m scared.”

Your eyes grow bright and heat, hotter than anything he’s felt from you, explodes over the room.

He’s half-choking and he fucking loves it.

Something in his chest snaps and he worries your hair, bringing his nose to yours, nuzzling and nudging your hands away. He nips you. His poor little birdbrain.

“I’m afraid you’re going to leave.”

Keigo stills.

He sits with your fear for a few beats.

“I’d never leave,” He says easily, truthfully and fully. He couldn’t.

Those long nights in the hospital and the warmth passed between you had so easily gotten you wormed his chest, right next to his second and third rib. He can feel it, always; you’re ever present. He grabs your arms and holds them to yours sides. You’re exposed, soft flesh and squirming a bit beneath him. He wants to mark you purple and near-bloody, so that no one would think of you as anything other than his.

His, his, his.

He shows you.

Worn hands, a bit chapped with the dry air, pull your high to rest on his shoulders. He massages your calves, kissing your ankles.

“I mean this real lovingly, starshine,” He breaths deep, fisting his cock with a few slow strokes. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You don’t get a chance to protest as he slides into you in one stroke. The stretch of him has you burning; he can tell by the way your hands fly to his shoulders, nails digging into his shoulders as your little cries only get harder.

“Bear it, I know you can,” You had before, and you would many times more. The stretch feels amazing, even if it burns something in your core. You like it, how the pain pricks something that shoots into your toes. Only Keigo gets to fuck you up, gets to own you. “You’re always good f-for me— f-fuck, so fucking good—”

His, his, his.

There is, of course, the inverse.

You grab his jaw, your grip tight like his was earlier, and you meet his gaze. You blink away tears, sniffling, but expression set with determination.

“You’re mine too,” You squeeze around him, grinding down to the root of his cock. “‘M only good for you because you’re mine too, Keigo. All of you.”

Without thought, your hands ghost over his scars.

You have avoided them for so long. It was an untouched spot, something tender and from a time where Keigo was being that was entirely and wholly different from who he is now. It’s a piece of him that’s always been off-limits.

But you’re both so cracked open, you do it without thought.

And something in Keigo snaps.

He pushes you down by the backs of your thighs, folding your legs to your torso. And he fucks you.

His hips slam against yours, opening you up with pants and groans. You feel full, full of him in every and all ways, everywhere, always, and forever.

You’re greedy with your touches, tugging him closer and uncaring of the way your nails scrap over his shoulders and arms. His body is yours and you’re his. It’s disgusting, it’s fucked up and perfect the way you slot together. It’s like little, scared pieces of existence slide together, and everything feels whole, yet open and uncracked.

Keigo fills you up with a sob, tears dripping down his cheeks as you pressed down on the burns and scars that rack down his back.

“Fill me up,” You demand, the heat of you swelling as his hand dips to your clit, circling and rolling with the little pleas falling from both your lips.

The world drips as his thrusts go harder, sloppier as you tip your head back and scream. Your voice breaks, hoarse from all your pleading and possession.

Keigo stuffs you, tip of his cock pressed to the deepest parts of you. His cum, all him, leaks from around his cock as he gives a few more weakened grinds. He makes sure you’re full, content and sated and his.

He falls over you, coating your cheeks in kisses and praise. You sputter little sobs for him, begging for him to be closer, despite the way he still fills you even as he softens.

It never feels like enough, the closeness. But you’ll settle for all of him that you can get.

...

The storm passes, and you spend your time much the same way. Fucking, feeling, and for a little, blessed while, forgetting.

Eventually, the snow stops falling. The wind that has been whipping the power into tree trucks and your windows falls still. It’s peaceful, then. Not that it wasn’t before, but without the weather bearing down on you, you’re both less hungry. Still greedy, just not starved.

You share the first morning after the storm outside, on the porch. Keigo had shoveled a little clear patch and you’d brushed off the two, brittle lawn chairs that had seen better days. You fixate on the task a bit too much, the steaming coffee you’re to share is forgotten. The straining plastic of the chairs is a yellowed-white and bright red. It felt strong enough under your fingers, cold fingers, as you cleared away the snow.

It feels like a remnant

Whatever fixation you have on the object passes as Keigo runs a hand up your spine. His hand is wide and warm, still a bit warm from the toasty mugs.

You rearrange your chairs and yourselves to be close as can be, in your little patch of snowless porch, and sip at your coffee as the world begins to wake up.

...

Oddly enough, the storm helps you make forward progress, at least a little. You take up making breakfasts on your own, occasionally carrying plates into the bedroom with a big, previously unseen grin

Keigo returns the smile so big, his cheeks burn for hours.

You take to a few of the little crafts and things Keigo has been hoarding. Paper folding and little canvases with acrylic painting are your favorites. Sometimes, you paint your little strokes and press creases from the comfort of the couch. Other times, you make you place for the day at the kitchen island while Keigo makes his day-long meals.

There’s a rhythm to it that’s so good.

It’s progress, and seeing it visibly start to the fill the walls feels good for both of you. Your little canvases get hung around the cabin, little portraits of the stars and their mother, all for you and Keigo to admire. ;;

...

He gets the call exactly three weeks after the storm passes.

Keigo awakes before you to the shrill ring of his cell. It vibrates against the bedside table, loud enough to wake the both of you. You both startle out of sleep, squeezing each other.

He takes the call in the other room, after he sees the contact name.

[Suits] Calling...

He paces as he listens to her drone on.

There’s no greeting, no “hey, how does it feel to be a flightless fucking failure?”. It’s business. Just business. It’s always been like that with her, and the lot of suits that treated him like a fixture until he got particularly cracked and unsightly.

“So, you come into Tokyo, we’ll do a small event—”

“The event you’re describing really doesn’t sound small,” Keigo tilts his head and gives an angry smile to his own reflection in the mirror. “It sounds like a circus that I really have no interest in being a part of.”

“It’s for the people, Hawks—”

It makes him snap.

“Stop fucking calling me that.” He growls into the receiver, grip tight enough to hurt. “Stop calling me, stop asking me, I am not coming back.”

The woman is silent on the line for a beat, before spitting, “What if I didn’t give you a choice?”

His blood runs cold before burning in his veins. And he laughs.

“You think you could?” He only feels a little hysterical. “You don’t have any power, not over me, not over anyone else as far as I’ve seen, Madam President!”

“Hawks—”

Shut up, shut up, shut UP.

“The Commission is dead, the world is in chaos, and putting the corpse of a hero on the big screen isn’t going to convince anyone that this is all fixable,” Keigo chest gets tight, and he can’t tell if it’s from the uncomfortable laughter he’s spitting or the sobs that are locked in his chest.

“So, you’d rather turn your back on the people you swore to protect?” Suits speaks with no emotion, not an ounce of feeling. “Selfish.”

Selfish, selfish, selfish. The word echoes in his mind, worms its way down his throat and suffocates him.

“You’re really going to say that to me? Of all fucking people?” He feels his nails break skin where he’d been clenching his fist. “Me, selfish?”

“You left, didn’t you? Ran away?” The woman has the stones to fucking laugh. “Everyone’s lost something. You’re not special, and it doesn’t justify—”

“What the fuck are you getting out of this?” Keigo interrupts, burning, burning— “Did you call me to go to this little gala or did you call to dig into your perfect little hero? You told me I could be done. Should’ve known you were lying, you always lie—”

“You’re being childish.”

“Oh my GOD!” Keigo nearly screams and doesn’t notice how you’ve tip-toed from the bedroom. “Do you hear yourself?”

“I hear you screaming at me, the woman who practically raised you, like some petulant brat. Get a grip, Hawks.”

He snaps.

“STOP FUCKING CALLING ME THAT!” He screams into the phone, vision going white and scarlet. “I am not Hawks! Hawks is DEAD! Why can’t you understand that? There’s no fucking hero to attend your little ‘healing’ gala, there’s just me. ‘Childish’, ‘selfish’, and wingless, babe. That’s what I’ve got, and this is what I am.”

Suits takes an audible sigh, and Keigo can almost see how she’s shaking her head at him, “You’re being ridiculous, Hawks. Take at least a goddamn ounce of responsibility for your actions that helped cause all... this.”

Ah, there it is. The thing Hawks has so properly compartmentalized, tucked so far back in his psyche that it’s almost impossible to reach.

How much of the dissolution of... everything is on him?

Something in him snaps, and it slips through his own fingers.

“I’m not going and this, Madam President? This is for me.”

Selfish, selfish, selfish.

He hears her unspoken words echoing in his skull as he hangs up, slamming the phone on the countertop.

Something hotter than rage and more poisonous than pain fills his blood, and it makes him want to both wretch and break his fingers in the same breath. He slams a fist onto the phone, cracking it against the countertop. He can buy a new one—

“S-Sweetpea?”

Keigo freezes.

You’re at the mouth of the hallway, hardly out of the shadows, eyes wide and fearful. His chest somehow gets even tighter.

Normally, he would’ve rushed to comfort you, calmed himself down to console you for seeing his little outburst.

But he doesn’t that day.

He breaths ragged with his lips slowly curling, panic’s ugly cousin turning his spit acrid behind his teeth.

“Here, let’s go back to bed, okay? We can—” You take a few steps closer, hand outstretched and eyes beginning to light.

Oh, and Keigo’s hit by fucking envy, and it’s over.

“Don’t.”

You freeze, “Pretty eyes—”

“Don’t, just don’t.”

You don’t move as Keigo trudges to the door, throws on his thick parka and snow boots, pocketing his keys and grumbles to you that there’s leftovers in the fridge.

It’s shitty and selfish.

And he just doesn’t care.

He can’t make himself care as the door slams shut behind him, the sound echoing off the trees and so quickly dampened by the snow.

...

Keigo drives, white noise in his ear that echoes the wind in the treetops of the mountains he’s descending. He’s only half there as he leaves town.

It’s still too much.

...

You, on the other hand?

You’re frozen, stuck-still, as you watch Keigo climb into the car and drive off. Maybe your mouth has gone a bit agape, you aren’t aware of your body.

You panic.

There’s no other word for it, not that you were able to think of as you were untrenched in it.

There’s something thick and knotted that is rolling unraveling in your chest. The... thing is worse than a feeling and runs deeper and hotter than you can manage.

You tried to manage it.

While Keigo is god fucking knows where, you paced the house, always within eyeshot of a window. Hoping for a glimpse of his dark parka, or the tufts of his blonde sticking out in the snow, a return—

Fucking nothing.

He just left.

No return time, no destination, just a departure with no explanation. He’d obviously left the cabin before, you’d handled those times quite well, but he’d never stormed out. Never raised his voice and screamed and then just left.

Is he okay?

(You heard most of the call, at least his side of it. Is that awful Hero Commission he told you about calling him back? Or even worse, dragging him away.)

(He’d tell you, wouldn’t he?)

(Guess you’ll never know! Because he’s fucking gone.)

It made something seize in your chest, hot and awful as you walked your circuit, praying. Worry is damning.

How could he just... leave?

You need him back.

You alone without him.

Your thoughts rot you, despite the winter’s cold outside. The chill of the cabin seeps into your bones, coats them and leaves you sticky and downright paranoid. The lack of... presence (his presence) was driving you up a wall. The air is too still, the floors quiet and without the telltale old creaks of movement that you’ve become accustomed to, and the cabin is silent other than your breathing and rabbit’s heart.

Beneath the anger was a thick layer of fear.

You are alone.

The feeling rolled its way into you as the sun began to dip lower in the sky.

What if he never comes back?

Of course he is, you remind yourself, hurriedly, worrying the scary on your leg and picking at the core of it. He wouldn’t leave.

Why wouldn’t he?

The thought gets your poor little heart racing faster, air choking in your lungs. Your head whips to the window to see the empty, snowy driveway.

“I-I’m alone,” You break the silence of the house, the walls answering with their pensive quiet and the wind shaking the fresh snow from thin branches just outside.

All alone.

All fucked up and broken and fucking alone.

“He wouldn’t leave,” You start talking to yourself, threading a hand in your hair, gripping. “He cares, he wouldn’t just leave.”

He cared about being a hero too and he left everyone else.

What if things changed?

Insecurities, new ones and old ones, cloud your mind and vision and stuffed your lungs. The grip on your hair goes tighter.

All alone in the mountains.

All.

Alone.

It scares you more than anything, how much you need him.

Tears prick the corners of your eyes as you tug at the roots of your hair. It hurts, but everything is starting to hurt very quickly, and a bit of hair pulling is child’s play to how it feels like your chest is being hollowed out.

You really have so little. It stuns you in the moment as you choke back a sob. The little house in the mountains, Keigo, and the starlight you still both enjoy— that’s fucking it. You’d never returned to your ‘apartment’, or rather the remnants of it. Any possessions you had were lost to destruction and unsalvageable. Your meager relationships and friendships had fallen away when you were bound to hospital for months.

He’s all you have.

“No, no, no,” You nearly trip in your pacing, dragging your feet as you accept your reality. “He can’t l-leave.”

The world responds with silence. The mountains are cold and lonely, just like you are. It’s cruel, it all hurts and after being in a daze so often, the reality of your situation hurts like a hot brand.

He’ll come back.

He cares.

You desperately try to convince yourself as you tug your parka on, throwing on your boots. You don’t bother to fasten or tie anything, you just stumble onto the deck blindly and scan the hill of the drive.

Not a single soul.

Something rotten curls up behind your teeth. Bile climbs the back of your throat and you have to swallow to keep from vomiting. Your chest is too tight, the world is too bright, and you’re terrified.

You’re not sure what to call the type of panic response you have; it doesn’t make any logical sense. Your heart runs in your chest, your breath is hot and tight, and you simply slip to the ground in the fresh snow.

And you wait.

...

Keigo drives until he’s nearly out of town, into some flatlands near the river that gurgles and churns nearby. The surrounding forest is the perfect place for a pensive walk.

It’s the best place for him to just get it out.

It had been a long time since Keigo had just talked to himself. Audibly sorts himself as he walks along the bank of the almost-frozen river. He doesn’t keep his voice quiet, no, its full volume complaining. It’s anger that’s bundled up in his chest that’s finally being lit and the smoke of it nearly chokes him out.

It’s not fair.

He does feel a bit childish, thinking about it like that. But hadn’t he done enough? Hadn’t they told him that he’d done enough? He lost it all and was just starting to the plant the seeds for a new life to sprout. Couldn’t he just have that? He’s not the shiny thing he used to be he’s fucking worthless. And that’s fine. He’s made peace with it and can find worth outside of saving people.

He’s capable. Adaptable. And he’s doing it all at his trademark speed.

But the thing that makes his gut twist is facing everything he (ran away from) left behind. The only short statement he’d given after Dabi’s video was nearly as viral as the actual video of him killing Jin (don’t think about it, don’t think about it—)

He’s not sure what possesses him to pull out his phone and pull up the video. It’s not hard to find.

It hurts to watch, but he does it anyway. Fucking masochist.

He’s standing beside Enji and Tsunagu, all of them in hastily tailored suits. They all had their visible injuries. Scars and brands that had just been carved and burned into skin. They look haggard, they look beaten.

Because they were.

Keigo watches as he adjusts his microphone in the video and gives his statement. Stupidly simple and vague, all at the same time.

“The villain Dabi did not lie. I am the son of Takami, and I killed Twice of the League of Villains. It was all necessary. Please accept my apology for the upset I have caused.”

His voice doesn’t even sound like him. It’s manufactured and broken. He remembers how the smoke had charred his throat and lungs for the first few days, before he was transferred from Central to the big facility in the tall-tree-ed forest.

He bows on the video and Enji begins his statement. Something solemn about the suffering he’s caused his family, how he wants to atone and how he is atoning. The public was too angry to listen and is too angry to listen. And the world Keigo ran from is the result.

He lets himself cry.

Finally.

His shoulders shake as he hunches over himself. The tears slip down his chilled cheeks and make little divots where they fall into the snow beneath him. His little gasps turn into sobs, the kind that hurt your chest and give you a headache that lasts for days.

He repeats a little mantra between scratchy breaths—

“I’m still good.”

He falls against the thick bark of a tree and slides down to the ground.

He let’s go.

It’s good for him, cleansing. Maybe it’s the rushing of the nearby river or the snow he's buried his hands in, but with each ragged breath he can feel some of that filth that’s clinging to him fall away. Not all of it, not by a long shot.

But feeling the worst is the first step to feeling your best.

So, when Keigo’s ready, he stands and moves forward. Trudges onward, albeit a bit slower.

...

Keigo returns home just as the sky begins to change from red to indigo with the night. It paints the pines and evergreens an eerie, dark color, shadows long and deep against the fluffy snow.

His gut twists in knots as he gets closer to home.

He’s tired. Exhausted. His eyes are still puffy from his tears, sore and aching. His body still feels tight, tense in his shoulders and arms as he grips the steering wheel. He needs rest. A good cup of tea and maybe a beer later.

And you.

As weak as Keigo feels, he knows he fucked up... just a bit.

It wasn’t fair to storm out. He isn’t dumb. All the same, if he stayed with you in the cabin, he probably would’ve said something he regretted. Or locked himself in the bedroom all day. It wouldn’t have been good or fair for you or him.

(Coward.)

Probably, but he was also burned alive fairly recently, so he had to give himself a bit of credit.

As he nears, his stomach drops.

You’re on the porch. You sit on the steps, parka pooling around your waist as your head rests on your knees.

Something’s not right.

Some of his old, honed senses trill to life, seeing you. Something in his gut twists, the muscles in his back tense, the old ones that controlled his wings.

You must be cold.

Keigo leaves the car and slaps on a smile, “Waiting for me, starshine?”

You twitch, curling over your body harder.

Something is very wrong—

He calls your name, your actual name, and you hardly stir. You all but twitch from where you sit, head tilting up just the slightest bit. It’s not enough to ease any of the worry pulling his old muscles, if anything, it makes it worse.

He falls to his knees in front of you, ignoring the crack his bones make.

“How long have you been out here?” Too long, he knows the answer, but he still has to ask.

“... A while,” You murmur, barely audible. “You’re back.”

“I am,“ Keigo pushes you up by your shoulders, scanning your face as more fear curls in his gut.

Your eyes are glassy and unfocused.

“We need to get you inside, now,” He isn’t sure if he sounds scared or angry (probably both), and he can’t make himself care.

You’re freezing.

Too cold, way too cold.

Keigo had to take plenty of survival courses during his training with the Commission and he had learned plenty about hypothermia. His avian anatomy made him more susceptible to the cold and knowing the symptoms for himself kept him from turning into a bird-adjacent popsicle more than once. He’d rescued his handful of civilians—

(Don’t think about being a hero right now or you’re gonna start crying again.)

You’re not some civilian, you’re you and you’re in front of him with darkened lips and dull eyes and full panic breaks his ribs.

...

You remember how pretty red the sky was.

You like sunsets.

You should see if Keigo wants to watch the sunset sometime.

Keigo’s gone.

You could drive—

Keigo drove away. You’re alone.

You aren’t sure how long you sat in the chill, but it was comforting despite how your fingers and toes began to ache. Outside, there were plenty of sounds and sights to keep you company. The wind whistled through trees, and the sky echoed a few, far-off sounds from distant civilization.

It was nice. Peaceful, at the very least.

...

“Inside, you need to be inside,” Keigo sputters, pulling you up under your arms. Your feet drag for a moment before going flat, and you sway in his arms.

Getting you inside makes his body ache in new ways, your weight mostly on his side. Old pains crawled to the surface as he dragged you to the couch, setting you down on the cushion and assessing you better.

His hands run over your body, over curves and divots he knew and loved and the chill of you filled him with dread.

“Your pants are wet from the snow,” Keigo swallows, rising. “I’m going to grab you dry clothes.”

As soon as he tries to move away, you catch his wrist in a weak grip.

And finally, half-lucidly, you regard him with terror in your eyes.

“You l-left,” You spit, lips curling over your teeth. “You left, Keigo.”

You use his real name and he really wants to die a little.

Sure, Suits used it on the phone with him and it made him see blood fucking red, but it’s you, and you saying the name he never really had, for the first time, so fucking angrily makes part of his secretly fragile heart break.

He freezes, breathing hard through his nose as he looks down at you.

“I’m sorry,” He says softly. “Let me get you warm, then we can talk, okay?”

You don’t look convinced, tightening your grip on his wrist and pulling him closer.

Keigo gives in, so, so easily, dropping to his knees and pulling your icy hands into his. He rubs warmth into them, bringing them to his lips and breathing hot over your knuckles.

“Please, starshine. Let me get you warm.”

“I’m already warm,” Your voice slurs, entirely unconvincing.

“I say this very lovingly,” He says, somehow cracking a smile, “but you’re genuinely hypothermic. You can be as mad at me as you want, but you need to get warmed up.”

You chew your lip, cupping his cheeks with your freezing palms, “... You’re not leaving?”

Your voice drawls and Keigo makes a note to turn up the thermostat.

“No, god, no, I’m not,” He tries to assure you, shaking his head, but your grip only gets harsher. He placates you with a squeeze to your knee. “Please let me help.”

He can’t tell you how much he needs to. How hyper aware he is of your chill and of his own thumping heart. That protective urge in his chest wants to just pull you to his chest and wrap you up in him, in his heat, but that’s for later.

Your eyes' gaze goes softer, little specks of light bouncing between your irises. The room fills with blessed, familiar heat and Keigo can feel his shoulders slacken and some of the worry in his chest dissipate.

...

He returns with some of his own soft joggers, fleece-lined and well-loved. He grabbed a few layers, and an armful of blankets and pillows. Anything he could carry gets brought as his little, avian mind craves something he suppressed for years so well.

Nest, nest, nest.

Heat them first, then nest.

He helps you slip into your new, dry clothes as your teeth begin to chatter. Thank fucking god. Keigo is smart enough to check your toes as he slips onto fuzzy, thermal socks, and they all look to be healthy and functioning.

You’re quiet during the whole ordeal, save for soft breathing and snapping teeth. You occasionally grab his hand and hold it to whatever part of your skin was bared, mumbling something about how warm he is.

Keigo eventually gets you settled and surrounded by blankets and pillows which you sink into, eyes hardly open. Only then does he feel like he can pull away enough to start the nearby fire.

It feels somewhat unnecessary, given you’re still heating the room. It’s probably somewhat for the atmosphere, considering the sky is nearly fully black. A bit of crackling flame and light would do you both good.

(He rarely lights fire, but considering the flame is a kind red and not a fucking disgusting blue, he can bear it. Especially now.)

When the fire is stoked, he turns back to you and deflates.

“I’m sorry,” You say, all soft and half-lidded from the blankets. “That was... dumb.”

“It was.”

Keigo can’t fight you on the obvious.

There’s a goddamn list of questions he wants to ask you. ‘Why’s and ‘what’s, but he has a pretty good idea of why you were sitting outside and what you were thinking.

He’s not sure you’d want to talk about it anyway.

The couch creaks when he sits down a few feet from your little nest, running a tired hand over his face.

“... You know, this couch folds out,” You shift a little, slow and lethargic. Still cold. “We should sleep out here tonight.”

He turns to regards you, and it takes everything in him not to fucking break.

“Why?” His voice shakes and he knows you can tell.

You hum, leaning toward him, “Change of scenery. I think we could both use it.”

“Later.” Keigo agrees. The urge to wrap you up in his (wings) arms feels unbearable, the little avian tickings in his skull loud and needy. “Warm first. Futon later.”

You huff weakly, but lift the blankets to let Keigo slip behind you. His body curls around yours, finding the coldest parts of you and tending to them first. His hands clasp over yours and your feet get tucked between his calves.

“Thanks,” You murmur, neutral and vacant.

Keigo doesn’t push you.

Instead, you stay tucked in his arms, still shivering, but significantly less cold. Your lips and cheeks look a far healthier color and they’re warm to the touch. He traces his fingertips over the curves of your face and neck, preening in the only way he can muster up.

You eventually break the silence, when the fire is all but embers.

“I heard some of that call…” Your voice trails off. “It sounded bad.”

“It was,” Keigo agrees with a little nod. He really doesn’t want to think about Suits and, you know, the rest of the world, but it feels necessary. “Very bad.”

“Who was it?”

“Old boss.”

“… And?”

Keigo sighs, squeezing you probably a little too tightly, “Why don’t we focus on warming you up from your hypothermic excursion and not my shitty life as a shitty hero—”

“You weren’t a shitty hero, Keigo,” He can hear the mourning in your voice and it makes him want to die, just a little. You cup his cheeks, eyes sad and soft around the edges. “You were a really good one.”

“Was I? News to me.” He laughs, the bitter sound tasting like bile. He hates it, the feel of it mixed with the heat and softness of you. It feels wrong. “I don’t want to talk about all that, starshine. Please just drop it.”

Your face hardens.

“No.”

“… No?”

“No, I’m not done,” You sigh, big and hard. “I think we’re more fucked up than we talk about, Keigo.”

He winces, but you keep going, and he doesn’t move to stop you.

“Probably.”

Your jaw sets like stone on stone. It makes him internally wince as your hands go to cup his cheeks.

“I’m fucked up, you’re fucked up, everything is fucked up. We can ignore it up here, quietly, but it’s true, isn’t it?”

Yes.

“Yeah.” He feels his gut roll, but he doesn’t stop you. His grip goes tighter on your hips. “You’re not wrong.”

“Can we just… Acknowledge it? Please.” You ask, beg, softly as you rub his cheeks with your thumbs. “Please, Keigo.”

He doesn’t know what to do at first. He really wants to lock up. Shut down. Lock all the nasty feelings in chest, behind his heart, so they can burrow into his spine and keep him moving forward.

He wraps his hands around your wrists.

Your eyes look glassy, tears sticking in your bottom eyelashes, but not daring to fall. Not yet.

“Keigo, I’m fucked up, I know that, and that’s okay,” You deflate a little. “I’m getting better. We’re getting better. I know we are.”

“We a-are.”

Keigo’s voice cracks, hoarse in his throat and tight as the uniform belt he used to wear. His lungs feel hot, too stuffed even as he tries to swallow the heat that’s welling up on the very back of his tongue.

“You are good, Keigo, I promise,” You lean in to give his forehead the lightest kiss and Keigo feels part of himself die in the best way. “Please, let’s just talk.”

And so, he does.

…

He tells you about Jin first.

You’d heard about him, the villain Hawks killed during the War. Published for the world to see, over and over, forever. The video was one you’d only seen once, during your early days at the hospital, but you could recall the footage on your grainy hospital television.

Your pretty eyes, pretty Keigo, cut him down. One of his old feathers, hardened into a stiff blade, struck Jin across the chest, arcing up to his neck and slicing a few important arteries and veins. It was an imperfect job, one that probably made his death more painful and prolonged than it needed to be.

You don’t let go of Keigo’s cheeks as he tells you the story. You can’t, you’re too busy thumbing away the little tears that roll down his cheeks.

He speaks between sobs that break from his chest. Underused and much-needed.

“He was good, starshine,” Keigo curls in a little on himself, but you keep him mostly upright. “I had to, y-you know? I didn’t have a choice, if I didn’t—"

How many more people would be dead?

His body convulsed, the little tears turning fat as he collapsed into your chest and buried himself in you. Like he was hiding, and god, did you let him.

You hushed him, soothed him with little kisses, and listened.

“And then Dabi—”

You hate him, obviously. You only know his name and visage, and you hate him so much it hurts. Part of you wants to rub at his scars like he lets you, but you decide against it in Keigo’s fragility.

He tells you of the blue flames, how the boot felt against his back, how his throat burned for weeks from the heat and smoke. His grip on you goes so tight, you’re afraid he’s going to tear your shirt to shreds.

“He took them, starshine,” Keigo’s voice muffled into your shoulder, the sound of it rattling you. “He t-took them!”

And he slumps against you, well and truly, and can’t muster up another word. All you could do is hold him, rocking him from your little, shared spot on the couch and whisper to him little comforts. You’re crying a little too, breath tight and hazy as you let Keigo shatter in your arms.

He’s not ready to talk about his wings and that’s okay. More than okay.

So, you soothe him. He soothes you right back, rubbing at your sides, hips, thighs— whatever he can reach and touch and claim. You’re good, you’re the closest he’s going to get to permeance and he’ll be damned to let you go when you feel so good and he feels so fucking awful.

You fall back onto the chest, pulling Keigo with you so he can lay atop you. His ear presses to your chest, heart thumping in his ear while you lock your arms around him. Caged in and held, with the lightest pressure on the thick skin of his scars.

“I’ll never truly get it, I can’t,” You admit, quietly as you smooth back some of his tear-matted hair. “But I want to be here. I want to listen when you’re want to talk. Need to talk. You can dash off on your own, Keigo, that’s okay. Just know that I’ve got you to, okay?”

Keigo sniffled, peering up at you with wide eyes, “Are you sure you can handle it?”

“I am now, aren’t I? Just a few hours out from nearly being a popsicle,” You hum and joke, glowing from the inside out when Keigo graces you with a little smile.

It takes a few more moments for him to cover, haul himself up to the crook of your neck and breathing hard and deep for a while. Like he’s trying to absorb you through scent alone.

“… Are you okay?” Keigo asks, squeezing you so tight it hurts. (And you want more of it.) “You’re not as cold anymore.”

“I’m feeling okay,” You paw at your face a bit, rubbing your cheeks like they’re still numb and not flushed with blood and sticky with drying tears. “I just freaked out a little.”

“… Because I left?”

You nod, chewing your lips.

“I don’t want to be alone, Keigo,” You whisper it, though he already knows your admission. “I’m terrified of you leaving.”

“When I left,” Keigo rises to meet your gaze, gooey and cobbled. “Did you think I wouldn’t come back?”

“… Maybe,” You shake your head, refusing to look at him. “You didn’t say anything about coming back, just about… leftovers.”

You both frown.

“I panicked.” You shake your heard.

“… That’s what happens when you panic?”

“I guess?” Your mouth feels too dry. “I don’t know. I got scared. I panicked. What else was I supposed to do?”

There’s an obvious answer or two, but it’s unspoken.

“I’m not leaving,” Keigo rubs at your cheeks. “You’re gonna have to try pretty hard to get me gone, starshine. I love you too much to go easily.”

It’s a declaration, a strong one, and god does it feel fucking good to hear.

“… Promise?” You ask him as his palms cup your cheeks and jaw.

“Promise.”

“I heard on the call—”

Keigo interrupts you with a kiss, hard and long that steals your breath and makes your head spin.

“Promise.” Keigo breaths, pretty eyes meeting your heat-filled ones. “Everywhere, all the time, forever. I promise, I’m not going anywhere.”

It’s a start, even if that insecurity is so deeply rooted. The adoration in his eyes, and the sweetness of his touch tempers it all. It’s there still, just like how there’s so much unspoken that needs to be sorted, chewed on, and digested.

But now?

The embers in the hearth need another log or two. The futon needs to be folded out and I’d be best if you shared a cup or two of tea. Preferably something with lavender that’ll scent the cabin with the smells of spring and herbs.

Now, you’re both more than enough.

…

thank you for reading!!💞keep an eye out for part 3! 👀

ko-fi

#salem writes #hawk x reader #hawks #takami keigo #takami keigo x reader #mha x reader #my hero academia #anyways ouch <3 #kiss it better keigo #enjoy this big boy heheh #kith kith :'^)

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kimnjss · 4 years

Text

who are you? | myg

⤑ series: be my baby

⤑ pairing: rapper!yoongi x mom!reader

⤑ genre: fluff // nd a little bit of angst !!

⤑ rating: PG13.

⤑ word count: 5.2K

⤑ warnings: a temper tantrum. mentions of abortion. nd that’s about it lmao, nothing to crazy here guys...

⤑ A/N: this is late... buut ., so much happens in this one guys - it’s worth it, trust me. don’t forget to let me know what you think, you know your feedback is my favorite!! x

APRIL 18TH, 2020 | 11:30

Hyunki is sat at the kitchen table when the knock sounds at the door. Papers laid out in front of him as he works with safety scissors to cut triangles out of the pages. Not too far from him, you're at the counter putting together the lasts of Hyunki's lunch when the knock interrupts you.

Punctual to the minute, Yoongi stands on the other side of the door. Nervously shuffling his feet with his hands buried in his pockets. It took him much longer than usual to get ready, wanting to look nice for Hyunki... for you. Then frantically changing after hearing Jimin's voice in his head going on about living to impress. Only to put on his original suit moments after, then turning around seconds before exiting the house to put on something more casual.

It was a wonder that he made it on time.

“Is that him?” Hyunki asks, head tilting up to find you with his wide eyes. Confused when you're not running to the door with excitement like he expected you to be. He was excited, to say the least, so you should be too.

But you're not. Of course, you're glad that Hyunki is ready to meet his dad and that Yoongi can finally have to chance to be with his son. Yet, you still couldn't shake the nerve-wracking feeling in your chest that something terrible was going to happen. And not being able to place what that something terrible was, terrified you.

No matter what, though, you urged yourself to shove it down. No longer willing to keep the two of them apart. Yoongi deserved to know his kid, he deserved to be a dad. All of your worries and fears would just have to sort themselves out. Yoongi was a good guy after, you had nothing to be worried about.

You're humming in response to Hyunki's question, setting his plate of food down in front of him before moving to open the door. “Eat a lot. Don't make a mess,” You tell him to which he's nodding to, picking up his fork to stab into his pasta.

Pulling the door open, you find Yoongi in a pair of baggy black pants – you know the ones with all the pockets, and a loose-fitting shirt with a white FG in the middle. His hair is messy like he's been running his fingers through it all morning – but just adds to his natural handsome. Eyes focused on the toe of his chunky sneakers, but you can still see the way he's chewing on his lip.

“Hey,” You speak softly, the sound of your voice causing him to lift his head. The worry in his eye is easily detected, even if you hadn't known him your whole life. “Don't be nervous, he's excited.” An attempt to ease his worries, which seems to work because you see his shoulders relax.

His hand lifts to point behind you, eyes flickering over your shoulder before focusing back on your face. “He's in there?”

With a silent nod, you're moving aside. Giving him the space he needs to enter the house, to meet his kid. The nervous bounce of his fingers against his thigh saddens you. Guilt settling in your stomach for even putting him in this position in the first place. No father should be this nervous to be introduced to his kid.

Shouldn't even have to be introduced in the first place. You don't dwell on the issue for too long, knowing that you'll have a chance to clear the air. Get all of this off of your chest and hopefully, smooth things over.

Following behind him, you mimic his careful steps into the kitchen. Hyunki still sat at the table, one hand shoveling food into his mouth while the other scribbles on the pieces of paper he had cut out.

Yoongi's frozen in the threshold. Wide eyes taking in the tiny body in front of him. From the side, he looked exactly like him. Even Yoongi couldn't deny that. Had noticed the similarities while looking through your Instagram, but this... this was different. That was his kid sitting right in front of him.

A matched slope of the nose, the shape of his eyes, how his mouth shifted into a pout when he brought his attention to the picture he was working on. Focused. That was his son.

Turning to you, Yoongi tries to swallow the tears that brim at his water line. Threatening to roll down his cheeks. He's spent too much time crying in front of you in the past week, he needed to pull himself together. But how could he? Meeting his kid for the first time? It's emotional. And he's feeling everything on a ten at the moment.

“We did this? He's ours?” He's asking, almost out of disbelief which has a soft giggle slipping past your lips. The sound still holding the power of turning Yoongi's stomach to mush.

Smiling, you nod. Not wanting to take away from the moment by speaking. Allowing him the time he needed to wrap his head around it. When you first had Hyunki, you remember laying in the hospital bed for hours just staring at him from inside the incubator. The hours spent bringing him into the world not seeming so long, now that he was here staring at you with his dark brown eyes.

Hyunki's head is lifting at the sound of an unfamiliar voice, eyes narrowing into a squint and lips parting slightly as he studies the man standing in front of him. He stares like that for a moment before he's turning his attention up to you.

“Mommy? That's not an elf.”

Despite how many times you tried to explain that a rapper wasn't the same as an elf, he refused to listen. Convinced you were telling stories for whatever reason he decided was a plausible one.

Eyebrow arched in slight confusion, Yoongi takes careful steps further into the kitchen. Until he's close enough to kneel in down at Hyunki's chair. Big eyes stare at his crouched figure, lips, and cheeks messy with pasta sauce. “Hi, Hyunki.” Voice hushed, but that doesn't stop the way Hyunki's eyes are widening.

A tiny gasp falling from his lips as he lifts his hand to cover his mouth. “How do you know my name?” He's rushing, lifting his hand to speak before quickly smacking it back into place. “Who are you... A real elf!?” Words muffled by his palm, but he doesn't move his hand.

An easy laugh falls from Yoongi's lips, clearly amused by his son's familiar behavior. “I'm your dad. Not an elf. And you're my son.”

The words hang in the air for a moment. Seeming as though it's the first time he's sad them out loud. Fully registered that he was a father with a son that looked exactly like him. Acted a bit like him too despite never knowing him until now.

Son. Father. The weight of the word and the meaning behind them. The responsibility that came with having one, becoming a father. And with just one look, one barely started conversation over a kitchen table covered in spaghetti sauce – Yoongi is more than ready to step up now that he has the chance.

“False!” Hyunki speaks with a roll of his big eyes, turning his attention back to the food in front of him. Poking at the pasta on his plate as he speaks. “I'm Mommy's son. I can't be your son too. That makes no sense.”

Predicting the direction of the conversation from your know-it-all son, you're jumping in to clear the confusion. “It makes perfect sense, Hyunie.” Standing just a few steps behind Yoongi and Hyunki's eyes are quickly snapping up to you. “I'm Mommy and he's Daddy. We had to work together to get you here.”

He blinks twice, registering the new information in his head. Before a heavy sigh is leaving his lips, eyes shifting back to his sheet of paper. “If you say so.” He says, unconvinced. “So what's your name?” Raising a challenging brow, his eyes are back on Yoongi.

And you're ready to interject before Yoongi's voice is stopping you short. “Yoongi. And you're Hyunki. See? Are names are almost the same.” A big smile breaks onto your son's features, the smallest laugh leaving his lips as he nods his head.

“A little bit. You want some pasta, Mister Yoobi?” There's extra effort with trying to pronounce the name, but he's quick to go with the first thing that comes out of his mouth. Small hands pushing the plate toward Yoongi. “It's cold now because you guys talked for long and I couldn't eat.”

Yoongi is shaking his head, rising to his feet – his eyes never lifting from the boy. Allowing them their space to get acquainted, you move to clear the table. Busying yourself with cleaning up to keep yourself from interfering.

They needed their space to chat and you knew that. It was just hard to make the shift considering you've always been right there when it came to Hyunki. Always had one leg in the conversation, even if it was with Tae or Kookie. This was different, though. It was Yoongi – his dad, they needed to get along without you there.

Taking a spot at the table beside him, Yoongi picks up one of the crayons he's been offered. “I'm learning shapes!” Hyunki spoke with the most enthusiasm, listing off the ones that he knew and pointing them out on the paper he had in front of him.

Listening closely to his son speak, congratulating him when he's showing off a very bumpy square. It all has Yoongi choked up, seconds from breaking down right in front of the little guy – struck with disbelief. He pulls it together, though. Asking questions and listening to the drawn-out answers his son gives. Oddly being able to understand the three-year-old speech, and he sums that up to the fact that was his son.

Understanding him was part of his job now.

Thirty minutes pass of the two of them at the table. Covering the sheets of paper in rainbow, while talking about everything random. Yoongi had explained more fully just why he wasn't an elf. And Hyunki told his favorite stories with his favorite people: Taetae and Kookie Hyung.

You've moved to the living room, forcing yourself to relax in the odd free time you had. Use to having your little boy attached to your hip. That's how it had been when he was meeting Namjoon. Wouldn't even let you leave the room for a second without hurrying out of his seat to follow you.

He was two years old then, but still with such a personality. You had met Joon at the park on a day you were excluded from the plans. 'Boys only, Mommy. Kookie Hyung said.' Were the exact words that Hyunki used when he was explaining the plans he had with the boys.

Laughing, you took his word for it. Thanking both Taehyung and Kookie for giving you the night off. Something you hadn't had in the longest time. And you were quickly realizing that you had no idea what to do with your time now that you had it.

So you took for going to the park. Walking around and enjoying the scenery. It was nice outside, the weather the cool that you liked where you only had to bring a light sweater if you needed it. Joon agreed to that.

He was sweet from the moment you met him. Leaned against his bike, taking pictures of the river. You, not paying attention, were accidentally caught in one of his shots and he was quick to apologize. Assuring you that he wasn't some creep that came to the park to take pictures of unsuspecting girls. You couldn't help but laugh at that.

You two hit it off immediately, he was a great friend to have around and he actually listened to what you had to say. Gave you good advice too. Of course, you weren't introducing him to your kid right away. Had no idea what this man was going to turn out to be and you were more cautious with Hyunki than that.

But as the weeks went on you were quickly noticing that he was calling more and flirting boldly and it became apparent that the friendship that you saw, was a start to a romantic relationship. And he was cute enough, smart, nice, could hold a conversation. So you allowed yourself to entertain the idea – no matter how not over Yoongi you were.

Things always seemed to be in limbo with the two of you, though. It was like there was this silent understanding. He knew that you were still hung up on your ex, you told him many times before and if that wasn't enough – he was often times on the receiving end of your rants about the guy.

And he was always bouncing around with his job as a photographer so putting a strain on a solid relationship didn't really seem like the best idea for him at the moment. No denying how attracted you two were for each other and the fact that you both weren't looking for a relationship, everything just made sense after that.

Only then were you introducing him to Hyunki. And the two of them didn't hit it off at first. Glaring from across the room, throwing toys, never wanting him to come along to outings. But Joon was consistent had a soft spot for Hyunki, so he was patient with him. And before you knew it, they were gelling together so well that you were able to rely on Joon when you needed a hand.

The two of them had become something of best friends in the past months.

“Mommy! Do you see this?” Wrapped up in your thoughts you hadn't heard the subtle knock on the door, neither did you notice the two men hauling bag after bag into your kitchen. You're not snapping back to it until you feel Hyunki beside you, shoving a boxed electric car in your face. “Mister Yoobi bought me a million gifts!” He shouts with excitement, hopping off of the couch walking toward the litter of bags in the kitchen.

You're quick to stand, following his footsteps. Mouth dropping at the entire toddler section of 'Toys R Us' filling your kitchen. Yoongi is holding the door open while two men – you recognize them to be the same men from the restaurant, carry a white toy LAND ROVER big enough to sit in.

“Oh my God!” Hyunki is shouting, dropping the box he had been wrestling to get open to rush to the shiny car. A bodyguard is lifting him into it as soon as it's set on the floor, not even throwing a fit about being lifted by a stranger.

He mimics driving it, making the engine sound with his mouth while making dramatic turns of the steering wheel.

“Yoongi-” You start, words being cut by the next person to enter your home – uninvited. A short woman with long dark curls and large bright eyes. Arms full of five NIKE boxes, holding what you can only guess are sneakers. She sets them on the table, leaving a lingering look that you don't fall to notice at Yoongi before she's turning to leave.

Only gone for a second before she's back with bags of toddler-sized clothes, everything from socks to sweatsuits. Yoongi thanks her quietly, closing the door behind her with an annoying sweet smile.

“Yoongi! What's all of this?” Arms spread out to gesture to the clutter.

Hyunki, who has since been distracted by his new car and the men that push him around in it, is quickly lifting his head. Confused as to why you're using your 'red' voice when nothing was wrong. At least in his eyes.

“I know it's a lot.” He hadn't realized just how much he bought until he was seeing it all in front of him, cramped in your small kitchen. “I just wanted to get a few things for the little guy.” Yoongi's voice is calm like it always is. Forever being the blue to your red.

And Hyunki has lost interest in whatever conversation the two of you could be having. His focus on the giant LEGO set sat in the middle of the room, all but climbing over the man who had helped him into the car to get to it.

“This is not a few things, Yoongi.” Much closer now, your tone is quieter. Not wanting to set Hyunki off with the idea that he won't be able to keep any of this. “There's no space for all this,” Shifting the focus of the problem because you don't want him to think you had a problem with him buying gifts for his own kid. This was just too much.

“We can keep a few things at my place.” He says with a shrug, fingers pushing his hair back as his eyes shift to Hyunki. Sat on the floor sifting through the bucket of play dinosaurs. “I'm having a room fixed for him anyway.”

This catches you off guard. Forehead creasing in confusion as you tilt your head to look at him. “A room? What would he need a room for?” This was all so much so fast. Not even a proper conversation had between the two of you and he was already preparing a room!?

“Mister Yoobi, I need to open this!” Manners thrown out the window with his urgency, Hyunki is clawing at the box in front of him. A piano mat that you step on to make songs. A gift so Yoongi.

He's quick to spring into action at the call of his son, lowering himself onto the ground behind him as he tears the box open. The two men have moved from their spot in the middle of the kitchen, standing very guard like at the threshold as they speak amongst each other.

“We'll talk later,” Yoongi's promising halfheartedly, lifting his head to look up at you. Silently, you nod. Huffing out a thick sigh before moving toward the fridge. “Would you men like something to drink?” Your question directed to the guards in your doorway, who are quickly glancing down at Yoongi.

Once they're receiving his silent nod, they agree instantly. Relaxing as they settle at your counter, taking the drinks you've poured for them with great thanks. Seeming to have clocked out, the two men chat amongst each other causally and you move to watch Hyunki play.

Loud laughter leaving his lips as he jumps on the piano, looking down at Yoongi with a huge smile each time he makes a different sound. And Yoongi is smiling right back. Looking at ease for the first time since you've seen him again.

And you can't help but sulk at the fact you took this away from him all those years ago.

APRIL 18TH, 2020 | 14:17

Two hours of peaceful playing pass, Hyunki's laughter filling the room as he bounces from toy to toy mindlessly leaving behind what he found interest in just moments before. Yoongi is two steps behind him the entire time, entertaining every last thing that momentarily holds interest.

Until all hell is breaking loose. A playful knocking over of the LEGO tower he was working hard on has a shrieking wail flying from his lips. Small hands wrecking what's left of the tower.

Yoongi attempts to console him, scooting closer and telling him that they could just build it again. Hyunki doesn't listen, the tantrum he's throwing only accelerating with his words. Hot tears rolling down his cheeks. “We can't build it again, Mister Yoobi! It's ruined!” He cries, head tilting back as he cries.

“Shh, buddy.” Yoongi tries, hand lifting to brush his hair.

That only has Hyunki flinching away, flopping onto the floor as his cries grow louder. Panicked, Yoongi is looking up – eyes searching the room for you. “Okay, okay.” Taking quick steps over to Hyunki's body, you're crouching down beside him.

“Is it time for a nap?”

“No!” He screams through his tears, kicking his legs out. “Wanna play with Mister Yoobi,” Arms reaching to wrap around his waist, easily lifting him off of the floor.

Yoongi is standing along with you, cheeks flushed and eyes filled with worry. An apology on his lips as his hand runs through his hair. “He's just tired,” You're assuring him, offering a small smile up to him before you're leaving the room with a sniffling Hyunki in your arms - bringing him into his room.

He's asleep the moment his head hits the pillow, quiet fits dying down into soft snores as his fatigue takes over. And now you're unbelievably aware of the man waiting in your kitchen – surrounded by toys and bodyguards waiting for you. Waiting for the explanation that you promised him.

Hyunki had been a welcomed distraction in the time that he was in your house and now that he was asleep...

“Hey... I didn't mean to make him upset. I was just-” Yoongi is walking toward you the moment you've entered the kitchen. His guards cleaning up the mess that had been left leading you to wonder what exactly was in their job description.

A small smile spreads across your lips, hand landing on his arm. “Shh, no. It wasn't you, Yoon. Don't worry. He gets like that when he's sleepy. He's probably been fighting it for a while.”

Yoongi's nodding, a soft smile spreading across his lips. “He's a great kid. Reminds me a lot of you.” His words are surprising you, pulling a soft laugh from your lips.

“Yeah, right. That kid is literally a clone of you. Down to the gummy smile.” He's smiling wide at that, obviously had noticed how his kid had the same smile like him. The one that he's flashing at you right now, making your heart stutter and lifting the corners of your lips.

There's warmth surrounding the two of you, comfort with being around each other after so long. Hearing the sound of your laughs that fill the room. As if nothing has changed. Yet so much has. And Yoongi is being reminded of that, instantly.

He's shifting back into the nervousness he felt standing outside of your house earlier. Clearing his throat, he lifts his hand to push his hair back on his head shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

“Should we, uhm. Talk? About... you know?”

Your hand drops from his body as you nod your head, letting out a huffed breath. “Yeah, we should.” Pointing your nose toward the table, Yoongi is following behind you – settling in the spot across from you.

It's awkward for a moment. Just sat across from each other no idea where to start – what to say. You're waiting for him to ask, say something. Give you a clue where you should start. But he doesn't. His mind is too busy racing, trying to fill in the blanks while waiting for you to speak.

You're both realizing that you're waiting for the other at the same time. Words overlapping as you try to fill the silence. “I was-” “Why'd you-” Both of you stop short in your sentence, eyes flickering up to each other.

He laughs, the sound instantly easing your spiked nerves. Enough to have a laugh falling from your lips as well. “It's me, Yn. We can talk comfortably.” He's smiling, but there's anxiety behind it.

Of which he's trying to mask, so you ignore it.

“Okay, so. Uh.” Eyes darting around the room as if you're searching for the right place to start. “A few weeks before I left. I wasn't feeling great. Upset stomach in the mornings, lethargic, and then I was late.”

He's sat back in his chair, listening closely to your words. Not daring to say anything, just waiting to hear what explanation you could have.

“And you know you and I stopped using condoms and I was never great at remembering to take birth control.” Of all the times he had to remind you to take your pill in the morning, laughing with a roll of his eyes when you'd tell him you forgot. “So one night you were spending the night at the studio, so I went get a test. I didn't want to say anything yet, because I wanted to be sure first, you know?”

Heart starting to feel heavy at the memory, all the feelings coming back to you at once of what happened when you took the test. When you saw those pink double lines staring back at you.

“It was positive. And I honestly felt like my entire world shifted. Happy. But scared, you know? We talked about kids before, but it was soon? But I was still happy. And scared. So I had to get advice about what to do. So I went to talk to Min Yeong.”

Yoongi recognizes the name instantly. How could he not? One of the younger girls on his management team. Only a few years older than him and the two of you always seemed to hit it off. She was older, wiser, and gave great advice when it came to womanly issues.

Why wouldn't you go to her?

“She told me to talk to you. That you would help me sort my feelings out and this was a decision we should make together. You know? And it made sense to me. I just couldn't find the words. So I waited. And a few days go by and I'm getting a call.... from your company.”

He's following the story, watching the lines crease in your face as you go on. Can see the sadness clouding your eyes and he fights the urge to reach for your hand – wanting to hear how this story ends before he's reaching out for you.

“I go in for a meeting and there's two lawyers there, Min Yeong and the CEO. Two papers on the table. The contract they signed you with and another blank one right beside it.” The tightness forms in your chest as you're reminded of the words that were spoken to you the moment you were sitting down at the end of the long table.

“'If you won't choose, we'll make him choose. Which one do you think he'll pick?'” The tears are welling up in your eyes, but you blink them away. The moment had passed, even though the feelings were raw. You shouldn't still be crying over this. “The blank contract was for me. Lasting of two years, if I were to keep the baby – to leave. They'd help with making me disappear, change my number, and clean out the house without you knowing. All I had to do was sign. If not...”

Eyes shifting up to find Yoongi, he looks as if he's holding his breath. Afraid of what's to come next. To know what made you sign that stupid paper. Leave him behind as if it were nothing. As if he was nothing.

“If not. If I decided to keep the baby and stay with you, they'd rip up your contract. Release you from the company – setting you back to square one. And if I couldn't make up my mind, they'd bring you in. Have you decide.” Not being able to fight it anymore, the tear you've been holding back falls from your eyes and rolling down your cheeks.

It made sense... why you had said you should've trusted him when he was first seeing you again. All of it started to click in his mind the more he listened to you. You didn't trust him. Thought he'd choose a stupid job over you. A family with you.

So you bolted before he had the chance to prove you wrong.

“Are you serious, Yn!?” Anger laced in his words. He had spent three years looking for you. All the times he's gone through management to try and find you when you were under their thumb the entire time. “You really thought I wouldn't have chosen you?” Curious to know the answer, honestly.

If he had given you any reason to think that he would leave you – the way you had left him, how could you just leave him?

“No, Yoongi. I didn't-” You start but he's doesn't give you the chance to finish. Words cutting over yours, mind searching for a reason. What he could've done to make you think he wouldn't be there for you. That he wouldn't love you.

Was he not clear about how important you were to him?

“You didn't, what? Trust me? Yn. You were pregnant with my kid. My baby. What on Earth could convince you that I wouldn't want to be apart of that?”

He's never raised his voice at you before. Not the way that he is now. Not exactly yelling, but the sternness in his tone has a chill running down your spine. “Yoongi, please. I didn't want to make you choose. You had pushed your album back three times already and they were getting impatient... and I...”

Trailing off, you force the words from your mouth. Taking around cotton balls it felt like. “I wasn't even sure I was going to keep it,” Words hushed, never saying that out loud before. But you had thought about it, not wanting your life to end before it even started.

The tears are falling freely, head lowered as thick sobs leave your lips. Yoongi's instantly calming at the sound of your cries, hand reaching out for yours. Fingers lacing together as his thumb soothes over your knuckles. “I'm so sorry, Yoongi...” You're speaking through sobs, hand lifting to wipe the tears. Which is useless because more flow faster.

“I-I was scared. And I didn't know what to do. I want-ted to talk to you, but... everything changed so fast.” A mistake. That you made out of fear. No telling how you would've felt. Twenty-one years old. A kid, faced with men in suits stealing away a decision that should've been yours. And only yours.

He felt for you. Heart ached for you. Wanted to make up for the lost time with you. With his son. This? None of this was your fault. And he couldn't continue to blame you for it. Yes, you signed the papers. You agreed to leave – but because you had, you must've felt like you had no choice.

And that had nothing to do with him or your relationship. A relationship that was now bruised, bent – but he was willing to work on it. Together. To be with you.

“Shh, baby.” Soft voicing soothing your tears, putting a quiet halt to them as your eyes lift to focus on him. “I love you so much, you know that right?” You're nodding, sniffing down the last bit of your tears.

Soft fingers rubbing against your cool hand. “I love you too.” You reply automatically, an instinct at this point. Never did you stop loving him, how could you? It was Yoongi and he was it for you.

“We're gonna be okay.” Trying to convince himself just as much as he's trying to convince you. But he has hope. Faith in your relationship that the two of you would work out.

And he was sure in his heart that you felt the same.

— when the love of his life suddenly vanishes, he drives himself mad looking for her. seemingly erased from the world, he’s forced to pick up the pieces of his life and move on… fast forward three years and someone who looks a lot like the woman he lost is being spotted, holding a kid with an oddly familiar gummy smile…

⟲ masterlist ⟳

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A/N: timestamps make sense throughout the fic. to be added to the taglist, send me an ask !! feedback is highly !! appreciated, it’s the motivation i need to keep the fic going nd fun for you guys!!<33

1K notes · View notes

utterlyinevitable · 3 years

Note

Queeeeen, are you taking requests?

If you are, can you please write a fic from Alan's pov where Ethan talks about MC?

(Not in book 3 pls, I want to forget that monstrosity 🤢)

Just Ethan not realising that he's talking about her non-stop and Alan teasing the crap out of him hehe.

(If you have a slightly different idea, go for it!!! Anything and everything you write always has me- 🤩🤩)

Have a great day, queen ❤❤❤❤

After

Pairing: Ethan x F!MC (Becca) Rating: PG-13 Warnings: implied trauma Summary: Alan makes his way to comfort Ethan after hearing about the assassination attempt. Tropes: Hurt/Comfort; 2.11

A/N: Thank you so much for this request! I outlined this piece as part of my 2.11 / Leakage sequel mini series that I never finished. It’s a bit different that what you’re after, but thank you for the motivation 💕💞💕

_______________

Just Two People: I. After.

10 hours. It’s been ten hours since the worst 24 hours of his life. Ten hours since they declared the antidote successful. Ten hours since she was moved to a private room on the Diagnostics wing, ten feet away from the office.

It’s been three hours since he returned to the hospital. Naveen and the rest of the team forced him home, to sleep and eat and change into a fresh pair of clothing that weren’t drenched in stricken sweat. 90 minutes - that’s how long he was gone for. That’s as long as his body and mind and soul would let him be away from her.

Even now, ten feet away and separated by two walls and a corridor seems much too much.

He knew he shouldn’t spend every waking moment at her side, no matter how much his body was willing him to do just that. There was no reason to, not anymore now that she’s cured. He can’t hide under the guise of monitoring her vitals anymore, the nurses have that covered. And anyway, he doesn’t want to fuel the whirling gossip mill any further.

So Ethan Ramsey sits at his desk, alone in the dimming daylight. An untouched glass of water in front of him and his heavy gaze stuck on the back of the caseless iPhone in his hands.

Would it be too much to text her?

It’s been 122 minutes since he last saw her - departed with an “If you need anything, text me” mumbled into her hairline on top of a chaste kiss.

It’s been two hours and two minutes of radio silence.

He’s worried, irrationally so. Shifting in his chair Ethan’s legs begin to jitter, start to lift his body up. But before he could convince herself he’s just going to walk past her room on his way to the restroom, there’s a knock on his ajar door.

“Dad? What’re you doing here?”

“I saw the news,” Alan says with the most sullen expression.

Alan Ramsey looks like he always does, dressed in jeans though his cardigan has been replaced with a ratty old hoodie Ethan’s only ever seen him wear in the house. The young father steps into the darkening office with wrinkles showing years of worry; the slope of his expression feels as if his own flesh and blood were the one on the brink of death mere hours ago.

“I needed to make sure you were alright.”

“You could have called.”

“I did,” a small smile tugs at Alan’s lips. Even in times of hardship his son is still everso the same. “Six times. Left some text messages too.”

The boy hangs his head, deep oceanic eyes darting back to the abandoned phone. “Sorry,” he mutters.

“Don’t be. You’ve had an eventful few days.” Alan moves gingerly and determinedly to perch on the edge of the closest chair in front of his son. “How is she?”

Ethan just shrugs. “Physically, looks like a full recovery. Mentally, too soon to tell. Dr. Hirata has a counselor scheduled to meet with her tomorrow.”

“How are you?”

“I’m…”

From this close Alan could see every flicker of pain Ethan has been harboring. His clear, curious blue eyes were the darkest he’s ever seen them, bordering on limitless midnight if it wasn’t for the faint red surrounding them. There are wrinkles in his pressed shirt and deep circles under his eyes. And the way he sits slumped in his chair and not with the perfect posture he’s been lecturing his father about for the better part of their lives, Alan knew he was right to come. Knew that now was one of those rare times where his son would accept the doting of his single parent.

While Ethan was still searching for the words, Alan rounded the desk to place a hand on his slumped shoulder.

“Ethan, son, you don’t need to hide.”

Easier said than done, Ethan would think on any other day. But not today.

“It was the worst days of my life,” he says it so effortlessly on the breath of a dying man. “I - I thought I lost her, Dad.”

Two sets of the same blue eyes meet, both aged and one much too soon.

“But you didn’t.”

“I know.”

Even now, with the understanding between them too great and effortlessly easy to grab onto, Ethan wouldn't admit to the one truth. Wouldn’t concede to the last argument they had just mere weeks ago. Ethan Ramsey wouldn’t admit it, but he finally knew how and why his dad was holding onto love all this time. If Ethan had lost Rebecca he knew he’d never be open to the notion again. He belonged to her.

Ethan didn’t have to say it for Alan to read the words shouting from his features.

Alan gives Ethan’s shoulder an assuring squeeze. “Have you told her?” he asks with a compassionate smile.

The deep breath Ethan takes and the way his eyes close, then dart to the door on their reopening, has Alan’s heart dropping.

But then, his son surprises him for the umpteenth time.

“Yes.”

The word is small and hoarse, and heavy with something neither man has heard from in a long time.

Alan steps away and lets the feeling linger for a bit. He knows he shouldn’t push or move too fast, knows that if he does he could scare this vulnerable side of his son back into hiding. So they let the hopefulness surround them. They let the light of a new beginning flicker on as Boston settles into evening outside.

When neither of them move to speak, or even move from the stances, Alan decides to take care; “I was planning on making you dinner - What would you prefer?”

Ethan shakes his head, moving to stand. “You don’t have to. You need to get back.”

The two men are as face-to-face as they can get with the younger being nearly a foot taller. Alan can see his son fully now. Can see how his shirt is barely tucked into trousers that don’t match and he’s wearing casual loafers instead of shiny Oxfords.

“Ethan, you look like you’ve been hit by a bus,” Alan tries to laugh the truth off. “And anyway, I took compassionate leave for a few days. Family emergency.”

The words hit Ethan like a bus. If Alan looked closely he could see the tears fighting to emerge in his son’s eyes.

“Dad…”

Ethan’s Adam’s apple is bobbing with all that’s unsaid. The weight of it all pressing onto him in ways he’d never care to imagine. To think, his father frantically drove to Boston at the drop of a hat for a woman he’s met only once - barely even knows.

Alan tries to read around the emotions as best he can. Tells his stoic, unburdensome son the truth, whether he realizes it or not.

“Call it what you want. But if I know anything about my son, it’s that you are completely enamored with that woman and blaming yourself for the situation.”

Alan didn’t know how right he was.

________________________

@choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

Perma:

@lucy-268 @thegreentwin @queencarb @danijimenezv @starrystarrytrouble @terrm9 @interobanginyourmom @maurine07 @mercury84choices @schnitzelbutterfingers @the-pale-goddess @whimsicallywayward15 @mvalentine @mm2305 @rookie-ramsey @drariellevalentine @withbeautyandrage @forallthatitsworth @stateofgracious @missmiimiie @uneravine @iemcpbchoices @sophxwithers @therookie @quixoticdreamer16 @lsvdw-blog

Ethan:

@udishaman @binny1985 @honeyandsunfl0wers @wingedhairstylemusicweasel @ohchoices @dulceghernandez @blossomanarchy @stygianflood @caseyvalentineramsey @openheartthot @senseofduties @tsrookie @kalogh @aworldoffandoms @takemyopenheart @casey-v @ethanramseylover @a-crepusculo @randomperson111 @lilypills @anntoldst0ries @nix-grey @aishaaaaaaah @estellaelysian @mysticaurathings @mayarambles

#open heart #choices open heart #open heart fanfic #ethan ramsey #ethan x mc #ethan ramsey x mc

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rachaelswrites · 3 years

Text

Being a Party Girl

Spencer Reid x Daughter!reader

Requested By: Anonymous

hi, i was wondering if you could do either a headcanon of reid reader as a girl who like party’s a lot and is like the opposite of reid or a short story :)

Warnings: underage drinking/drug use (not descriptive)

A/N: Be responsible kiddos

-You were always the good kid

-You were pretty much all your teacher’s favorites and everyone always gushed to Spencer at how good you were

-But everything changed once you hit middle school

-You struggled to make friends until a group of girls invited you to hang with them

-Not knowing what you were about to get into, you started hanging out with them. It was a downhill slope from there

-Spencer wasn’t too worried until your grades started slipping and your attitude changed

-You started talking back to adults and even going as far as just ignoring them when they were talking to you

-Spencer told you that you needed to re-evaluate the friendship otherwise he’d intervene. He didn’t want to threaten to break your friendship up but he missed the old you

-His threat made you even more angry at him so you just left without saying anything. You went to one of your friend’s house

-You told her what was happening so she comforted you until you felt better

-She then offered to get you something from her brother. He was older and had access to those things and your friend was always asking for stuff

-At first, you declined. You knew the effects drugs and alcohol addiction have on people so you didn’t want to touch the stuff. But as the night went on, you got more and more curious so you tried it.

-This got you started on a dangerous path

-By sophomore year of high school, you were a complete wild child

-Grades didn’t more to you any more and neither did coming home at a decent hour

-Spencer spent most of his time at home waiting for you to get back so he could take care of you. Seeing as you came home either high or drunk

-He never expected you to spiral this much out of control. It all started after he went to prison

-Once he was in jail, you went out almost every weekend and tried all sorts of stuff. Any drugs and any alcohol you could get your hands on

-The team noticed the change in you and tried to help but you pushed them away even more than you had been

-It was another reason why they worked so hard to get Spencer out of jail. If anyone could help you, it would be him

-When he was out, he sat you down and told you you needed to stop. He listed all the side effects of addiction and this type of behavior and said he’d be here for you if you needed him

-You promised him you would stop but you didn’t. If anything, you got worse

-You’d miss school to hang out with friends, you’d get stuck in situations and you would have to call either Spencer or other team members to come and get you

-By the middle of junior year, you were a completely different person. It was almost to the point where Spencer didn’t want to refer to as his child because, how did this happen to his kid?

-It all changed when at around 3 am, he was still at work, catching up on some paperwork. He knew you were out and was expecting you to call him to come get you

-Instead, he got a call from an unknown number. Fearing the worst, he answered and his heart dropped when the caller said you were in the hospital

-You had been out partying, and got too drunk for your own good and passed out, hitting your head on the ground

-You were lucky you only got a concussion, which is something Spencer told you almost everyday while you were recovering

-It wasn’t until then that everything clicked for you. You almost ruined your life for a little bit of time and for what? You knew there was nothing beneficial to your actions so why did you do it?

-You broke down to your dad and apologized for everything you had done and everything you had put him through

-He of course was sad that it took this long for you to start getting help but happy that you were changing things around

-You dropped your old friends, deciding to repair old relationships rather than getting new ones and worked on getting your grades up

-Luckily for you, you still managed to keep decent ones (thanks to your inherited intellect) so you only had a little bit of catch-up to do in order to graduate on time

-Senior year started and you were back to the old you. You already have offers from multiple Ivy Leagues and other top-ranked schools. You hadn’t touched any alcohol or drugs since that night

-You were so glad you were back where you were and Spencer was glad to have his little girl back

Taglist

@ssebstann @peachyprincessss @emmy-writes-sometimes @dudele @prentisswrites @laura-naruto-fan1998 @multifamdomfan12 @aquariuslavenderhoney @rafehogwarts @vxidsti1es @waxingmoonwrites

#x daughter!reader #x teen!reader #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x daughter!reader #spencer reid x teen #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfiction

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mourntheantagonist · 3 years

Text

#HarringroveApril Day 16: Nostalgia

***

When Billy signed those discharge papers, piled into his dented Camaro and headed west towards the sunset despite the screaming redhead banging on the windows crying “please don’t go!”, with an aching chest both metaphorical and physical, he didn’t think for a second about looking back.

So how he ended up back in the same shithole he turned his back on ten years ago was entirely beyond him.

He had made a life for himself in California. He got his associates degree at the local community college and worked his way up from a nine to five teller position at the local bank all the way to branch manager, making an upper middle class salary. It was easy work. Boring work, unfulfilling work, but easy and worth every penny. He had a couple of friends, mostly coworkers, more so acquaintances than friends. He had a fancy apartment in the city, he went on dates, though they usually ended in one night stands where the other guy snuck out in the dark hours of the morning leaving Billy to sleep in a bed that was just too big for one person. But he was free from all of those forces in his life that always held him back and pinned him down, and each and every one of those forces just reeked of small town America.

He hadn’t heard a peep out of Hawkins since Max had given up on calling around eight years ago, or at least he hoped that she’d given up and something worse hadn’t happened to her. He regretted not answering those calls everyday. The guilt of leaving her behind like that weighed heavy like an anchor, but he did it anyway. Bad decision after bad decision he was surprised he made it to where he had today, and he just wished she’d call again.

But he also wasn’t sure enough of himself that anything would change if she did, and that phone would likely remain on the hook until the ringing stopped and she was left to the sound of his voicemail.

“You’ve reached Billy Hargrove. Leave a message.”

He wasn’t home the day she finally did call, which fortunately took that decision away from him. Her message was tossed in with a mix of telemarketers and employees calling in for days off, it could have easily been dismissed, passed over like every other piece of junk in the system if her voice hadn’t been exactly the same as it was the day he left her.

“Hey Billy, it’s Max. I know you probably don’t give a shit, but Neil died of a heart attack last night…” Billy stopped listening after the words ‘Neil died’ came over the speaker. He had to replay the message to hear the rest because by the time he’d gathered himself it had already ended. “...the funeral is next Saturday in Hawkins. Nobody expects you to come but I thought you should know anyway and that everyone would still like to see you. Call me back at…” Billy wrote the number on the back of a blockbuster receipt and set it flat on the counter quickly with a firm hand and a quick retraction, like it might burn him. Max’s name and a ten digit number below it in a blue ballpoint pen stared back at him and he just drummed his fingers on the counter and bit his lip trying to think everything over.

He looked at it for probably another thirty minutes while the rest of the voicemails cycled through in the background before he decided to make a call of his own. Slowly and shaking, he dialed the phone number and tried to even out his breathing while he waited for the sound of the pick up. He was partially hoping that it never came.

But it did. The click sound was followed by a voice that didn’t belong to Max, but one he still recognized.

“Hello?”

Billy took in a deep breath. “Hi. This is Billy.”

“Wow, I’m surprised you actually called.”

Billy huffed and if it had been ten years earlier he would have already hung up the phone by now.

“Who is this?”

“Lucas Sinclair. I take it you want to talk to Max?”

Billy tensed at the mention of her name, as if that hadn’t been the whole plan in the first place. “Yeah,” he said, a little bit of shakiness to his voice, “could you put her on?”

After a few short moments of silence and a little bit of movement in the background, he heard her.

“Hey Billy.” she sounded… glad… and it made Billy let out a heavy sigh of relief.

“Hey Maxine.”

“It’s Max.” There was that tone, she hadn’t changed at all.

“Yeah, I know.” There was a pause, Billy twirled the phone cord around this index finger to the point it started going pink and then purple while he tried to get the question to leave the tip of his tongue. “So, he’s really dead?” he asked, blunt as ever.

“Yeah. I don’t expect you to want to come for the funeral, but I just thought you should know, and if you need a place to stay you can– hold on one second” Billy could hear muffled bickering and Max yelling ‘Lucas Sinclair’ through clenched teeth and it brought a smile to his face. It reminded him of all those times he’d eavesdrop on her phone calls with him just to piss her off, just to hear her yell at him through their shared wall before she’d chase him around the house. Those were good days. “As I was saying. You can stay here if you need. We have a spare room.”

“Thanks for the offer.”

“I really hope you decide to come.”

“We’ll see.” He was just about to hang the phone back up, but he stopped himself, “Hey Max?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s nice hearing the sound of your voice again.”

Billy wound up taking the week off and driving that same old Camaro, restored back to its former glory, that did the distance twice before, back over to Indiana, to the place he said he’d never go back to, and he really couldn’t figure out the reason why he didn’t just go into work. There was nothing to drive him to go but the weird feeling in his gut that refused to go away until he called in, and a little bit of that pressure was released.

For each freeway exit he came across on the over thousand mile journey he contemplated turning around, getting back on that on-ramp going the other direction and save himself from whatever hell he’d be walking into.

Because that’s what Hawkins was to him. Hell. There were monsters like his father, and then there were real, legitimate monsters as well and Billy wasn’t safe from either of them, well he was safe from one now. He couldn’t imagine why Max decided to stay in the shithole and not get out like he did.

Maybe that’s what makes him the coward.

The welcome to Hawkins sign gave him chills. He remembered seeing that for the first time, following behind the rickety Uhaul pulled by their beat up truck when Billy decided not to follow them into their next turn, and instead got lost on the “scenic route” of Hawkins which really meant “trees, trees, and more trees” when he hit the Quarry’s dead end and nearly went off the cliff into the water below.

At the time he might’ve thought it would have been better if he had.

A lot of things had looked to have changed about the town since the last time he saw it. Places that he remembered being nothing but vast forests now had neighborhoods and restaurant chains and the place that once had a natural canopy was now completely deforested and exposed to the sun.

But the Quarry was exactly the same as he left it.

From the beer cans crushed and scattered, to the sounds of gravel pieces bouncing up and chipping the paint on his car.

The continuities continued to add up when he stepped foot out of the car, pulling on that same old denim jacket he hadn’t worn in years after trading it in for a suit and tie. His boot hit the gravel path just like it always had, with that same stomp that demanded attention, like each time he got out of that car he had to play into the dramatics, put on the mask and play the part he chose for himself. The breeze and the smell, it was all the same as before, as if the industrialization just several blocks north hadn’t had any effects on this little corner of the town where the birds still sang their songs in harmony and the smell of nature was pungent. It felt like no time had passed at all.

But it had been the sound of a rumbling BMW rolling down the crushing gravel that made him feel exactly like he was back in highschool again, the same rotten kid who used fists as forms for problem solving, the kid who as an adult had worked on his impulsivity, standing there, staring up the gentle slope with his fists clenched so tight his fingernails left marks on his palms. All that work, all that progress he thought he’d gone through, thrown straight out the window at just the mere sight of something from his past.

The BMW pulled up beside him, and the quarry apparently wasn’t the only thing that hadn’t changed. Steve still had the same big swooped back hair and that same exact look on his face when they made eye contact through the passenger window, the same exact look he had the day he told him he was leaving, and screamed at him to get out of his hospital room.

That was the last time they spoke.

Steve got out of the car without a word and just leaned against the door, looking him up and down, and Billy didn’t feel like he had any right to say the first word, considering he’d had the last one.

“It’s good to see you Billy.” Steve broke the silence, and it was almost startling, with both the sudden change of volume, and the sound of that voice he’d almost forgotten singing in his head like a song he didn’t remember learning the lyrics to.

“Is it?” Because it felt like it was all just a formality coming out of his mouth.

He wasn’t expecting an answer to that, so he shouldn’t have been surprised when Steve changed the subject. It was oddly refreshing seeing Steve write the script this time, steering the conversation his way.

“Looks like we both kept our old wheels,” he said, slapping the top of his car twice, maybe a little too hard. The sound of a hand against metal echoed through the trees. “though there’s not as many dents from what I remember.”

“I had it restored.”

The majority of Steve’s body was hidden behind the car that separated the two of them, but he could see in the way that his shoulders moved that his hands had found his own hips, doing that same stance of a mother who just caught their kid in the act of something naughty. “Some good memories happened in that car.”

“Some bad ones too. Or do I need to remind you how the dents got there in the first place?” Billy crossed his arms over his chest, as if the thousand pound chunk of metal that served as a barrier wasn’t enough to protect him. Because it felt like Steve could see directly through him with the way his head tilted when Billy threw his words back at him. Because they both knew that it was horseshit. Memories of whatever happened between Steve and the Camaro existed only in the dents that remained and the neck pain that still lingered. He didn’t actually hold any grudge about that, and he never did.

Because Steve was right. There had been good memories in that car, some he didn’t remember until seeing him again, some that still played in his mind when he went to sleep at night. Maybe that was the reason he kept it around for so long, that one piece that contained all of those few good times, all of those times with Steve.

“You were always so good at that.”

“What?”

“Deflecting. Pushing people away.”

Billy opened his mouth to defend himself, but there was nothing that came out but his own breath, but Steve filled that silence anyway before Billy would have even had the opportunity to speak.

“You cut your hair.”

It was like he was being interrogated.

“Company policy, they practically had to strap me down and take the clippers to my head themselves.”

Steve actually laughed, and it seemed genuine at least. Billy pulled out the pack of red that he always kept on the seat like it was muscle memory. His hands would only ever stop shaking when he had that little stick between his fingers, and they were only shaking more since Steve got out of that car.

“You still smoke?”

Billy put the cigarette in between his lips and lit up, pausing for a nice drag before bothering to answer Steve. Just letting his eyes fall shut and experience just a short moment of relaxation.

“Some old habits never die”

Steve pursed his lips. Every single one of his mannerisms were exactly the same. This one meant that he wanted to say something that he didn’t know if he should.

“Was I just an old habit too?”

“Steve–”

Steve just kicked the side of his car with his knee, sure to leave a dent of his own. The sound was loud enough that the consistent stream of chirping birds transformed into a cascade of flapping wings as the birds on the trees flew away from the scene. He walked around to the front of his car and the physical object that once created separation was gone, and suddenly Steve was within reach and he couldn’t breathe.

“Glad to know it’s harder to quit nicotine than it was to quit me!”

Billy chucked his lit cigarette at the ground and scuffed it with his heel into the gravel. “Who told you it was easy?!” He had a finger pointed to Steve and had closed their distance a few feet more, less than an arms length apart from each other.

“You left!”

“Because I had to! You know I did!”

“You didn’t have to leave me!” Steve practically screamed that final word, his face was now just inches away from Billy’s and he was nearly foaming at the mouth and from an outsider's perspective, Steve looked about two seconds from either kissing him, or killing him.

He did neither. He took a step back and recollected himself with a dramatic clearing of his throat. “You didn’t even ask me to come with you.”

“And you don’t think I regret that every fucking day of my life?” Billy’s voice broke, trembling throughout the sentence like he was containing a ticking time bomb. “Why are you even here?”

Steve just rolled his eyes at the steer. “Max sent me.”

“Of course she fucking did.”

“She cares about you y’know.” Billy scoffed, because how could she? After all he did to her? He could still hear those palms banging against those windows and her muffled screams for her to stay every time he got into that car. “Why are you here?”

“Did she not tell you the part where my dad died?”

“I know damn well you didn’t come all this way to pay your respects.”

Billy let himself drop to the ground and sit on the rough terrain with his back against his tire, unable to continue standing, his legs were ready to betray him.

“I have no idea why I’m here, okay? I just am.”

Steve nodded his head, and he didn’t say anything, no quip back in his face, he just followed Billy to the ground.

“Are you upset he’s gone?”

Billy let out a groan and tried to rub the growing migraine from his temples.

“I’m feeling a lot of things, but I don’t think ‘upset’ is one of them.” Neither of them said anything after that. They just sat there on the ground and enjoyed the silence together like they used to do. Looking up at the clouds and arguing over what shape they were. There’d be none of that today though, and it had nothing to do with the overcast skies. “You still keep a six pack in your trunk?”

Steve laughed and got up from where he was seated and popped the trunk. He was right. Some old habits never fucking die.

Steve tossed a can over to Billy and sat back down on the gravel, maybe a little closer than he had been before. Billy took a long swig and swallowed the bitter taste down. He hadn’t drank much since he was a teenager, he traded in his Coors for Cola and he doesn’t understand how he used to enjoy the taste of it before.

“Why did you stay in Hawkins?”

Steve dug his heel and pushed a pile of rocks forward, kicking a plume of dust into the air.

“Nobody ever gave me a reason to leave.”

Billy wanted to ask if he would have even come with him had he asked him to. But he opted against it, instead just taking another drink from the can and a genuine “I’m sorry.” passed his lips.

“You know I followed you?”

“What?”

“Yup. Made it all the way to St. Louis before I turned around.”

Billy was just staring at him at this point, unsure if he’d just heard him right. He just sat there with his mouth agape, catching flies and waiting for Steve to say more.

“I knew that you needed to go. I knew that you were hurting and it took me almost ten hours on the open road to realize that you needed time to heal.” Steve’s eyes looked glossy and his cheeks flushed but he kept his smile on. “So I came back home, and I waited here for you to come back. I wanted to make myself easy to find when you needed me.”

“You waited for me?”

Steve inched his hand over to where Billy’s was propping himself up and let his fingers gently trace the back of his hand. Steve’s touch was everything. It made his heart start racing and his palms start sweating and it felt just like 1985 all over again.

Billy took Steve’s hand in his own and entwined their fingers together and Billy let out a long exhale as they did.

“Billy,” Steve said softly, scooting his body just a little bit closer, less than a foot of separation now between the two of them, and he looked Billy in the eyes. Billy had almost gotten entirely lost in those pools of deep brown before Steve had the chance to speak again. But he heard it, loud and clear. “I’m still waiting for you.”

He waited.

Waited ten fucking years.

Billy wasn’t going to make him sit there and wait for a kiss too.

Billy closed the distance at the moment the penny dropped, sinking all of his weight into the kiss in a frantic and uneven pace just like they were eighteen again trying to squeeze both of their bodies into the backseat of the Camaro, refusing for even a second to separate themselves from the one point of contact that sealed them together like glue. The kiss felt just like their first. In the same spot, instead under the stars and the two of them both drunk off their asses, and that time Billy tasted of only blood and liquor.

But it was that same feeling. That desire to never pull away, that fear that it would end and that it would be the last time. He had that fear with everyone of Steve and his kisses, that each one might just be their last.

So he made a point to savor all of them.

They kissed until they physically couldn’t anymore. Out of breath with swollen lips and an inability stop the smiles that peeked through every couple of seconds. They sat there with their foreheads touching and their clasped hands still intact, relishing in the heat that was each other’s breath on their faces. Billy was crying, just streams of tears paired with a smile that Steve gently wiped away with his thumb, the brush of contact making him shiver.

“I missed you so fucking much.”

Steve cradled Billy’s head in his hands and peppered a few short kisses to his lips.

“I missed you too.”

“You think this is why Max invited me here?” Billy asked. “I can’t imagine she’d actually think I would want to come to this thing.”

Steve laughed. “No. She’s not an idiot. She figured you’d want to crash the funeral.”

Billy immediately got up from his place on the ground and held his other hand out for Steve to grab onto. “Well you wanna join me while I go piss on my old man’s grave?”

Steve took his hand without hesitation and let Billy pull him up off the ground.

“It would be my honor.”

Hawkins made a lot of bad memories for Billy, most of which he locked somewhere far away, but the good still remained. Right there in the look on Steve’s face with the way he looked back at him.

And he was happy to make a couple more.

#billy hargrove #harringrove #stranger things #steve harrington #mandi writes tresh #ficlet #harringroveapril #harringrove april

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aressss1 · 3 years

Text

Through Fire and Ice Chapter 12

(Technoblade x Reader)

Chapter 12

< Prev Chapter | Next Chapter (Soon)

A/N: Warning: Mentions of depression, suicide, and gore. Stay safe guys!

~~~~~~

You were in your home, legs propped up on the arm of the couch, nose buried deep in a book. You had put your small library to use for the last couple days. Techno still came over to see you, but you hadn’t seen Dream in a while. You wondered what he was up to. You found yourself skimming and ultimately forgetting what you had just read in your book by a few paragraphs. You sigh, today was just not your day for focusing on the things you wanted to focus on.

You groaned, deciding on taking a walk through the burrow, to take your mind off of things. Depression was starting to set in. You couldn’t keep your mind off how long you had been down here. You hadn’t seen the sun in what felt like a very long time. Others were feeling the same way as you, hopeless… What was the point of… just surviving?

You took a nice long walk, trying to keep your head clear. Keeping your eyes down, because you kept getting weird looks from some of the people you had passed. You wished you could find Techno, but he was off mining Phil’s mine, you had no idea where to even find him, he could be off exploring another mineshaft, and you didn’t want to risk getting lost in one of those. You stopped at the edge of the beacon. Iron blocks underneath held it up, it seemed like such a waste of resources to you… Not that you knew anything about beacons.

“You look confused.” You looked over to see Phil just feet away from you. “Anything that I can help with?” He walked over to you, a smile gracing his lips at the sight of you.

“Why do we need this beacon?” You ask, your foot kicking at one of the iron blocks. Phil chuckled, his fingers tapping on the iron.

“It increases productivity in mining.” Phil explained. “When we go to expand this cavern, we will be able to clear out more in a small amount of time, than normal. It’s what we used in the beginning.” Phil recalled the events from a little over a month ago. “It’s helping the new arena right now.”

“Arena?” You questioned your eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Why do we need an arena?” Phil sighed at your question.

“Something for people to do…” Phil had a distant look in his eyes. “People aren’t able to cope, we’ve lost a few people…” You bit your lip, not questioning it further. “Anyway…” He cleared his throat, changing the subject. “We have a meeting tonight; will you be there?”

“Yeah, seeing as I wasn’t able to come to the last one.” You nodded giving him a smile. Your heart sinking for those who weren’t here anymore.

“Good, I can’t wait to see you there. Techno will probably be back by then too.” You perked up at the mention of Techno. Phil’s eyes lit up and a warm smile spread across his face. “Techno’s almost done with the mine in general, and he mentioned that you like books…” He faced toward the beacon, the light highlighting his face.

“Yeah?” You stood shoulder to shoulder with him, leaning your head back to look toward the ceiling where the beacon met the stone above.

“Has he told you what exactly he’s digging for?” He pauses waiting for your answer. When you shake your head, he continues. “One of the biggest libraries I’ve ever seen. I have plans for when he breaks through. You can take your pick of the books you want, just as long as I don’t need them first.” He gave you a wink. Feeling your face light up, you gave him the biggest smile. He chuckled, putting a hand on your shoulder. You hated that you still flinched at his touch, but you were still working on it. “Hopefully that library will hold the key to getting the world back to normal.” He huffed, his fingers pinched the bridge of his nose, as he went into deep thought. You cocked your head at him.

“You think that library is going to tell us how to fix all of this?” You motioned at everything in general, sounding a little skeptical. Biting the inside of your cheek, your eyes search his face. He seemed unsure… Maybe this was why he didn’t tell everyone in the Burrow? Maybe he didn’t want to give them false hope. Maybe…

“I’ve got to try…” He had a faraway look in his eyes as he sighed. “I’m the reason we’re all down here in the first place.” He sounded extremely guilty. You were about to ask him what he meant when a voice called your name behind you, you didn’t have to look to know it was Dream.

“What are you doing?” He sounded happy to see you. When he trotted up by your side your eyes land on him. He didn’t have his mask on… Nor a shirt, and he was drench in sweat. You had to stop yourself from looking over his sculpted body.

“Hey Dream! I’m just taking a walk to clear my head. What are you doing?” You gave him a smile, as he ran his hand through his hair. His green eyes softened when he searched your face. He subconsciously stepped closer to you, which annoyed Phil to no end.

Phil watched the interaction between the two of you, he didn’t dare say anything to ruin the moment. He wanted to know your thoughts about Dream, how you reacted to Dream himself. He was an observer, and that wouldn’t change. He couldn’t meddle in whatever this was between you, Dream and Techno.

“Foolish has got me building for him on the arena.” Dream jerked his thumb behind him. He stepped forward, a worried look on his face, as he towered over you. “You needed to clear your head?” You could hear the concern in his voice. “Can I do anything to help?” He offered and you shook your head.

“I just miss the sun, that’s all.” You waved your hand at him trying to signify that you were okay. He frowned down at you. He obviously didn’t like your answer. His hand rubbed at the back of his neck, as he looked toward the ceiling in thought.

“I know something that will cheer you up. Let me get my stuff.” You tried denying him, as you didn’t want to bother him with your problems, but he sprinted off before you could get one word out. You let out a sigh as your eyes trail after him, he disappeared into a crevice in the wall. Was that where the arena was? It made sense, as the hospital was right next door, the participants could be cared for in an instant.

“Dream’s a good friend, isn’t he?” Phil asked his eyes trained on the crevice Dream disappeared into. He kept his tone light and friendly, but he just… couldn’t put his finger on it. He had a bad feeling, and he always knew to trust his gut.

“Yeah,” you let a breath out you didn’t know you had been holding. “He’s the one who built my house for me. He’s shown me a lot of kindness.” You chuckle keeping a light conversation with Phil. By the time Dream had come back he had more clothes on this time, his mask over his face once more.

“Ready princess?” He held out his hand, to you which you gingerly took, a smile spread across your face. Phil had to stop himself from physically cringing at his nickname for you. You said your goodbyes to Phil, who gave you a half wave, he never took his eyes off Dream. The look on Phil’s face was enough of a warning to Dream. Dream stood tall, not wavering under Phil’s gaze. “See ya later Phil.”

Dream led you back to your own house, people watching you as the both of you walked by them. They still gave you weird looks and it was starting to get to the point of where you started glaring back at them. You were sick of the looks people gave you.

“What’s with them?” Dream nudged your shoulder. You shook your head deciding not to make a big deal out of it. “You know you could just ask me to kick their ass for you.” He chuckled, smiling down at you.

“They’re not worth it, I promise you.” A laugh escaped your lips, your body slightly leaning into his arm.

“Well…” Dream hesitated, “they might not be worth it… But you are.” Your eyes met and you swore your heart skipped a beat. His voice was rough, causing a blush to rise to your cheeks. He wrapped his arm around you pulling you to him. When the two of you were standing in front of your house, you could see him glance down at you. “So… Sapnap and I found something when we were building the house…”

You looked up at him in curiosity. Your eyes scanning over what you could see of his face. He stepped forward kneeling at your porch, grabbing at a board. The board was loose, and he easily pulled it off, leaving a small hole that could fit the two of you inside.

“I kept forgetting about this, but I wanted to show you as soon as I could.” His mask turned back toward you and you squatted down trying to get a good look of what was in the hole. Nothing but darkness, but you felt a cold breeze hit your face. So… that’s why your house was cold. “Come on.” He sat down on the stone as he slid himself into the small crawlspace. You followed suit, as Dream lit a torch, lighting the way down the tunnel.

If you looked up, you could see through the cracks of the floorboards and into the house. That made you uncomfortable. Dream offered his hand to you, following your gaze.

“I wanted to show you this to see if you wanted to convert this into a basement, but Schlatt hired me on the building crew for the arena, that’s why I’ve been busy.” Your eyes trace over his silhouette, the light illuminating his face as he turned to look at you.

“I was wondering why my house was really cold.” You stood closer to him as the two of you went deeper. Eventually he ended up handing you, his coat. Your house was close to a natural cave. It was lit up by torches. Your voices bounced off the walls as the two of you talked. Your hands skimming over the cold stone on the walls. You found yourself getting tired, because there were a lot of uphill slopes and there were times you needed to catch your breath, Dream waited patiently for you.

“We’re almost there, princess.” He reassured you as he patted your shoulder. “It’ll be worth it, I promise.” He pulled his mask off completely hanging it off his belt. It took a little while and before you knew it, the path widened into a bigger cave. You marveled at the sight before you. Dream spread his arms wide as he turned back to you, his smile causing flutters in your chest. “Well?”

In front of you, was a frozen waterfall leading down into a shallow looking pool of water. Snow flurried in from the ceiling, where there was a massive hole to the surface. White light shone down over everything. Rough snow covered stone led to the top of the tall waterfall. You looked on in awe, as Dream took your hand pulling you to him.

“I wanted this to be our special place.” His voice took on an almost sultry tone. “You can see the sun sometimes when you stand on that waterfall.” He pointed to the top of the waterfall as he crouched down as if to get your point of view, his cheek grazing against yours. His arm snaked around your waist pulling you even closer to him. Your face was red, you didn’t have to look in a mirror to know that, but you leaned into his touch, your stomach doing flip flops. “I hope it’s not too cloudy.”

“Wow…” Was all you could muster, any and all other words got stuck in your throat. Feeling Dream’s laugh rumble in his chest made you look into his sparkling green eyes. Seeing the excitement in his eyes, allowed for a smile to spread on your cheeks.

“I know it’s cold here, but when we want to be alone…” He trailed off, his eyes flicking down to your lips, as if they were mesmerizing. “We could come here and… Talk.” He cleared his throat, turning his face away to hide the blush dusting his cheeks.

“I think I’d really like that…” You giggled, subconsciously stepping closer to him. The two of you made your way to the scene before you, he held your hand as the two of you climbed up the rocks to the top of the waterfall. The water was frozen over and slick, and he held on tighter to you to keep you from falling. The two of you fought the icy wind that whipped around you.

“Look.” Dream directed your attention to the hole in the ceiling once the two of you were in the right position. Sure enough, you could see the sun peeking out through the clouds. You let out a breath of air you hadn’t known you had been holding. “I know this isn’t what you meant… But I knew I could at least give you something.”

“I love it, thank you Dream.” You bowed your head to him. “This has been amazing!” You peered down the frozen waterfall, the height of it, making you dizzy. The two of you stayed there at the top of that waterfall, until the two of you couldn’t bear the cold anymore. He was first to move toward the steep rocks that you both had come up from. You chose to take a look around before you made your way over to him. At your movement, even though you didn’t pick up on the sounds like Dream did… He heard a clacking sound emerge from a particularly dark corner. It was a ways away from the two of you.

It all happened in a second, the yellowing rotting bones of a stray pushing itself up from a sitting position, tattered clothing, and other bits of dry rot dangling from those same bones, the sockets of the skeleton devoid of anything. The bones clacked together, being held together by magic. Phalanges pull back the string of the bow, the sound almost deafening to Dream. An arrow whizzes through the air, toward you grazing your shoulder, only because Dream pulled you out of the way. The action caused you to lose your footing. It was as if the scene played in slow motion.

You fell backward on the ice, but… You didn’t hit the ground… You had gone over the waterfall. Your hands reached out for Dream, the look on his face was one of horror, he lunged forward grabbing your wrist, the action making you slam against the crag rocks and ice of the waterfall as you dangled. He was on his stomach trying to pull you up, and it would have been easier if the monster above him wasn’t shooting arrows into his back. He tried telling you, it was going to be okay, but with each arrow his grip on you lessened. His hand went slack, and you watched his eyes flutter closed, and you fell. Your eyes stayed on his face as you fell.

The rocks below you did a number on your body, tiny scratches and cuts littered your body, you mostly slid down the rocks as you fell, you searched for anything to grab on to, but nothing could stop your descent onto the ice below. Your leg felt broken, and you were scared to move your body in fear of what else could be broken. The haze of what happened clouded your mind, and you let out a groan. Which… You really shouldn’t have done that. Because the monster that was still up there made its way down to you. It jumped from the top of the waterfall, without a care for its own health. Bones cracking in places as it impacted, It was just out for blood. It approached your form that lay in the middle of the ice. Its phalanges pulling back the string of the bow once more.

The arrow whizzed by landing nearby in the ice. You reached in your inventory. Summoning forth your golden apple, you take a bite into it. It didn’t heal everything right away, but you felt… Powerful you rolled to the side just as another arrow landed where you previously were. The pain you felt still was immeasurable, but the apple allowed for your leg to heal, at least just enough.

You scanned the area; you knew from stories Techno had told you that the effects of the apple wouldn’t last too long so you pushed yourself up. Your muscles sore, you grabbed a nearby rock, throwing it at its skull. It hit, the forehead split open as it recoiled from the rock and you took this as your chance to limp forward grabbing the bow out of its hands. Your body screaming at you to stop. One bite of that apple was enough to heal you to a certain extent. This was your only chance and you had to take it.

You brought the bow down on its skull, and right before your eyes it cracked, it was done. It crumbled along with the magic that held it together, only a few of the bones survived.

You fell to your knees, in front of the bones. Tears flowing forward, you felt faint, you needed rest even though your mind pushed for you to stay conscious get out of there, your body disagreed. It wouldn’t be until much later when you woke up again.

Techno had no idea where you were. You were probably off hanging out with Niki. He hadn’t seen you all day. His tune quickly changed when he made his way to Niki’s place and he didn’t find you with her. When you weren’t around to do your route, panic started settling in his chest. Niki bit her lip, trying to not be worried herself. If Techno was worried, then she should be worried. That’s how she looked at it.

“She’ll be okay,” She sounded like she was trying more to convince herself rather than Techno as she stirred the contents of the pot she was working on. Techno went ahead and did your route for you hoping he would see you in the process. He came back empty handed and Niki, gave him a worried look. “Should we wait to see if she’ll be at the meeting tonight?”

“No,” Techno grunted, “I’m going to see if she’s at her house.” He pulled his cloak tighter around him.

“I’ll come with you.” Niki couldn’t just sit there; the dirty dishes would still be there when she got back. The two of them set out to find you.

“Ugh…” Your eyes cracked open. You were freezing, feeling the pain of frostbite settle into your skin, your clothes stuck to the ice as you sat up. Your bones cracked and you looked up to the place where you had fallen. Dream was still up there. The golden apple you bit into laid a few feet away from you. You leg still hurt immensely, but you needed to get up there to Dream. You pulled yourself up to your feet, trying not to put too much weight on your leg.

You pulled yourself up using the bow like a crutch to Dream, who lay there still. The arrows still lodged in his back. The blood caked over him. You had no idea what to do in this situation. Your cries of help were left unheard, as they echo through out the cave. Letting your fingers trace over his pulse, you feel the tears well up, he was still alive, riddled in arrows. Having no prior knowledge about how to dress a wound you felt helpless. People told you to keep arrows in, to lessen bleeding… But with everything that had happened you couldn’t remember if that were common knowledge or just something you had read in a story. Your mind was too hazy. You opted to break the arrows, so they were shorter.

You bit your lip grabbing at his arms, draping him against your back. Carrying him down, your weight still on the bow, you have no idea how you managed to get him to the entrance of the cave. Survival at the forefront of your mind, but… He was heavy, nothing but deadweight against you. You listened to his shallow breaths in your ear. You thought about force feeding the apple to him… But you were scared he would choke… You decided you would be better to feed it to him should he regain consciousness. You were truly clueless in all of this… You never needed to know any of this in your old life. Adrenaline alone seemed to be the only thing that kept you going forward.

Adrenaline… Could only get you so far though… Your body ached, and before too long it had given up on you, and the two of you went tumbling down a particularly steep slope of the cave. Yeah… You weren’t going to get back up from this… Your eyes cracked open, and you were met with darkness… Pure and utter darkness… Being scared of the dark was one thing… Being scared of what lurked beyond it was another. You couldn’t afford another attack…

You held your bow close to your chest, if anything came at you, at least you didn’t go out without trying to survive. You let out a shaky breath… Taking another breath you let out the loudest scream you could muster.

“Someone! Anyone!” You were met with silence once more, and that’s when the tears started flowing forth. You were going to die down here… Well… At least you got to see the sun one last time.

“What’s this?” Niki crouched down in front of the hole under your house.

“The reason her house has been cold.” It clicked in his mind, as he started sliding himself into the hole. You had to be in there. Where else could you be if not the ominous hole. Good thing he always kept torches. He led Niki down the tunnel, she walked by his side when the tunnel opened up into a wider path.

It didn’t take long to find you… Both he and Niki dropped to their knees at your side. While he checked your condition, Niki checked on Dream. You grabbed at his shirt the tears flowing from your eyes still. The sight killed him.

“It’s okay Darlin’. I’m here.” He cooed in your ear. “Can you move?” The words stuck in your throat, leaving only sobs to be heard, but you nodded. He cradled you in his arms as he waited for Niki to determine what to do next.

“Techno…” Niki sounded alarmed at the loss of blood Dream had gone through. “We need to get them out of here.” Her eyes skimmed over your leg… It definitely hadn’t healed in the right position. “You’re going to have to carry him.” Niki winced knowing exactly what she was asking of Techno. Let’s just say Techno was less than thrilled. Niki knew she couldn’t lift Dream,

“Do you need help with her?” Niki shook her head. This was going to be a painful walk for you, but at least you had Niki to lean on. He grabbed ahold of Dream throwing him over his shoulder, almost haphazardly. The scent of Dreams blood filling his senses. This was going to be a long walk back.

The voices swam through his mind as if they were sharks roaming the ocean, sniffing out the blood. Wanting more of it to be shed. He had barely gotten Dream in the front door, setting him on the couch, only to go back to help you into the house. You were in better shape than Dream, so Niki started working on Dream first. He sat on your bed looking down at your purple leg.

“You used the golden apple, didn’t you?” He had done this himself, and the process to fix it was not a fun one. Memories of Phil having to rebreak his arm to heal it in the right position filled his mind. You nodded, your tears running dry. You were still unable to speak. “That’s the one downside to health items, bones don’t heal right if they’re not in the right position…” He wondered exactly what you had gone through in that tunnel. The voices itched at him to go see what lied at the end of the tunnel. “Darlin’, I’ll be right back. You need to rest as much as you can okay.” Your hand sought his out and he gave your hand a slight squeeze.

“O-kay.” The word tumbled from your lips, and he let his eyes linger on yours for just a second before he stood.

“I promise I will be back okay.” He waited for your nod, letting himself back down into the tunnel. What was Dream trying to pull here? He stopped at the spot he found the two of you. His eyes spying a bow. He remembered you had clutched to it before he found you… Maybe he should teach you how to use it. He should have taught you how to fight… Maybe you wouldn’t be in this situation? He didn’t even know half the situation, but hell he was pissed, and that anger was directed at Dream for being careless.

He put the bow in his inventory, and he trudged on. When he got to the end of the tunnel, he knew why Dream had brought you here. He stood at the entrance, his eyes scanning the cave, as he shook his head. Coldness from the outside world seeped in. It didn’t take long to smell your blood as he approached the ice. His nose wrinkled, and the voices called for destruction.

‘Blow it up.’

‘Keep her safe.’

‘Burn it all.’

His eyes flooded black, at least he could agree with the voices on one thing… He had just the TNT to blow the place sky high in his ender chest.

“The grand opening of the new arena is coming up!” Phil announced, spreading his arms wide. “With the opening of the arena, I’m also continuing the use of emeralds as currency,” Phil’s voice carried through the cavern. The meeting was underway, and he still hadn’t seen you or Techno, he figured the two of you just didn’t want to come, he was okay with that.

“I’m also opening up a general store.” Schlatt’s voice cut in as he stood and he made his way to Phil, ultimately standing next to him. “A store that you can use your emeralds AND your Schlatt coins in.” Schlatt nailed his customer service voice, Phil could see people perk at the thought of a general store. Phil let him continue his explanation of the Schlatt coin, his eyes scanning over the people. What he was about to say next after Schlatt was done might not make them all happy, but it needed to happen.

“Now that we have the announcement of the arena out of the way…” Phil started when Schlatt took his seat. Phil cleared his throat, averting his gaze from the ever-judging gaze of Schlatt. “I need to implement some mandates.” His hands locked behind his back. “We are still in need of food… So… I am asking that everyone have their own gardens. Niki can’t keep cooking for the majority anymore. So, everyone needs to pitch in on this food situation.” Grumbles of annoyance could be heard from the crowd.

“Did you feel that earthquake just a few minutes ago?” An impatient woman asks bypassing the conversation. “What if we’re all crushed? Food is the last thing on my mind right now.” Phil bit his lip, he didn’t have all the answers and he never pretended he did, but now everyone was looking at him expectantly, as if he could fix an earthquake. He couldn’t lie to himself… He thought the same thing when he felt the rumble beneath his feet. But he felt nothing else since then.

“I’ll be working on that with my top redstone engineer Sam. We will figure everything out.” Phil tried everything to sound professional, but people kept asking him questions. Questions that he couldn’t give them answers for, at least not yet. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a familiar pink head of long hair.

“Phil.” A man stood from his seat, his eyes leveling with Phil. “When are you going to deal with the hybrid issue?” All eyes landed on the man, and then they switched to Phil, to gauge his reaction.

“Hy…brid issue?” Phil looked around, while most of the villagers here were human, there were a small handful who were hybrids, Techno and Ranboo included.

“Don’t act like you don’t know.” The man snarled. “Hybrids are a problem. They’re taking our women,” his eyes landed on Techno, “we don’t need a pig fucker in our midst. She should be banished too.” His eyes slid over to Ranboo, who had the dragon egg sitting in his lap. “Now they’re laying eggs, as if we need more mouths to feed, and more hybrids running around.” Ranboo let out an offended ‘HEY!’ and Phil couldn’t stop the chaos that ensued. The hybrids against the humans… Phil couldn’t hear himself think with all the shouting. He pinched the bridge of his nose.

“You’re all dismissed. Hybrid’s are staying, and you aren’t changing that, if you don’t like it, make your own colony.” Phil shouted into the crowd when it started calming down a bit. His eyes burned into the crowd. “I can’t deal with you people.” Shaking his head, he grabbed Techno by the shoulder heading back to their house.

“Phil…” Techno got his oldest friends’ attention. The voices roared in his mind, calling for blood… For a massacre. After everything else that had gone on today… Techno tried keeping his urges at bay, using his friend as a distraction.

“What is it Techno?” Phil couldn’t keep the irritation out of his voice. He wasn’t mad at Techno, but at being thrust into this position. Had he not been the one to cause this storm, he would have taken Kristen and his boys and left.

“…That earthquake…” Techno sighed, “It was me.” Phil gave him a puzzled look. “I found her…” Phil knew he was talking about you. “She was with Dream in this tunnel that led from under her house… He almost died. The smell of his blood… I hauled him into her house. But I almost lost control again…” He sucked in a breath, “I needed to get my rage out… So… When I made sure it was okay to go down that tunnel to see what was there, I… Blew it up. It’s nothing but rubble and ash now.”

“So… That earthquake, was you blowing up whatever was on the other side of the tunnel.” Phil had to stop, seeing Techno nod. He couldn’t blame Techno, but… This was going to be hard to explain to a group of humans who don’t like hybrids. Phil sighed, rubbing at his eyes.

“She has a broken leg that didn’t heal right… Niki has to rebreak her leg… So, we’re just lucky there’s enough health potion’s this time…” Techno could hide his emotions through his mask, but Philza knew him too well to know that even through his calm demeanor… Techno was devastated. “I blocked off that tunnel.”

“Good,” Phil swallowed the lump in his throat down. Techno wished it was more of a walk to get to your house, the rage in his blood, had just barely simmered down. But it threatened to bubble back up at the sight of Dream. Dream was resting on the couch, his injuries healed up. Niki had just gone through the process of rebreaking your leg, and now you were force feeding yourself the rest of your golden apple, to help heal your leg in the right position.

Techno hated every bit of this, but at least you were safe now, and that’s all that mattered. He awkwardly stood to the side, watching Niki poke and prod at your injuries. You were going to be sore for a bit, but at least you would be okay in a few more hours. He crossed his arms over his chest, remembering the man’s words against you… Calling you a pig fucker… He bit his lip and he kneeled by your side when you had fallen asleep. His eyes studying your features. He was here for you now, and he would be here for you always.

His hand found your cheek, you were out like a light. Even now when you lay still, you were beautiful, making his heart flutter. He leaned down pressing his lips to your forehead, thanking the blood god that you were okay. He was going to have to have a talk with Dream, and it was not going to be a good one.

#mcyt x reader #technoblade x reader #c!techno x reader #technoblade/reader #dreamwastaken x reader #dream x reader #through fire and ice #angst #dream mcyt

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neonponders · 3 years

Text

Head canon time:

Okay okay okay okayokayokay so this post has super cute art, but the reblog comment on it aligned with something that’s been percolating in my brain for a ~while~ now:

Eleven as Steve’s sister.

Obviously neither Steve nor Eleven have any idea. From the time El escapes the lab, they don’t interact much. Even if they’re in the same room, they kind of bounce around each other, because...why else would they? Steve’s at least five years older and she’s still building her social skills/confidence, especially around men.

But then Steve gets his hair cut short, and the back likes to curl very similarly to how El’s did when hers was short. Their hair needs its own weight to pull it straight.

And it’s dark brown. Followed by clear brown eyes.

It’s not enough for anyone to connect the dots, of course, but then El’s “mother” dies. Her mind had been a flickering light for a long time, eventually her heart began to match. But when a heart stops, it stops.

Her sister calls Hopper, in case El wants to know, and they show up, at the very least, to attend the funeral and to help the sister go through dusty boxes. Maybe there’s a picture of El’s mother that she wants...

Instead they find surrogacy papers.

Old bank statements.

Apparently at the time of her involvement with government conspiracy, she had been very down on her luck. She made the mistake of doubling up on volunteering to be a surrogate mother, as well as whatever the hell the Hawkins Library did to her.

But the names on the papers are John and Eliza Harrington.

“Like...Steve?” El asks when he finally has gaped at the papers for too long.

Hopper inhales because he isn’t sure when he did that last and scratches his face. “Yeah...like Steve.”

He has mixed emotions: the empathetic devastation at losing a kid, but also the relief that this involves someone already in the know.

They go over to Steve’s house.

The guy answers the door with a slice of pizza in his hand, still chewing. “Hi, Hop. Ellie.”

She offers a small smile. “Steve.”

“Are your parents home, kid?”

He shook his head and swallowed. “Just left this morning. They have a time-share condo in Mexico.”

“You didn’t go with them?”

Steve scoffs while turning around back into the house. “My idea of a good time isn’t with my parents. What d’you need?”

“Well,” Hopper sighs, feeling too big in the foyer. Eleven stabs his hip with a finger and he begins the tedious process of unlacing his boots. “I need to go through your parents’ papers. You got an attic, a cellar, an office?”

Steve, bless him, looks genuinely clueless. “Uh. Yeah...are we in trouble for something?”

“Not in trouble, no. I just wanna cross reference something.”

Bless him twice, because he actually lets Hopper into his attic. His father’s office. Then his mother’s.

He finds it in his mother’s bedroom. It was just a shot in the dark to try the safe in the closet, but so many people actually keep their safes unlocked for easy access.

Hospital documents. Even ultrasound photos.

“Jane Elizabeth...Harrington?” Steve chirps over his shoulder.

He looks up at the chief, who’s rubbing his beard again. Their heads turn to Eleven sitting on Mrs. Harrington’s bed. “My name’s Jane.”

Those big brown eyes blink between her and Hopper. “How do you know that? I thought you came from a lab?”

Hopper intercepted, “She used her,” he gestured vaguely to his own head, “to find her mother. Or...the surrogate your parents paid for.”

“And where’s she?”

“Dead,” said Eleven.

Hopper reiterated, “She passed about two weeks ago. We found your parents’ names in her paperwork.”

“But - what happened? How does a baby just go missing? Better question: why don’t I have super powers?”

Hopper had already read the hospital’s apology and refund of the Harrington’s funds, insurance, the works. “I think that asshole...Brenner...claimed the baby for his work, early enough that it could be written off as a miscarriage. Whatever they did to El’s mother, whatever went on in that lab, landed her with her abilities. It’s nothing to covet, all right.”

Steve looked winded. He crossed his arms and let himself collapse against the wall. “So...what do we do?”

“Uh...” Hopper fanned his face with the ultrasound pictures. “There isn’t a lot we can do. Telling your parents would open up a lot of closed doors that we can’t really afford to open. Dr. Owens, being the swell guy he is, provided me paperwork that grants El as my kid.

“But.

“You already know each other. You already contributed to saving the world together. So...I think that’s up to the two of you.”

Both of them, for all they’d been through, just looked like kids. They were kids, even if Steve now stood in his twenties. And he stood off the wall, now, to approach his sister.

“Can I, uhm...can I hug you?”

El slid off the high bed, easily falling against his body for arms to wrap tightly around her. They stayed like that for a long moment, then Hopper joined them to rub between their shoulder blades.

“Oh god. You’re dating Mike Wheeler.” El hummed a curious sound and he elaborated, “Am I gonna have to pound on him if he pisses you off?”

“I wish you would,” Hopper confirmed.

Fast forward to Mike being extremely confused at his girlfriend suddenly spending a lot of time with Steve Harrington, of all people.

“Maybe she’s gotten a taste for older men?” Lucas teased, and got punched in the shoulder for it.

Max’s eyes rolled but she didn’t grace that with an answer.

Mike fumed, “She was supposed to be with me today! Then she called and said she had other plans - ”

Max chimed, “Are you sure you had plans? Or that you had a plan but she beat you to it?”

“It doesn’t matter! I see her walking around with Steve Harrington all the time and it’s weird!”

Will said for nobody in particular, “We’re not the ones to judge weird anymore.”

Lucas countered, “Or we’re the experts on weird. Speaking of, where the hell is Dustin?”

“With Steve,” Max grinned right at Mike, and stood up. “Speaking of, my ride’s probably here.”

“Where are you going?” Lucas asked.

“Over to Steve’s.”

The boys looked at each other and ran for their shoes. Sure enough, they left the Wheelers’ basement, circled around the house, and found the blue Camaro waiting in the cul-de-sac.

“Woah woah woah, what the hell is this?” Billy said hoarsely. He peered over his sunglasses at the teenagers filing into his backseat.

Max shoved a bottle of water towards him. “You’re not drinking enough, again.”

“Don’t bitch at me. Tell your friends to scram.”

“Are you really going over to Steve’s?” Will began.

“What do you know about Steve hanging out with my girlfriend?” Mike joined.

“Steve’s got a pool, right?” Lucas directed at Max.

Billy revved his engine with a sharp right turn, throwing all of them to one side of the car. Max held her head from where it had hit the window. “Cool it, you shouldn’t even be driving in the first place.”

“My blood did not turn black for this bullshit.”

The kids in the back stared out of the windows like Loch Nora was a safari tour. At the sound of the Camaro’s engine, Steve trotted down the slope of the lawn in swimming trunks with a towel around his shoulders, waving them through the gate.

Will and Lucas sprinted after him. Mike followed at a skeptical pace while Max lingered for Billy’s sake. No one noticed that Billy wore pink and turquoise swimming trunks that fit more to Steve’s taste.

Mike sure as hell noticed the red and purple, woven friendship bracelets that El and Steve wore, though. The pale, skinny nerd just stared, dumbfounded between Hopper floating contently over the pool, El laughing in a one-piece covered in hibiscus flowers, and Steve sitting at the foot of Billy’s lounge chair.

Then Robin strolled through the gate with a stack of pizza and chicken wing boxes. “All right, we ready? What are you doing, dweeb? It’s a 101 degrees out. Get wet.”

And shoved Mike Wheeler right into the pool.

#steve harrington #eleven #ficlet #neonponders #post s3 #harringrove #for the non-americans:#40º C is 100º F #hot as f!ck #also I just wanted something where steve wasn't scared shitless of his pool #robin buckley

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razorblade180 · 3 years

Text

Shackles 10: Beasts

[part 9]

“You know I’m really getting tired of walking through hot rocky deserts.”

“Yang, you’re the last person I want to hear complain about the heat.” Ilia grunted. “Just be thankful we aren’t in Menagerie.”

“We marched through it yesterday for a couple days.”

“Oh….well then stop complaining! Dawn has barely broke and Vacou is marginally less hot. These two know what I’m talking about.”

Blake and Jacquelyn remained silent. Both were lost in thought, mentally preparing for what was ahead. Ilia clicked her tongue. She looked at the spot marked on her map to make sure she hadn’t messed up the directions.

Blake could hear her teammate’s heartbeats as they walked. Jacquelyn might’ve been quiet but her heartbeat was faster than a hummingbird. Yang’s beat like a steady drum while Ilia’s, well, it was actually calm. Not a beat of worry. Blake was envious.

“What I wouldn’t give to be calm like you.”

Ilia looked back at her briefly before looking onward. “There’s nothing you have to give. Last time I checked we were taught to be calm by the same person. Though I guess…it was more of a quiet rage. He had that in common with my parents.”

“Has.” Jacquelyn corrected. “And I wouldn’t say his rage was quiet. Sometimes it felt like he could only scream into the wind.”

Yang raised her brow. “Wasn't that annoying? Concerning even?”

“Rage doesn’t do well bottled up. Should I have been concerned and annoyed when you yelled at me?”

“I…that is…” Yang sighed, giving up on a response.

“Rage like this can’t be solved immediately with wimpy meditation practices or a stress ball. Better to shout in a nameless desert than to go around breaking things. Anyways, that hasn’t happened in awhile. Adam has been lost in thought lately more than anything. Now that’s concerning. Being alone with your thoughts is risky business. I’m sure we all agree on that.”

Ilia stopped walking as she made it over a dune. “I don’t know. Thoughts are probably the best thing in a place like that.” She points down towards a lone rock plateau with a tattered wooden mineshaft entrance.that’s blocked by debris. “We made it.” Blake and Jacquelyn said nothing as they began walking ahead of her. Small talk was over.

Yang took a deep breath. She was never one to be nervous about situations like these. Being a huntress meant you saw some disturbing things by nature, but that didn’t stop the air itself from feeling dead. Blake described the scent as a slaughter house earlier. Somehow, Yang could tell she was right. “We ready for this? Who knows what is waiting for us inside.”

“Ready as we’ll ever be. Ilia will stand guard outside. We don’t want them knowing our numbers fully or any backup arriving. You and Jacquelyn back me up while I take the lead.”

“Works for me. But…” Yang approached the entrance and pressed up against a support beam, widening the entrance as debris crumbled out of the way. “That’s better. I’d rather have a quick escape instead of a squeeze through when things get loud, because it’s definitely going to.”

Blake smiled. “Quiet was never your thing anyways, but remember, this is a dust mine. Dried up or not, let’s not shoot anything immediately.” Blake walked in with her swords ready. Jacquelyn followed second with Wilted Rose on her hip.

Yang gave Ilia a wink before following the other two. The shaft didn’t take long before it started sloping down into darkness. A problem for anyone not hanging out with a faunus with great eyesight, or a girl whose hair glows like a torch on command. Normally that would be a benefit, but it made things all the more uneasy for Yang.

“Don’t you think it’s a little too dark in here? I mean…I don’t think the guards themselves could see; unless…” she trailed off. Breaking their focus was the last thing she wanted, but Yang was certain they already knew. Step by step the cave expanded. Water dripped down to the pools below. Faint clinging metal grew louder while Yang’s light revealed rusted cell bars, chains, and mining tools. A thick, potent odor hung in the air so intensely that it made swallowing difficult.

“Don’t look inside, not yet.” Jacquelyn uttered, holding back her gagging.

Blake marched forward. “Smell getting to you?”

“It’s not the stench that makes me want to hurl.”

At last they reached the end of the holding area to reach another passageway. Light curved through it and Blake’s pace slowed.

“What’s wrong?”

“I hear people. Dozens of them. Workers and…the rest.”

Jacquelyn’s eyes glowed. “Then what are we waiting f-”

“They aren’t moving. Everyone’s just…” Blake approached cautiously, crouched and weary. A knot festered deep inside her. Tears she restrained kept fighting to the surface the closer she got to turning the corner until Blake finally came around. In front of her was the main area. Faunus of every kind stuffed into this giant chasm. Men, women, and children bound in shackles all over the place while guards over watched them; yet nobody was working. They all were watching a man on a platform make another example of the very person that brought them here. Without thinking, Blake spoke.

“A-Adam…?” She said barely above a whisper, yet all heard her in the deathly quiet chamber.

Guards and prisoners alike turned to her in surprise. Jacquelyn and Yang came in soon after with their own look of shock at what they were witnessing. Tired, dread, shock, pain, terror, rage, lifelessness; so many expressions stared at the three from the prisoners who cowarded and guards that pulled weapons.

“Halt. Let’s not be too hasty.” Sobek said, turning around to view his arrival. They couldn’t help but notice his white lab coat stained in red that matches the curved knife he currently wiped on his sleeve. “My goodness. Well isn’t this quite the surprise. I should’ve known catching a big fish and the fact some of my men hadn't returned in a while meant someone was gonna come knocking on my door, but my wildest dreams didn’t think it would be you. Ms. Blake Belladonna, welcome to Purgatory. I’d shake your hand but…” he grabbed Adam by the hair to lift his battered face, but that was tame compared to the gashes and massive bruises that riddled his body in red and purple. “I’ve been pretty busy.” He lit Adam’s head droop limply again.

Overwhelmed, neither Blake or Jacquelyn could speak. The two had yet to shake the shock of it all. As for Yang, she chose to break formation and get in front of both of them. “Why?” That’s all she could ask. That’s all there was to ask. Yang was so caught up by the horrific sight before her that she failed to realize her eyes had long abandoned their lilac color.

Sobek smiled at her. “What’s this, a human? Well I suppose wonders never cease. Caring humans do exist but to find one here is both shocking and unfortunate. You see these monsters before you aren’t worth your compassion. Every last one of them are affiliated and conspired with the very group that poisons the world you and I cherish.”

“That does not answer the question! Why the hell are you hunting people?”

“Animals! How many times do I-” He took a breath, composing himself. “These animals do nothing but spread misery, breed hate. They teach it to their vermin and drag the good faunus through the mud! Just like they did with my daughters! The White Fang aren’t faunus. They’re animals that need to be tamed; and the ones that can’t get put down! The High Leader understands.”

Blake tensed up. All eyes shifted to her and her alone.

“It was faunus like you that showed the rotten parts. The posers and liars that threatened good names. You yourself waged war against the splinter cell this filth-”

“Let him go.” Blake finally spoke. Her voice trembled. The taste of iron hit her mouth as her teeth clenched and pupils constricted. “Let them all go, right now!” She yelled.

The charisma the man held faded. “Excuse me? S…Surely you’re not defending them?”

“And why wouldn’t I!? This…it’s sick. In what right mind does any of this make sense? All you’re doing is hurting people.”

“They get what they deserve.”

“AND WHO ARE YOU TO JUDGE!?” Blake could feel her blood boil. Her nail pierced skin and she could feel her heart pound. “I don’t give a damn what your reasons are. I don’t care if anyone in here took lives. This is not how things work. You don’t get to decide others' lives, especially after this!”

“You stand here before me and defend the likes of Adam Taurus, terrorist?”

“I defend life.” Blake pointed her sword towards the man. “I defend change, no matter how bleak!”

“……I see. So you're a beast after all. Then mourn for them.” Sobek withdrew his hospitality, and then snapped his fingers. The guards took their weapons, then went for the prisoners to immediately beat, stab, and shoot whoever.

Yang wasn’t prepared for what happened next. Before she could even act, Blake had let out a scream of pure anger, leaping through the air to Sobek while a trail of tears were left behind. The scientist had made a mad dash towards a metal down with Blake in pursuit.

“Blake!? Don’t go alo-shit!” Yang dove back into the passage they came from to avoid gunfire. “Damn it all!” Yang readied her for a shoot out when the sound of lightning rattled her ears, followed by the sound of several yells before silence returned. Yang looked out and found gunmen on the floor, Jacquelyn walking by them.

The maiden said nothing. Her goal was a simple one and if she was honest with herself, everything else was white noise at the moment. Wind lifted her up to Adam’s platform. Jacquelyn gripped the shackles that strung him up, freezing them until they shattered like glass. His body fell onto hers and she fell to her knees. The world gave Jacquelyn her fair share of tragedy, but this was too cruel to comprehend. His face was so swollen the skin was purple, his good eye swelled shut. Blood leaked and clotted all over his torso and back from stabs, gashes, shocks, and the broken bones.

“Adam?” She uttered, but no response was given. She leaned down to hear the faintest sign of breathing and a weak beating heart. What should’ve sparked hope only made her cry. They had kept him conscious through so much and now his body…

Guards begin to circle around them aim their guns. “Don’t move! Step-” the guard couldn’t even finish his demands before letting out a strained cough as the rock wall behind him shot out like a spear through him.

“I’ll kill you.” Jacquelyn lifted her head, making all the guards shake in fear of her glowing tear filled eyes. The wind picked up around her and the air began to freeze. “I’LL KILL ALL OF YOU!”

“FIRE!” The guards shot into blistering winds that cut and carved the area around their target, firing back ice and imposing the pressure of her storm to the point the entire cavern shook.

“Give me a break. So much for dust safety.” Yang ran through the area, punching and shooting unsuspecting enemies caught up in the whirlwind of dust as she made her way to prisoners; tearing apart chains and yanking them out of walls. “If you can walk then help those who can’t!” She shot falling debris from afar that nearly blocked the exit. “Hey! You’re going to bury us!” Yang’s words didn’t reach the emotional woman holding her partner. Yang looked around frantically. Guards still poured in, some tried escaping, and others ran to where Blake left. All while prisoners either ran for safety or layed dying; beyond the limit of what they could take. “C’mon, act Xiao Long. Act!”

Her feet moved without thinking. Yang didn’t know how this was going to end but if she wanted the best then she’d have to reach for it with her own hands. If that meant rushing head first into a snow storm then so be it. Her hair ignited into pure flames and her clothes kindled like dying embers. Yang lunged right into the dome of wind to grab Jacquelyn.

“Jackie, get a grip! People need us right now. We’ll all die here if this keeps up.” She put her hands on the sides of Jackie's face. “Hey hey hey, look at me.”

Jacquelyn looked Yang in the eye. “He…He’s dying.” Her hands pressed against open wounds. Fire and ice sealed and cauterized wounds but what good it did was unclear.

“Adam’s a stubborn bastard. He cheated death before and he’ll do it again.”

“But-”

“I will take care of Adam! I promise.” Yang put her hands on Jacquelyn’s. “You take care of the guards following their boss and back up Blake. I hate to say it but I don’t like my odds going through that door, so I’ll get these people out. Okay?”

“E…Even if I barrel through them all I don’t know if I can handle-”

“They’re… weak.” Adam mumbled, gaining their attention. He could barely see or move but managed to move his hands enough to grab Jackie’s. “All mutilated, barely trained; but insane. Sobek, he… Atlas.” He coughed blood.

“Adam!”

“Just…grab Blake.” His consciousness faded in and out. However, Adam managed to squeeze Jackie’s hand for reassurance before going silent.

“Well you heard the guy. Though if you do see a chance to grab the bastard…”

“Oh you don’t have to tell me twice.” Jacquelyn was hesitant but gave Adam to Yang. She finally stood up, gripping the hilt of the crimson blade on her. “I’ve always wanted to do this.” With one fluid motion she drew the blade while channeling her magic. A fierce and single slash cut through the wind; pushing it out with force that pushed everyone while the attack cut the metal door down. Jacquelyn didn’t delay any further in doing what she was asked. Yang put Adam on her back best she could. Thankfully he was able to wrap his arms over her shoulders.

“Do me a favor and don’t fall off.”

“Do me a favor and don’t get me shot.”

Yang groaned. Of all the people she had to save. Right on que, bullets flew their way. Time to head out. Yang did her best to run with the extra baggage. Adam honestly wasn’t too heavy but that wasn’t a good thing realistically. Chances are he hasn’t eaten much in days. If it wasn’t for the swelling then the man’s features would’ve been sunken in and pale. Yang can’t say she has compassion for him but she’d be hard pressed to believe she could idly watch if it happened right in front of her. Ruby would say that’s what makes her a hero. It was more frustrating in Yang’s opinion.

“For your sake I hope you’re worth all this trouble.” Yang kicked downed guards trying to get up from the wind blast to give others more time. “Well at the very least all these people are so I guess I should shut up about it.”

Adam did his best to look at the chaos. His vision couldn’t register faces but he saw how many people pushed and rushed over one another. Though one of them, he couldn’t help but think about Sobek’s words and thought process. It was twisted, outright demented, yet one part of it held true to an extent. Adam felt his ego take a hit. He led them here.

“…I got what I deserve.”

“Tsk, if you ask me you’ve only gotten a piece of it. How you get rest isn’t for me to decide, thank goodness. If I were you I’d start thinking on how-”

“Cells.” He interrupted. “Don’t leave without opening the cells.”

“Huh? Most looked empty or wore silent. No one even came up to bars.”

“A girl, Jasmine, she should be there. Brother too.”

“Dude you can’t afford many detours. I’ll try but no promise we’ll find anything. I’m telling you it was quiet. Dead quiet.” Yang felt ill saying that last part. “What kind of person does this to kids? Can’t imagine a childhood like this.”

Adam’s grip tightened. “I can.”

After a few more minutes of letting stragglers go first and looking out for danger, Yang left the cavern. Defending everyone was a Dream already killed before it could start and she promised to look after Adam so taking her time wasn’t an option. “Do you know what cell?”

“I was strung up on a platform.”

“A no would’ve been fine.” Yang started checking one at a time, punching in doors just in case. It was far too dark to see completely in them otherwise. “Uhh Jasmine? Hello?” She kept looking again and again but no one answered. Yang was about to cut her losses until she heard hissing when a prisoner bumped into a set of bars. “Jasmine?”

No one answered. Yang grabbed the bars and hissing turned to growling. There was definitely someone in there. She busted open the door and stepped in, lighting a section of the area. A gasp escaped her lips at the sight of blood soaked dirt. Pale eyes glowed in the corner. Yang stepped closer carefully until the girl could no longer hide in the dark. A maple skinned girl covered in dirt, sweat, and blood crouched low with eyes as scary as Blake’s; her teeth gritted while the volume of her growl grew louder with her soiled white ears folded back. Yang was easily in no real danger, yet the glare on her was startling. This little girl clearly was ready to kill if need be.

Yang got low. “H-Heeey. Sssshh It’s okay. I’m gonna- ah!” Yang winced. Jacquelyn lunged forward and sunk her teeth into Yang’s good hand. Yang didn’t lose composure. She reached out with her other hand, rubbing the child’s face. “Feel better? Hehe, let’s get you outta here.”

Jasmine tried biting deeper but was caught off guard by a third hand resting on her head. Her eyes widened once she realized Adam was one the woman’s back. Her jaw loosened up and the rage turned into grief.

“Jasmine, where’s-”

“Adam…?” Yang said, staring to the right. Her light didn’t reach the other side of the cell but it was enough to make a trail of blood and limp arm visible. The two went silent again. Adam pulled Jasmine closer until she climbed up on him, clinging for life as she began to whimper against his back. Yang let her hair fade out and then left, walking through the dark. She didn’t want to see another second in this place.

xxxx

Jacquelyn wasn’t much of a better time. Unlike the rest of Purgatory, everything past the medal door reminded her of Atlesian research labs. Including the defenses. Around every corner was an annoyance. Two armed guards tried getting the jump on her but were quickly outmatched. Jacquelyn froze the first with ice breath while the second tried taking a swing at her. Catching the fist, Jacquelyn twisted the guard's arm and pinned her against the wall; draining what aura she could in the process before pressing on. Jacquelyn was thankful Yang calmed her down when she did. Expending more energy like that would've been bad in her condition. Jacquelyn felt like she was running on fumes.

“I can see why my mom never gave me siblings. Gotta make this quick before I’m the one who’ll need saving.” More enemies marched from behind, forcing her to run through the sterile hallways. On the way a trail of several guards were already taken out that led to a bigger group of struggling men. Jacquelyn could make out a pissed off Blake in the middle of it all.

“LET ME GO!” Blake headbutted the one restraining her right arm and swung at the ones in front of her. A burst of strength rushed through her. She gripped the guard on her left arm, flinging them across the room. Blake swiveled around to aim at the ones behind her but Jacquelyn was quicker on the draw. Adam’s signature gun already riddled two with wounds while the blade cut down three more.

“Where’s Sobek?”

“He keeps heading deeper in.” Blake pointed at the scientist’s fallen scales and light trail of blood. “I tried taking a shot but I kept getting swarmed.” Blake noticed the pack behind Jacquelyn and tried running but was immediately grabbed by the wrist. “Jacquelyn!?”

“It’s a trap. We both know that.”

“We’ve known that from the jump. If we corner him then-” Blake and Jacquelyn shot past each other at the same time before standing back to back. Jacquelyn slammed her hand on the ground and conjured ice walls to by time. “Damnit! There’s no end!”

“Yeah…let’s retreat.”

“What!? But you’re the one-”

“I know! Believe me, I know. Honestly I want to tell you I came here to back you up but Yang offered to take Adam to safety in exchange for yours.”

Blake’s eyes widened. “Yang…offered?”

“Truth be told, I think it was more self preservation than kindness. Listen I don’t want to get blown up again but Sobek seems like the type to let it all burn when things fall apart. I told you that you’d find your answer when we arrive. Don’t tell me it was to get angry and die?”

“……” Blake shut her eyes and took a breath. It didn’t help. If anything her heart felt like it was beating faster. Pent up frustration gnawed away at her so much she couldn’t stop shaking. Her grip was so tight around Gamble Shroud her hands threatened to bleed. “What did you say earlier outside, about screaming when you’re enraged?”

Jacquelyn chuckled. “We’re well past that point. Don’t tell Adam but I think we should break some shit. Lucky for us we have volunteers. Care for a violent escape?”

Blake turned away from the path deeper into the lab and faced Jacquelyn’s direction, listening to reason. “Back me up. I’d feel guilty if your baby got hurt.”

Now that was an offer Jacquelyn couldn’t refuse. Blake’s kindness managing to shine even while in this situation was something Jacquelyn could only respect. She got behind her. “I’m in your hands. Now let’s get busy.”

Jacquelyn spit the wall in front of them to funnel the lackeys in for Blake to cut loose on with her blades, performing a double cross slash into snap kick that launched one backwards into the group. Keeping on the offensive, Blake followed up with a rising knee to push them further back. A strong gust of wind from Jacquelyn helped increase the force and distance Blake went while suppressing the rest. A guard tried restraining her but only grasped the afterimage while the real one unleashed an aura slash that went through the crowd. Deep cuts engraved the wall and glass shattered. Blake tossed her blades up and went through the halls quickly guiding Jacquelyn safely to the other side.

Pressure filled the air. A dense building of force rose steadily until Jacquelyn couldn’t ignore it. “Blake? What did you do-” the cuts in the wall doubled in size. An almost unseen second flash went through the hall, the blades traveling with it until stopping on a dime in front of Blake for her to grab from the hands of a clone Jacquelyn never saw materialize. It faded as quickly as it was noticed. One by one the guards adamant on killing were dropping like flies.

“A double moon slice? Heh, I guess you really are his disciple at heart.”

“In more ways than one.” Blake flung the blood off her blade while she sharpened them on one another.

“And why would you say that?” Blake looked back at her. The vacant and dim stare she gave expressed a bleak hollowing pain Jacquelyn couldn’t mistake. “Oh…well that’s okay. It just makes you one of us.”

#rwby #adam taurus #sobek #blake belladonna #ilia amitola #jacquelyn frost #yang xiao long #rwby shackles #rwby au

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babbushka · 4 years

Text

Gentle & Soft

(not my gif, i’m very sorry i can’t find credit for it)

007!Reader x Bond Villain!Kylo Ren

3.4k; Cw for injury, hurt/comfort, NSFW (body worship, oral sex, PIV sex, fingering, multiple orgasms, overstimulation)

Also available on AO3!

----------------------------

It happens too quickly, all at once.

Your vision blacks out as your body hits the ground, and you hold on to the last lingering sensations before slipping under. Your memories retain nothing but this moment -- the picture of Kylo Ren’s face twisted with rage as he turns his fury in the form of guns and bullets into the side of an enemy helicopter, the sound of the world whipped in a frenzy around you wind howling in your ear, the feeling of pain as it throbs through your back.

Of all of it, the look on Kylo’s face when he watches you fall, has to be the most striking, but then it’s over, as your eyes close and you soak in the dark warmth of unconsciousness.

You’d been sent to infiltrate the deepest bowels of the Royal Exhibition Building to prevent the theft of a priceless painting which hung in the adjacent museum’s halls. For the first time in a long time, Kylo Ren wasn’t the suspected target, suspected thief, and for that you were thankful – Ren was far too smart, had far too many backup plans should anything go array.

Whoever this newcomer was, this new criminal on the scene, they weren’t nearly as refined, weren’t nearly as polished. Which is how you found yourself running at top speed after this henchman, a man with shockingly red hair hidden behind a black knit cap, bolting across the roof of the building. You know he’s not the main target, the mastermind they call Snoke is hiding behind the scenes, but you figure this redhead is worth enough to bring in for questioning, if only you can catch him.

“You won’t get away!” You shout after him, and he throws you a glance over his shoulder as he jumps from roof to roof, you right on his heels.

He’s quick, but you’re quicker, and though he can climb well, so can you. You chase him, blood pounding pounding pounding in your ears as you shoot a grappling hook out of the gun on your artillery belt, your black bodysuit doing wonders to protect you from the rough texture of the brick architecture as you climb climb climb after him.

You’re close, so close, there’s nowhere for him to go you, think with a sense of victory as you force him to climb the spire of the dome, when suddenly out of nowhere, twin helicopters race towards you. You recognize neither of their designs, but you assume that one must be for you, and one must be for him, this redhead.

Their choppers whip up the wind fiercely, and the force of it knocks both you and the redhead henchman off your feet. You both lose your footing and fall down the sloped walls of the dome, your hands scraping and scrabbling for purchase.

“Shit! Shit – no!” You grunt out in pain as your body slams into the side of the building, your built-in climbing harness yanking you around from the tension of the grappling hook as it works to prevent you from falling entirely.

You manage to grab a hold of the rim of the dome as the helicopters circle you and the henchman where he too is dangling by his own rope rig. The sound is deafening, the circulating whoosh of the chopper ringing in your ear, especially as it comes closer. Mi6 couldn’t have had better timing you think, until you spare a frantic glance to the man hanging out of the helicopter and extending his hand out to you, and you recognize him as no one from the Agency at all.

“Agent – climb in!” Kylo shouts over the noise, headphones protecting his ears as he reaches for you.

“What – ? Fuck!” Your eyes are wide, not expecting to see him whatsoever – until the world becomes a blur, the grappling hook unlatches from its purchase.

The force of the winds from the chopper are enough to make your arms lose their purchase too, leaving your body to fall fall fall down the side of the building.

And as you scream, everything goes black.

----------------------------

There’s no way of knowing, how long you’re out for. It could have been days, a week, or a month for all you knew. At first, you’re not entirely sure you’re alive, not entirely sure you’ve made it – but then you remember you’ve fallen off of higher buildings, have scaled more dangerous heights, and really, you think as you wince and blink awake, it’ll take more than a three-hundred foot fall to take you out.

But you do blink awake, and you are thankful for that, even more thankful when you see you are not in a hospital, but instead in a grand master bedroom suite. Around you the world is a soft and diffused white, a product of curtains around the canopy bed frame made of sheer mosquito netting, light reflecting off the crisp white sheets made of a beautifully high quality thread count.

That same light forms around the silhouette of a man you’d recognize anywhere, a man brought to your side by the sounds of subtle shifting around as you try your best to sit up. Kylo gently pushes you back down to rest for a while longer, ducking through the canopy curtains and sitting on the edge of the bed next to you.

“Thank god you’re awake.” He whispers, afraid to talk too loud, not wanting to startle you. “How do you feel?”

You’re not so delicate though, and you sit up anyway, lean against the headboard for support. Surprisingly, you’re not sore at all, and when you look down at your limbs you don’t see any bruising. You must have been knocked out for a long time then. Still, you groan because you’re just so emotionally drained, even after just waking up.

“Like I got hit by a truck.” You reply honestly, cracking your stiff joints in a way that has Kylo wincing, the popping loud in the quiet of the room, the room in…You look at Kylo and frown ever so slightly, curious enough to ask, “Where am I?”

That’s a gamble, the asking. Usually he doesn’t tell you, on the occasions where he kidnaps you and whisks you away to some remote place. He seems to be in a good enough mood to tell you this time though, because he runs his fingers through your hair and sighs, divulges this secret information rather easily.

“My house in Tasmania, it was the closest place I could take you after the Melbourne fiasco.” He sounds remorseful, which you find interesting. In the years that you’ve known Kylo, you’ve never seen him so glum, not even when you locked him up in prison.

You slide back under the covers enough so that you can shuffle over, patting the recently vacated space in the massive bed, an invitation for him to join you. It’s then that you realize you’re wearing a silk nightgown and nothing else, and if this were any other man, you’d be embarrassed at the realization that he dressed you. However, this is not any other man, this is, for all intents and purposes, your man, and he happily sheds the layers of his suit until he’s wearing nothing but his boxers and sock garters, and slides under the covers with you.

“Are you angry with me?” Kylo has to ask, as he pulls you gently to rest against his chest, your face tucked underneath his chin.

“Hm? No, not angry.” You huff out a little laugh, because you really should be. You should be furious with him, for compromising your mission that way – except…he hadn’t compromised it, not really. He had saved you, and for that, “I’m grateful.”

Kylo pulls away a little to look at you for that comment, that admission. Poor thing must have been worrying about that the entire time you were knocked out, you realize. You give him a soft smile, as your hand comes up to cup his scarred cheek.

He turns his face into your palm and kisses the pads of your fingers, his eyes closed, lashes thick and soft as they brush against your wrist when he kisses down down down your arm.

“I didn’t think we’d ever be here, like this.” You whisper, growing fond, sentimental. The more you think about it, the happier you are that you’re here with him, with him and not in some stuffy hospital with Mi6. You’re not so sure they would have come to your rescue the way that Kylo had, the way Kylo always seems to do.

“Me neither, but I’m glad we are. I’m glad we’re here together.” Kylo agrees.

You’re both so soft in this moment, so soft spoken, as the morning light spills into the bedroom. Nothing but beautiful hazy white fills the large expanse, and the domesticity of it all doesn’t slip past you. You can’t help but let a dry laugh exhale through your nose as he combs your hair back with his hands, wraps pieces of it around his fingers.

“We’re not very good at this whole, sworn enemies thing, are we?” You hum, letting your eyes close, letting yourself bask in the beauty of being alive, of being alive with him.

“Well that’s not my fault.” Kylo mutters, making you crack open an eye again and look at him expectantly. “It isn’t! It’s all yours.”

“Me?” You laugh, making him roll over on top of you, cage your body underneath his massive arms.

“Yes, you, and you know, sometimes I can’t believe it was you. Out of everyone, you just had to steal my heart.” He presses a wet kiss to your neck, right where your jaw meets your throat, and the sudden sensation tickles enough that you’re laughing louder, your lungs filling properly with air as you gasp down giggles as he continues, “That’s very rude, you know. To steal.”

“Please don’t say you love me.” You grin, a cheeky teasing playful thing you do back and forth. Of course he loves you, of course he does. Just as you love him, wholly and completely, stupidly, dangerously.

But it’s against the rules to say it, so neither of you do.

Neither of you have to.

“Who says I was going to?” Kylo teases back, and you grin at him, smiling at the way his dimples and his teeth light up his whole face, gorgeous body backlit by the sun as the birds of the Tasmanian jungle begin to chirp, the world waking up around you.

“You were always more than just a one night stand to me.” You admit softly, your own way of saying thank you.

“Let me kiss you, please? I want to kiss every inch of your body before I fuck you.” He replies, his own way of saying you’re welcome.

You nod, and Kylo sets to work, dropping open mouthed kisses all across your skin.

He means it when he says every inch, means it when he gathers you in his arms, when he pushes your nightgown over your head, leaving your body naked against the sheets, when he trails his lips up and down your skin. He lavishes love onto your chest and stomach, your hips, your arms and shoulders. He sighs against your legs, whispers sweet nothings into the divot of your ankle and the arch of your feet, the crook of your elbows and knees.

He kisses you and kisses you and kisses you, until it’s all you can do to let your legs fall apart, all you can do to ask him to kiss you there, invite him to lick up through your pussy, for it’s been neglected for far too long. And he goes eagerly, tenderly holds your thighs and presses them apart so he can suck your clit into his mouth.

“Oh!” You sigh happily, biting at your lower lip. Your hands twist in the white cotton sheets, in his hair, in the pillowcase, in everything and anything you can get in your grasp as you lift your hips up up up to better rock against his mouth. His tongue is blazing hot and thick and firm and and and, you sigh and gasp out your pleasure a litany of nothing but his name, nothing but,

“Kylo! Kylo please, please, more.” You plead, and he only hums in response.

He hears you, but it does nothing to make him go quicker, rougher. No, he won’t be rough with you now, not so soon after the injury your body has sustained. This sex will be gentle and soft, will be healing, for your body and your soul. He licks and sucks up your cunt, hands kneading in your thighs, moaning into your pussy as he tastes you for the first time in what has to be ages.

“Oh shit I’m – I’m -- !” You come once, a blissful wash of pleasure over your nerves, relaxing you and making you shudder out, trembling softly, sweetly.

Kylo wastes little time, doesn’t let you recover, before he’s climbing back up your body. Pulling out his cock from his boxers, he rolls you over onto your stomach, your face nestled against the downy-feather pillows as he takes one from the other side of the bed and props your hips up with it.

“I’ve missed this, missed you.” He groans, his cock feels like heaven as he rubs the head of it through your slicked up folds, your come shining and sticky on your inner thighs as it drips onto the sheets. He catches one oozing drip with his cock and pushes it back into you with a groan, using your come as lubricant to thrust all the way inside.

“I’m here, I’m here with you, oh Kylo, yes, please – ” Your body is pliant and relaxed enough for him to have no trouble fitting that massive cock of his in your pussy, a feeling of fullness so wonderful that you gasp and moan just because you love the sensation of it, especially so soon after coming.

He’s just as affected, because now that your back is exposed to him, he kisses all across your shoulder blades. One of his hands rests near yours to hold himself up, and he twines his fingers through yours, the other smoothing around to cup your lower stomach where he fucks you.

It’s not really fucking, no, something this sweet is making love, but all the same, there’s a throbbing pulsing rush of pleasure as he pulls out and thrusts back in, over and over again, kissing at your open mouth, jaw dropped from how good he feels.

“Mm, oh, oh fuck,” Your eyes are closed and little tears cling to your lashes and Kylo comes in you right there because the way the light refracts off your tears, little rainbows scattered across the pillow is too much for him to bear, you’re too beautiful, he’s struck with awe from it.

Luckily, he thrusts and rolls his hips against your ass enough while he comes comes comes inside you to massage at your clit and get you coming again, your ach arching and toes curling from it, head lifting off the pillow in the shock of pleasure. He clamps his teeth down into the crook of your neck and pulls your hips as flush against his own as he can, to make sure not a single drop of his come leaks out, not wanting any of it to go to waste.

“Kylo, please I can’t – I can’t – I need – ” You wriggle in his grip, whining and whimpering as his cock throbs inside you, hips continuing to seek out pleasure even as he gives you everything he has, empties himself inside you. The head of his cock nudges ever so gently back and forth over your gspot, again and again and again, and your elbows cave in, shoulders pinching back as you collapse down against the mattress from a third orgasm, one that takes you both by surprise.

“Ffffuck, thank you, thank you Kylo.” Your pussy clenches and flutters around Kylo’s cock as tears slip down your cheek, and Kylo shushes you softly as he licks them up, massaging and kneading at your breasts, your nipples rubbing against the sheets and spurring your orgasm on longer.

It’s a beautiful sight, and eventually Kylo pulls out, rolls onto his back with a heavy sigh, pulls you to rest onto his chest.

Your hands are pleasure weak, but you lift one anyway to begin drawing little patterns on his chest. You wonder if he would guess what they are, but neither of you have the mental capacity for guessing games at the moment. So instead, you simply trace over his broad and firm chest, over all the scars.

You also throw one of your legs over his waist, and he takes the opportunity to lazily finger you, wanting to keep your nerves alight with pleasure. He slowly, carefully, pushes your mixed come back into your pussy where it begins to slide out, smears it up to your clit. The tip of his finger swirls around the throbbing little bundle of nerves, and he wonders if he can get you to come again just like this.

“I don’t want to go, I don’t want to leave you yet.” You hiccup out a moan, something soft and gentle as he kisses your eyelids.

“You don’t have to, not for a while. We’re completely off the radar, you could stay as long as you’d like. Mi6 won’t know, they won’t find you.” He whispers, as if they’re listening anyway, his fingers massaging your clit some more, smiling against your cheek with the way your breathing is shallow, the way you gulp down air.

“I have to go back eventually, they need me. I’ve got to rid the word of evil criminal masterminds.” You moan, angry with reality, angry with the world. You don’t want to go, you don’t, not when he takes care of you so well, when he lets you be here, when he touches you like this.

“That’s okay, because you know what?” He asks as he thrusts his fingers back into your pussy, thumb still working on your clit as your leg curls around him, as you grind against his muscular thigh, wanting to be closer.

“What?” You gasp, before your entire body tenses up for a moment again, again again again as more pleasure coaxes more tears and more blinding white hot stars to dance behind your eyes as you come on his fingers, “Oh – oh Kylo just a little more – just – yes!”

Kylo grins and just holds you close, holds you through it, his cock hard again from the sounds you make, and he fits it so nicely inside your pussy. He doesn’t thrust, not this time, doesn’t do anything really, just plugs you up with it, a warm reassuring weight inside and out.

He kisses your cheek, kisses your face all over, the corner of your mouth forehead temple nose, anything he can reach as you tremble underneath him.

“One day we’ll retire from these lives we’ve built, and we can be together and not have to worry about anything, maybe you’ll still like me enough to want to be mine, maybe we can build a family together. Raise little evil geniuses and world class spies and terrorize the world with them.” He jokes, except it’s not a joke, not really.

You can hear the truth in his deep voice, baritone thick and beautiful, like syrup in the jungle morning.

“I didn’t take you to be the settling down type.” Is all you say, and he breaks into a handsome grin.

“I wasn’t, not until I met you.” He rolls his eyes dramatically, as if you’re the one constantly being obtuse, “Now, all I can think about is simply holding you.”

It’s his way of saying it, of saying he loves you, you know. Everything about this, everything about the way he treats you is him saying it.

“I’d let you do a lot more than just hold me.” You reply, making him smile.

Because he knows, that as you tuck yourself against him and breathe in time, heartbeats synching up together, that it’s your way of saying it back.

----------------------------

Tagging some pals! If you’d like to be added or taken off the taglist please just give me a shout :) @steeevienicks @heldcaptivebychaos @solotriplets @formerly-anonhamster @lookinsidemyhead @candycanes19 @adamsnacc-kler @whiskey-bumblebee @magikevalynn @tinyplanet-explorers @chelsjnov @helloimindelaware @autumnlovesadam @peterisparker @goodboybensolo @the-marvelatic @miasera @emily-strange @proxyfoxy @disaster-rose @hazydespair @yosoymuyloca @1-800-choke-that-snoke @ktellmeastory @anongirl007 @zimmerxman @okk--maaan @flapjacques @aweirdlookingtree @callmemania-pls @theold-ultraviolence @og-selene @schopenhauerdeathsquad @nekonaomitard @feminine-machinegun @contesa-lui-alucard

#kylo ren x reader #kylo ren/reader #kylo ren x you #kylo ren/you #kylo ren smut #kylo ren angst #kylo ren fluff #james bond au #bond au #summer wine au #kylo ren fanfic #x reader #reader insert #adam driver character #my writing #kylo ren fanfiction

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supernaturallyobsessedchic · 3 years

Text

Emergency! Part 5

Part 5 – Rattlesnake

Summary: A rollover crash has multiple squads responding to rescue, clean up and investigate the cause. During clean up Dean is bitten by a rattlesnake. An earthquake strikes, being the largest L.A has ever experienced since the 90’s. And the reader, was out shopping when it happened, trapping her under debris. Jack’s father is at Rampart for an operation, staff, and squad 51 learn of how toxic of a Father Lucifer is.

Warnings: Scary Situations, Suspense, implied Smut, Fluff, Brief toxic parent angst, long one full of suspense and action!

Word Count: 4,233

Square: Girls Night (There is a girls night in here, and I’m using it to fill my square for @supernatural-jackles Tell me a story bingo)

Bingo Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Mobile Masterlist

a/n: this takes place a year or so after Virus. This story is going to be a long one.

“Would it be a miracle that people were actually careful and safe?” Gabe says, walking into the stations kitchen.

“One could only dream.” Cas says.

“Who’s turn is it for making lunch?”

“It’s either the father or the son.” Michael says.

“It’s my turn for lunch nimrod.” Dean says, playfully getting Gabe in playful chock hold while rubbing his knocks on his head.

Gabe struggles to get out of the Winchester’s grip.

Dean let go with little protest.

“He’s the one that did the father and son crack.” Gabe whined.

“Yeah but Dean knows not to mess with me.”

“You are just as bad as Sam with the pranks.”

“How is little bro by the way?” Gabe asks.

“He’s good, won his first case at a firm downtown. Can’t remember the name of it. And he and Jess are actually getting married by the end of this year.”

“Oh it’s about time that kid popped the question.” Michael says.

“Yeah, he and Jess are coming down for Thanksgiving, they’ll meet Y/N…”

“Have you ever met Y/N’s family yet?”

“She doesn’t talk about her family much. I don’t push her if she’s not comfortable with it.”

The stations alarm goes off.

“Station 51, rollover accident…” The dispatcher giving the location as the station jumped into action.

They got to the location, on the winding dirt road in the mountains outside of LA. Seeing the car that rolled over the guard rail and down the slope.

“What do we got?” John asked the other station that responded.

The captain wearing a big white 20 on his helmet.

“Rollover, driver’s unconscious and we don’t know his condition.”

“I’ll send my paramedics on it.”

Dean and Cas getting their supplies and rushing to the car.

They recorded his vitals on their notepads.

“Cas go relay it to Rampart, I’ll stay here with him.”

“Got it.”

“Rampart squad 51. Rampart this is squad five one.”

Bobby happened to be by the radio.

“Go ahead 51.”

“Rampart, we have a rollover accident, the victim is trapped in the car. Vitals are, BP 120 over 79, pulse rate 78. Pupils dilated and sluggish.”

“Can you get the victim out without using the jaws?”

“Negative Rampart, driver side door is jammed.”

“Then start an IV, just have some normal saline to keep him hydrated. Can’t risk a head injury going unnoticed. Follow protocol, and we’ll be waiting for you.”

“10-4 Rampart.”

A little over a half hour passed and they managed to get the victim out of the car and in an ambulance and is on the way to the hospital.

Cas and Dean were packing up the squad.

“Shit, forgot the drug box by the car, I’ll be right back.” Dean says.

“’kay.”

Dean jogged down the hill to the car to pick up the drug box when he heard a rattle.

His heart sank.

Where was it?

It wasn’t until he saw the danger noodle jump at the moment he picked up the drug box, biting down on his arm. Then latching on.

Dean managed to calmly grab the snake by the head, forcing it’s mouth open. Getting it to release him and he threw the snake far.

He grabbed his radio.

“Station 51, it’s Dean. I just got bit by a rattlesnake.”

He quickly worked his belt off his waist to make himself a tourniquet.

“Gabe, Kevin, get down there now!” John ordered.

They hurried down the hill to Dean’s aid.

Earlier that day…

“Alright that’s the last of them.” Y/N says to herself as she got all settled in Dean’s house.

They had just recently took things to the next level and she has moved in with him. She was off work taking the time to finish settling in. But Dean’s 24 hour shift just started, so Dean was away at work, saving people.

“Now, a girls night…er, day.” She says, knowing who to call to hang out with for the day.

She pulls out her phone, calling up a few girls she knows and knows they’re off.

“Hey Donna, you up for a girls night?”

“Oh hell ya girlfriend, who’s all gonna be there?”

“Well, you, me, Rowena the overnight RN, Jody. I want to invite Charlie, a friend of Dean’s but I think she’s working.”

“Girl, I can’t wait! You want me to meet you at your place or Dean’s?”

“I just finished moving in with Dean, I’m at Dean’s. You can meet me at Dean’s.” She explained.

“Oh, ho-ho-ho, girl, we need to catch up!”

The girl was full of energy and Y/N could feel it through the phone.

“Yes we do, see you here in a few, and I’ll call the others.” She says, hanging up.

The doorbell rang hours later calling the girls. She opens the door.

“Hi!” Donna cheers, holding two cases of beer.

“You know how to party, Charlie’s off today she’s on her way with some wine as well.” Y/N says letting her in. Closing the door behind her.

“Oh, I like her already.”

“Jody got caught up with a Drunk Driver and won’t make it. But Rowena is coming so it’s just us four.”

“Still a good girls night, so what else are we doing tonight?”

“Probably catch up a bit, binge some Netflix shows. The Witcher season 2 is coming out soon and I want to rewatch that.”

“Oh, Geralt can hunt me down any day.”

“You do realize the man is hundreds of years old?”

“Yeah, but Henry Cavil isn’t.” she winks.

Y/N rolls her eyes with a giggle.

The doorbell rang shortly after revealing Rowena. And moments later, Charlie.

“You two are so going to get married.” Donna says, downing her second bottle of beer.

“He really is, really sweet, kind and the perfect kind of guy for me. He knows my schedule. And I know his. We both were scared the hours of our work would mess things up. But with how many times the man gets hurt on the job while I’m working I am always assuming he’s purposely getting hurt just so he can see me at work.”

Charlie giggling. “I see that being a thing he does.”

Rowena sipping away at the red wine Charlie brought.

“Ro, how are things with you girl?” Y/N asked.

“Oh, you know. Saving people, taking names…”

“She’s in love.” Donna deadpans.

Rowena rolls her eyes with a smirk.

Y/N gasps. “What’s his name?”

“His name is Arthur Ketch, he the neurologist up on Fourth Floor. He works under Singer.”

“Oh I know of him, I mean, Bobby is planning on retiring and isn’t Ketch supposed to take his place?”

Rowena nods with a hum. Still having a playful smirk on her face.

“Oh you are so in love with him.” Y/N says with a smile.

“He may have taken me out on a date a few days ago and we have another date tomorrow night.”

“Ro, I’m so happy for you!”

“Thank you sweetie, and I’m happy for you and Dean, don’t let that one go darling.”

“I don’t see that happening, just as long he stays safe on a job. I’m worried of him getting seriously hurt on the job. I mean that virus a year ago, that really scared me. I thought I was gonna lose him.”

The girls nod, understanding.

“Anyone up for some hot guys and monsters!” Donna says, entering the room with a glass generously full of red wine.

“Girl, you’re gonna regret the headache the next day.”

“I’m off work tomorrow, so if I get a migraine I’m good!” she says chuckling.

The girls rolling their eyes at their friend.

“Rowena, would you be able to drive her home?”

“Yes, she’s at least on the way home for me.”

“Thank you, last thing I want is to give poor Jody another drunk to worry about.”

“At least I’m the fun kind of drunk.” Donna says, getting the Witcher on Y/N’s TV screen.

“Ro, drive safe!”

“Will do sweetie, have a good rest of your night!” Rowena says, escorting a silly drunk Donna to her car.

“I’ll drive her car home tomorrow.” Y/N offers.

“Will do darling, goodnight!”

“Night!”

“Y/N that was the most fun I’ve had, never thought of you to be the nerdy type.”

“Oh, I’m a nerd in disguise if anything.” Y/N winks.

“Ugh, why are you straight!”

“Not sure.”

Y/N’s pocket happens to vibrate at that moment.

“Hello?”

“Y/N?” Hearing Dr. Kline’s voice on the other end.

“What’s up Jack?”

“It’s Dean, he’s been bit by a rattlesnake, he’s on his way in on the top of Engine 51.”

“I’m on my way.” Y/N says, not hesitating grabbing her keys to her car. Hanging up the phone quickly from him.

“I’m going with you sweetie.” Charlie says, following y/n to her car.

Turning the keys she turns on her emergency flashers and speeds her way to Rampart hospital.

“Engine 51, what are the patients vitals?” Jack asks.

Dean, takes his own pulse, his own blood pressure. All while Cas drove the squad ahead of the engine.

“Pulse rate, 95. O2 Sat, 98, Respiration 18, BP 120 over 65.”

“Dispatch relay to Engine 51 to start IV using Ringers Lactate.” Jack asks.

“Engine 51, Rampart advises start IV using Ringers Lactate.”

“10-4” Gabe says over the radio.

Dean having heard the radio begins the process to start an IV.

“There goes Engine 51!” Charlie shouts, while Y/N sat at the red light. Seeing the engine tear through the intersection.

Her light happened to turn green for her.

“Hold on.” Y/N says. As she starts pressing on the gas pedal slowly pushing it to the floor. Her tires squealing.

Gabe looked up hearing tires. Looking over the edge, he sees a familiar car.

“Oh shit, his girl is right behind us.” He says.

Dean chuckled. “And I’m the worry wort.”

“Engine 51, Rampart is requesting an update.”

“Relay to Rampart, patient is starting to experience numbness around the mouth, and he’s drowsy.” Dean says on the radio.

“Engine 51 you’re breaking up, please repeat.”

John grabbed the radio.

“Relay to Rampart, Patient is started to experience numbness around the mouth and he’s drowsy.”

“Roger that.” Dispatch says.

“Venom sounded like it hit a vein.” Jack says.

“Y/N’s gonna be so worried.” Meg says. Standing next to Bobby and Jack at the nurses station.

The squad, the engine pulled into the emergency entrance. Y/N pulled into the parking lot near the emergency entrance, finding a spot quickly. She quickly parked it, turned off the car. Jumping out, locking the car. Charlie staying close to her.

Meg stayed by the door, waiting for Y/N and Charlie.

“How’s he doing so far?” Y/N asked.

“We started a skin test with the antivenom. Hopefully he doesn’t have a reaction, that way we can start treatment right away.” Jack says.

“How long do we have to wait?” Y/N asked.

“20 Minutes.”

Y/N and the rest of the members of station 51 nodded, understanding.

“Let’s go wait guys.” Charlie suggested.

Everyone left the room, trying to keep their hopes high despite their shoulders slumped.

As the night came to a close, and he didn’t have a reaction to the antivenom skin test and he has been laying, sound asleep in his room as the antivenom worked it’s magic on him.

Y/N laid in his bed with him, curled into his side. Her head on his chest, listening to the calming rhythm of Dean’s heartbeat.

Dean began to stir awake, feeling a warmth at his side. Waking up a bit more he sees his favorite girl in his life laying at his side.

His arm came up around her, holding her close. Placing a loving sweet kiss atop her head as he fell back asleep, letting the rest and medicine work it’s magic on him.

The next day…

Y/N arrived on time to the hospital to pick up Dean, filling out his discharge papers another patient was being brought in.

“Who’s that?” Dean asks.

“Jack’s dad, he never talks about him.”

“Why is that?”

Jack happened behind them.

“I was adopted, he gave me up when I was, like 5.”

“Jackie, son how are you?” the man asks from the bed.

“You don’t call me son.”

“Since when can a father—”

“You may be my father by blood. But not a true father.”

“What did you expect me to hold your hand? Kiss your booboo’s when you got hurt like some sort of pansy?”

“Oh now I see why.” Dean mutters in Y/N’s ear.

“How long is he gonna be here anyway?” Jack asks the medics that brought him in.

“His cardiologist what’s him to have a pacemaker in today. So he’s gonna be here for a bit.”

Jack groans under his breath.

“I’ll hand him over to someone else?”

“Why do you suck ass?” His father asks.

“Okay, listen here dude.” Y/N steps in.

“Y/N, please—” Jack says.

“No, you can either treat the staff of Rampart emergency with respect or we can and will kick you out for your hostility.” She says.

He shrunk in his bed.

“Will you be on your best behavior or will I have to send you to a different hospital?” she asks.

“I’ll be on my best behavior.”

“Good. And if I hear your antagonizing him, or any more of our staff we will transfer you. And you won’t be welcome here again.”

“Understood.”

“Good.” She says, storming out of the hospital.

“Don’t piss her off, can anyone remind of that?” Dean asks jokingly as he follows her out.

Later on that day…

“Dean, babe, I’m gonna go do some arrands really quick.”

“Alright be safe sweetheart.”

She goes to the living room, where he sat watching Netflix, giving him a quick kiss on his lips. But Dean quickly places a hand on her cheek deepening the kiss. Clearly wanting more.

“Babe, maybe tonight. But I need to head out to stay ahead of traffic.”

“Fine, drive safe baby.”

“Always do!”

“Says the crazy girlfriend chasing a fire engine!”

“I’m not that crazy!” She laughed.

Dean chuckled as he heard her laugh, closing the door behind her.

She pushed her cart around Target getting not only food, but some cute lingerie for that night. Even grabbing Dean something from Spencer’s for them to try in bed later.

She felt the ground tremble slightly. The hairs on her arms stood up on end.

“No not now.” She mutters.

Without warning, the ground shook violently, taking her and other shoppers to the floor. The power going out, items being thrown on the floor. The lights swinging wildly, ceiling tiles falling. They were having a bad earthquake. And she was smacked in the middle of LA, in a multilevel mall.

Meanwhile Dean back at home had just turned off the oven having cooked himself some pizza for lunch after noticing Y/N having ate already.

He heart he windows vibrate, feeling the ground tremble slightly. He stood in the kitchen still yet alert.

When the ground gave way again to another violent shake, but only enough to cause their dishes to fall off the countertop, the cupboard doors swinging open and closed. The TV rocking back and forth on the stand. Dean dived to the table to get under it, and wait it out.

Meanwhile back at Target, screaming shoppers can be heard throughout more than just Target.

Once the shaking had calmed down, she knew they had to get out immediately.

She quickly pulled out her phone. Seeing the alert had gone off.

An 7.5 earthquake.

“How big was that?” someone asks.

“I don’t know but that was big!” someone else shouts.

“My phone says 7.5, it was big enough.” Y/N shouts.

“Oh god, we’re dead!”

“Okay, Okay, don’t panic, we just have to get out of here before the aftershocks kick in.” Y/N suggests.

“Where can we go, we’re on the top floor!”

“At one part of the mall this is the ground floor, we just have to find another one of the exits. Avoid the escalators, we have to get out before the floor collapses on us.” She explains.

“I’m with her.”

“Oh my god! Someone help me!”

Bring on the victims. She thought.

“I’m a nurse, what’s wrong!” Y/N shouts.

“It’s my husband, he’s bleeding!”

She ran to the panicked woman.

“Where at?” she asks.

“His leg, a shard of glass from the wine cut him.”

She examines his leg.

“Do you have a belt sir?”

He nods.

“Let’s get it off of you and make a tourniquet.” She says.

Y/N helps him get his belt off and works on tying it above the cut on his leg. Not too tight but tight enough.

“Okay, do you got him?” she asks the man’s wife.

“Yes, but where---”

“I came in from the ground level entrance, it’s a ways north, we just go this way.” She pointed out.

“You make it sound so easy, how are you so calm?”

“I’m an emergency nurse at Rampart.”

“You’re so amazing, thank you, thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome, now lets get out of here.”

“Alright everyone, you can follow me, the ground level entrance is this way.” Y/N shouts.

And she began leading the herd.

“Do you hear that?” Someone asked in the Food quart.

“Oh shit, they didn’t turn off the gas.” Y/N muttered.

“GET AWAY FROM THE FOOD QUART!” She shouts.

Just as the people ran in a panic out of the doors near the food quart leading to one of the parking lots out on the ground level, an explosion of fire broke out in a couple of the restaurants in the food quart.

“We’re dead!” a number of people shouted.

“We’ll get out of this, just stay calm and follow me!” Y/N encouraged. As she and everyone behind her, around her, all shielded themselves from the fire.

Dean, in his car sped his way to station 51.

“It’s all hands on deck, there’s fires everywhere.” John says as Dean entered the station.

“Y/N’s at the mall.”

“Which one?”

“The one off of Center Pointe.”

“Shit, that’s one of our calls. Get suited up, and lets go.”

As the alarm goes off in the station, Dean hurries to the squad, grabbing his fireman’s bottoms and coat.

“I got your boots and mine, lets go!” Cas says, getting in the passenger.

Dean not wasting anytime, turns on the squad and follows the engine out of the station, speeding towards the shopping center.

“Are we there yet?” a little girl asks.

“Almost there sweetheart, we just have to---”

“Wait!” someone pulls Y/N back.

Y/N grabbing the man’s arm noticing a drop.

“The floor caved in…shit, that’s what I was worried about.”

“Oh, now what!?”

She looked around, finding another way through the store down below.

“Look there’s an exit down there.”

“But it leads to the underground parking.”

“Still it’s a way out, just wait here then, there’s an incline here, I’ll just climb down and see how far the exit is from the underground parking.” Y/N says, determined to get these people out and out alive.

Sliding down the concrete ramp, she jogs through the store, climbing through a fissure in the wall, seeing the garage not perfect but from where she was there was a path closest to the building leading out to daylight.

She hurries back to the scared people.

“There’s a straightforward path outside from here, come on, if we hurry---”

The ground began to shake, throwing her off balance.

“Oh no it’s an aftershock!” someone shouted.

The engine managed to get to the shopping mall, seeing a fire in one section. Coming to a stop they can feel the aftershocks.

“Shit, we have to hurry, Dean, Cas, find a way in. Kevin, Michael, find us some water!” John ordered.

Dean taking the squad closer to the building, scoping out a way in.

“We could try there.” Cas suggested.

“It doesn’t look too structurally sound Cas.”

“It’s holding up so far.”

“True. Okay, but lets find a plan B.”

“And C.”

“And D.”

“I hear sirens!” Someone shouted.

“Come on, the opening is still here!” Y/N shouted.

“Go on baby, mommy and daddy are right behind you.” A pair of parent said to the small girl.

She slid down the concrete ramp, looking scared and timid but Y/N stood by close until her parents met up with her.

“Okay, keep it going, we’re almost out of here!” Y/N encouraged.

It seemed to be going smoothly, everyone was starting to rush down the ram and running outside, frantically.

“Dean look!” Cas shouted as Dean made a loop around the Mall.

“That’s a good sign, okay, let’s help them.” Dean says, bring the squad to a stop.

“Engine 51, this is squad 51, Cap, there’s an couple of entrances above ground that are stable, but we found one by the underground parking, a large number of survivors are coming out.”

“Copy that.” John says.

“Anyone hurt!” Cas asked as he got out.

A number of people saying their fine, scared. A select few coming forward with injuries of cuts.

“Good job miss on making that tourniquet.” Dean commented.

“Oh, I didn’t do that, a nice lady, a nurse from Rampart did it.”

Dean’s heart dropped. Y/N was in there.

“Did you see her?” Dean asked. Unable to hide the panic look in his face.

“We ran right past her, she led us out that way.”

“Atta girl, Cas you got them?” Dean asked.

“I got them, go.” Cas says as he attends to the couple.

Dean got to the opening and he could see a familiar figure in the dark dusty parking lot.

“Y/N!”

“Dean!” she shouts, turning to find him in the opening.

People still trinkling out. Dean helping them out the best he could.

“You hurt!”

“No, I’m fine, just help them!”

What started as a light tremble got slightly stronger, another aftershock.

“Oh fuck, Y/N hurry up!” Dean shouted.

Y/N hurried the people out. And just as she was making her way to Dean she heard a puppy barking. Stopping her dead in her tracks. She began to search for it.

A puppy scurried out from under a car with a limp, barking fearfully.

“It’s okay baby, I got you.” She says, hurrying to the scared puppy. Looking at it’s paw. Seeing a shard of glass in one of it’s paw pads.

“Poor thing, I got you.” She says.

She heard a crack in the concrete. All of a sudden the ceiling looking closer and feeling a lot closer. She fell on her rear, the ceiling seemed like it didn’t want to stop.

No. she prayed.

The after shock stopping just as soon as it started, the ceiling stopped.

“Y/N! Please say something!”

“I’m okay!” she shouts.

The concrete already sounding unstable, she hurries, crawling on all fours with the puppy in her hand, she even brings her feet into the crawling.

Like a domino effect, the ceiling begins to collapse.

A little girl stopped by one of the cars, scared, crying. Not stopping, she grabs the girl by the arm, and continues to crawl.

“Run guys, run!” Dean chants.

“Keep going sweetie, keep running!” Y/N tells the little girl.

The girl being the first out, dives into Dean’s arms.

“I gotchu sweetheart!” Dean tells her.

Y/N making a dive out, landing on her back with the pupping in her chest as the parking lot collapses behind her in a cloud of dust.

Y/N got up, still holding the puppy, trembling in her arms, licking her graciously on her neck. As if it was thanking her for saving her.

Dean stood by the squad, consoling the child, sees Y/N walking with a puppy in her arms. Panting from the adrenaline. Hurries to her, engulfs her in his arms.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“I’m fine.”

“You go to Target and you come back with a puppy.” He smirks.

“I couldn’t resist, he was cute!” Y/N giggles.

“So far, everyone’s okay, in one piece, little girl’s back with her parents.” Dean informs her.

“That’s good.”

“Is it me or does danger just seem to find us?”

“Something.”

The next day…

“Come here Tremor!” Y/N coaxes.

The Basset Hound Puppy running over, his ears flopping in the wind. Making Y/N giggle.

“Good boy!”

“I’m home!” Dean shouts from the house.

“Go get daddy boy!” she encourages. The puppy making a mad dash for Dean. Only to trip on his ears in the run. Earning a laugh from Dean and Y/N.

“It’s okay buddy, I gotchya!” Dean says, meeting the puppy halfway, and picking him up.

The puppy showering Dean in licks.

“Been good for mommy.”

“Still working on potty training, he peed in the house, that’s why I opened it up.”

“Eh, it’s a learning progress for the little dude.”

“Yeah, so, how was work today?”

“Oh, same old. Rescued a cat from a tree, saved a heart attack victim. The usual.” Dean jokes.

Y/N giggling. Giving him a kiss on the lips. Only for him to deepen it, the puppy getting jealous and licking both of them.

“Okay, Tremor, we get it.” Dean goes.

“And I owe someone some sexy fun time tonight.” Y/N says playfully as she heads back inside.

“Yes you do.” Dean says. Following her at her heels.

A/N: How did you like it? I’m so glad my block is gone and I was able to cook this up. Let me know how you liked it! Feedback is always appreciated! :3

Dean Girls:

@pandazombie69, @luci-in-trenchcoats, @supernatural-jackles, @becs-bunker, @jayankles, @jeaniespiehs20, @mlovesstories, @winchesters-favorite-girl, @flamencodiva, @megzdoodle, @lyarr24, @akshi8278, @anotherspnfanfic

Copying and reposting someone else’s content is plagiarism and illegal. This work is property of supernaturallyobsessedchic. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. These works contain material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of these works may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher. An electronic reference link to the original posted work may be provided for purposes of promotion or assistance of publication by the readers discretion, if proper credits are given to the author in the re-post. 4/6/2021

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thewidowsghost · 3 years

Text

The Unknown Muggleborn - Chapter 5

3rd Person POV

Harry would have never believed that he would hate anyone more than Dudley, but that was before he had met Draco Malfoy. Still, Gryffindors only had Potions with the Slytherins, so they didn't have to put up with Malfoy much. Or at least, they didn't until they spot a notice pinned up in the Gryffindor common room that makes them all groan. Flying lessons would be starting Thursday – and Gryffindor and Slytherin would be learn together.

"Typical," says Harry darkly. "Just what I always wanted, to make a fool of myself on a broomstick in front of Malfoy."

Harry and (Y/N) had been looking forward to learning to fly more than anything else.

"You don't know that you'll make a fool of yourself," says Ron reasonably. "Anyway, I know Malfoy's always going on about how good he is at Quidditch, but I bet that's all talk."

Malfoy certainly did talk about flying a lot. He complained loudly about first years never getting on the House Quidditch teams and told long, boastful stories that always seemed to end up with him narrowly escaping Muggles in helicopters. He wasn't the only one, though: the way Seamus Finnigan told it, he'd spent most of his childhood zooming around the countryside on his broomstick. Even Ron would tell anyone who'd listen about the time he'd almost hit Charlie's old broom. Everyone from wizarding families talked about Quidditch constantly. Ron had already had a big argument with Dean Thomas, who shared their dormitory, about soccer. Ron couldn't see what was exciting about a game with only one ball where no one was allowed to fly. (Y/N), who was tired of listening to the two argue, walks over and calms both Ron and Dean down, though when she turned away, Ron shot a glare at her that Hermione catches and glares straight back.

Neville had never been on a broomstick in his life, because his grandmother had never let him near one. Privately, (Y/N) though, she'd had good reason, because Neville had an awful lot of accidents, even with both feet on the ground.

Hermione was almost as nervous about flying as Neville was.

"Hermione, dear, this isn't something you can learn in a book," (Y/N) tells her nervous bushy, brown-headed sister. Though, it's not like she won't try, (Y/N) thinks. And she isn't wrong. At breakfast on Thursday, she bores them all stupid with flying tips she'd read out of a library book called, Quidditch Through the Ages. Neville is hanging onto every word, desperate for anything that might help him hang on to his broomstick later, but everyone else is pleased when Hermione's lecture is interrupted by the arrival of the mail.

A barn owl lands in front of (Y/n) and sticks it's leg out to her and (Y/n) unties the letter from the owl's leg.

(Y/n) opens the letter, reading:

Hey, (Y/N),

Good luck with flying lessons today. I hope you have an amazing time. One of my most favorite things about Hogwarts is Quidditch. See you,

F.W.

(Y/N) looks up again and nods to Fred, who had been watching her read the letter.

Another barn owl brings Neville a small package from his grandmother. (Y/N), startled by the large owl landing just in front of her, Neville was sitting beside her, drops the letter, and Hermione picks it up, handing it back to her green eyed sister.

"Thanks," (Y/N) says, smiling at Hermione before turning her attention back to Neville, who was opening his package. He pulls out a glass ball the size of a large marble, which seems to he full of white smoke.

"It's a Remembrall!" he explains. "Gran knows I forget things – this tells you if there's something you've forgotten to do." Look, you hold it tight like this and if it turns red – oh..." His face falls, because the Remembrall had suddenly glowed scarlet. "... you've forgotten something..."

Neville was trying to remember what he'd forgotten when Draco Malfoy, who was passing the Gryffindor table, snatches the Remembrall out of his hand. Harry and Ron, who were sitting beside Iliana, jump to their feet. They were half hoping for a reason to fight Malfoy, but Professor McGonagall, who could spot trouble quicker than any teacher in the school, was there in a flash.

"What's going on?" Professor McGonagall asks sternly.

"Malfoy's got my Remembrall, Professor," Neville says quickly.

Scowling, Malfoy quickly drops the Remembrall back onto the table. "Just looking," he says, and slops away with Crabbe and Goyle behind him.

"Neville, you've forgotten your robes," (Y/N) says, and Neville's eyes widen.

"I should have noticed that," Neville says, jumping to his feet. "Thanks, (Y/N)," he calls over his shoulder, heading to the Gryffindor dormitories, (Y/N) guesses.

At three-thirty that afternoon, (Y/N), Hermione, Harry, Ron and the other Gryffindors hurry down to the front stops onto the ground for their first flying lesson. It's a clear, breezy day, and the grass ripples under their feet as they march down to the sloping lawns toward a smooth, flat lawn on the opposite side of the grounds to the forbidden forest, who's trees were swaying darkly in the distance.

The Slytherins were already there, and so were twenty broomsticks lying in neat lines on the ground. (Y/N) had heard Fred and George complain about the school brooms, saying that some of them started to vibrate if you flew too high, or always flew slightly to the left.

Their teacher, madam Hooch, arrives. She has short, gray hair, and yellow eyes like a hawk.

"Well, what are you all waiting for?" she barks. "Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up!"

(Y/N) glances down at her broom, it was old and some of the twigs were sticking down at odd angles.

"Stick out your right hand over your broom," calls Madam Hooch at the front, "and say 'Up!'"

"UP!" everyone shouts.

(Y/N) and Harry's brooms jump into their hands at once, but they were some of the only ones that did. Hermione's broom had simply rolled over on the ground, and Neville's hadn't moved at all. Perhaps brooms, like horses, could tell when you were afraid, thinks Harry; there was a quaver in Neville's voice that said only to clearly that he wanted to keep his feet on the ground.

Madam Hooch then shows the first-years how to mount their brooms without sliding off the end, and walks up and down the rows correcting their grips. Harry, Ron, and (Y/N) are delighted when she tells Malfoy that he'd been doing it wrong for years.

"Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard," says Madam Hooch. "Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle – three – two –"

Neville, nervous and jumpy and frightened of being left on the ground, pushes off hard before the whistle had even touched Madam Hooch's lips.

"Come back, boy!" she shouts, but Neville is rising straight up like a cork being shot out of a bottle – twelve feet – twenty feet. (Y/N) could see his scared white face look down and his broom carries him over near the wall, Neville gasps, and slips sideways off the broom, his newly found robes catching on a metal rod, before tearing and –

WHAM – a thud and a nasty crack and Neville is lying face down on the grass in a heap. His broomstick still rising higher and higher, and starting to drift lazily towards the Forbidden Forest and out of sight.

Madam Hooch was bending over Neville, her face as white as his.

"Broken wrist," Harry and (Y/N) hear her mutter, and the two first-year's gazes meet, both sets of green eyes wide. "Come on, boy – it's alright, up you get." She turns to the rest of the class. "None of you move while I take this boy to the hospital wing! You leave those brooms where they are or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say 'Quidditch.' Come on, dear."

Neville, his face tear-streaked, clutching his wrist, hobbles off with Madam Hooch, who had her arm around him.

No sooner were they out of earshot than Malfoy bursts into laughter. "Did you see his face, the great lump?"

The other Slytherins join in.

"Shut up, Malfoy," snap Parvati Patil.

"Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom?" says Pansy Parkinson, a hard-faced Slytherin girl. "Never thought you'd like fat little crybabies, Parvati."

"Look!" says Malfoy, darting forwards and snatching something out of the grass. "It's that stupid thing Longbottom's gran sent him."

The Remembrall glittered in the sun as he held it up.

"Give that here, Malfoy," said (Y/N) quietly. Everyone stopped talking to watch. (Y/N)'s usually green eyes flash silver, and Malfoy looks nervous for a second before he smiles nastily.

"I think I'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find – how about – up a tree?" Malfoy says.

"Give it here!" Harry yells, stepping up to stand beside (Y/N), but Malfoy leaps onto his broomstick, and takes off. Malfoy hadn't been lying, he could fly, and well. Hovering level with the topmost branches of an oak he calls, "Come and get it Potter, Mudblood!"

At Malfoy's final word, all the Gryffindors gasp, and even some of the Slytherins share wide eyed looks. (Y/N) snaps, she grabs her broom, Harry grabbing his.

"No!" shouts Hermione, "Madam Hooch told us no to move – you'll get us all into trouble." (Y/N) silver eyes pass over her.

Harry ignores Hermione, blood pounding in his and (Y/N)'s ears. The two first-years mount their brooms, and in unison, kick hard against the ground and up, up, up they soar; air rushing though their hair, and robes whipping behind them. Harry – in a rush of fierce joy, realizes they he'd found something he could do without being taught – this was easy, this was wonderful. (Y/N) and Harry pull their broomsticks up a little to take them higher, and they hear screams and gasps from the students back on the ground and an admiring whoop from Ron.

The two turn their broomsticks sharply to face Malfoy in midair, and Malfoy looks stunned.

"Give it here," Harry calls, "or I'll knock you off that broom!"

"Oh, yeah?" says Malfoy, trying to sneer, but looking worried. Harry knew, somehow, what to do. He leaned forward and grasped the broom tightly in both hands, and it shot toward Malfoy like a javelin. Malfoy only just got out of the way in time; Harry made a sharp about-face and held the broom steady, his green eyes meeting silver just over Malfoy's shoulder. A few people below were clapping.

"No Crabbe and Goyle up here to save your neck, Malfoy," (Y/N) calls coldly.

The same thought seems to have struck Malfoy.

"Catch it if you can, then!" he shouts, and he throws the glass ball high into the air and streaks back towards the ground.

(Y/N) sees, as if in slow motion, the ball rise up in the air then start to fall. She whips around, leaning forwards, her broom handle down – next second, she was gathering speed in a very steep dive, racing the ball – wind whistling in her ears mingled with the screams of the people watching – she stretches out her hand – six inches from the ground she catches it, throwing the ball back to Harry who was diving down just above her. Harry catches the ball, and topples gently onto the grass with the Remembrall clutched safely in his fist, though (Y/N) didn't have such a gentle landing. Going to pull her broom up, the handle, understandably six inches from the ground, catches on a patch of grass, and the (H/C) haired girl tumbled off her broom, rolling a couple of feet, before stopping, and jumping to her feet. Combing her hair out of her face, (Y/N) eyes, returning back green, sees all the people looking at her in shock.

"HARRY POTTER! (Y/N) (L/N)!"

Harry's heart sinks faster than (Y/N) had just dived. Professor McGonagall was running towards them. (Y/N) walks over to Harry, and pulls him to his feet, and the (H/C) hair girl looks at her teacher, her eyes returning to a soft silver.

"Never – in all my time at Hogwarts –" Professor McGonagall was almost speechless with shock and her glasses flash furiously, " - how dare you – might have broken your necks–"

"Actually, Professor, that would have been me," (Y/N) couldn't help but saying, before slapping her hand over her own mouth. Hermione gasps in shock at her sister's comment and Professor McGonagall looks down at (Y/n), her eyes wide.

"It wasn't their fault, Professor –"

"Be quiet, Miss Patil –" Professor McGonagall snaps at Parvati.

"But Malfoy –" Ron tries to say.

"That's enough, Mr. Weasley. Potter, (L/N), follow me, now." McGonagall snaps.

Harry catches sight of Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle's triumphant faces as the three leave, and (Y/N) catches the eyes of her three best friends' gazes, all three terrified. Harry and (Y/N) walk numbly in Professor McGonagall's wake as she strides towards the castle. They were going to be expelled, Harry and (Y/N) knew it. Harry wants to say something to defend himself, but there seemed to be something wrong with his voice. Professor McGonagall is sweeping along without even looking at them, (Y/N) and Harry's gazes meet for a moment, and they walk up the marble staircase inside, and Professor McGonagall still hasn't said a word to them. She wrenches open doors and marches along corridors with Harry and (Y/N) trotting miserably behind her. Maybe she was taking them to Dumbledore. Harry thinks of Hagrid, expelled but still allowed to stay on as gamekeeper. Perhaps Harry could be Hagrid's assistant, his stomach twists as he imagines it, watching Ron and the other becoming wizards while he stumps around the grounds carrying Hagrid's bag.

(Y/n) thinks of Hermione, Mr. and Mrs. Granger, her family, the three who had taken her in . . . What would they think of her now?

Finally, Professor McGonagall stops outside a classroom. She opens the door, and pokes her head inside. "Excuse me, Professor Flitwick, could I borrow Wood for a moment?"

Wood? thinks Harry, bewildered; was Wood a can she was going to use on them?

But Wood turns out to be a person, a burly fifth-year boy who comes out of Flitwick's class, looking confused.

"Follow me, you three," says Professor McGonagall, and they march down the corridor, Wood looking curiously at Harry and (Y/N).

"In here," McGonagall says, and the three students walk into the classroom.

"Peeves, can you leave?" (Y/N) asks, and the poltergeist look at her, before quietly leaving the room. She turns around, "What?" she asks, as the other three were looking at her strangely.

"Anyway, Potter, (L/N), this is Oliver Wood. Wood – I've found you a Seeker and a Chaser."

Wood's expression changes from puzzlement to delight.

"Are you serious, Professor?" Wood exclaims.

"Absolutely," says Professor McGonagall crisply. "They're both naturals, I've never seen anything like it. Was that your first time on a broomstick?"

The two nod silently, Harry didn't have a clue what was going on, but they didn't seem to be getting expelled, and some of the feeling had started coming back to his legs.

"She caught that thing in her hand after a fifty-foot dive," Professor McGonagall tells Wood. "Charlie Weasley couldn't have done it. And Potter here caught that thing from a 45 foot throw."

Wood was now looking as all his dreams had come true at once.

"Ever seen a game of Quidditch, Potter? (L/N)?" he asks excitedly.

"Wood's the captain of the Gryffindor team." Professor McGonagall explains.

"She's just the build for a Seeker, too," says Wood, now walking around (Y/N) and staring at her. "Light – speedy – we'll have to get them decent brooms, Professor – Nimbus Two Thousands or Cleansweep Sevens, I'd say."

"I shall speak to Professor Dumbledore and see if we can't bend the first-year rule. Heaven knows, we need a better team than last year. Flattened in that last match by Slytherin, I couldn't look Severus Snape in the face for weeks..."

Professor McGonagall peers sternly over her glasses at Harry and (Y/N), "I want to hear you're training hard, Potter, (L/N), or I may change my mind about punishing you two." The she smiles, turning to Harry saying, "You're father would have been proud, Potter," she says, "He was an excellent Quidditch player himself."

"You're joking!"

It was now dinner time, Harry is telling Ron what happened when he and (Y/n) had left the grounds with Professor McGonagall. Ron had a piece of kidney pie halfway to his mouth, but he'd forgotten all about it.

"Chaser?" he says. "But first years never – you must be the youngest house play in about –"

"- a century," says Harry, shoveling pie into his mouth. He was feeling particularly hungry after the excitement of the afternoon. "Wood told me."

Ron was so amazed, so impressed, he just sits and gapes at Harry.

"We start training next week," says Harry. "Only, don't tell anyone, Wood wants to keep it a secret."

Fred and George Weasley come into the hall, spot Harry, and hurry over.

"Well done," says George in a low voice. "Wood just told us. We're on the team too – Beaters."

"I tell you, we're going to win that Quidditch Cup for sure this year," says Fred. "We haven't won since Charlie left, but this year's team is going to be brilliant. You and (Y/N) must be good, Harry, Wood was almost skipping when he told us."

"Anyway we've got to go, Lee Jordan reckons he's found a new secret passageway out of the school," George says.

"Bet it's that one behind the statue of Gregory the Smarmy that we found in our first week, see you," Fred says, and they walk away.

Fred and George had hardly disappeared when someone far less welcome turns up: Malfoy, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle.

"Having a last mean, Potter? When are you getting on the train back to the Muggles? I haven't seen Mudblood (L/N), so I assume she's already back home?"

"You're a lot braver not that you're back on the ground and you've got your little friends with you," says Harry coolly. There was of course nothing at all little about Crabbe and Goyle, but as the High Table was full of teachers, neither of them could do more than crack their knuckles and scowl.

"I'd take you on anytime on my own," says Malfoy. "Tonight, if you want. Wizard's duel. Wands only – no contact. What's the matter? Never heard of a wizard's duel before, I suppose?"

"Of course he has," says Ron, wheeling around. "I'm his second, who's yours?"

Malfoy looks at Crabbe and Goyle, sizing them up.

"Crabbe," he says. "Midnight all right? We'll meet you in the trophy room; that's always unlocked."

When Malfoy leaves, Ron and Harry look at each other.

"What is a wizard's duel?" says Harry. "And what do you mean, you're my second?"

Well, a second's there to take over if you die," says Ron casually, starting at last on his cold pie. Catching the look on Harry's face, he adds quickly, "But people only die in proper duels, you know, with real wizards. The most you and Malfoy'll be able to do is send sparks at each other. Neither of you knows enough magic to do any real damage. I bet he expected you to refuse, anyway."

"And what if I wave my wand and nothing happens?" Harry asks.

"Throw it away and punch him on the nose," Ron suggests.

"Excuse me." Harry and Ron look up to see Hermione, with Thora and Iliana at her shoulder.

"Can't a person eat in peace in this place?" says Ron.

Hermione ignores him and speaks to Harry. "I couldn't help overhearing what you and Malfoy were saying –"

"Bet you could," Ron mutters.

" – and you mustn't go wandering around the school at night, think of the point you'll lose Gryffindor if you're caught, and you're bound to be. It's really very selfish of you."

"And it's really none of your business," says Harry.

"Have you seen (Y/N)?" Hermione asks, her voice suddenly sounding worried. "I haven't seen her since she went off with you and Professor McGonagall," she says.

"Nope, good-bye," Ron says, then walk away.

(Y/N)'s POV – While others are at dinner

After Professor McGonagall dismissed us after talking with Wood, I return to the Gryffindor Common Room. I run up to my dormitory, and grab my copy of, Hogwarts, a History, sitting down on my bed; I flip to the chapter about Muggleborns. As I read, I start feeling really sad. "Muggleborns," I read, "are also called Mudbloods by Purebloods. The term, Mudblood refers to a witch or wizard with non-magical parents, Muggleborns, that have 'filthy blood' or Mudblood."

I stare down at the page for a moment, before shutting the book, and throwing it back in my trunk.

I run my hand through my messy hair and then make my way downstairs, a different book on alchemy I had picked up in the library the day before.

3rd Person POV

Hermione wanders up to the Common Room to find (Y/n) sitting in a sofa by the fireplace.

"Where'd you run off to?" Hermione asks, sitting down beside her sister.

"I was reading," (Y/n) says simply, avoiding Hermione's brown eyes.

"What's wrong?" Hermione says.

"I feel like you'd be mad at me for joining the Quidditch team," (Y/n) confesses softly.

"Of course I'm not mad at you," Hermione says, and (Y/n) looks up and into the brunette's eyes.

"You don't like people breaking the rules though," (Y/n) argues, her voice soft.

"Yeah well, that prat needed to be put in his place," Hermione says and a smile spreads across (Y/n)'s face. "And anyway, I couldn't be mad at you if I tried."

"Aww, I love you too, 'Mione," (Y/n) says, wrapping her sister in a tight hug.

Hermione pokes her sister's back. "(Y/n). Need. Breathe."

(Y/n) quickly lets go, her smile turning slightly sheepish, "Ha, sorry. I'm glad you're not mad though. I can't wait for training to start," (Y/n) says excitedly, grabbing Quidditch Through the Ages from in front of her, and flipping to the chapter on Seekers.

"You always get excited when you start a new sport," Hermione teases, smiling happily at her sister's excitement.

"Did you know Harry and Ron are meet up with Malfoy at midnight," Hermione says and (Y/n) looks up from her book.

"Sounds like an adventure," (Y/n) her green eyes sparkling with excitement.

"We should try to stop them," Hermione says.

"I guess you're right," (Y/n) agrees. "It's 9:00 now, Hermione, wake me up at 11:00. I'm exhausted," (Y/n) stifles a yawn.

Hermione smiles, "Sure thing."

(Y/n) gathers up all her books and jogs up the stairs to her dormitory. She sets them on her nightstand, jumps into bed - Marvel jumping up after - and pulls the covers over herself and her cat.

Two hours later, Hermione comes and wakes (Y/n) up. (Y/n) pulls on a pair of jeans, a (F/c) colored shirt, and a pair of black and white Converses.

Before hurrying downstairs with Hermione, (Y/n) grabs her Alder wand and walks downstairs.

Meanwhile . . .

"Half-past eleven," Ron whispers to Harry up in the boy's dormitory, "we'd better go."

The two boys pull on their bathrobes, pick up their wands, and creep across their dormitory, down the spiral staircase, and into the common room. A few embers were still glowing in the fireplace, turning all the armchairs into hunched black shadows. The boys had almost reached the Portrait Hole when a voice speaks from the chair nearest them, "I can't believe you're going to do this, Harry."

The two boys turn around to see a figure - Hermione - wearing a pink bathrobe, and a frown.

"You!" shoots Ron furiously. "Go back to bed!"

"She's right you know," comes a quiet voice. With a flick of her wand, the tip alights. The tall, lean figure stands up and the boys see (Y/n).

"Ugh," Ron complains and one of (Y/n)'s (H/c) eyebrows raises. "There's two of them."

"I almost told your brother," Hermione snaps, the boys' attention turning back to her. "Percy - he's a prefect, he'd put a stop to this."

Harry couldn't believe that any two people could be so interfering.

"Come on," Harry tells Ron. He pushes open the portrait of the Fat Lady, and climbs through the hole.

Hermione and (Y/n) weren't going to get up that easily though. The two sisters follow Ron through the Portrait Hole, Hermione hissing like an angry goose.

"Don't you care about Gryffindor? Do you only care about yourselves? I don't want Slytherin to win the House Cup! You'll loose all the points (Y/n) and I got for learning about switching spells," Hermione hisses.

"Nox," (Y/n) murmurs, her wand tip distinguishing.

"Go away," Harry snaps.

"All right, but we warned you, you just remember what I said when you're on the train home tomorrow, you're so –" Hermione is cut off.

But what Harry and Ron were, they didn't find out. Hermione had turned to the portrait of the Fat Lady to get back inside and found herself facing an empty painting. The Fat Lady had gone on a nighttime visit and Hermione and (Y/n) were locked out of Gryffindor Tower.

"Now what are we going to do?" Hermione asks shrilly.

"That's your problem," snaps Ron. "We've got to go. We're going to be late."

Harry and Ron hadn't even reached the end of the hall when Hermione and (Y/n) catch up with them.

"We're coming with you," (Y/n) says, her wand still out.

"You are not," Ron snaps.

"If you're dueling someone, don't you think you'd like someone who knows defensive magic?" (Y/n) asks.

"And d'you think we're going to stand out here and wait for Filch to catch us? If he finds all four of us, I'll tell him the truth, that we were trying to stop you, and you can back us up," Hermione adds.

"You two've got some nerve -" says Ron loudly.

"Shut up, both of you!" (Y/n) says sharply. "I heard something," she says, hearing a sort of snuffling.

"Mrs. Norris?" breathes Ron, squinting through the dark.

"Lumos," (Y/N) whispers, her wand tip alighting for the second time that night.

It wasn't Mrs. Norris.

It was Neville, curled up on the floor, fast asleep, but jerks awake as they creep closer.

"Thank goodness you've found me! I've been out here for hours, I couldn't remember the password to get into bed," Neville says as (Y/n) helps Neville to his feet.

"Keep your voice down, Neville. The password's 'Pig snout' but it won't help you now, the Fat Lady's gone off somewhere." Ron whispers.

"How's your arm?" asks Harry.

"Fine," answers Neville, showing them. "Madam Pomfrey mended it in about a minute."

"Good — well, look, Neville, we've got to be somewhere, we'll see you later —" Harry says.

"Don't leave me!" says Neville, "I don't want to stay here alone, the Bloody Baron's been past twice already."

Ron looked at his watch and then glared furiously at Hermione, Neville, and (Y/n). "If any of you get us caught, I'll never rest until I've learned that Curse of the Bogies Quirrell told us about, and used it on you."

(Y/n) levels her wand in warning, and Hermione opens her mouth - probably about to tell Ron exactly how to use the Curse of the Bogies, but Harry hisses at her to be quiet and beckons them all forward, and (Y/n) distinguishes her wand light again.

They flit along corridors striped with bars of moonlight from the high windows. At every turn Harry expects to run into Filch or Mrs. Norris, but they were lucky. They speed up a staircase to the third floor and tiptoe towards the trophy room.

Malfoy and Crabbe weren't there yet. The crystal trophy cases glimmer where the moonlight catches them. Cups, shields, plates, and statues wink silver and gold in the darkness. They edge along the walls, keeping their eyes on the doors at either end of the room. Harry takes out his wand in case Malfoy leaps in and starts at once, the minutes crept by.

"He's late, maybe he's chickened out," Ron whispers.

Then a noise in the next room makes them jump. Harry had only just raised his wand when they heard someone speak — and it wasn't Malfoy.

"Sniff around, my sweet, they might be lurking in a corner." It was Filch speaking to Mrs. Norris.

Horror-struck, Harry waves madly at the other four to follow him as quickly as possible; they scurry silently towards the door, away from Filch's voice. Neville's robes had barley whipped around the corner when they hear Filch enter the trophy room.

"They're in here somewhere," they hear him mutter, "probably hiding."

"This way!" (Y/N) mouths to the others, and petrified, they begin to creep down a long gallery full of suites of armor, and they could hear Filch getting nearer. Neville suddenly lets out a frightened squeak and breaks into a run – he trips, grabs Ron around the waist, and the pair of them topples right into a suit of armor.

The clanging and crashing were enough to wake the whole castle.

"RUN!" Harry yells, and the five of them sprint down the gallery, not looking back to see whether Filch was following – they swing around the doorpost and gallop down one corridor then another, (Y/N) in the lead, without any idea where they were or where they were going – they rip through a tapestry and find themselves in a hidden passageway, hurtle along it and come out near their Charms classroom, which they knew was miles from the trophy room.

"I think we've lost him," Harry pants, leaning against the cold wall and wiping his forehead. Neville was bent double, wheezing and spluttering.

"We – told – you," Hermione gasps, clutching at the stitch in her chest, "we – told – you."

"We've got to get back to Gryffindor Tower," pants Ron, "quickly as possible."

"Malfoy tricked you," (Y/N) says, not out of breath at all from being on a cross-country team the past summer. "You realize that don't you? He was never going to meet you – Filch knew someone was going to be in the trophy room, Malfoy must have tipped him off."

Harry thinks she was probably right, but he wasn't going to tell her that.

"Let's go."

It wasn't going to be that simple. They hadn't gone more than a dozen paces when a doorknob rattles and something comes shooting out of a classroom in front of them.

It was Peeves. He catches sight of them and gives a squeal of delight.

"Shut up, Peeves — please — you'll get us thrown out."

Peeves cackles. "Wandering around at midnight, Ickle Firsties? Tut, tut, tut. Naughty, naughty, you'll get caughty."

"Not if you don't give us away, Peeves, please."

"Should tell Filch, I should," says Peeves in a sanity voice, but his eyes glitter wickedly. "It's for your own good, you know."

"Get out of the way," snaps Ron, taking a swipe at Peeves —this was a big mistake.

"STUDENTS OUT OF BED!" Peeves bellows, "STUDENTS OUT OF BED DOWN THE CHARMS CORRIDOR!"

Ducking under Peeves, they run for their lives, right to the end of the corridor where they slam into a door — and it's locked.

"This is it!" Ron moans, as they push helplessly at the door, "We're done for! This is the end!"

They could hear footsteps, Filch running as fast as he could towards Peeves's shouts.

"Oh, move over," (Y/N) snarls, her eyes a bright silver. Tapping the lock with her wand, she whispers, "Alohomora!"

The lock clicks and the door swings over – they pile through it, shut it quickly, and press their ears against it, listening.

"Which way did they go, Peeves?" Filch says. "Quick, tell me."

"Say 'please.' "

"Don't mess with me, Peeves, now where did they go?"

"Shan't say nothing if you don't say please," says Peeves in his annoying singsong voice.

"All right — please."

"NOTHING! Ha haaa! Told you I wouldn't say nothing if you didn't say please! Ha ha! Haaaaaa!" And they hear the sound of Peeves whooshing away and Filch cursing in rage.

"He thinks this door is locked," whispers Harry. "I think we'll be okay – get off, Neville!" For Neville had been tugging the sleeve of Harry's bathrobe for the last minute. "What?"

Harry turns around – and sees, quite clearly, what. For a moment, he was sure they'd walked into a nightmare – this was too much, on top of everything that had happened so far. They weren't in a room, as he had supposed. They were in a corridor. The forbidden corridor on the third floor. And now they knew why it was forbidden.

They were looking into the eyes of a monstrous dog, a dog that fills the whole space between ceiling and floor, a dog with three heads. Three pairs of rolling, mad eyes; three noses, twitching and quivering in their direction; three drooling mouths, saliva hanging in slippery ropes from yellowish fangs.

It's standing still, all six eyes staring at them, and Harry knows that the only reason that they weren't already dead was that their sudden appearance had taken it by surprise, but it was quickly getting over that, there was no mistaking what those thunderous growls mean.

Harry gropes for the doorknob – between Filch and death, he'd take Filch.

They fall backward – (Y/N) slamming the door shut, and they run, almost fly, back down the corridor. Filch must have already hurried off to look for them somewhere else, because they didn't see him anywhere, but they hardly cared – all they wanted to do is put as much space between them and that monster. They didn't stop running until they reached the Fat Lady's portrait on the seventh floor.

"Where on earth have you all been?" she asks, looking at their bathrobes handing off their shoulders and their flushed, sweaty faces.

"Never mind that – pig snout, pig snout," pants Harry and the portrait swings forward. They scramble into the common room and collapse, trembling, into armchairs.

It was a while before any of them say anything, Neville, looking as though he'd never speak again.

"What do they think they're doing, keeping a thing like that locked up in a school?" asks Ron finally. "If any dog need exercise, that one does."

Hermione and (Y/N) had gotten their breaths back, and Hermione's bad temper was back again.

"You don't use your eyes, any of you, do you?" (Y/N) snaps. "Didn't you see what it was standing on?"

"The floor?" Harry suggests. "I wasn't looking at its feet, I was too busy with its heads."

"No, not the floor," Hermione says, looking exasperated. "It was standing on a trapdoor. It's obviously guarding something." The two girls stand up, glaring at them.

"I hope you're pleased with yourselves. We could have all been killed – or worse, expelled. Now, if you don't mind, we're going to bed."

Ron stares after them, his mouth open. "No, we don't mind," he says. "You'd think we dragged them along, wouldn't you?"

But Hermione and (Y/n) had given Harry something else to think about as he climbs back into bed. The dog was guarding something... What had Hagrid said? Gringotts was the safest place to world for something you wanted to hide – except perhaps, Hogwarts.

It looked as though Harry had found out where the grubby little package from vault seven hundred and thirteen was being kept.

Malfoy couldn't believe his eyes when he sees Harry and Ron still at Hogwarts the next day, looking tired but perfectly cheerful. Indeed, by the next morning Harry and Ron thought that meeting the three-headed dog had been an excellent adventure, and they were quite keen to have another one. In the meantime, Harry fills Ron in about the package that seemed to have been moved from Gringotts to Hogwarts, and they spend a lot of time wondering what could possibly need such heavy protection.

"It's either really valuable or really dangerous," says Ron.

"Or both," says Harry

But as all they knew for sure about the mysterious object was that it was about two inches long, they didn't have much chance of guessing what it was without further clues.

Neither Neville, (Y/n), nor Hermione show the slightest interest in finding out what the dog was guarding, or what lay underneath the trapdoor. All Neville cares about is never going near the dog again.

Hermione was now refusing to speak to Harry and Ron, but she was such bossy know-it-all that they see this as an added bonus. All thy really want now is a way to get back at Malfoy, and to their great delight, just such a thing arrives in the mail about a week later.

As the owls flood into the Great Hall as usual, everyone's attention is caught at once by two long, thing packages carried by six large screech owls each. Harry is just as interested as everyone else to see what is in this large parcel, and is amazed when the owls soar down, dropping one of the parcels in front of him, and the other in front of (Y/N). They had hardly fluttered out of the way when another owl drops a letter on top each of the parcels.

(Y/n) and Hermione exchange looks and (Y/n) rips open the letter.

It reads:

DO NOT OPEN THE PARCEL AT THE TABLE.

It contains your new Nimbus Two Thousand, but I don't want everybody knowing you've got a broomstick or they'll all want one. Oliver Wood will meet you and Potter tonight on the Quidditch field at seven o'clock for your first training session.

Professor M. McGonagall

Stunned, (Y/n) hands the letter to her sister, who then jumps up from the table, knocking her bacon to the floor.

"Let's go open it," Hermione says, pulling (Y/n) excitedly to her feet.

"Jeez 'Mione, I'm supposed to be the excited one," (Y/n) says with a laugh.

The two head out of the hall.

"Well, it's true," the two hear Harry chortle as they reach the top of the marble staircase. "If he hadn't stolen Neville's Remembrall, I wouldn't be on the team..."

"So I suppose you think that's a reward for breaking rules?" the two boys turn to see the two walking up the stairs, (Y/n) standing sheepishly behind Hermione, clutching her wrapped broomstick.

"I thought you weren't speaking to us?" asks Harry.

"Yes, don't stop now," says Ron, and (Y/n)'s eyes flash silver. "It's doing us so much good."

Hermione marches away, her nose in the air, and (Y/n) follows.

(Y/n) has a hard time keeping her mind on her lessons that day. It keeps wandering up to the dormitory where her new broomstick is, lying on top of her trunk at the foot of her bed, or straying toe the Quidditch fields where she'd be learning to play that night. She bolts down her dinner that evening, and rushes upstairs to unwrap her broomstick with Hermione.

"Wow!" (Y/n) breathes as the broomstick rolls onto her bed.

The Nimbus Two Thousand is sleek and shiny, with a mahogany handle, a long tail of neat, straight twigs, and Nimbus Two Thousand written in gold near the top.

As seven o'clock draws nearer, Harry and (Y/n) leave the castle together, crossing the grounds. The two had never been in the stadium before. Hundred of seats raised around the field so that the spectators were high enough to see what was going on. At either end of the field were three golden poles with hoops on the end. They kind of remind (Y/n) of the little plastic sticks she blew bubbles through with Hermione when they were younger.

"Race me?" (Y/n) asks Harry, eager to fly again. Also eager, Harry nods and the two mount their brooms, kicking off from the ground.

Lying flat on her broomstick, the pulls a couple of feet ahead of Harry. The Nimbus Two Thousands turned wherever they wanted at their lightest touches.

"Hey, Potter, (L/n), come down!" Oliver Wood had arrived, and he's carrying a large wooden crate under his arm. Harry and (Y/n) land beside him.

People at Hogwarts seemed to disregard (Y/n)'s hyphenated last name, and (Y/n) had gotten tired of correcting everyone multiple times everyday.

"Very nice," says Wood, his eyes glinting. "I see what McGonagall meant... you two really are naturals. I'm just going to teach you the rules this evening, then you'll be joining team practice three times a week."

He opens the crate, and inside are four different-sized balls.

"Right," says Wood. "Now, Quidditch is easy enough to understand, even if it's not too easy to play. There are seven players on each side. Three of them are called Chasers, Harry, you're one."

"Three Chasers," Harry and (Y/N) say in unison as Wood takes out a bright red ball about the size of a soccer ball.

"This ball's called the Quaffle," continues Wood. "The Chasers throw the Quaffle to each other and try to get it through one of the hoops to score a goal. Ten points ever time the Quaffle goes through one of the hoops. Follow me?"

"Me and the other chasers throw the Quaffle and put it through the hoops to score," Harry recites.

"Hmm, remind me of basketball," (Y/N) says, and Oliver looks curiously at her.

"What's basketball?" asks Wood curiously.

"Never mind," (Y/N) says quickly.

"Now, there's another player on each side who's called the Keeper – I'm Keeper for Gryffindor. I have to fly around our hoops and stop the other team from scoring."

"Three Chasers, one Keeper," says (Y/N), determined to remember everything. "And they play with the Quaffle."

"What are they for?" Harry asks, pointing at the three balls still left inside the box.

"I'll show you now," answers Wood. "Take this," he continues, handing (Y/N) a small club, a bit like a short baseball bat.

"I'm going to show you two what the Bludgers do," Wood says. "These two are the Bludgers."

He shows the two first-years two identical balls, jet black and slightly smaller then the red Quaffle. (Y/N) notices that they seem to be straining to escape the straps holding them inside the box.

"Stand back," Oliver warns Harry and (Y/N). He bends down and frees one of the Bludgers.

At once, the black ball rises high in the air and them pelts straight at (Y/N)'s face. (Y/N) swings at it with the bat to stop it from breaking her nose, there is a slight crack as the Bludger spirals away from her, zigzagging away into the air – zooming around their heads and then shoots at Wood, who dives on top of it and manages to pin it to the ground.

"See?" Wood pants, forcing the struggling Bludger back into the crate and strapping it down safely. "The Bludgers rocket around, trying to knock players off their brooms. That's why we have two Beaters on each team – the Weasley twins are ours – it's their job to protect their side from the Bludgers and try to knock them towards the other team. So – think you've got all that?"

"Three Chasers try to score with the Quaffle," Harry begins.

"The Keeper guards the goal posts, and the Beaters keep the Bludgers away from their team," (Y/N) finishes.

"Very good," Oliver says, smiling.

"Er – have the Bludgers ever killed anyone?" Harry asks, hoping he sounds offhand.

"Never at Hogwarts. Though we've had a couple of broken jaws but nothing worse than that. Now, the last member of the team is the Seeker – that's (Y/N) – and you don't have to worry about the Quaffle or the Bludgers – "

"- unless they crack my head open," (Y/N) mutters.

"Don't worry, the Weasleys are more than a match for the Bludgers - I mean, they're like a pair of human Bludgers themselves."

Wood reaches into the crate and takes out the fourth and last ball. Comparing it to the Quaffle and the Bludgers, it was tiny, about the size of a golf ball. It's bright gold and has tiny fluttering silver wings.

"This," says Wood, "is the Golden Snitch, and it's the most important ball of the lot. It's the Seeker's job to catch it. You've got to weave in and out of the Chasers, Beaters, Bludgers, and Quaffle to get it before the other team's Seeker, because whichever Seeker catches the Snitch wins their team an extra hundred and fifty points, so they nearly always win. That's why Seekers get fouled so much. A game isn't over until the Seeker catches the Snitch, so it can go on for ages – I think the record is three months, they had to keep bringing on substitutes so the players could get some sleep."

"Well, that's it – any questions?" Wood asks, and the two first-years shake their heads no. They understand what they had to do, it was just doing it was going to be the problem.

"We won't practice with the Snitch yet," says Wood, carefully shutting it back inside the crate, "it's too dark, we might lose it. Let's try you two out with a couple of these.

He pulls out a bag of golf balls out of his pocket and a few minutes, he, (Y/N), and Harry are up in the air, Wood throwing the golf balls as hard as he can in every direction for the two to catch.

They didn't miss a single one, and Wood is delighted. After half an hour, night had fallen and they couldn't carry on.

"That Quidditch Cup'll have our name on it this year," says Wood happily as they trudge back up to the castle. "I wouldn't be surprised if you turn out better the Charlie Weasley, (Y/n), and he could have played for England if he hadn't gone off chasing dragons."

Word Count: 7632 words

So yeah, here's Chapter 5 . . .

Chapter 6 should be out soon

See y'all!

Love,

Kaitlynn ❤️😍

#hermione granger #hermione granger x sister reader #harry potter various x reader #harry potter #ron weasley #fred weasley #george weasley

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