#and then seeing that that was the very first bullet point in the following slide

[birdmenmanga]

birdmen as presented by my bestie beloved @ashe-is-here​

[luveline]

I’m on my knees for anything bombshell and spence 🙏🏽 maybe their first real date??? or them working a case after they are officially together

Oh, the misery. 

You and Spencer are supposed to be in a low lit restaurant right now feeding each other spoonfuls of parsnip soup between lovey-dovey eyefuls of one another, legs tangled under the table, your kitten heel scratching against the rubber sole of his converse. 

You're supposed to be dressed to the nines, your shawl fragrant with the vanilla perfume Spencer likes so much, a dress cut to the thigh that shows just a little too much when you lean forward. You're supposed to be kissing like idiots in the back seat of your car. 

“They haven't seen anything this bad since the Creek Killer, and this is two active UnSub's at once, so let's keep that in mind,” Hotch says, nodding to the door for Rossi to follow. He sends you and Spencer a look that may or may not be knowing as he adds, “And keep this professional.” 

“Aren't we professional?” you ask Spencer. 

“No!” Morgan calls, he and Emily already out the door. 

Hotch and Rossi are on crime scene duty. Morgan and Emily the victim's family. JJ will be snapping at the heels of the ravenous media in an attempt to dissuade them from following this case too closely: it's a bad one. Coverage will make it worse. 

You're on theory. There are two halves to your job —analysing past cases with similarities, and scrutinising the details of the current case. What you really want is to be analysing Spencer Reid's stupid hot face, and for his hands to be scrutinising your hips. Or your legs. Or your mouth. 

“I know what you're thinking.” 

You raise your eyebrows at Spencer. “I don't think you do.” 

He laughs, “No, I do.” His tie gets caught under his elbow as he grabs your notebook. “They always give you the worst jobs.”

“That's just not true, Mr. Reid. This is my very favourite job.”  

“Dr. Reid,” Spencer corrects, a smile already playing on his lips in anticipation of your reaction. 

You needle an elbow into his side until he huffs and pulls away. Surrendering. Typical. Displaced air fans your hand as he opens your notebook to a blank page. “We'll start with UnSub commonalities, just as soon as…” he murmurs, his pen scratching across the top line. You can't see past his shoulder. 

“Serials targeting women,” you say immediately. “Likely older, white, male, the usual. Murders are incisive, and disgusting, but the signatures are so different, they can't be– Does the pen not work?” 

Spencer shakes his head, sliding the notebook across the table to you. “Had to do this first.” 

Caveats for perfect first date, Spencer's written, a list with one lonely bullet point. Me and you together. 

You shouldn't be surprised. It's really not unlike him to be sweet, but this is alarmingly confident. I'm gonna eat him, you think, looking up with a smirk that turns soft at the sight of him. His cheeks are marbling with red flush, hair in his eyes as he stares anywhere but you. 

“Spence, are you blushing?” you ask fondly. 

“Don't be upset about tonight,” he murmurs, ignoring you with a hint of worry to his tone. “I know it's not what you wanted, but I– we can still go, when we're home–” 

You press your lips together in an unsuccessful attempt to hide your smile. “Yeah, we can still go, but you're right, Spence. You are. This is as good a place as any. 'N' I can make any date perfect.” 

Your joke rescues him from the depths of mortification. He clears his throat, says, “Exactly. But we should get back to the list.” 

He takes your hand under the table, long fingers sewn between yours.

[themorningsunshine]

Pie - eyed over you

Mafia - Baker AU 

Masterlist                         Series Masterlist

Pairing - Mafia!Bucky x Baker!Reader

Summary - When a new baker in town refuses to abide by his rules, Bucky has no option but to go and take care of it himself. But nothing could prepare him for what stood on the other side. Nothing could prepare him for you.

Warnings - Mentions of murder and weapons 

Word count - 3.3k

a/n - This is my first time writing an AU and I am super nervous (also because I have combined two things I can just not write about, weapons and cooking). Please let me know what you think.

Rain was pouring heavily on the roof of the shed and he wasn't sure if the old sheds meekly covering the building could contain them much longer. He couldn't care less.

He walks out of the building and into the rain, wiping his left arm on his dry coat to wipe off the blood covering it. The pouring rain caresses his face but does nothing to the ever-present frown on his forehead and the grimace on his lips.

He used to love the rain as a kid. The gentleness of the droplets, the smell of rain, and the puddles. It was so much easier back then. So innocent. He closes his eyes as droplets slide their way all over him. They touch him like they don't know what he has just done.

His frown deepens as images claw into his mind once again. He clenches his fist remembering how it had taken him mere 10 seconds to shoot 3 bullets straight into the man's head. The killing had become easier over the years. Picking the bullet and shooting straight into the target had become second nature to him.

What hadn't become easier was the aftermath. The guilt that somehow always gnawed its way into his heart. The question was there any other way?

With his eyes still closed, he brings his face towards the sky, daring the rain to wash away his thoughts the same way it has washed away the blood that stuck to his metal arm not so long ago.

He likes the rain for a completely different reason now.

It provides him with an escape.

From his mind.

His thoughts

The images. The man screaming, begging him to stop and he doesn't even feel disgusted by himself when he doesn't even falter. He left his men to take care of the body.

A face lingers in his mind, pushing away all the dark thoughts. His ma "Bucky "

It's like he can hear her call out to him, urging him to come back home.

She would have hated how he turned out.

But he tells himself he doesn't care.

It didn't matter what his ma would have thought about him. She wasn't here. She didn't have to know.

He snaps his eyes open when he doesn't feel the rain falling on his face anymore. He can still hear the raindrops thudding on the roofs of the buildings. He looks up to see a huge umbrella over his head, shielding him from the rain.

He frowns and follows the handle of the outrageous floral print object only to be met by the sight that was going to change his life forever.

The first thing he saw when his eyes met y/e/c ones was that they held a certain softness to them that he didn't think still existed in this world. He was almost afraid to take his eyes off yours as if he was scared that you would crumble down under his gaze.

But when he brought his eyes over your face and then the rest of you, he knew it was the most beautiful sight his eyes had ever landed on. That even the most beautiful paintings in the world didn't hold a candle to you.

"Are you okay?" You whispered, voice so gentle, it could calm the most violent of storms.

Bucky thinks those are the most precious three words he has ever heard. He nods his head, mostly because he doesn't speak too much these days and also because it has been a very long time since someone has asked him that question.

"I am walking that way and the rain is increasing, you don't want to get drenched. Walk with me?" You ask and he thinks he would burn the whole world down to the ground with a smile on his face if you asked.

He looks at the way you are pointing and realizes that's where his car is parked. He says, "Okay" and sees as you take a step towards him, covering the both of you with your umbrella, and his senses are filled with your smell. You smell like freshly baked cookies and coffee. It's his new favorite smell.

You take a couple of steps ahead before turning towards him and he realizes he is staring. He doesn't remember the last time when somebody had enthralled him so much. For some reason, he just can't get himself to look away.

"I have not seen you around before." He says only to hear you speak again.

"Yeah, I am kind of new here. Been less than a week." You reply with a smile on your face and Bucky thinks this cursed town has just been blessed.

You look around before commenting, "It's a beautiful town." And for the love of god, he can't figure out how this part of the town which is more of a  dumpster with remnants of buildings all around can be beautiful to somebody.

"This is not really a safe place." When you look at him with confusion in your eyes, he continues, "Especially at this time of night." As if that explanation is enough. He straightens his back and tries to get the confident, mob aura he has around everyone. "What are you doing here?"

If his slightly changed demeanor throws you off guard, you don't point it out. You just bite your lip before speaking, "What if I tell you I lost my way?"

The chuckle that leaves him is involuntary. "Really? Lost your way?"

"Hey. In my defense, it's just been a week." You place your hand on your chest in fake offense.

"Where were you heading to?"

You put your hand in your pocket before taking out a piece of paper. "Here"

Bucky takes the paper from you and looks at it with furrowed brows. "Why are you walking this way? This place is at the other end of that alley." He says before pointing out to a dark alley.

You make an o shape with your mouth before turning toward where he is pointing. "Got it. Thanks."

When you reach his car and his driver opens the door for him, he turns back before saying, "Let me drop you." It doesn't sound like a request.

"No, no. It's fine. I don't want to be trouble. Also, I am not sure your car would fit in there." You said before tilting your umbrella towards yourself.

"I'll see you around." You tell him before giving him a small wave and walking away, a smile still etched on your lips.

Bucky stands there, watching you go, and realizes he didn't ask your name. But he'd be damned if he let you go in that alley alone. He asks one of his men to make sure that you reach your destination safely.

"Keep an eye from afar." He instructs him. Voice cold and commanding.

But the frown on his head and the grimace on his lips are a little less evident on the way back.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

"What the fuck am I supposed to do with this?" Bucky's voice bellowed around the dark room, startling everyone around him.

"S- sir, I tried." Peter bows his head before whimpering.

Steve, who has been standing beside Bucky's chair leans in to whisper, "He is just a kid, Buck."

Bucky rubs his hand over his face before looking at Peter trying his best to give him a soft look. "Okay, Peter. I don't have time for this. What exactly is the problem here? And don't tell me a full-blown story."

"S-sir, the new bakery. The owner says she isn't going to pay the money. Said something about taxes and also that, 'If I don't barge in there asking for weapons, don't barge into my place asking for money.'

Some of the men standing in the corner chuckle but are rewarded by a glare from Bucky.

"I don't have time to deal with a Baker. Did you tell her that everybody in town pays the money? It's for protection." He says, voice slightly irritated. The townspeople feared him. There was no doubt about that in his mind. Hence, they sent him money at the start of every month diligently. But sometimes, out of the blue, someone would come and try to be the savior, trying to rebel. He didn't understand what they wanted. He wasn't a monster. Over the years, he had relieved some people of paying the money on various occasions.

"I did tell her that, sir. She asked me who exactly is this protection from." Peter whispered, now slightly trembling with fear.

This piqued Bucky's interest. Over the years, nobody had ever asked his men the reason behind the money. They just obliged.

Peter continued, "I told her it's from the mob. Some of us. And she said she isn't going to pay us to do the bare minimum, to be human." Bucky leaned back in his chair and shut his eyes in annoyance.

Steve spoke up, "It's okay, Buck. I'll handle this. You know they all give in eventually."

Bucky opened his eyes and stood up from his chair. "Nope, I will come with you. This is different." He then looked at Sam who was standing at the other end of the room, "Receive the order of the weapons. The delivery is scheduled in an hour."

Same nodded his head before walking out of the room. Bucky dismissed the other men and along with Steve walked towards Peter, both of the men towering over him.

"Peter, are those crumbles of pie on your face?"

A shiver passed through Peter at his cold tone and he willed himself to speak, "She gave it to me, sir. I tried to refuse. Really did. But she said that I am just a kid and don't deserve - " Peter cut himself before he could speak too much. He somehow had the habit of always speaking about stuff that is supposed to be kept secret.

A small smile found its way to Bucky's lips but it was gone as soon as it came and he patted Peter's shoulder dismissing him. "This is different." He said to Steve before walking out of the room.

And for some reason, he was sure it was true.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚

"We are here, sir."

Bucky looked up from the file he was reading to his driver and then around him. It was one of the good areas of the town where families stayed, holed up in their whole little world, the darkness of the other side not fully reaching them.

Steve instructed the driver and the guard to stay in the car as the both of them walked out. "That is the one," Steve said pointing towards something.

Bucky followed his gaze and his movements faltered for a slight second. He had never seen something so - warm.

A little bakery standing between a bookstore and a cycle stand with sweets adorning its shelves looking delicious enough to lure anybody inside—soft music playing in the little speaker placed outside. People occupying the chairs outside and inside the shop, kids running around with huge grins on their faces, every one into their own little world.

It looked lively.

Bucky couldn't remember seeing something like this in the town before. Maybe he hadn't even bothered, or maybe something had really changed. With their black sunglasses and dressed up in dark colors from head to toe, he wasn't sure if he and Steve were going to fit in, but he couldn't care less.

As they walked closer, Bucky could now see most of the shop and when his eyes landed on the sole person behind the counter, his breath hitched in his throat.

Removing his sunglasses to get a better look, he stopped in his tracks when his suspicions were confirmed.

.

It was her.

The girl with the floral umbrella and the warm smile.

The girl who had somehow crept her way into his thoughts more than he would like to admit in the past week since he had seen her.

And she was beautiful.

He saw as you stood behind the counter, handing a box to a little girl with a huge grin on your face, the girl jumping up and down in excitement as you leaned towards her to whisper something.

He then saw the little girl run out of the bakery, clutching the box to her chest towards her mother as if it was the most precious thing in the world. When his eyes went back to you, he saw how you talked to the next customer, an old lady, with the same huge grin on your face.

He hadn't noticed that he had been staring until Steve cleared his throat, a smirk on his face. Before Steve could say something, Bucky muttered, "Stay here, let me handle this." He walks towards the stops with a calculated gaze and a perfected aura of confidence.

As he opens the door to the bakery, the smell of coffee and cookies hits him hard and a feeling of warmth engulfs him.

"How can I - " Your words die in your throat when your eyes land on the familiar figure.

Bucky could swear your smile gets wider.

You compose yourself before saying, "Hey, I know you. You are the cute guy from the other day."

Bucky frowns as he takes in your words. Cute? Did you just call him cute? He had been called intimidating, scary, and even sexy. But cute? He was furious. He was anything BUT cute. Also, was he allergic to something in the shop? Why the hell was his stomach suddenly fluttering?

He also ignores the way his heart is beating quicker at the realization that you remembered him. What was happening to him today? "I am looking for y/n l/n."

Your smile turned slightly mischievous as you replied, "That would be me."

Bucky's eyes almost widened at that. "You are y/n? The owner of the bakery?"

"Yup." You said popping the p as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "And the last I checked, introductions went both ways."

You raised your hand towards him for a handshake and after looking at your hand for a moment, he shook it. "I am B - James." For some reason, he didn't want you to know who he was. The nickname might give it away.

You smiled at him again before returning your hand, a little too early for Bucky's liking, "So, James. What can I get you?"

He had it all planned. It was like second nature to him. I want my money. Abide by the rules, you don't want to know the consequences. It was the usual. But for some reason, his mouth had gained a mind of its own as it said before he could comprehend, "Cupcakes"

You looked at the huge display of baked goods before looking back at him, "Which one?"

Bucky gave the display a glance, he was sure he hadn't ever tasted most of them. "What do you recommend, sweets?"

He watches as you are visibly taken aback by the nickname. A smirk find its way to his lips as he watched red color creeping up to your neck.

"I - uhm" You take a breath to compose yourself. Get it together. "These red velvet cupcakes just came out of the oven and they are kinda my favorite. So.." You look at Bucky with excitement in your eyes and he likes how passionate you are about your work.

"I'll take a box."

You smile at him before bending down to pack a box of the delicacy and he watches how you oh-so-gently pick up each piece before placing it inside the box with practiced precision.

When you hand over the box to him and your hands brush, you feel the sparks through your spine once again as when you had shaken hands.

When he puts a hand in his pocket to retrieve the money, you cut him off. "Don't worry about it. It's on the house."

Bucky smiles a little before replying, "Sweets, you keep giving free goods like that and you'll have to close the shop soon." He says in a teasing voice.

"I'll let you in on a secret, James." You lean towards him as if it is the most secretive thing in the world. "This is a business strategy."

He frowns a little, trying to cover the fact that he was getting too comfortable with how close the both of you were, before saying, "How's that?"

"The first order is on the house but then you come again. And again. It's really profitable."

There is this - innocence and purity in your voice that reminds him of a little child. Of old times. Easier times. And he just stares into your eyes for as long as he can, as if they could help him escape, become a portal to a time long lost.

You don't dare to move either. His eyes are the prettiest shade of blue you have ever seen. They have this intensity to them as if hiding the stories of a lifetime and you just can't get yourself to look away. You have always loved a good mystery.

Bucky clears his throat, bringing the both of you out of the daze as he brings the teasing tone back to his voice, "What makes you think I will come back?"

You chuckle a little before giving a proud smile. "Oh, you will, James. I trust my cupcakes."

He gives you another small smile as he takes a step back. This is the longest conversation he has had with a person outside his line of work in a very long time. Everybody was just too scared but he couldn't care less.

"Goodbye, sweets." He says before letting the new customer who had just entered go ahead. 

"Goodbye, James. Until next time." You add with a wink.

Bucky walks out of the bakery, his initial motive forgotten completely. From the outside, he turns back to look at you for the one last time and watches as you say something that makes the teenage boy laugh while taking out cookies from the shelf.

A moment later, you look towards the window and your eyes meet for a fleeting second. You smile at him and give him a small wave.

Bucky turns around to walk towards his car when he notices Steve standing a few feet away with a knowing smirk on his face.

Bucky rolls his eyes before muttering with clenched teeth, "Don't"

Steve doesn't ask about the money and Bucky is glad. He isn't really sure how he would answer. Whatever happened wasn't what he was expecting.  You weren't what he was expecting.

As he slid into the back seat of his car, the image of your smile when you were that close to him lingered in his mind and he couldn't stop the way his lips had pulled slightly upward.

When the car started driving, and with Steve on a phone call, he opened the box of cupcakes and picked one to take a small bite.

As he takes the first bite, the softness and the sweetness of the cake engulf him and leave him wanting more. He doesn't remember eating something this good in a long time.

And for many reasons, he will definitely visit again.  

Next part

[bettyfrommars]

Dirty Metal Summer

a Dirty Dancing au

masterlist playlist

Part 2: The Hideout

You follow Robin over the resort property line to a place where guests are forbidden and get a glimpse of what goes on behind the scenes.

word count: 3.6k

My blog is 18+ONLY, mature themes, violence, alcohol consumption, eventual smut, fighting, mention of blood, reader is called Bird as a nickname, reader plays the cello. Reader is 21, Eddie is late 20's.

Songs for this chapter: Animal (fuck like a beast)//W.A.S.P. No one like you//Scorpions Mental Health (bang your head)//Quiet Riot Wasted Years//Iron Maiden

a/n: it has been so much fun to pull this out of the rubble and jump back into this world for a rewrite, I hope you enjoy. To my I'm on Fire peeps, there will be a scene in this chapter that feels very similar to something that happened in IOF, and that's because I originally stole it from this fic, thinking I'd never post it, lmao. Thought about changing it, but it's just too perfect. Plus, there will always be a hint of biker Eddie in all of my Eddies.

Sticking close behind Robin, you crossed the arc of a walking bridge over a creek and disappeared on a worn path through the trees.  It was only then that you could finally make out the building where the loud music was coming from.  

It had corrugated metal sides and roof, like a structure you might see on a farm that housed large equipment.  There was a picnic table out front where a few people were seated, and the shell of a vintage automobile with bullet holes in it sat in the weeds.

A little more than a city block away was a modest cabin made from actual logs with an old truck, a van, and a motorcycle parked out front.

“Who lives there?” You nudged Robin.

She stopped to see where you were looking first, and then, “oh yeah, that’s Wayne’s place.  The head maintenance guy.  This is his too,” she gestured to the metal building where the music and shouts were coming from.  “Both him and his nephew Eddie.  Have you met Eddie?”

You absolutely knew who he was, but didn’t want to come off as a stalker, so you shook your head.  

The large sliding door entrance to the building was open about a foot, letting out wafts of smoke and a hazy, golden light.  From over Robin’s shoulder, you could see quite a few bodies moving around in there, and just then came the sound of a glass breaking.  

“Ready?” She smiled back at  you, struggling to hold everything in her arms as she reached for the handle to slide the door open the rest of the way.  

“Let me?” You lurched forward.

“I got it,” she insisted, fumbling one of the guitars before catching it again with a gasp of relief.

You weren’t sure what you’d been expecting to see when she eased the door open the rest of the way, but a topless woman dancing on a table top was not one of them. 

Her hair was bleached blonde, frizzy and teased around her face.  She was tan with a prominent bikini line over her pert breasts, and it looked like she’d just pulled the top of her leopard print spandex dress down to give a little show.  

The song Animal (Fuck like a beast) by W.A.S.P. was blaring and the guys around the table cheered while the woman flipped her hair and worked her hips in a circle.  You were sure you recognized her as one of the waitresses from earlier that night. 

Metalheads of all kinds were crowded together, mingling, and you feared that you stuck out like the proverbial sore thumb. Some were in leather; some wore jean vests with pins and patches all over them.  A handful had long hair that they must’ve tied back or wore under hats while they worked at the resort, but a few of them, like Steve, kept theirs short and tidy, for the most part.  Overhead string lights swayed from high wooden beams, and a chandelier that looked like it was made out of wrenches.  An old, pea green Kelvinator refrigerator and a small kitchenette was to your left, as if someone had lived there at one point, and two couches sat against the wall that were mismatched and worn.  

Most of the crowd of people seemed to be lingering together in the middle, standing there as if waiting for something.  Taking shots, smoking blunts, and making out with each other, blocking you from seeing beyond them.  

Robin signaled to follow her, and you were hesitant to start moving through the masses, holding the guitar case flush to your body, feeling like it was something to hide behind.  You noticed posters on the walls for bands like Judas Priest and Metallica, and on the concrete floor you saw smudges from white chalk markings, dark splotches the color of dried blood, but that was ridiculous.  

You pushed between a girl with a blue mohawk and a guy with a shaved head that was covered in tattoos in a hurry to keep up with your escort, and the two shot you a hard glare.  When you could finally see the far wall, there was an oval, threadbare carpet in the corner with a drum kit set up, three microphones, two amps, and some other equipment that suggested live music would soon be happening.  

“This is where they practice!” Robin shouted over the music, directing you where to put Eddie guitar down.  “We call it The Hideout.”

“'Where who practices?’ You set Eddie’s baby near the wall where she told you to.  

“Eddie and Chrissy’s band,” she motioned for you to stand over at the wall with her. 

“Oh,” you turned to look at the instruments again, heart flopping a little at the idea he would show up at any moment.  “They're playing tonight?”

There was a commotion up ahead and you both turned to look. "Later maybe! The fights are tonight,” again, yelling over the growl of the music.  Now the song was No One Like You by Scorpions, and it sounded like people were cheering at someone who’d just come through the door. 

“Fights?” You leaned in to get more information when everyone started pushing back to make room for whatever was about to happen.  You remembered that one of the guys on the porch earlier that day with Chrissy and Steve had a black eye, and you’d noticed another worker at the resort who had a busted lip, but you hadn’t paused to think that maybe they were somehow connected.

It was then that you saw Eddie appear from out of the sea of bodies, and took a sharp intake of breath, holding it in, afraid to let it out for fear you might whimper.  

He was so beautiful, it made you dizzy. You stood up straight, adjusting yourself, covertly checking to make sure you weren’t perspiring too badly.

He was wearing the tux he’d had on for the show earlier, but the tie and cummerbund were both gone, and his white shirt was unbuttoned almost to his stomach.  You caught a glimpse of tattoos on his chest, and a necklace of some sort. Someone handed him a beer and he threw back a generous gulp.  

“There’s going to be boxing? Here? Tonight?” You were trying to act casual and not stare at him the whole time, but it was hard to tear your attention away.  

“Nothing professional,” she scoffed, folding her arms over her chest, putting her shoulder blades against the wall.  “Just your average bare knuckle street fighting, basically. The guys were doing it to blow off steam, but then some others got involved and people started placing bets, so a whole thing started.”

Eddie unbuttoned the rest of his shirt and took it off, passing it to someone in the crowd.  Your mouth went dry at the sight of his lean muscles under the scattered ink.  He kept his hair tied back and started wrapping white tape around one of his hands while Steve said something in his ear.  

“How do they choose who fights who?” You were invested now, wringing Robin out for any information she had.  

“I don’t know how they figure it out, but the new guys usually fight each other, and then a winner challenges Eddie or Steve or Alex,” she pushed off the wall to get a better look at the center of the room. “But it looks like Eddie is up first.” And then with a smirk she added, “all of the new hotshots at the resort think they can beat Eddie.”

“Can they?” Your voice cracked, eyes locked on the scene.  A guy shorter than Eddie but muscular in a football player type of way, was also shirtless in the circle now, with taped hands and wearing a pair of sweats with the name of a university down the leg. The guy was hopping from foot to foot to keep himself hyped up, punching the air in front of him.

“No one beats Eddie,” there was pride in her voice.  “Looks like the guy he’s fighting tonight is Lance, one of the new ski instructors.  Totally full of himself.”

Steve was wearing a white wife beater and jeans, and he raked a hand through his mop of hair just before pointing in your direction.  Eddie’s gaze followed the line of his finger directly to your stunned face, and then it lingered there.

He seemed to contemplate, wetting his lips, and then he nodded to Steve and was on his way over.

He didn’t have to push people out of the way because they were all quick to part to make room for him.  It wasn’t long before he was standing right in front of you.  You tried not to let your gaze linger on the full curve of his slightly chapped lips, or the way his wavy bangs framed his cherrywood eyes.  On closer inspection, you could see that the necklace he wore was a ball chain with a guitar pick hanging from it.  

Robin opened her mouth to say something, possibly introduce you, but Eddie cut her off.  

“What the hell are you doing here, Princess?” His voice was low with an edge of irritation.  He pulled the chunky metal rings off his fingers one by one as he spoke.

Robin cleared her throat, stepping forward. “She’s with me,” she stuttered a bit nervously, knowing full well she shouldn’t have brought you there.  “She came with me, she’s cool.”

Eddie collected all of the rings in his fist and kept staring at you as if he wanted to hear it from your mouth, not Robin’s.  

Your brain short-circuited for a second and you forgot how to form words when he was so close you could see the detail of the dragon tattoo on his chest.  But then, finally, it came to you:

“I-I carried your baby.”

The second it slipped out, you knew how stupid it sounded.

Unblinking, he gave his rings to Robin, and then he was gone.

You stared at the space where he no longer stood, flushed with embarrassment.  

“I carried your baby?” You repeated in a whisper, covering your face with your hands. 

Someone turned the music down so that Steve’s voice could be heard, and he waved his arms in the air to get everyone’s attention.  

“I don’t have to explain the rules to you, because there are none,” his announcement was met with screams and cheers.  Robin tugged at your arm, signaling for the two of you to get a bit closer to the action.  “First one to hit the ground for whatever reason is the loser.  Just fists, no blades or other stupid tricks.”

At one side of the circle of bodies, Lance the ski instructor was practicing some tight punches, and at the other end, Eddie rolled his neck while Chrissy finished taping the knuckles of his other hand.  It was then that the chalk and the stains on the concrete you saw earlier made sense.  

“You two ready?” Steve put his arm up between them, waiting for their nods, and then, at their signal, he chopped his hand down between them as if he were slicing the air.  

Lance was hopping from foot to foot, trying his best to look like some fancy footwork he saw in a Rocky movie, while Eddie walked casually, giving the guy a hooded, bored stare.  

Eddie could read Lance like a book.  A fight was a lot more than just a mindless throwing of hands, there was a mental prowess and skill needed that a lot of the punks busing in from suburbia did not have.  Street smarts was one thing, and Eddie surely had that, but he’d been fighting bullies off since he was a kid, and Wayne taught him to fight like it was a game of chess.

Eddie could tell where Lance was going to go a second before he made the move. He saw the guy was amped up, letting his emotions fight for him, and that was only one of his first mistakes.

Lance charged at him and swung, but Eddie was already steps away; relaxed and agile, holding his guard up. The ski instructor came at him aggressively, again and again, until Eddie pushed him, making his opponent stumble back. 

Keeping his form, Eddie caught you standing there out of the corner of his eye.

…what were you doing there at the Hideout?

He let himself ponder that question for too long and Lance was on him again, aiming a left jab to his ribs, and Eddie absorbed the blow with a grunt, arching to the side. 

You were not supposed to be there.  What was Robin thinking?

Mostly, Brenner and Joyce stayed out of their business, as long as whatever they did was off resort property, but if they found out one of the guests was somehow involved, there would be hell to pay.  

Lance charged again and Eddie dodged, angry at himself for not being able to focus .

“C’mon Lance, stomp that freak,” someone yelled from the crowd. 

And that was all it took

For Eddie to get tired of dragging it out for betting purposes.

Lance charged forward with a cry and Eddie socked an uppercut into his unsuspecting jaw.  

The surfer boy went down

Hard. 

Saliva and blood flew from his mouth as he flailed back, arms going ragdoll.

It felt like it happened in slow motion but soon enough, Lance was splayed out like a starfish on the concrete floor.

“Goodnight sweet prince,” Steve said sarcastically as he collected bets over the ski instructor’s limp body.

Robin cheered with her hands over her head, and you gave a few slow claps, your brain barely able to register where you were or what you were seeing.

“You want a beer?” She asked as you watched Lance numbly get to his feet with the help of two friends and attempt to shake it off.  

Robin motioned for you to follow her around to the refrigerator which was stocked from top to bottom with nothing but beer cans. She handed you one and then went to lean against the side of the appliance, cracking open the tab with a hiss.

With your back to the crowd, you prepared to follow suit, listening to Steve introduce two more fighters.

But then there was someone at your side,

“Not like that,” a voice said.

Eddie had come up behind you, wearing his white shirt unbuttoned, skin still glistening with sweat. Mental Health (Bang Your Head) by Quiet Riot came over the speakers, eliciting a wave of yelps and screams from the group.  

“Wait,” he put his hand on top of yours to keep you from opening your beer while he motioned for another guy to toss him one.  You turned to seek comfort or guidance from Robin, but she was absorbed in conversation with a girl in a platinum pixie cut who’d just walked up.  

“Like this,” he brushed his bangs to the side, and winked as he fished a ring of keys out of his pocket.  He used the serrated metal edge of one to punch a hole at the bottom of the can.  

It was the wink that made your skin flush hot, and then your jaw went slack as you watched him wrap his lips around the newly made hole in the can.  He made eye contact with you one more time before tipping his head back, and cracking the tab of the beer open with his thumb so that the liquid when squirting down his throat.  

The muscles in his throat jerked as he swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing.  

It wasn’t three seconds before he lowered his head and crushed the can in his hand to show it was empty.  He let out a refreshing, “ahhhh,” and darted his tongue out to lick a droplet from his chin.  

You were still holding your unopened beer, waiting for him, mouth dry.  “I-I’m not sure I—”

Yes, you knew what shotgunning a beer was, you’d seen it done plenty of times at college parties and in movies, but had never been tempted to try it yourself.  

Ignoring your hesitation, Eddie motioned with the crook of his finger for you to come closer.  You shuffled to be within reach of him as if your knees were locked in place.  

With a gentle touch, fingers brushing yours, he took your beer from you, wiped it off with his shirt, and then proceeded to make the same hole with his key in the aluminum.  Some of the beer sprayed up and misted your face.

“Here we go,” he tipped your chin with his finger and butterflies swarmed in your stomach as his eyes searched yours. “Just let it shoot into the back of your throat.”

You swallowed nervously to make sure your throat was working, and then wrapped your lips around the can at his instruction.

“Easy, just like that, hold it there,” Eddie was so close now that your elbow was touching his bare chest.  He put a hand on the back of your head.  “When I say, tip your head back all the way, and I’ll flip the tab for you.”

You swiped your tongue over the hole in the can, thinking about how embarrassing it would be if you messed it up and beer went shooting out of your nose.  

Robin offered a few words of encouragement and you noticed a tendril of hair clinging to the sweat on Eddie’s neck, right over the heartbeat in his throat.  

“You ready?”

You weren’t but—-

“Okay, now.”

You closed your eyes, slammed your head back, and prayed, even though you weren’t at all religious.  Some lukewarm beer leaked onto your tongue, and then Eddie pulled the tab, keeping one hand over yours to hold the can steady.  

The gush of liquid hissed and exploded down your throat, and for a second you thought you would choke, but then your swallowing reflex bolted into action and it was over so fast.  

You gasped and swiped beer from your chin when you pulled away to look at the empty can, amazed. 

Eddie cupped his warm hand around the back of your neck, and you felt him shift closer until his mouth was at your ear.

“Good girl,” he whispered.

An actual chill ran down your spine.

Robin put up her hand and you gave you a high five.  “Not bad for a first timer,” she joked.  “Now crush it on your forehead and grunt.”

“Ha. Ha.” 

You turned to Eddie, “that was fun maybe he should—”

You were about to say the two of you should do another one, 

but he was gone.  

—----

The next night, Eddie couldn’t sleep, so he decided to head to the property to finish up some work at the pool house.   

The place he shared with Wayne was close enough to walk to the Hawkins Landing property, but that night, he drove.  He wanted to roll the window down on the van and blast Wasted Years by Iron Maiden and belt out the lyrics.  

He slipped into the parking lot for visitors and employees, turning the music down so that it wouldn’t be heard by any of the nearby cabins.  There were two street lamps on, but a third one he noticed was out, and made a mental note that he’d have to get Jamie to fix it tomorrow.  The sidewalks along the manicured lawn were also lined with lights that came out of the ground like little mushrooms, and the boat dock far off to his left was lit, but other than that, he was in the dark.  

Grabbing his red toolbox from the passenger seat, he put a flashlight in his tool belt holster, and the van door creaked on its hinges just before it banged shut.  His ribs still ached from the punch he took the night before, but he only allowed himself to cringe and curse in private. Luckily, his only companions at that moment were the crickets and the lapping of the water against the bank.

It wasn’t until he was a few yards down the sidewalk, head down, lost in thought, that the din of classical music made him halt in his tracks. 

It was definitely strings, possibly a violin? No, it was too deep.  

He looked up at the main house, but the sound was much too close to be coming from way up there.

He cut to the right and up the grass.

Then he saw the attic light on in cabin #11.

He told himself not to bother, but as the passion of the playing increased, curiosity got the better of him.  

He came right up to your driveway, staying half obscured by a tree trunk, and watched you.

The cello, of course that’s what you were playing.  He was no expert on the classics, but he’d always learned music by ear and had a unique sense for identifying instruments.  

You weren’t reading from sheet music, you were just playing while you stared out at the sky.

Playing something by heart, or making it up as you went along, he wasn’t sure.  

In his mind, you were so far out of league, it was criminal.

Your attention broke when a sudden movement down on the road startled you.  

The bow zipped clumsily across the strings one last time, and you stood up to get closer to the open window.

But, your eyes must’ve been playing tricks on you. 

There was no one there.    

-----

Hi hello! thank you so much for reading! For those wondering, this fic will still be centered around music, not boxing, but the little fight club they have has a lot to do with the spin of the plot soon.

thank you all so much for the suppport! we are getting to the juicy parts now! give me those hungry eyes. comments and reblogs are cherished!! like, I live for them.

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taglist: @tlclick73@micheledawn1975@kurdtbean@katethetank@elvendria@spookysqaush86@somethingvicked@stylesxmunson@laurenlokirby@sapphire4082 @kellsck @motherfckerrr @emxxblog @justdamnpeachy @dashingdeb16 @corrodedcoffincumslut @bexreadstoomuch

[indulgentdaydream]

I may request something for our Jason boy, what about a nurse!reader where he saves her and she just goes 'so, do you're the guy who makes my job a living hell'?

If you can't do it, it's fine luv 🩷

of course I can do it!

Meet Cutes

Jason Todd X fem!nurse!Reader || Fluff Word Count: 1,035

Sorry this took a couple days, university is being rough :(

Warnings: blood, death, injuries, medical tool use (needle and sutures, etc.), drug mention, broken glass, stitches

You worked for a small Gotham 24-hour walk-in clinic. You always tried not to think too much about who was coming in and out. Some patients would stumble in, covered in blood and bruises, yet not have a scratch on them. Where did the blood come from? You never asked. You would treat whoever was assigned to you and then be on your merry way.

The clinic was closer to Crime Alley than anyone would have liked, but it settled for good service. Especially once the Red Hood started patrolling. Your very first day at the clinic had you stitching up five bullet wounds on the same patient. Your first patient of the day, at that, who had stumbled in at five in the morning. He was mumbling the whole time, swearing and cussing out Red Hood's entire legacy.

Over the months you had now worked there, bullet wounds were your most common injury. Followed by any kind of broken bone. Most of them babbled about the Red Hood, saying how he gotten them. You never asked any further, hoping to never poke your neck out to far in order to gain any attention.

You stood in the back, cleaning up one of the clinic rooms after having sent another probable criminal on their way with stitches and bandages. A crash rang out from the front, making you swivel your head.

You ran out to the lobby before freezing in your tracks. A robber stood at the prescription counter, gun in hand, pointed at the pharmacist. The shattered glass of the divider lay out on the floor around them, the pharmacist assistant cowering in fear as the robber yelled at her for certain drugs.

There weren't any patients in the waiting area. There were none left in the back. No other employee had been hurt. Only badly scared.

The robber hadn't see you yet. You were close to the reception desk. You inched sideways, trying not to make a sound or any sudden movement. There was a panic button under the desk that you could press, easily alerting the authorities. It was a clinic. They would prioritize you over all other petty Gotham crimes.

It was sad, but true.

The poor pharmacist assistant, Cindy, was slowly sorting out the drugs the robber was asking for, placing them in the bag he had thrown at her. She was trying to drag things out. That much you could tell.

You were behind the desk now, reaching for the button ever so slowly.

The automatic sliding front doors of the clinic opened. The robber changed his aim. Staring down the figure in the doorway.

Red Hood aimed his own gun, his shiny red helmet reflecting the florescent lights overhead.

Both of the shots rang out at the same time. Cindy screamed, dropping the bag of pills onto the floor.

Red Hood's shot landed true. Right between the eyes. The robber's had gone astray, but still managed to shoot through the out side of the Red Hood's leather sleeve, making him flinch back as a result.

You were frozen, hand hanging over the panic button. Did you press it? Or did you let the vigilante do his work?

You were still deciding as Red Hood walked over to Cindy, making sure she was alright. Two other nurses and another pharamacist ran out to help her. You watched as Red Hood stepped back, letting them take over.

He turned around, placing his gun back in his holster as he started to walk back out. He moved his hand to his arm, clamping his hand over it.

He walked past the reception desk.

"Wait," You said.

He paused and turned to look at you.

You nodded to his arm, "Let me stitch you up."

Surprisingly enough, he followed you into the back. He sat down on the cot you told him to. Took off his jacket when you said.

You found it awkward, standing in silence with the Red Hood. You decided to speak up as you started the first stitch, "So... you're the guy who makes my job a living hell?"

He turned his head to look at you, those white eyes of the helmet boring into you. You wished you could see some sort of facial expression of his.

When he spoke, his voice was modulated, "Did I not just save your clinic from a robbery? How is that a living hell?" There was a tone of sarcasm to it.

You smiled a little, "We get a lot of criminals coming in here post-fights. I've gotten pretty good at sewing up gunshot wounds that were your doing." You glance up at the helmet's eyes, "No offence."

"You fix up those assholes?"

"I fix up those human beings," You retaliate, finishing the last stitch. You step away, "I don't know them or their pasts. To me, they're innocent people that just need some healing."

You can see the confusion in his body language, his head turning down to ponder at how quickly you had stitched him up. He stayed quiet.

You turned away from him, gathering some bandages to wrap his arm up, "Though... I will say how most of them will rant to me about how much they hate you. More often than not admitting their own faults as they do."

Something like a chuckle filters through the modulator, "You know what? I hear the same stuff."

You can't help but laugh back. You bandage him up before nodding, "You're all set."

He nods in thanks, slipping his jacket back on. He extends his gloved hand for a shake, "What's your name?"

You give it to him, a little surprised at his firm yet gentle grip, "You may want to leave out the back door. I pressed our panic button before bringing you back here."

Red Hood nods in understanding, before walking out.

This would not be the last you saw of him. Because now he had a personal nurse.

The day after every visit of his, a bill comes in from Wayne Enterprises. You look at your colleague, "This guy is straight up stealing money from the rich to pay for his medical bills."

"As he should."

"Agreed."

[prettybean]

KEEGAN (+18)

“I’ll shoot you” PT. 2

gun play! (consensually), very rough Keegan

* someone asked and Sun obeyed

ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE

You were completely powerless, forced to follow his commands and act accordingly. He held all the control. The bed squeaked under your weight, as Keegan made you to arch your back and lift your ass towards him. "Haven't you learned anything yet? How many times do I have to repeat myself?".

Your arousal intensified as he sensually grazed the gun barrel against your exposed sex.

Your lips let out numerous moans as you press yourself harder against his weapon, feeling the chill of the metal playfully teasing your sensitive areas. "Sir... I apologize, I promise to behave properly from now on," you plead desperately, inching closer to satisfying him. "You know I prefer good girls”.

He murmurs in your ear, pressing the Glock against your entrance once more. "Damn, you even managed to ruin this gun."

The man held onto your hips firmly, spinning you around so that you're now facing him, locking eyes with him filled with longing. He playfully rubbed his erect member against your sensitive spot, teasing you before thrusting it deep inside your eager entrance. "Wow, it slides in so easily. You’re so fucking wet, baby. Does it excite you knowing that I have the power to end you anytime?" Keegan chuckled, observing how you attempted to wrap your legs around him as he passionately fucked you. You could feel his thick cock pushing against your stomach.

The gun was pointed directly at your head, and occasionally you could see his finger hovering over the trigger. Each time you noticed, a whimper would escape your mouth. "You better respond when I speak to you, got it?". Keegan tightens his grip on your neck, placing the barrel against your forehead, thrusting forcefully. "Y-Yes, sir." "Enjoying it when I take charge? I can feel your tightness every time I speak." He playfully taunted, repeatedly hitting your cervix.

You can't help but gasp for air as he goes deeper, the anticipation of him climaxing at any moment making you squirm. You crave more. "You're so close, aren't you?" He asks, and you nod eagerly, feeling your stomach twist as he hits your g-spot. He's driving you wild. "Don't you dare cum until I tell you to."

After one final push, you could feel his warm release inside you. He didn't hold back, continuously moving in and out without a pause. As he tightly gripped the gun, you could hear his muffled moans and see the trigger gradually descending.

Your breath caught in your throat as you sensed your climax approaching, watching his finger slowly lower.

With each forceful thrust, you couldn't help but moan loudly. Your womb was filled with his essence, and the gun was ready to fire. Overwhelmed, you couldn't bear it any longer. Keegan pulled the trigger agonizingly slowly, and in that moment, you moaned his name for the last time before instinctively shutting your eyes.

He fired.

"Wow, you're such a naughty girl, coming for a gunshot," he exclaimed, trying to catch his breath while laughing at the way you squirted everywhere. You blinked, looking at the mess that surrounded you, and glanced towards the spot where Keegan had shot. The bullet had hit the wall behind you.

"The captain is definitely going to charge you for this," you remarked, flopping onto his bed, completely drained.

[gucciwins]

something new

wembley brings love and celebration 

Word count: 5190

A/N: posting something for the first time in months (since april) and I am very excited for you to read.  please let me know what you think. I enjoyed writing and promise I'm already working on the next thing 💜 asks

_____

Wembley Stadium.

It’s a place you had heard many stories about and even attended a show in 2019 as a gift for your father to watch his favorite band, Fleetwood Mac. This entire week has been remarkable, but tonight is the final night. You are here supporting your boyfriend, Harry, and because it’s the last night, there will be a celebration after with the attendance of everyone who knows Harry from family, friends, and workers.

When you first met Harry, you didn’t know he was Harry Styles. Many people would ask how you could not recognize the Harry Styles, but when you met him, he had a full beard and hair full of messy curls. He was dressed in mini running shorts wearing a black jumper and bright running shoes. The reason you spoke to him was his shoes. This brand is known for its style of color combination and lightness in weight, making it the running shoe. You had been debating buying a pair, and his looked well-loved. It wouldn’t hurt to hear an opinion from someone who wasn’t an online user.

“Excuse me,” you called out softly behind him.

He jumps and moves away from the counter. “Sorry, was I in your way?”

You do your best not to melt hearing his deep voice; it was comforting for some odd reason. You smile and shake your head. “No, uh, actually. I’m sorry to bother you. This is actually such a silly question now.” You pause, debating walking away while you can, but he encourages you to continue. “It’s about your shoes. Are the Hoka’s worth it? The online reviews have not been able to convince me, and I’ve read too many articles at this point. Yours look like they’ve seen a few miles,” you point out.

Harry looks down at his shoes and laughs, “so they do.” He meets your eye, stepping closer and away from the counter. “I’m on my fourth pair,” he confesses sheepishly.

You wince, knowing the price for these shoes is not cheap. “Are you constantly running? Are they easily worn out?”

His face reddens, and he fiddles with his necklace. “No, uh…I like having more options to match my outfits.”

You laugh, “that makes sense.” You pause. “Does that mean picking my first pair will be harder? I saved for one pair, and my pocket will hurt if I decide to bite the bullet.”

“I debated a few choices at my computer and ultimately bought two pairs. They were orange and yellow. Bondi are a good first choice.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” You notice the barista, Lily sliding a coffee on the counter and gesturing it’s his, meaning it’s time for you to go. “Sorry for bothering you, but this was very helpful. Sorry, I never got your name. I’m Y/N.”

“Harry. It was no bother.”

You doubt that.

“Bye, Harry.” You collect your bag and walk out, knowing you were going to overthink buying these shoes, and Harry would never leave your mind.

To no surprise, you’re back at your favorite coffee shop the following day, but this time dressed in your favorite jeans and a cardigan your grandma helped you knit over the summer last year. It’s pastel pink with flowers placed randomly all over. You didn’t dress cute for a guy. You dressed cute for yourself. At least, that’s what you kept telling yourself. Lily is a good friend, and after walking your iced latte to your table, she sat down for a moment.

“Nice conversation yesterday?” She ponders.

“Mhm…nice fellow.”

“Was surprised you bothered him?”

You look at her, confused. “Was it rude of me?”

“Some would say so.”

“I’m confused. We talked about shoes. What did I do wrong?”

Lily stares at you, trying to see if you’re joking. “Y/N, be serious.”

“I am.”

She looks around, leaning closer. “You spoke to Harry Styles. Popstar sensation. Most loved man on the earth.” Lily sees you processing her words, and before you can make rebuttals, she pulls her phone out and shows you a photo of Harry, the guy you met, under a Harry Styles update page.

“Well, shit!”

“Yeah, he at least looks interested in your conversation.”

You roll your eyes, “geeze, Lily, thanks for making it seem like it’s awful to talk with me.”

“Not what I meant,” she apologizes.

“It’s fine. The beard threw me off.”

“He’s a regular here. Comes every other day.” Lily excuses herself needing to get back to work, and with that reassurance, he wouldn’t be coming in; you enjoy your coffee.

You took out your laptop and began to work while keeping an eye on the door. Pretty soon, you got deep into your research and didn’t even notice when the door chimed, signaling someone knew had entered.

“You look really focused. Are you working?” Harry had walked up to your table, startling you.

The truth was you were not working, although you should have been; it was a Wednesday morning. You feel your cheeks warm up, knowing you’ve been caught. “Won’t lie to you, Harry. I’m looking at shoes.” You turn your screen to let him see you have a page pulled up for running shoes with multiple open tabs.

Harry laughs in surprise and gestures to the empty seat to join you. You move your bag, and he happily slides in. You move your laptop closer to him, giving him a better view.

“Those are cute.” You had been looking at a lilac pair.

“Right! But look at these.”

Harry frowns when you switch the screen to display a cherry-pink design. “Now, that’s a tough choice.”

“Ugh…I know. I’ve been alternating back and forth.”

“Okay, close your eyes,” he orders.

You look at him skeptically but do as he says.

“It’s a sunny day which is just a miracle here in London,” you laugh, and he continues. “You’re out on a walk deciding where to go for the day when a stranger points out your shoe is untied. You bend down to tie it. Now what color are your shoes?”

“Purple,” you answer without thinking.

“Well, there you go.”

“That was helpful, Harry. Thank you. Are you a therapist or something?”

“In another life, I would be.”

“Well, what do you do now?” You ask, genuinely interested.

Harry looks at you, confused as if you’re really asking the question. “I sing for a living. Uh…” he feels embarrassed sharing this for some reason. “I go on stage and perform.”

You frown, looking at him closer. “From my eye level, you look like a rugged Harry Styles.”

Harry looks amused. “Rugged. Huh, I thought the beard was good.”

“It is,” you quickly agree. “Sorry, I’m used to seeing videos of him—well, you clean-shaven.”

“I’m on a break. It’s a nice way to let go.”

Right.

You were at a crossroads now because you liked Harry. He was friendly and easy to speak with, but would this new information change everything for you?

“Maybe we can go on a run when your shoes arrive?” Harry suggested.

Your eyes lit up, “really?”

“Mhmm…I like running around the park.”

“Oh, I love finding new trails,” you gushed. “I bet you have found the best-hidden roads.”

Harry shrugs, “we’ll have to see.”

“Uh… I’m sorry for not recognizing you. I don’t know if that was weird or not.” You decide to apologize.

“You’re fine, Y/N. When you came up to me, I thought you wanted a photo, but clearly, my shoes were more interesting,” he teased. “It was nice being just Harry.”

You smile sheepishly at him, “you’re still Harry to me. Feel like you’ll turn into Harry Styles when you’re clean-shaven on stage.”

“Not for a few weeks, then. I have shows in Los Angeles at the end of January,” he tells you because he wants to bask in being just Harry for a few weeks more.

“Oh, fun,” you wiggle your eyebrows at him.

“Mhmm…” Harry waits for you to ask more, but instead, you turn the conversation to his workout routine.

From then on, conversation flows easily. You tell Harry you’re the oldest of three. Two younger brothers who live to embarrass you whenever they get the chance but love when you drive them around. You tell him about your job in publishing and that you worked your way up to being an editor. It’s a job you love dearly. Harry lets you ramble on, asking questions and wanting to learn more. He learns you’re allergic to mushrooms. Your first tattoo was a cherry you got at eighteen on an impulsive night out. That you’re the only family member in generations to be born left-handed.

Harry shares that he loves to travel because it gives him a place to miss and come home. He loves his sister and calls her his best friend. That he’s too competitive and loves a long game of Scrabble. He dreams of having a pet dog but does not want to commit when his life is on the road. You mention your family dog, Woodstock, named after the iconic yellow bird from the Peanuts comics. A yellow Labrador who runs up to strangers, always asking for belly rubs. You promise to take him to visit.

Your friendship with Harry grew from there. You would meet most mornings outside the coffee shop for a run and then for a coffee that turned into hours of conversation. You liked Harry and reckoned you liked him more than a friend, but there was no way you would change that dynamic and instead settle to be his friend. When Harry showed up one day clean-shaven, you were taken aback because it made him look younger, and it was as if you were seeing him for the first time.

“Don’t recognize me anymore,” he teases.

“I could spot those green eyes in a sea of people,” you promise him.

Come April, a shift in your dynamic happened. Harry wanted you to work out with him and his trainer. You thought he was crazy, but really Harry was dying for you to meet his friends. They couldn’t stop teasing him that you were made up.

“Harry!”

You both turned and found a man in a white shirt and shorts, similar to Harry, approaching you. Harry welcomed him in a hug before going to stand next to you. “This is Y/N. Y/N, Brad.”

Brad shot you a smile, “pleasure to meet you.”

“You as well.”

“It’s nice to put a face to a name. He can’t shut up about you,” Brad confesses.

“Oi! Stop that.” Harry frowns, but you can tell he doesn’t mind.

You end up having the worst workout of your life. Brad, not taking a moment of pity for you until he finally called it quits an hour later. You threw yourself on the grass, closed your eyes, and took slow breaths. You heard Harry laughing above you but did not acknowledge him.

“Come on, petal. I’ll buy you a coffee,” Harry offered.

You peeked one eye open, “and a scone?”

“I’ll get you all the goods you want,” Brad chimes in. “You were a trooper out there.”

“Fuck, I never want to work out with you again,” you huff.

“Don’t think we will if he has a say,” Brad points to Harry. “Never seen him so angry.”

“She’s my friend. Didn’t want to explain her death to her parents.”

After that, it seemed you only saw more of each other until one night at your home, Harry made a move you didn’t see coming. After the film finished, Harry turned serious.

“Y/N?”

“Harry, what is it?” You ask, concerned.

“I like you.”

You sigh in relief, “gosh, you scared me. I like you too, silly. You’re my best friend.”

Harry shakes his head. “You’re not listening to me.”

“Heard you loud and clear.”

He sighs, frustrated. “These last few months as your friend have been amazing. I feel so lucky you approached me to talk about shoes. While I enjoy being your friend every time we get together, these feelings I have continue to grow, and I can no longer keep them to myself. I like you, and I want to see where this goes.”

You sit there shocked because you never expected Harry to reciprocate your feelings, but he is pouring his heart out for you. “Harry,” you breathed out. “I-I-I like you too. I have for some time, but I didn’t want to lose you.”

“Me either, but Brad said a person as amazing as you would not wait around for me.”

You laugh, “tell him I’m a fool because I think I would have waited a lifetime for you.”

“I know it’s too soon to ask you to be my girlfriend seeing as we haven’t been on a date, but—”

You interrupt him. “Why can’t we say this is our first date? If we think about it, every time we have spent together could be considered a date.”

“Do you end a first date with a kiss?” He asks sheepishly.

“Only if it’s you,” you promise him.

When your wine-stained lips meet his, you feel a wave of peace surround you knowing that it might be soon, but the universe sent Harry to you. He was your other half. He made you better. You pulled him closer, loving the closeness this kiss brought you. Harry sighed, ending the kiss. You went in for a second kiss needing more of him for a little longer.

“Petal, baby. I’m here,” he spoke against your lips.

You giggled out of breath. “Sorry, I think I like you a little too much.”

Harry leaned his forehead against you. “I feel the same.”

“Good, let’s kiss some more and then have a sleepover.”

“Don’t you think it’s too soon, petal?” Harry asked.

You frowned, “you slept here two nights ago.”

Harry sighed, “you’re right.”

It wasn’t until a week later you made it official. Life was perfect, and you were happy. Harry knew starting a relationship as he began touring wasn’t the smartest option, but he was close to home and promised to check in at every chance. In each city he visited, he picked up a souvenir for you as a reminder he was thinking of you. It was cheesy, but he wrote you postcards from each city because even though they wouldn’t arrive quickly, they would remind you of him when you did receive them. It only made you like him more and knew you were falling in love quickly. There was no stopping it.

While you joined him at his special show at Slane Castle, you didn’t have the chance to meet many of his family, mainly only the band. They welcomed you with open arms, and how Harry never stops talking about you. It made you nervous. You hoped to live up to his words because these people and his band members meant the world to Harry.

____

Now being here to celebrate four sold-out nights at Wembley, it felt overwhelming knowing Harry’s entire family and friends from his childhood would be here. You’ve known Harry for months but loved him like he’s always been yours. It was a joyous day, but even that wouldn’t take away your nerves for the final night of seeing Harry shine on stage.

“No one is going to believe I didn’t recognize you when we first met,”  you tell him as the driver drove down a road that arrives at the back of Wembley, away from the crowd.

“Course they will.”

You give him a deadpan look, “you’re basically the face of the UK. A prince, some would say.” You sit up and clear your throat. “Oh, how’d we meet. Well, I met him at a coffee shop and asked him about his shoes.” You rolled your eyes, “sounds fake to me.”

“Good thing it’s the truth. Plus, I thought you were cute. Would have never worked up the courage to walk up to you, though.”

“Stop. You’re only saying that.”

“Nope, I mean it. Brad and the band like you.”

“I hope they do,” you muttered. “Only people I’ve met now. I’m meeting everyone.”

“You met Mum and Gem,” Harry reminds you. “Spent time with them for three nights.”

You sigh because, for a moment, you feel Harry doesn’t understand how overwhelming this is. Everyone here knows Harry. They know Harry from Holmes Chapel, and they know the amazing person he is. You feel happy to know and love him, but they’ve got a lifetime of Harry, and you’ve got months. It differs for everyone because you would move mountains to ensure he was happy. Except, everyone doesn’t know that. They don’t know you.

“Y/N, petal will you look at me,” he begs softly.

You take a deep breath and allow yourself to meet his emerald eyes. Harry takes in the worry shining bright, and smiles. “Petal, I love you. I know you love me. You remind me every moment we’re together and when I’m away. I don’t doubt it. My family knows you, maybe not your physical form, but they have heard stories and seen endless pictures. They will love you because I love you. If you get overwhelmed, you can always sit back and watch, they’ll understand. Most importantly, I will understand. I wish I could hold you as Mum introduces you to everyone. I told her to hold off, but she’s excited. Brad will be on the floor, and I know you enjoy that. You’re in safe hands.”

“I love you. Thank you. I know it’s your day, and I’m making it all about me.”

Harry shushes you, “hey, hey. We’re a team. Your feelings are just as important as mine. Now give me a kiss.”

You loved him, simple as that. He was the missing piece in your life.

___

The show was like no other. Harry, from the moment he got on stage, radiated happiness. The fans were the loudest they had been all week, filling you with so much joy. Anne told you to join her at the family box, but you decided to be on the floor as close to Harry as possible by the Jonny pod; you noticed Harry favored the side more, knowing his dear friend was in the audience tonight. From surprise songs to dancing and Mitch receiving his Grammy, you knew it would be a night you would never forget. As Harry began his encore with “Sign of the Times,” the rain started falling, and so did your tears. The fact that over 90 thousand people were here for Harry said enough. They chose to spend their evening with him, and he delivered to make it memorable.

You didn’t even notice that Brad captured a photo of you staring at Harry on stage with a giant smile and hands over your heart you would only see later when Harry made it his lock screen. Harry thanks the crowd for a magical night stating over and over again that he’s never been happier.

Brad wraps an arm around you and walks you towards Harry, who’s sharing long hugs and meaningful words with his bandmates. This is the man you love, and there’s nothing you’d change about it. You followed Harry to the dressing room, wanting a moment alone before the madness. Harry bounces around quickly to change, removing the overalls and shimming them down his waist. He slips on shorts, throws on a random shirt, and puts on his new Adidas Love on Tour sweater with his initials.

You lean against the door admiring him in all his glory. He didn’t bother for a shower, too eager to see everyone.

“I’m proud of you,” you whisper. “I know it might not mean much, but I am.”

Harry pauses, finishes tying his shoe, and walks over to you. He stops before you, his hands finding a home on your cheeks. “It means the world. Don’t ever think it doesn’t. We might only have been together for two months, but my heart has loved you my entire life. You being here is enough. I could feel your love from the stage.”

He connects your lips together, and you melt against him. Harry breathes life into you, and you never want him to stop. “I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you, Harry. So much.”

“Good. Let’s go mingle.” You move away from the door and make your way outside when he tugs you back in. “Forgot one last thing.”

He hurries over to his bag, pulls out an identical sweater, and hands it to you. You accept it moving and look it over. Your eyes quickly find your initials on the right side, similar to his.

“Harry—this isn’t necessary.”

Harry shrugs, “it was your idea.”

You don’t fight him as he slips off your red leather jacket and helps you slip on the thin material. He fixes the collar making sure none of your hair is tucked under. Harry decides you look good, giving you a pat on the butt. “Now we can go.”

Harry held your hand as you walked over to the area Jeff had set up for the celebration. He mentioned there would be another location later in the night, but it would be good to let the crowds outside die out. On your walk over, Harry told you about outfits and signs he saw in the crowd. How overwhelmed he came when the rain came down. He felt at home.

You expressed how much fun you had, told Harry how Jeff and Tommy taught you the boot scoot during “Treat People,” and assured him many videos of your failed attempt were taken. Harry paused outside the door where you could hear the loud chatter, and you knew what was waiting for you behind those doors. Harry shoots you a look, and you give him a reassuring smile letting him know it’s okay to go in.

The cheers are loud when the man of the hour walks in. Everyone was quick to gather around him. You try to sneak away, but his grip on your hand stays tight. Every person who thanks him, he makes sure to introduce you.

“Love, go celebrate. It’s alright. I’ll be fine,” you tell him in a low voice.

Harry shakes his head, instead kissing you and pulling you along to meet and chat with new people. You felt a bit overwhelmed, but everyone has been so sweet. They asked where you were from? Scotland. What was your job? An editor. How did you meet? Coffee Shop. How proud were you? Immensely.

You kept trying to hang back, but Harry seemed to notice when you drifted away. He would kiss you and ask for your input in the conversation. You told him you were getting a drink and would be back momentarily, except you got a vodka cranberry and hid in a corner. Harry found you when your drink was half gone.

“Babyyy,” he called out. “Missed you.”

You felt your cheeks heat up as he wrapped himself around you. He moved you away from the wall, making you face the crowd, his hands around your waist, his chin resting on your shoulder.

“I love you,” he whispered.

You lean against him, happy to be wrapped in his arms, feeling safe. “I love you, bub.”

Harry takes a sip of your drink and hums at the bitterness of the cranberry. He knows you’re a social drinker because it allows you to relax and not be as anxious. You and Harry get lost in your world as you let him talk your ear off. He tells you about people around the room, who they are, and how they’ve helped them. Surprisingly, Harry can name everyone in the room, though it shouldn’t shock you much. It’s just the type of person he is.

Your boyfriend is an affectionate person. He loves having a hand on the small of your back or your hand in his. He wants to be close because he says he wants makeup when he’s away. Some would say it makes him look clingy, but lucky for you, you love his touch; it’s comforting. You could feel his smile against your skin as he planted kisses on your face.

Even while in your corner, people come up to you. When they see Harry begin to kiss your shoulder or whisper in your ear, they excuse themselves. You can’t help but feel you are keeping Harry from celebrating with everyone, not realizing he’s happy to celebrate with you in his arms.

“Harry! Sue!” Is yelled from across the room. You see a short, dirty-haired blonde yell and wave for him, but Harry is too busy peppering kisses all over your neck to realize.

“Bubby, love. They’re calling for you.”

He hums against your neck. “I’m perfect here.”

You sigh because the yelling continues, and you’re starting to feel overwhelmed because he’s not celebrating. Instead, Harry is ensuring you’re not nervous, which seems like the most boring job in the world. He should be taking shots with friends and telling stories about the last four nights.

“Go on, I’ll be right behind you,” you promise him.

Harry tightens his hold on you, “baby, you sure?”

“Yes, no go. I’ll even bring you a drink.”

“Te–”

“Tequila neat,” you tease. “I know you.”

Harry pecks your lips once, twice, and a third time before making his way across the room, but not before looking over his shoulder one last time at you. You shoot him a wink and exaggerate, looking at his bum and making him laugh. He moves his hips a little extra just for you. As Harry easily falls into the conversation, you use this moment as an opportunity for a breather.

You were alone for around five minutes when you heard footsteps coming your way. You were in a corridor that led you out to the stage if you continued walking down but stopped halfway, knowing no one would come this way. You were wrong.

Harry is who you expected to see, but to your surprise, it’s Gemma, his older sister.

“Hi,” you greet softly. The conversations with Gemma have been short, but from what you can tell, she’s wise beyond her years and always ready to listen.

“You okay?” She asks, straight to the point.

“A bit loud,” you gesture towards the hallway where the music can still be heard.

She nods, “I get that.” Gemma looks around before moving to stand next to you shoulder to shoulder. “Are you okay?” She asks again.

You sigh, “I—i-i.”

“A bit much for a family gathering.”

“A bit,” you exhale, knowing Gemma understands what you might be feeling.

“It’s the perfect opportunity, I feel. I did forget how overwhelming it was. I don’t even remember my boyfriend’s first family gathering.”

“Are you saying I won’t remember this in a few years?”

“Oh, you’re never forgetting tonight.” She smirks, “unless you keep drinking.”

You scrunch your nose at the thought. “Better not.”

The two of you stand in silence, and you know it’s because Gemma is giving you a minute to gather your thoughts.

“I just—I love Harry. I do. I hope you don’t doubt that, but I don’t know how to celebrate when you’ve all been here for him every step of the way. Year after year.”

Gemma deflates, “oh, Y/N.”

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have—” Gemma cuts you off.

“It’s okay,” she assures you. “It’s difficult because of his job, not because of who he is. But trust me when I say he loves you.” Gemma’s words are firm, and you believe her. As an older sister, you would do anything to protect your siblings but never lie to someone important.

“Harry talks about you every chance he gets. Did you know Y/N ran a marathon? She’s swam with sharks in a reservation center. Y/N’s CPR certified. She edited and helped publish five number-one books this year,” Gemma rambles off. “We all know so much because he’s proud and wants to share it with those close to him.”

“I-I didn’t know.” You let all of this process, but it’s a shock because some of the things Gemma listed mean nothing, but clearly, to him, mean everything.

“Everyone in that room,” Gemma points over her shoulder, “knows who you are and what you mean to him.”

“Everyone?” You whisper. It doesn’t feel real. You’d never been so loved, and it might be why you’re feeling overwhelmed because he wants to bask in your love. It’s not a show; it’s simply his way of showing he loves you in front of everyone he cares about.

“Celebrate how you want but know all we want is to see him happy. It’s clear as day that you make him happy. This is the happiest I’ve seen him, and it’s because of you. Maybe even happier than selling out Wembley.”

“Thank you, Gemma.” She hugs you tight, and it’s so familiar yet different from Harry’s. His is light and full of love, while Gemma’s is tight and warm. “He wrote you a beautiful song.” You’re referring to “Sweet Creature,” which he dedicated to her tonight.

“It’s a special one. Don’t worry. I hear you’ll be getting yours soon enough,” she teases. “I’ll see you inside.”

A few seconds later, someone else joins you. It’s as if your body knows who it is without seeing them because you feel the familiar flutter in your stomach as his smell wraps around you.

“Baby, where did you go?” Harry whines. Baby is a term of endearment that comes out a lot when he’s had more than one to drink. It’s your favorite during these times.

“I’m here,” you open your arms, and he happily falls in your embrace. “I’m proud of you, love.” You run a hand through the back of his head, keeping him close.

“Thank you, baby.”

“Like really proud. You’re so loved. What you do is incredible. I feel so lucky to be able to love you.”

Harry pulls back, and you see his beautiful eyes glistening with tears threatening to fall soon. “I love you.”

You press your lips against his and put all your love into the kiss. You wish you could spend the rest of the night kissing him, but there is more celebrating to do. Harry doesn’t let you pull away, instead deepening the kiss. You melt against him, forgetting your worries and enjoying this moment with him. A moment only for the two of you to remember.

“Let’s keep celebrating, my love,” you whisper against his lips.

“Still nervous?” He checks.

“Only a smidge.”

Harry smiles, “that’s okay. I’ll hold your hand.”

“You won’t let go?”

“Never,” he promises.

As you return to the party holding tight to his hand, he asks an important question. “Can I keep kissing you?”

Your laugh rings loud, echoing through Harry’s heart. You bring your hand up to rest at the back of his neck and pull him down for a kiss. “As much as you like.”

[cordeliawhohung]

Sun Bleached Flies - Part 2

Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!Reader - part ten of "soft spot"

Maybe things aren't as bad as they seem. Or maybe they're worse. It's difficult to tell when you're still stuck in that basement.

warnings: PTSD, angst, anxiety/panic attack, blood, hurt/comfort

wc: 7k

Simon was always good with a gun.

Well, not always, but he learned quickly after he joined up. Countless hours were spent down at the range, cleaning, loading, aiming, shooting, working on his technique and stance; becoming a lethal and effective killer. Practice makes permanent, and he found himself using a handgun to shoot several yards at a target at an outdoor range, which felt wrong. The distance was much too far, and he couldn’t even tell if he was hitting his target effectively, let alone if his grouping was alright. 

That wasn’t the only thing that felt wrong. His M1911 felt too light, even with a full magazine, which seemed like it held too few bullets. He swore he loaded nine rounds in, but could only squeeze the trigger three times before the slide was stuck open, telling him he was dry. So he’d reload, rack the slide, and try again just for the same events to occur. 

Eventually, he got frustrated. Too damn far to see the target properly, and he certainly had faulty equipment, so he holstered his gun and glanced around the area, defeated. The range itself was proper, but something seemed off about it. It was his feet, constantly slipping on something, and it wasn’t until he looked down that he realized it was sand. Desert-like sand, but it seemed too moist. Was he at the beach? 

“Did I not say I would find someone who would make you talk?”

Simon turned around so quickly he swore his neck would snap. It was Bukin. Always Bukin. He grinned like a hyena with rotting teeth and a decaying core, and his chuckle was just as sour. An unexplainable rage began to smother him at the very sight of that creature, and his fingers twitched as he reached for his gun once more. 

“You don’t deserve her,” Bukin continued as Simon aimed the muzzle of his pistol at him. “She would’ve been better off with me.” 

A single shot echoed in the air, but there was no ringing in his ear, or crack in the distance. His gun didn’t jump, and Bukin still stood as if a bullet had never been fired in the first place. In anger, Simon stomped towards the man, gun still pointed at him, and pulled the trigger another time. Once more, there was nothing but a single shot and no blood. 

“Or maybe you should have never had her at all,” Bukin mused as he crossed his arms over his chest, unphased. “You had to have known it would happen, yes? Death follows you everywhere you go, Ghost. It was going to get her eventually.” 

The stiff end of the muzzle pushed against Bukin’s sternum, and Simon held it there firmly as he pulled the trigger once again. He had gone through the actions so many times. He knew what it sounded like when the breath was torn out of someone after the impact of a shot. Where was the thud of Bukin’s body? Why was the light still in his eyes? 

“Ghost?”

Simon turned around at the sound of your voice. There was a small waiver in your tone that made his stomach drop, and he could feel his heart scream and shatter at the sight of you. Hands covered in blood, trembling lips, tears pouring from your eyes as you clutched your chest. You stared at him as if begging for him, as if he was the only person in the world who could save you. 

When he tried to take a step forward, he felt his feet starting to sink through the sand, like the earth was trying to swallow him whole. Legs straining, he tried to push through, climb across the land and claw his way to you. You continued to stand there, hand clutched to your chest, blood flowing impossibly fast through the wound. Had he caused that? Or had you always been like that? Broken? Bleeding? Why did you look at him like that? Like you were forgiving him? 

Sand swallowed him up to his waist by that point, and there was so much blood soaking the ground he couldn’t tell how much of it was yours, pouring from your wound, or his, pouring from his nails; broken and ragged from clawing to get to you. The worst part was, there were no hands holding him back, no biting words degrading him. Nothing in the world was stopping Simon from saving you except for himself. There was more blood than earth by that point, and the roaring sound of the ocean waves drowned out your crying and begging. 

Eventually the earth felt pity on Simon, and the sand swallowed him whole. 

Simon hardly needed to set alarms those days. His body did all the work for him, consistently waking him up with a frenzied jolt. A thick layer of sweat permeated his sleepwear, and he could feel strands of his hair stuck to his forehead. A terrible, chest rattling drum pounded in his body, and he could feel the way his ribs heaved in order to steady his heart. 

The first place he turned to look was to you. Fast asleep on your side of the bed, the only clue that you were even alive was the subtle movement of your shoulders with your soft breathing. He knew he should have been happy to see you sleeping so peacefully, but when his eyes settled on the bottle of Ambien on your nightstand, a sour taste soiled his tongue. 

Turning his attention to one of the windows, Simon took notice of the dull spring sunrise peeking through the curtains as he sat up. It was soft and white, like there were too many clouds in the sky for the sun to shine properly. It was only a matter of time before your alarm woke you up for work, and though he usually liked to stay around until you left, something was telling him to run. Run, fight, scream, because then at least the pounding in his chest would make sense. 

Instead, he turned back to face you and your sleeping form. So soft and quiet underneath the covers, hidden away from the world that was much too cruel towards you. He leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss against your temple, and not even that stirred you out of your sleep. Still, it made him feel a little better as he slipped out underneath the blankets and began to dress himself for the day. 

One day the bed would grow warmer. He’d wake up with you in his arms again, smiling up at him, and his nightmares would finally fade away. But he was too afraid to cut you on the broken pieces of himself, and he was tired of seeing your blood. Your happily-ever-after would come someday. Eventually. Just not that day. Not while he still failed to save you, even in his dreams. 

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Once again, the sound of Jace’s shoes were driving you up the wall. The man had grown partial to wearing a full suit at work, for some strange reason, which only proved to annoy you even further. Strutting around in his charcoal grey suit all important-like while he breathed down the necks of every poor girl that worked there. He wasn’t a creep or anything, just much too enthusiastic about his job, and with no concept of personal space it didn’t take much effort for the man to irritate you. 

Luckily, you were working on fixing a jam in the cash dispenser, which meant you were mostly out of your manager's line of sight. It was a difficult jam, something that couldn’t be fixed by simply opening the side panel and yanking the paper cash out by hand. Grime built up on money too easy, and the tips of your fingers had turned grey just from handling what little cash you had managed to yank out of the dispenser. No wonder that shit got jammed; there was so much dirt and dust stuck in that machine. Did anyone even bother to do any cleaning while you were gone? 

You nearly laughed out loud at that thought. While you were gone. Why did you make it sound like you were gone by choice? Would it have been easier if you had just gone willingly? Would it have saved you from the pain?

No. No, you were at work and you needed to focus. There was no room for you to slip away, to go back to that house, that beach, that orchard, any of it. Your hands stilled on the machine as you took a shaky breath. No room for emotions; just for cleaning. 

You stepped away from the machine for a short moment, trying to change your focus to something else while you reached for a can of compressed air. It made quick work of the dust and buildup crammed into the sensors and circuits of the machine, and you watched as it swirled in the air around you. A tingling sensation settled deep in your nose, and you tried not to think about the adverse effects that inhaling literal human grime and greed would have on your health. 

Jace’s shoes hit against the stone floor of the bank again. Their terrible click-clack sound was not at all similar to boots on wood, and yet you still found yourself looking up towards the ceiling. There was no second floor to the building, no rooms above your head. Nothing but bright lights and fancy fixtures greeted you, and you found yourself swallowing hard as you looked back down at the dispenser. It was an instinctual reaction, something you couldn’t stop yourself from doing, and yet your heart raced all the same. 

Sniffling, you shook your head and continued messing with the machinery in front of you. After opening a few more panels and removing a few parts, you found where the worst part of the jam had occurred. Someone didn’t check the cash well enough for slight tears, and it had gotten caught on one of the belts and torn, leaving a large pile of money behind it waiting to be processed. You didn’t realize your hands were shaking until you reached into the machine to pull the disfigured money out, and you did your best to ignore it as you started to close everything back up. 

Something cracked behind you, and you froze. It was nothing more than someone scooting back in their chair, and you knew it. It was a sound you had heard plenty of times at work. You knew what it was, and yet your body didn’t. Your body heard it as a thump above you. A chair toppling over after someone shoved it in anger. Then it was followed by footsteps. Boots on wood. Stalking towards you as the sound descended downstairs. He was right on top of you. Right behind that door. Waiting to tear you apart. 

Then his hand was on your shoulder. Always touching you. Always grabbing you like he owned you, like you were nothing more than a pet to him. Maybe you had been. No, you were less than that; you had just been livestock. An animal he tried to use to keep himself alive, something to bargain with. And his hand was on your shoulder, ready to take you away to be slaughtered. 

“Hey, are we getting anywhere with this j-?” 

When you turned around, you led with your elbow, and it collided with something squishy, followed by a yelp. Your eyes landed on your manager, Jace, who stood in front of you, doubled over as he held his nose. Blood splattered on the ground, staining his fingers as it poured uncontrollably from his nose. You looked down at the mess and noticed he had gotten some on the tips of his shiny, annoying dress shoes. 

“Bleeding fucking christ,” he said through gritted teeth. 

All you could do was stand there in shock with your hands hiding away your mouth as you looked at the mess you caused. You wanted to be angry, you deserved to be angry. He fucking touched you when a simple question could have easily gotten your attention. But he was bleeding, all over the floor, and when he looked up at you with involuntary tears in his eyes, you found your stomach churning with guilt. 

“What the fuck was that?” you asked. You tried to sound large, but your voice only shook as you lowered your hands away from your face. 

“What?” Jace asked, peeved. His voice was congested due to the blood he was trying not to choke on. “I should be the one asking you that! You broke my fucking nose!” 

“Do you know how to talk to people without touching them?” you retorted. But your voice gave away what strength you tried to fake. No matter how hard you tried you couldn’t stop shaking. 

“My apologies, didn’t realize it was a bloody crime,” Jace muttered, the sarcasm almost covering his anger. 

Even after all that time, it was always the same. Greedy hands on your waist in a bar. Vile hands holding your wrist, threatening to shatter it. The hands of your idiot manager trying to get your attention. Each and every time you knew it was wrong, that they shouldn’t have been touching you like that, and each and every time you were the one to blame for it. 

It was always the same. Nothing had changed. 

Different voices, kinder voices, tried to get your attention, but you couldn’t hear them over the sound of your terror. That pulsing mass of muscle in your chest, or the hyperventilating of your lungs. Sometimes your chest ached so terribly you thought you would die, and that’s how you felt in that moment. You’d just keel over on the stone floor and drown in the blood you accidentally spilled over a fucking panic attack.

So you left. You hadn’t even fully realized you were leaving until you were outdoors where the bitter spring rain almost instantly soaked you to the bone, even through the thick fabric of your blazer. There was the vague sound of the bank door opening behind you, but you ignored it and kept walking and prayed that whoever was behind you would leave you to be devoured. 

Your walk home felt like a blur; like you were just some puppet with her strings being pulled. There wasn’t a single action you had taken the last few days that actually felt like your own will. You had turned into a simple bystander for your own life. People said that spring rain washed away everything so that there was room for new growth. The only thing you felt in the rain was cold, and it certainly didn’t wash away the anger that tried to strangle you or the sobs that choked you. 

When you arrived home, everything was quiet. Usually Simon was there to greet you, but you also usually spent more than two hours at work. Really, it was for the best that he wasn't there anyway. He had always managed to find you in such vulnerable states, but you weren’t sure if you could handle him seeing you like that. Soaked to the bone, uncontrollable tears falling from your eyes, having probably just lost your job after essentially assaulting your manager. 

It was a coo that caught your attention. Brought you back to reality, if only for a moment. It came from Boo, of course, who stood near your feet. He looked slightly disgruntled at the small puddle of water that had gathered around your feet, like he wanted to rub against you but didn’t dare get his paws wet. You wished you had his ignorance. 

You felt bad for doing so, but you left Boo by the entrance as you pushed deeper into the apartment, headed straight for the bedroom. Your blazer was peeled off of your body and you carelessly left it in the middle of the hallway before hiding yourself behind a closed door. It didn’t take Boo long to track you down and attempt to paw at you through the gap under the door but you just couldn’t. He was an ignorant cat, and still you wouldn’t put him through the horror of watching your breakdown. 

A squelching sound followed every step you took as you walked to sit on your side of the bed. The utter anxiety and pain in your chest had diminished but you could feel it slowly being replaced by a terrifying numbness. In order to preserve itself, your body had placed itself into some sort of limbo, and you didn’t know what to think of it. 

Sighing heavily, you wiped at the moisture on your face, unsure if it was from your tears or the rain. When your vision cleared, your eyes settled on the bottle of pills on your nightstand. A half empty glass of water sat next to it, almost enticingly. Fucking Ambien. You shouldn’t give in, and you knew that. You’d fuck up your sleep schedule even more than it already was. But whatever was happening, whatever it was that was going on inside of you, you didn’t want to be conscious for it. 

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Smoking after any sort of physical training was certainly a terrible idea, and Simon was fully aware of this, yet he didn’t care enough to stop himself. So he stood outside, close enough to the building that the rain didn’t get him too wet, despite the fire laws that went against it, and puffed away. He hoped the rain would wash away any lingering scent of nicotine from his clothes. 

He worked harder than he should have, and his body paid the price for it. Achy muscles plagued his arms, legs, and for some reason his core, even though he hadn’t focused on it all that much. Progress was slow, and he was still further away from his old self than he liked. A part of him wondered if he would ever see combat again. Did he even want to after everything that happened to you? Could he stomach leaving you again, not knowing if you’d be there when he came home? 

The thought of leaving you made him sick. 

It didn’t take him long to finish his cigarette, and he shoved his mask back over his face before venturing off into the storm. Noon would roll around soon, and he figured he’d need to eat a big meal after the hours he put in at the on base gym. After suffering through mid-day traffic for longer than what felt legal, Simon arrived home where the rain was just as unrelenting. Avoiding the moisture as much as humanly possible, he dove into the apartment. 

A small puddle of water greeted him at the entrance, and he found his eyes narrowing at the sight. Was there a leak? Dark eyes glanced up at the ceiling, worried the roof wasn’t holding up, yet there didn’t seem to be any sign of cracks or a burst pipe. Sighing, he slipped into the kitchen where he removed his mask and coat and set it on the counter. His pack of cigarettes peeked out of his pocket, as if trying to tempt him to take another, but he ignored that thought in favor of leaving to grab a towel to clean up the mess instead. 

Simon hardly took a step into the hallway before he froze. Something was wrong. A sopping wet mess of clothing sat in the center of the hallway, and a ring of water settled around it. It wouldn’t be good for the flooring, but that was the least of his concerns. The door to the bedroom was closed tight, and Boo laid on his side, nose peeking underneath the crack as best as he could. Simon ventured a few steps closer, catching the attention of the impatient feline, and he instantly hopped up and trotted up to the man, meowing. 

“What’s up, mate?” he asked, leaning down to gently scratch the cat's ears. The question was playful, but it didn’t help the uneasiness that had an iron grip on his stomach. 

Boo followed Simon to the door and was the first to dash in the moment it was opened. Your sleeping frame was the first thing he noticed, and if he didn’t know better he would have thought you hadn’t moved at all since he left in the morning. But you were on top of the covers rather than under them, and in your work clothes instead of pajamas. You hadn’t even bothered to take off your shoes. 

Concern didn’t even begin to describe the mess of feelings swirling in Simon’s head. You were supposed to be at work, not a soaking, unconscious mess in bed. Carefully, he approached the side of the bed where he tried to assess you as quietly as possible. No marks, your breathing looked and sounded okay, your eyes fluttered like you were in deep sleep; you looked fine. But you weren’t. He knew you weren’t, and he didn’t like that. 

 Maybe he should have left you alone, but he couldn’t stop the hand that reached for your shoulder. Your clothes were still moist, and his skin stuck to your dress shirt as he gently shook your shoulder. You were icey to the touch, and he tried not to flinch at the feeling. 

“Sweetheart? Hey…” 

His voice was so soothing it had to be a dream. No, not just his voice, but everything. It all felt so far away and muted, yet so close, as if something was clawing inside of you, trying to get out. Lungs expanded with a deep breath, your eyes fluttered open, and your vision was completely obscured by Simon. He knelt on the floor next to the bed where he leaned forward so that his hand could brush against your cheek. It was only then that you realized how cold you were. Damp clothes clung to your body as if trying to suffocate you, and your muscles attempted to turn into stone with how stiff they were. It was like waking up on wet grass. 

And it all came back to you. The crunching sound of your elbow smashing a nose, the panic that footsteps stirred in your chest, how you couldn’t be touched without feeling Bukin instead. You stared at Simon with glossy eyes, and you tried to open your mouth to speak but stayed silent instead. His concern only grew at your silence, and you watched as the proof of it etched onto the features of his face. He looked at you like that so often you were certain his face would be stuck that way. 

“What’s goin’ on?” he asked softly. Everything he did was soft when it concerned you. Like he feared he would shatter you. 

“I… don’t know.” Your response spewed out of your mouth before the thought was even formed. The Ambien you had taken shrouded your mind in murky water, and you weren’t sure if you should be grateful for it or not. Neverbefore had you ever felt so light and heavy at the same time. 

With an odd burst of energy, you sat up and Simon’s hand fell from your face. It was as if no time had passed at all. You had just been stuck in some sort of limbo and thrown right back into reality the moment you had woken up, and fuck did it hurt. A heavy dryness overwhelmed your throat to the point you were certain your vocal cords would crack, and there was some evil creature running around wreaking havoc in your head. 

“I’m gonna get some water,” you said as you scooted towards the edge of the bed. Each word that you spoke felt too big for your mouth, but you let them tumble out anyway. 

An uncomfortable squish sounded as your still soaked shoes hit the floor, but you ignored it as you pushed yourself to your feet. Boo curiously paced in front of you, eyes trained on your face as if he too was attempting to read your mind, but you ignored him as you wandered out of the room. 

You hadn’t realized Simon followed behind you like a lost dog until you reached the kitchen. Before you could even reach for a cup, he had already gotten one down for you and was at the sink filling it up. Rain continued to fall just as fiercely as it had been during your walk home, and you could feel the low grumble of thunder reverberate through the entire complex. 

“Did you walk home?” Simon prompted as he held the cup for you to take. He was trying to test the waters. Trying to figure out why you were home, but not fully there with him. In a way, you reminded him of himself, half awake, walking around the house smothering toothpaste on his face in a traumatic driven daze. 

“Yeah,” you answered bluntly. Sniffling, you raised the cup to your lips and took a small sip of water before continuing. “My manager was just, I don’t know. It doesn’t matter, I’m probably fired anyway.” 

“Fired?” Simon repeated, the disbelief obvious in his voice despite how hard he tried to keep his tone neutral. 

You really didn’t want to talk about it. Because you could say that you smashed Jace’s face with your elbow, and you could say that you didn’t like the sound of his shoes, or how he touched your shoulder. That was easy. Those were facts. What you didn’t want to explain was why. Why you responded with such violence, why the sound of his shoes ignited some deep fear you tried to smother, what you were reminded of when he touched you. 

So you looked around the kitchen in an attempt to distract your brain enough to come up with a lie. You had always been so terrible at lying, and you knew Simon was aware of that fact, too. Eyes focusing around the room, you looked everywhere as long as it wasn’t at Simon. An old grocery list held up by a magnet on the fridge. The slightly cracked handle on the microwave. Simon’s jacket bunched up on the counter. 

A boiling heat rumbled in your chest when your eyes landed on a small cartridge that slid halfway out of the pocket of his jacket. At first you thought your eyes attempted to play a trick on you. Something that the Ambien made you hallucinate. But the more you focused on it, the clearer it became; as did that anger that threatened to engulf you. 

“Have you been smoking?” you asked, eyes refusing to tear away from his jacket. 

Simon followed your gaze, and the muscles in his throat flexed as he swallowed. You didn’t even give him time to answer before you set your cup of water on the counter next to you and snatched the cigarettes out of the jacket. Why did the sight of it make you so angry? No, you knew exactly why. You just kept playing dumb with yourself. Every time you thought about it, you were transported back in time to where the scent of it clung onto Eric’s clothes. How it burnt your nose when he got close enough you could smell it on his breath. It was the first thing you smelled when you woke up on the ground after Adakskin beat you. That terrible smell had haunted you for years, and you didn’t think you could stand it if it started following Simon around, too. 

You marched over to the bin on the other side of the kitchen, and Simon called after you but you didn’t respond. Every muscle in your body had grown so taut that you had slightly crushed the cartridge before you tossed it with the rest of the rubbish. A restrained and frustrated sigh left Simon as he reached his hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. There was something exceptionally irritating about not getting answers. Sure, he was used to people holding out on him during interrogations, but allies had more or less always been truthful with him. You had always been truthful with him. It would be a lie to say it wasn’t painful seeing you struggle and not knowing how to help. 

“Sweetheart. Love, look at me,” Simon urged. It took everything in him to keep his voice mellow, to not get too frustrated. Like Gus had said, you didn’t have the same tools going into all that like he did. Eventually you did turn to look at him, eyes already growing wet. His gaze softened as he relaxed the muscles in his shoulders and face; it was the closest you had ever seen him to looking truly sad. “Talk to me.” 

Every emotion that you had forced into dormancy began to erupt in that moment. All the anger you tried to swallow, the grief you tried to bury, the disgust you felt towards yourself; it all came up to the surface. The pounding headache in your skull didn’t help with the tightness you felt crushing your chest, and for a moment all you could do was muster a defeated shrug, hands bumping against your thighs. 

“I don’t know how to,” you admitted in frustration. “I don’t know how to talk to anyone anymore. I want to. At least, I think I do. But, fuck, sometimes I think about what I want to say and I sound fucking insane.” 

Pausing for a moment, you reached your hands up to rub at your face. It was difficult to tell if it was because of the Ambien or not, but everything felt fuzzy. More than it normally did those days. Your thoughts, your words, your movements, it all felt unreal. Even so, a flood had started. Everything had been building up inside of you for months, nearly crushing your organs with the pressure, and it felt like there was nothing you could do but watch it pour out of you. 

“Like, I was fucking kidnapped. That sounds fucking crazy, like something you’d see on a true crime show, not- not something I’m supposed to experience,” you continued, pulling your hands away from your face. “And it’s weird because for a while I was just some sort of trophy for them. Something to taunt you with and it- it was fine when it was just that but fuck Simon he- that crazy bastard he-” 

Words failed you, and you choked back a sob as you bit into one of your knuckles. Simon braved a step towards you as the tears started to stream down your cheeks. Somehow, talking about what happened was more painful than actually experiencing it. 

“He didn’t even do anything serious so I feel like an idiot for even freaking out about it but I can’t- like- fuck, sometimes people touch me and it’s him. It doesn’t make sense but it’s just- it’s him and it terrifies me. Every footstep I hear sounds like it’s above me even when I’m in a single story building, the smell of cigarettes reminds me of waking up on the fucking floor.” 

You choked on the snot building up in your nose and you paused for a second to sniffle and wipe away the uncontrollable swell of tears that fell from your eyes. Something in you urged you to stop talking, to just shut up before you said something you regretted, but you couldn’t. There was no dam in the world strong enough to hold back everything erupting inside of you. 

“Sometimes I think about how he touched me, dressed me in his coat, the things he said to me and I feel disgusted. He ruined me. I can scrub at myself as long as I want and I still feel it. I can’t get clean. I know it doesn’t make sense but I don’t know how else to explain it,” you continued. 

Simon only grew closer, slowly, as if he was trying to coax a wild animal into his grasp. Maybe that’s what you had become. Some feral beast that took too much effort to love. He was close enough for you to grab, and you wanted to so badly it ached. You wanted for him to reach out and swallow you whole because maybe then you’d finally be clean. 

“And I want to tell you everything but I feel so ashamed to be alive right now,” you sobbed. “He ruined me. That sounds so fucking stupid but he- I wished he had been worse. I really, really do. They fed me and kept me alive and kept me clean like a goddamn pet when really the whole time I wished they would have killed me already because I felt like I was betraying you by being unharmed. But they didn’t. And I’m still alive, and I don’t think I’m supposed to be because I’m not- I don’t think I’m really here.” 

There it was. Bubbling in the back of your throat. The confession that felt like it would kill you if you admitted it out loud. But there was no stopping it. All you had ever done was watch your life go by from the sidelines anyway. 

“I can hear something that reminds me of being back there, and I know. I know why it scares me and what it reminds me of. I can reach out and talk to you because I know- I hope that you still love me after everything but I just can't because I’m not really here. I’m still in that fucking basement, Simon. And I want to be here with you, and I want to feel better but I’m stuck there.” 

You hadn’t realized how close Simon had gotten to you until his hand brushed against your upper arm. That was the last straw. Whatever composure you attempted to hold together shattered, and a moment later you found your face buried into his chest. His arms wrapped around you so firmly it was like he attempted to hold you together. When your knees gave out underneath you, Simon fell with you. Gently, he lowered the both of you to the ground so that you sat in his lap while he leaned against the cupboards under the countertop. 

Each sob rattled your body so violently you were sure you would break apart then and there, but Simon wouldn’t let you. His hand engulfed the back of your head where he kept you close to his chest, rocking you ever so gently. There was something bittersweet about the way he kissed the top of your head, how he buried his face as best as he could into the crook of your neck. He held you until your body was finished rocking your world with wails, and even then he still continued to hold you. 

“There’s nothing in this world I care about more than you,” he spoke once the waves settled. “I wanted to tear the world apart when I realized you were gone, and I thank whatever sick creator we have that you’re alive. I’m not gonna judge you for doing what you had to in order to survive. It’s not gonna make me love you any less.” 

His confession nearly had you sobbing all over again, but you bit into your lower lip and forced yourself to keep your composure. You weren’t sure if you even had many more tears left to shed, anyway. 

“You should have never gone through that at all, and I’m sorry you did,” he continued. The hand on the back of your head adjusted slightly, gently moving your shoulder back. Taking his hint, you leaned back some and looked up at Simon. His thumb ghosted along your cheek, wiping away any remaining moisture. “We’re gonna get you through this, yeah?”

It felt impossible. Getting through it. Getting better. You wanted to deny it, claim that healing was meant for people who were still mostly whole. But you wanted to get better so badly it hurt. You swallowed and sniffled some as you nodded in agreement, and moments later he pulled you back into his chest once more. 

That was the first time that you really felt like you were home. Crumbled on the kitchen floor in Simon’s arms. There was something lovingly tragic about it; about being destroyed and still having someone to love you. It was a promise. The kind that couldn’t be broken. So when he pressed yet another kiss to the top of your head and mumbled the words, “I love you more than anything,” you believed him. 

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

It had been months since Simon had last seen you smile. Truly smile. Yet there he was, sitting on a log in the middle of the Forest of Dean watching you giggle as you dipped your hands into a small stream. The August heat was unrelenting, even through the canopy of foliage overhead, and he watched as you rubbed the fresh water up your arms. The two of you were roughly two hours into your hike, and it had been awhile since he had last seen you so energetic. Each waving flower, small critter, and neat rock had to be enjoyed, and you made sure to point out everything worth seeing. 

Digging his canteen out of his bag, he took a deep sip of water as he watched you pick rocks out of the stream bed. You’d run your fingers over it, cleaning off any clinging dirt so that you could enjoy whatever colors were hidden underneath, and then place the item back in the water where you had found it. Even though your back was turned to him, he could still imagine the grin on your lips.

The last few months that you had been in therapy had been treating you well. There were some things that were still difficult, old wounds that would never quite heal right, but you laughed more often, and talked as if you had never known a moment of silence in your life. It felt nice. Better. Things would never be back to how they used to be, though sometimes he wished they would, but it was more than enough to hear you laugh again. 

A gasp left you, and Simon watched as you slowly straightened into a standing position. Knowing that he was about to be beckoned over, he hid the canteen away in his pack once more before sliding off of the log he had been using as a bench. 

“Simon, come look,” you said quietly, as if afraid to disturb something. 

With careful feet, he snuck up by your side where he was quick to notice what had caught your attention. A small dragonfly had perched itself on the tip of your forefinger where its wings glinted like church windows in the obscured sunlight. It stayed remarkably still for a creature that chose an excited human to rest on. You whispered how beautiful it was, how the blue of its body mirrored that of the sky, or how the pattern on its wings could be put in a museum. 

Once it had its fill of compliments, it fluttered off of your finger and back into the heart of the forest where it vanished from sight. You stood there for a moment with Simon by your side, the toes of your shoes just kissing the crystal clear stream water by your feet. Everything was fresh, warm, and real. Nature surrounded you on all sides, and it was the most free you had felt in a long time. 

“I’m excited,” you suddenly blurted out, attention turning to Simon. “To move into our new place.” 

He hummed in response as his hands found your hips, gently pulling you closer to him. Smiling, you leaned into him with the palm of your hands flat against his chest. He looked at you with such adoration, like even after all that time the two of you had been together he still couldn’t quite believe you were his. 

“It’ll be a good workout. Lifting all those boxes,” he quipped with a slight smirk. “For me, anyways.” 

Playfully, you rolled your eyes and swayed in his arms, yet your gaze found its way back to those lush, dark eyes of his. As if your bodies were magnetized, his lips found yours in a sweet, deep kiss, and the warmth of the sun couldn’t even compare to the warmth that ignited inside of you. And it felt nice, beyond nice, being able to kiss him without fearing you’d taint him. You could hold onto him, and lean your head against his chest when the kiss was done, and you were there. You were there in Simon's arms in the midst of a forest and nowhere else. 

“It’ll be dark soon if we keep going at this rate,” you sighed contently as he gently swayed you back and forth. 

“I’ve got a flashlight,” he said. 

“‘Course you do.” 

“Always prepared.” 

Another playful eye roll followed that comment, and the two of you slowly separated from one another. After recuperating, you started down the trail where you once again continued pointing out every single little thing that caught your attention. Simon watched on with a small smile and offered cheeky comments when it fit just so he could hear you laugh more. It was freeing to be out there in the fresh air, away from the noise of the city. It was even more freeing to know that soon you would be in a place where everything felt different and clean. Soon, you and Simon would be able to start over again, and you couldn’t help but grin to yourself at that thought. 

As far as you were concerned, each step you took along that trail was another step closer to getting out of that basement.

tags: @ghostlythots @archonsabyss @crowbird @beware-my-thorns @koko-1025 @nessaasstuff @escapefromrealitysm @babygirl-riley @theloneshadow24 @ashableketchup @violet-19999 @paigetaylor628 @curlygirls-world @gaebestie @datlilwrench @ryisghost @suffering-and-happy-about-it @achelois-is-here @spookyscaryspoon

find my taglist here

[aliusworld]

Hiiiiii, so I read a fic where Aqua went to his old home and his daughter is all grown up. He had a wife in his previous life and I want your take on it please. But I read your rules that you won’t do requests that involved kids and marriage so I’m not sure if this counts. If it does, then I’m just happy that I get to share this concept I saw and see what you think about it :)

No cuz I actually really like this idea… so, I’ll let it slide

Logically: Reader will be older than Aqua because… yeah. It works like that so…~~ I’m also having a hard time like placing what age they’d be because like I don’t know how easy it’s be for reader to believe him that like “yeah bro I’m your dead dad that got reincarnated” so I just…???? But I don’t want to make them too old either because Mr doctor man was like ~~32? So like.

Also the doctor is a loser man with my gf bcs he’s an idol otaku so like that would just be very unbelievable if he had like a whole thing but I’ll stop

I don’t think I have the time or emotional capacity to write a full fic for it right now, but I’ll write bullet points…

Aqua/The Doctor (Goro) with Past-Daughter!Reader

SPOILERS AHEAD.

For the sake of my brain’s health, I’ll say that you were 7 when Goro went ‘missing’.

Which would mean that he was 25 when you were conceived. And the perfect age where you could have some sort of recollection of him in your life.

When Aqua goes back to his hometown, originally it was intention to find his old body’s corpse, however, the old nurse he used to work with that had his child slipped his mind.

“Goro Amamiya, has their been any information on him after he went missing?” Aqua asked, the person at the front desk of the hospital shook her head, “Ah, I see…” Aqua turned his head to look back at Akane who was sitting on a lounge chair, fiddling with her phone, “What about Nurse Nozaki?”

The Nurse does not actually have a canon name I could find, so I just came up with something! (The “Nurse” character im talking about it the woman who was commenting on Goro’s obsession with Ai and love for Sarina.)

Another addition for this story is that the Nurse is about a year older than Goro, meaning she was 26 when she gave birth to the reader. And in current time, she would be about ~50 years old.

“Oh! Nurse Nozaki left to take a well needed vacation with her husband two days ago, you just missed her!” The worker paused for a second and put a finger on their chin, “What is it that you needed to talk to her about?”

“It’s a… family matter I wanted to talk to her about.” Aqua lied through his teeth, though he wasn’t directly lying. After all, that was his past daughter he was trying to find.

“Well then, Nurse Nozaki has her kid live close by, their somewhere in town here.” The worker rummaged through the computer, “Ah, here. Important information for Nurse Nozaki. I’ll give you her line number and…”

Aqua hates the way the worker didn’t double check on his true intentions, but he was still grateful on how he could still see his daughter thanks to that. He did the math in his head, if his “daughter” was 7 when he went missing, then now you’d be a fully fleshed adult.

He considered just letting his past life go and leave you be, but he still wanted to be able to see what you’re up to. Who you grew up to be, fuck, even if you even remembered your father.

Aqua ordered Akane to stay back, but to his dismay, she came along with him anyway. He quickly snuck the address into his phone, and followed the route until he saw you standing outside making a phone call.

He couldn’t be sure that it was you at first, but he could take his chances, after all, he wasn’t planning on staying here for too long. Though, the person standing before him did look like you. Same hair color, same eyes, same marks on the body. What made it more evident was your personality, it wasn’t easy examining it from a distance, but the phone call seemed to be enough for him.

It was you.

Now, how should he approach you?

“Akane,” Aqua tilted his head to look at her, “How would you approach someone you used to be really close to but… grew apart as life went on?”

“Oh! Hmm, let’s see… it really depends on their personality—“

I’m gonna cut off Akane there because, hah, I don’t think I can fit the perfect personality for everyone so yeah.

But Aqua would lie to get to know you, pretend that he was a childhood friend of yours that you just so happened to have forgotten.

“My name is Aqua, your mom gave me your address. We played together when we were younger.” Aqua lied.

“Oh! Aqua! Yeah, that rings a bell.” You lie right back, he didn’t know if that’s just how you always acted or if you were just trying to be kind, “What brings you here?”

“I just thought that we could catch up with each other, that’s all.” He sat on the curb in front of you, which you follow quickly after, “Like… how is your love life going?”

You went on to explain things going on with your life, even though you weren’t quite sure if he was an actual stranger or someone you once knew, you still felt somewhat of a bond.

Then Aqua went on to investigate you on his old self, more importantly, how you felt about him.

“Oh, well, my father has been missing for 17 years now. He’s probably dead, but… I always thought he’d come back home.” You get teary eyed, “He never did though so… I guess I lost hope. Either that or he did just run away, but I doubt he’d do that.”

“… He sounds like a good man.” Aqua’s eyes darken, he couldn’t dare to look you in the eyes, “And you sound like a good girl. I’m sure we would’ve come back to you.”

“Thanks, friend.”

A few hours later, Akane and Ruby would find Goro’s body.

Guess who was their to comfort you?

•••|•••|•••|•••|•••

Akane is best girl btw…

MASTERLIST

[bfpnola]

IMAGE DESCRIPTION UNDER THE CUT.

A new task force! Admittedly when we first discussed this, we were a bit upset, knowing how passionate we were to start up a new media literacy workshop for the summer. But upon further thought, honest conversations like these need to happen in every organization, ones where we admit our current capabilities and limitations so as to best protect everyone's time and energy while simultaneously continuing to fulfill our mission statement.

Further, we've already noticed a weight lifted amongst our volunteers! We utilized yesterday's Sunday meeting time to discuss BFP's history thus far, what it means to be a 501(c)(3), the nonprofit industrial complex, why we utilize a horizontal organizational structure, and then the best part? Our core beliefs! We only got to the first three (the right to organize, intersectionality, and educational equity), but the conversation was SO productive! Youth were given the chance to openly ask and answer questions with fellow activists around the globe. Even with just those three topics, we were able to cover: organizing tips, COINTELPRO, the gamification of politics, elite capture, epistemic injustice, the infantilisation faced by those at the intersection of transness and disability, equity vs equality, and accommodations in school! So much!

Next Sunday we'll continue this educational dialogue, so feel free to join us on Zoom (link available through our Discord server as well as college and career mentorship, peer support, mutual aid, private channels for marginalized communities, and the space to openly ask any social justice related questions without shame)! And once we eventually cover all of our core beliefs, BFP will officially begin designing a specific mission and timeline for this new task force, ensuring that all of us fully understand what our nonprofit stands for before making concrete decisions. Genuinely so excited to see how our little family transforms as we have already learned so much from one another in just one meeting since making this decision :)

[P.S. We do have bots in our server that can translate text messages for our non-English speakers, bots for those with dissociative identity disorder so their alters/fronts appear as different accounts with different names, bots for our nightly studying and music sessions, nonverbal emotes, and more!]

[ID: All 10 slides are a very pale mint green with a white circle made of diagonal stripes inside of a white tilted square made of thick dashes as the background. In the foreground is a white rectangle with curved edges meant to mimic an iPhone's "Notes" app with the bold, italics, underline, strikethrough, numbered list, and bullet point icons pictured at the bottom of the rectangle. Which icon is being highlighted shifts with each slide depending on the formatting of the text. At the top left corner, it reads "Notes" with a small arrow pointing left. And at the top right corner, "@bfpnola."

The slides read as follows:

"Honoring our dedication to transparency, this is BFP's current state of affairs:

Developing proper onboarding

Activity & Retention Task Force

Nonprofit Industrial Complex"

BFP was originally founded in 2016 by a team of 12 year olds in New Orleans, Louisiana. As the organization grew internationally and the work became more complex, we began to lose volunteers almost immediately as they joined. Why? We didn't have a proper onboarding process, aka a clear and efficient orientation and trainings for newcomers! As kids ourselves, none of us had entered the workforce yet so we weren't even aware that "onboarding" existed. Because of this, new hires would either become overwhelmingly confused and leave or be thrown straight into the work and burn out. As young adults now, we aim to create an efficient onboarding process and share our discoveries with other youth organizations in the future!

Due to that confusion, BFP has become incapable of hosting any more large-scale workshops, as we have failed to thoroughly prepare our newer volunteers with clarity. We owe it to those directly impacted by coercive hierarchies to do better. So, what's next for us? On 03/26, we decided to create a cross-committee Activity & Retention Task Force. This team will be dedicated to expanding our audience, maintaining the family that we've curated thus far, analyzing the success and failures of our work, and most importantly... Emphasizing BFP as a safe space for marginalized youth globally. With such a diverse team, we are always learning from one another and we'd like to continue sharing that opportunity with as many people as possible. But there's something we'd like to keep in mind!

The Nonprofit Industrial Complex. We are aware as a 501(c)(3) that organizations' radical missions can often become co-opted either by their donors or distracted by their own maintenance. If BFP ever becomes too focused on its own survival rather than that of the oppressed… We will take that needed step back. Community should always be our focus. This task force is meant to broaden youth’s access to political education and peer support, not necessarily propel BFP within the nonprofit industry. The people must come first and foremost.

More concrete steps will be released soon to hold ourselves accountable. We look forward to improving this organization so that BFP can put out the work that y'all deserve and that we know we are capable of producing. Thank you for reading! Check the caption for more information."

End ID.]

[t00thpasteface]

favourite tf2 headcanons? yours or other peoples?

ohoho man. grab a seat anon, and let me tell you a really long and stupid story about a headcanon i had many moons ago...

i got into tf2 over the summer of 2011, when i was 14. somewhere at the end of the 2010-2011 school year, i went to a function that the local high school held to acclimate next year's incoming freshmen. while i was there i bumped into a friend from elementary school who i'd lost contact with, we traded Skypes (where my skypers at???), and he got me into this awesome game called Team Fortress 2, because, hey, it just went free to play!

(here's my proof i joined literally one week after it went f2p)

here's what you need to know about 14 year old Shebbz: i was extremely autistic. i had just found out about tumblr after spending my formative years on deviantart. i still did not process that i was a comphet lesbian. and i LOOOOOOVED scout! i loved him so much. scout was everything to me. he was ME and also he was my BOYFRIEND and i was drawing him on EVERY surface i could use a pencil on. all i played was scout. i was not good at it but that didn't stop me. i was textbook 14-year-old crazy and scout was the chosen vessel for it. also i drew like this:

ok. so. i'm insane. i love scout. thunder mountain is my favorite map because it's the prettiest and that's the only metric i judge anything by. and every day i talk tf2 with my friends at lunch, which is about three to five obnoxious 14 y/o boys. and i fucking wish i still had the paper or at least a scan of it, but one day i had the BRILLIANT idea for a headcanon for scout.

okay so get this, i tell my friends at lunch as i'm unzipping my backpack to grab my notebook. scout is so funny and cool right? nods of agreement. he's obviously way too cool for the other mercs to handle. he's hip and with-it. well, check out this idea i just had, i think it's got a lot of potential. i slide a piece of paper over the table to my very dear friend who got me into tf2.

it's two panels. the first has scout holding up his own drawing of the thunder mountain skybox scenery, storm clouds and all, and he's saying, "look guys, i drew thunder mountain!" in the second panel, all you see is bullet holes through the paper and, presumably, into his torso meat behind it. "ow," he says. he's crying a little.

now i thought i was really onto something here. i was excited to get talking and explore more headcanons branching off of this one.

but my friend shut that shit down IMMEDIATELY. lo, my obsession with scout has turned into bastardization! i have lost touch with the canon! at this point i have woobified scout into something completely divorced from the soul of the character! and my greatest crime-- baseless projection! put that bit from jurassic park about the scientists here. clearly, he surmised, i had been poisoned by all those saucy yaoi askblogs i'd been following at the time. (hey, leave askheavy out of this!)

i was ashamed. embarrassed. he read me like an open book. i felt like the scout in the drawing. i put the drawing up, did away with my frivolous little headcanon, and resolved to be more of a stickler for canon-accuracy in my fanworks. hell, i nearly ended up becoming something of a fandom police myself. but i always felt a little slighted. yes i was projecting, but because of that, it was so personal! so what if it was totally baseless? it meant something to me!!

anyway, that was late 2011. seasons came and changed the time... i later had a falling-out with that friend (for totally unrelated reasons) and switched high schools to a newer fancier one. i got diagnosed with bipolar and i was trying so, so, SO hard just to get out of bed and scrape through my classes with C's and D's.

2014. june. i'm 17 and i'm borderline comatose now that it's summer break and i have no reason to get out of bed in the morning. what little creative energy i have is directed towards my askblogs with incredibly inconsistent and sporadic results. and i really don't play tf2 much at this point. no energy for it.

but then... a light in the shadows. a triumphant fanfare. at long last, there's another tf2 animatic, and it has hand-delivered unto me the sweetest validation, the coldest dish of revenge, the delicious ice cream sundae of justice:

scout has drawn a picture of spy getting hit by a car.

[glaswen]

Dipping his fingers in Trent’s open wound, Severen shoves his dripping fingers toward the man’s mouth. " come on. have a taste. "

Gore. It's everything he sees, and there's too much pain for him to know what to do with. Torn shoulder, opened collarbone, ripped and teeth-marked skin exposing all tender flesh beneath. His throat just as raw, sore from his screaming, yelling, crying. There's a smell in the air, and if he wasn't trying not to look down at the state of his body, to keep his head afloat and not pass out from blood loss or the sheer horror of it all, he'd recognize it was coming from him.

Another soon to be stinking body in this place, slumped on the wall, littered with the rest of them.

Listless stare now follows the sway of the ceiling light, clinging to the electric glow. He wasn't even sure if it was actually swaying, or if the dizziness was just overpowering. Can feel himself drift in and out, out and in. Wouldn't be long now.

The downlight is suddenly gone, covered by a stretching shadow. The illumination blurs, stretching a halo behind the figure, almost mockingly. Trent knows better, and suddenly he is very much awake.

The stench of hot breath and still gnashing teeth makes him want to puke, if he had anything left he would be.

The laceration on his right side, just above his previous bullet wound is alight with new pain as a foreign entity enters the vicinity without care, fingernails puncturing further into him. A shriek is heard from somewhere (it's him, he just doesn't recognize his own voice anymore). Trent jolts up and backwards to press himself further into the wall. Away from what it was touching him to no avail.

Prayers flood his head, to a god who doesn't hear him, to a devil who also no longer listens. Begging for himself to be saved, or dead.

What was it that brought the demon the first time?

No breath is taken between when fingers are taken out from the bullet wound and are slammed into his agape mouth. The fucking taste! Of blood, copper bleached with grime, of every fucking disgusting thing Severen has touched up until that point living beneath his fucking fingernails.

He gags; fear no longer gripping him but instead now anger---Rage. A flare circling his head. Let him die in peace, he's accepted it now. Whatever happens after it, his soul, his body---It happens, but let him fucking die.

Pooling black slinks unto bloodshot sclera, leaking unto his irises until there's nothing left except his pupils. Jaw snaps close whilst teeth grind, like a punished dog who's been pushed too far.

Ears pop when he hears a deafening snap. A burst of blood in his mouth, it's warm and more horrible than his own. Those fingers, once attached to a larger limb now sit in his mouth, detached and threatening to slide down his throat.

The natural human disgust quivers, gag reflex looms but the flight of compulsion fancies another opportunity. Trent proceeds to swallow them whole with the remaining strength he has.

He looks Severen in the eyes, and with laugh that sounds far more like a wheeze, lays his head back on the wall with defeat.

The feeling ( and look in his eyes ) gone; Trent returns to being another mutilated human on the vampire's chopping block now.

When he's dead, open his belly up and fish them out your-fucking-self.

[alienisticxo]

Before the Fever - Chapter Eight

{Master Chief x Reader series - TV based}

{A╱N} it’s finally happening!!! the burn part of this slow burn!!! *crowd goes wild*

this chapter is also a little longer to make up for the fact that i took a little longer to write it with life getting in the way for the past couple of weeks. i honestly got so excited to finally finish it that i only read it over a couple times, so just expect minor edits over time on this one. 

as always, thank you so much for hanging in with me! ♡ 

enjoy ♡ 

Chapter Eight - Humanity

The door to the only craft I could see was open, something I thought was both incredibly convenient and a little careless of the people left in charge of it. Before I could climb in myself, I felt a pair of hands around my waist, sending a jolt of shock through me. In a rushed glance I noticed it was John, helmet on his head now, hastily lifting me up and setting me inside with ease. He didn’t so much as glance in my direction, pushing right past me to man the controls.

The door drew closed, and a multitude of Marines were scrambling toward the large ship. The chaos that surrounded us became very, very real as bullets flew into what seemed like an indestructible alloy.

“Are they trying to kill us?” I asked frantically, following him into the craft to the best of my ability while staying as much out of his way as I could.

“Not you. Me,” was all he replied with as he entered the cockpit, his fingers moving deftly over what looked like millions of buttons and switches.

The way his voice sounded behind the helmet reminded me of the first time we spoke, or when he’d carried me out of The Covenant ship. A chill ran down my spine.

“Why? What did I miss? One minute I’m supposed to test the Keystone, the next I’m— Well, we’re here.”

I was nearly shouting through the mayhem, still keeping close watch on the ends of weapons that were pointed in our direction and drawing nearer by the second. Backing away from the window in the door, I threw a glance at The Master Chief, who was now seated, control in hand. His armor didn’t seem to hinder him in the least, though it looked as if it might. If he was concerned, I couldn’t tell through the golden shield that concealed his visage.

“Sit down,” he demanded of me, clearly on a mission.

Looking around, I felt conflicted, unsure. I didn’t trust him— I didn’t trust anyone. There was no set direction, no course of action that I could be assured with. On top of it all, I was out of an exit route. It was either exit the ship and be shot on sight, or stay with him on whatever venture he had in mind.

And as much as I hated to care about it, the UNSC already took issue with me. This was not going to make matters any better. My hesitation was holding me up, and I knew I looked like a deer in headlights as I tried my best to come to a real decision, ‘real’ fast.

“Now!” he growled.

Reckless abandon it is, I thought. It was not the time to try to rectify the mistake and come out with my hands up, I supposed. I hadn’t exactly been doing the right thing or taking much care to begin with, anyway. Why start now?

Dashing up to the cockpit and sliding into the seat beside him, I barely had time to settle in before the ship rose from its place. My knuckles turned white as I gripped the seat, the craft gaining speed quicker than I’d ever seen anything move before— even the docking tubes on Rubble.

My vision was locked on the ground as the bullets ceased and the crowd beneath us began to disperse, growing further and further away. I assumed they were heading into a backup plan to find where we were headed, and I wondered if they could track us. I hoped that The Master Chief or Cortana had already taken care of that.

The farther away we traveled, the more I relaxed. But it was still nerve wracking all on its own, being in a sticky situation like this with someone like him. What exactly was happening here? I was sure I was the last person he wanted to save until now. The overload of moving from one headspace to another in such a short amount of time was unhinging.

Chasing adrenaline was something I always deemed as fun, but after coming down this time, I felt as if I’d finally lost my mind altogether. I glanced downward, noticing the slight tremble in my fingers, giving my mental and physical state away to anyone who might’ve cared enough to look.

It was all catching up to me. My parents were dead, I’d been kidnapped by The Covenant, I was a test subject for an object that made me see things, I was on the run from the most powerful military in the galaxy: with a Spartan— and not just a Spartan, the Spartan. It was too much for me to handle. I deeply regretted stealing the briefcase. I wished I could’ve taken it all back and started the week over again. Picking pockets at a party like I’d originally thought of could not have gone this awry.

My emotions seemed to be in a puddle within my body, stirring up until they could no longer remain contained. Once things slowed down and I was able to really concentrate on the thoughts that danced around in my head; once New Alexandria and all of Reach disappeared under the abyss of deep space, it hit me like a brick.

I immediately stood from my seat and stumbled out of the cockpit without so much as a word to John, my stomach churning. I tried to inhale, to fill my lungs with enough air to calm the panic that was seeping in over my already frayed nerves. My hand cupped over my mouth instead, and no matter how I tried to refrain from showing any kind of distress, thick tears streamed down my cheeks all on their own as I found my way to the very back of the ship.

My breathing morphed into silent sobs when I slid down against the cold metal wall, balling up and holding myself tight until my muscles ached. I wasn’t able to control my body any longer. I trembled a little more visibly, my face in my hands. The intense urge to disappear completely plagued me. My heart was in pieces.

Even though my streak of bad luck began a week ago, I’d only been rightfully conscious for the past day or two. Still, it was more than enough to make me feel like my entire life had been this kind of nightmare. Weakness was an understatement. After all I’d been through in life, this was not the grand finale I expected.

And now here I was, on a ship to who knew where, on the run, with the one person who I felt I could trust the least despite the things he’d said to me the night before. What a disaster. At one point, I might’ve welcomed the opportunity to pick his brain. In the moment, I only wished I were back on Niacadus, my parents still around, my life still unchanged. The only thing I had to worry about was the color I was going to use next on a drawing.

It was no easy feat to keep from making too much noise, not wanting The Master Chief to be aware of my little breakdown. But my grief was too powerful, my exhaustion too immeasurable. My sniffling and silent whimpers sounded like explosions to me in the quiet space.

————

“I’m not sure she’s doing okay back there, Chief. Call me crazy, but it seems like she’s overwhelmed,” Cortana pointed out.

“I’m not a therapist,” I replied.

“No, but you are responsible for her now. I think maybe a hug would do her some good.”

Cortana scattered to life before me on the control panel, considerably smaller than she usually appeared. Her tone was sure of herself as always, hands behind her back. I couldn’t tell if she was being serious or not.

She was right, though. I did feel responsible for her. She was an adult, capable of making her own decisions and leading her own way. But there was a naivety to her, and while at one point I’d have said she got herself into this mess, I knew I was to blame for her current situation.

“A hug?” I asked incredulously. “Why don’t you give her one, then?”

The A.I. lifted her hands, looking down at them with a frown.

“It’s physically impossible for me to do so.”

“It was rhetorical,” I stated with a quick glance down from the stars ahead and in Cortana’s direction. “I wasn’t aware that ‘human contact’ was in your repertoire of expertise.”

“I’m quite versed in general human knowledge— that is what I spent time familiarizing myself with when Doctor Halsey first briefed me on my original directive’s limitations with you. Psychology and physiology were just blips in its entirety.”

I must’ve been laid out on the table when that happened.

There were a few seconds of silence before she rattled off again.

“Think about how you felt when you discovered you were kidnapped as a child and your parents were given a flash clone of your image as a replacement for later closure and mourning,” Cortana reminded in one long statement. “If my observations are correct, and they usually are, it’s not an easy emotion to deal with.”

“She’ll live,” I glanced down again. “She wasn’t taken from her family. No one replaced her. Though Halsey tried, apparently.”

“But she did lose her parents. Maybe not the same way you did, but she was forced to grow up as an orphan. Yes, possibly also because of Doctor Halsey. What was that she mentioned about connecting?”

Cortana had a point. Seldom didn’t she, though. But what was her endgame? Was it really something as menial as a hug? I doubted it. I wasn’t going to entertain her ‘connecting’ comment. It was bold enough of Halsey to mention it.

“You know,” she began again, slower this time. “{Y/N} wouldn’t have made a very good Spartan at all. Though I am unaware of the requirements Doctor Halsey set in place for her new Spartan program, had she been chosen, the likelihood of her survival would have been at around—“

“What’s your point?” I interrupted her.

“My point is, her outcome would have been much graver than yours. She would’ve been dead. Eliminated. Kaput.”

I pondered on it.

My life might’ve been easier, I finally thought to myself.

“I know what you’re thinking, and it probably wouldn’t have,” she smiled briefly before continuing.

Nowhere was safe.

“She’s too short, too small. Fragile. Her emotions rule her decisions too predominantly, and she doesn’t always recognize the correct course of action in any given situation— i.e. stealing The Artifact. She wouldn’t have met the standards for a Spartan even with the proper augmentations and treatments set in place. You were chosen for a variety of reasons. But your ability to endure, your strength and stamina, your luck, good instincts.. your humanity… It’s all there. You’re a natural leader with the calling to do the right thing.”

She paused, another smile spreading across her features.

“In any situation.”

She really knew how to talk around a suggestion. Or maybe, she just knew how to speak in terms I understood.

“Fine,” I sighed, setting the Condor’s controls. “I’ll talk to her.”

————

Heavy footsteps always seemed to be the indication that the Spartan was near. I rocked back and forth just enough to soothe myself, but not enough for it to be blatantly detected. I felt so stupid, so silly for reacting in such a fragile way to stress. But it had been a long week, and the influx of information had been too much to take.

It was dark in the back of the ship, no light whatsoever save for the starlight that shone around us. It was the most concealed I’d felt in a while, even in the room they kept me before. My cheek rested against the tops of my knees as I stayed curled up, the fabric of my pants wet from my tears. John came to a stop, his frame looming over me before he sat down on a bench just across from where I sat.

After a few long moments of silence - which I was beginning to think was his M.O.- he spoke.

“I know how you feel,” he finally said before removing his helmet and setting it aside.

I didn’t look at him, but I could feel his eyes burning through me.

“Do you?” was all I could whisper without my voice breaking. “I doubt it.”

“You’d be surprised.”

Something else I doubted.

“What, did you fail a mission or something?” I sneered.

“I did lose the second artifact to save a teammate,” he opened up.

“What a loss,” I rolled my eyes.

“More than you might think.”

“Well I’m sorry you lost your Keystone. I’m sorry you had to run away from your beloved UNSC, and most of all I’m sorry we met. This has been nothing but heartache.”

I huffed, angry instead as I sat up and wiped my tears with the back of my hand. I wasn’t ready to look at him just yet, staring at the floor. It was a little cruel of me, feeling more like a juvenile outburst than anything else. He had now gone AWOL himself, I assumed for my sake. Just because I hated the situation and lost my focus over other details didn’t mean I was blind to what was happening.

“I’m sorry,” I muttered again, this time with sincerity. “I’m just.. This is all just too much. I could’ve handled it all, and pretty well, if you just… hadn’t mentioned my parents.”

My eyes met his instinctively, and there was no mistaking the twinge of vulnerability and faint yearning to understand in his features. That was nothing I’d expected of a Spartan. Then again, had anything been?

He shook his head, leaning his elbows on his knees.

“It wasn’t my intention to shock you with the information.”

I nodded ever so slightly. My nerves were still shot, my thoughts still a mess. Trying to gather it together, I took a deep, jagged breath.

“What’s going on? Why are we running? And don’t tell me it’s something classified, or that I can’t know. We’re both in trouble now. We’re in this together.”

His gaze remained on the floor. It couldn’t have been easy for him to hear it, but it wasn’t a lie. We didn’t trust each other, but who else did we have to trust now? My sudden ability to hold a flicker of compassion for our predicament took me by surprise.

“You and I have more in common than you realize,” he started.

I rolled my eyes and sighed dramatically, unable to believe him.

“What could you and I possibly have in common? You’re this giant, menacing war-machine that the entire galaxy fears and admires. A legend. A hero. A myth, to some. I’m just..”

A new thought settled in as I trailed off, and I was disappointed in my finding.

“I’m just.. me.. Boring. A thief. I certainly don’t protect anyone nor do I have any real mission or cause. Not a winnable one, anyway. We have nothing in common.”

But the expression on his features seemed different than it had. Instead of the usual hard, stoic nature, he was laced with exhaustion again like I imagined he’d been by the sound of his voice when he’d carried me out of the ship. Melancholy mixed in between the cracks that opened him up to me a little more with each sentence shared.

It wasn’t something that was easy to overlook. I almost felt bad.

————

“Chief, your levels are spiking. You’re experiencing.. anxiety.. Nervousness?” Cortana sounded concerned. “Take a deep breath. She’s not The Banished, after all. You‘ve certainly been through worse.”

I inhaled without responding. Objectives were easy. Social settings were not. Now that the rough part was over, it was too easy to fall into whatever this situation entailed.

“I can’t monitor her, but it seems like she’s already calmed down. See, I knew you could be soft around the edges if you wanted to be.”

The A.I. was very obviously smiling. I wanted to find the off-switch again.

But I guess {Y/N} had a point. We were in deep now. Together.

————

“Halsey had something to do with your parents. She had something to do with mine, too,” he said.

It stung to hear the subject brought up again. I eyed him.

“Your parents went missing?”

“No. I did.”

“But.. you’re right here.”

“I was for them, too.”

“John,” I sighed, exasperated by his vague and cryptic responses.

————

My name fell from her lips as though she’d spoken it her entire life. Like a prayer, a hail mary on the field, it seemed effortless and warm, longing— even through the irritated tone she’d sighed it through. That was a new sensation entirely.

I looked {Y/N} in the eye, allowing myself to run through the motions of what I was feeling, even if I couldn’t quite grasp it myself. I quickly saw her in a different light now that we were alone, both beaten up by the events that had taken place; by the amount of information neither of us truly knew how to navigate through. No matter how drained she must've been, there was a captivating aspect to her— a loveliness that I couldn’t describe. It was also possible I just didn't want to admit it. Cortana was going to have a field day with that one. 

“There are some seriously strange things happening right now,” Cortana chimed in again. “Maybe you’re not as healthy as I initially thought. Your heart rate has peaked quite high. However, you’re not reading as ill.. Do you feel alright, Chief?”

I still didn’t respond to her. For once, I wasn’t sure how to respond.

————

He only looked at me, his eyes gleaming somewhat beautifully in the starlight. Something about the way he carried himself as he did so piqued my interest. It occurred to me then that I’d used his first name. Perhaps that was impolite; the reason he was staring at me the way he was. But what really was the proper thing to do in any matter anymore? I was too broken to sift through petty arguments for the sake of passing time. He had to understand that much. 

“Please,” I nearly pleaded.

I needed something to hold onto.

He hung his head, clearly not too keen on opening up to me. Still, in the quietness, away from everyone and everything else, I hoped he would.

I waited on baited breath, expecting another almost-response.

“We were recruited into the Spartan program at around six years old,” he started, and I subconsciously leaned in closer, as though it would help him continue. “Halsey’s doing. She took us from our parents, and replaced us with.. clones. The clones eventually died of some complication that made it look like an illness. We don’t even know our full names. Our parents.. Or whoever’s left, don’t even know we’re alive.”

I was easily hanging on his every word. It wasn’t everyday you found yourself on the receiving end of a Spartan’s confession. This was surely some kind of classified intel. I decided then and there that no matter what, I’d take it to my grave. Something in me was simply glad he allowed me the honor at all.

But I had no words, absorbing a new insight into the strange soldier. When I looked down at his hands absently, I noticed a slight tremor in one of them. Though I wasn’t sure of his reasoning, the same occurrence happened to Astra when she was nervous, stressed, underfed.

Moving to where he sat, I clasped my own slightly trembling fingers around his sturdy glove just as I would have with her. My grip was firm enough to calm the movement, but still gentle enough to avoid any kind of aggression. Instinct overrode everything else.

When I realized what I had done, it was too late. His eyes were on me, faint confusion written over them. But as we sat there for a moment, registering the contact we’d just made, neither of us pulled away. My expression shifted into embarrassment at myself as I finally did make the first move to release him. Much to my surprise, it was harder to do so than I expected.

It wasn’t as though we hadn’t touched before. I still had the bruise on the back of my shoulder, he’d grabbed me plenty of times to direct me, or rattle me. He even carried me from The Covenant ship. But something about this felt different. There was an intimacy about it that I didn’t dare let myself succumb to the idea of.

I eased back to the floor, curling my fingers into my palm slowly.

“Sorry,” I murmured again, so quietly I wasn’t sure he heard me.

————

“Master Chief, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re.. Smitten.”

Her accusation was still somewhat smug. I could just picture her face. I wanted to ask the A.I. what exactly ‘smitten’ felt like. The space was too quiet, too enclosed. I couldn’t talk to Cortana without {Y/N} hearing me.  

What I knew of smitten was pushing it, though. I didn’t know this girl, all of our exchanges had been strained, mostly unpleasant. But aside from the beauty she seemed to exude so effortlessly, there was something about her that felt.. different, to me. Like an instinct long buried sparking back to life. The notion was unfamiliar territory. Maybe it had something to do with The Halo and our connection to it. It had to be.

“All of your levels immediately spiked the moment she made contact with you. In fact, you held your breath. Did you realize that? I’ll bet this has something to do with the Keystone… The chemical reaction that qualifies as infatuation might go hand in hand with whatever biological -other otherwise- elements you two may share.”

As {Y/N} sunk back to the floor, I flexed my fingers, staring at them, still able to feel the way her hand felt around mine. I almost wished Cortana was reading my thoughts, if only so I could tell her to cut it out.

————

“I guess I’d never given much thought to how a Spartan became a Spartan,” I tried to break the small amount of tension. “That sounds.. Illegal.”

“It is,” he stated, voice gruff. “Which means she wasn’t alone in her decision.”

I couldn’t begin to grasp the concept of what he was getting at. Though I could understand how he might be upset, going AWOL seemed a little dramatic after so much time had passed.

“Did you just figure this out? Why don’t you remember it?”

“I am remembering it. That’s why we’re in this predicament.”

“So she.. brainwashed you?” I asked slowly, trying my hardest to understand. “How does that give us common ground?”

“You were meant to be part of her new Spartan program.”

I looked down at myself and laughed.

“Me?” I laughed again. “A Spartan? That’s rich, you know.”

“Do you think I was six years old like this?”

Point taken.

“What does that have to do with my parents?” I posed before my face fell, and it all clicked. “…You think maybe she tried to take me from them.. And..”

“Affirmative.”

I swallowed thickly, trying not to lose it again as I thought harder.  

“The last time I’d seen either of my parents was on Reach.. One day I woke up on Rubble, completely alone. I was just a child..”

My voice had fallen into a whisper as I clutched at my chest. I could feel the tears returning.

“They knew what they were up against. I’m willing to wager they did what they could to save you from becoming a ‘war-machine’ at Halsey’s mercy.”

If the previous information hasn’t shocked me, this surely did it. I pictured myself, much larger than I was now, standing at attention in heavy Mjolnir, hard, uncaring, on a mission. Nothing more than the number on my chest and the gun in my hands. My eyes fell on the 117 on his armor.

“I could’ve been like you,” I voiced, empty.

His jaw clenched, and he looked away from me, his expression twitching slightly as I noticed it usually had when he was concealing some kind of emotion, suppressing it on his own.

I lost my words again, millions of thoughts running through my head. The small inkling that maybe my parents had abandoned me and left to save me instead of being dead lingered longer than it should’ve. It was a long shot, felt more like denial; a coping mechanism.

“Do you miss them?” I finally whispered. “Your parents?”

His stare was miles long before his broad, metal-clad shoulders lifted in a faint shrug.

“I don’t know.”

A few soft sobs tried to break through my chest. My throat tightened, painful with withheld emotion as we sat in silence again. How could he not know? How could he not care enough to feel anything about it? Just when I thought I was getting through...

————

“That hug would come in right about now, if you were timing it,” Cortana reminded, clearly enjoying my lack of ability to respond to her. “Provided your heart doesn’t completely stop in the process.”

“Cortana,” I warned through gritted teeth, finally irritated beyond belief.

That was when she appeared before us both, piecing together like a digital puzzle. Turning to the girl, she crossed her arms over her chest and began to speak.

“What John means is that he doesn’t exactly know how to feel.. well, feelings. His entire life with the UNSC has been augmented. For years he and the other Spartans, with the exception of Kai-125 now as well, have harbored a hormonal suppressor pellet within their systems. Just as the name suggests, it chemically suppresses any human impulses and reactions one might act on to maintain composure and efficiency in battle. The Master Chief has recently removed his pellet, and so he’s dealing with quite a range of emotions that he’s never had to worry about before. Well, if he could worry.”

I stood from my spot as though my presence would intimidate Cortana. Of course it didn’t, it never would.

“That’s not exactly public knowledge,” I growled.

“What’s there to hide from her anymore?” She replied. “You’re fighting the same battle.”

————

Fighting the same battle. 

I hadn’t thought of it that way, but she wasn’t wrong.

“So.. You.. Essentially, had an off switch?”

Cortana smiled, tilting her head to the side with a nod. “Something like that.”

“I can speak for myself,” John interrupted.

“It seems you were having a hard time doing so. My directive is to aid you on and off the battlefield. I was simply helping.”

“Go help somewhere else,” he retorted.

“Let’s not do this again, Chief,” she lilted.

But as they bickered back and forth, it made so much more sense. Of course he ‘didn’t know’ anything. He had been on a need-to-know basis his entire life. Missions. Objectives. Rinse. Repeat. All without having to feel a thing. No questions asked policy in place. Loyalty to Doctor Halsey secured.

Everything suddenly became so much easier to understand, clarity overcoming me. It wasn’t that he didn’t care. It wasn’t that he was truly cold and merciless. He just didn’t know how to care. He didn’t know what kindness could be.

What a relief that seemed to be. I’d had it all wrong. While Spartans were exactly what I suspected, it wasn’t by their own doing.

Maybe he wasn’t so bad.. Maybe with his own newfound sense of humanity, he was beginning to see things for what they were. Finding out about himself seemed to be a good start. I thought back to the things he’d said to me in the room. Some of them were fighting against it. That must’ve meant himself and whoever Kai-125 was.

In a way, he began to feel even more human. Simply trying to find his way around the experience and all it had to offer. He had so much riding on him, so much riding on his reputation. The weight of the world that no one would understand. Though I couldn’t even come close, I felt like I could understand him. I felt like I could see him just a little better than I had before. There was an innocence to that that almost broke my heart all over again. He was only a child.. He had an entire life, his own choice of a future, torn from him. As though it didn’t matter. As though he didn't matter.

Just like me.

“It’s okay,” I interrupted— a new light in my eyes, a new outlook on everything I thought I’d known. “I trust you, John.”

-x-x-x-

Tags: @grimistangel​

[storyofmychoices]

Wound Care

[Troy Hassan x Astraea Callen Masterlist]

Pairing: Troy Hassan x Astraea Callen (F!MC) ; Shannon Fox Book: Wake the Dead :Chapter 7 Word Count: <1.1K Rating/Warnings: General with non-graphic mentions of blood, gunshot wound, injury Prompts: @choicesjuly2022challenge : Friends to Lovers A/N: Dialogue lines in italics are from WTD chapter 7.

Synopsis: After getting grazed by a bullet, Astraea offers to treat Troy's wound.

The pent-up nerves from their daring chase released as Astraea exhaled. Her muscles relaxed, her grip upon Eli loosening. The warmth of his back against her chest was nice. Her lips curled as she glanced at the tranquil scene surrounding them. This was nice.

The Raiders were lost in their trail. No signs or sounds of zombies. Just lush majestic forest surrounding them. She closed her eyes, letting the cool breeze brush through her hair. Her thoughts filled with the beauty of the seemingly peaceful woods. If it could stay like this—if they could just keep driving, could this peace linger forever? 

As her thoughts drifted, the soothing green of the trees turned a harsh red. Her heart caught in her throat. Troy! 

The gunshot replayed in her ears, his jacket darkening as his blood seeped over the fabric. Her stomach twisted more with each passing second. How could she let herself forget?

As soon as the colony came into view, Astraea barely waited for the bike to come to a stop before jumping off and rushing toward the van. "Are you okay?"  

Troy was just sliding out, his shoulder slumping to the side as he held his injured arm. "Stings like hell, but I think it only grazed me." 

Shannon took his arm in her hands, attempting to assess the wound still covered by the leather of his jacket. "I still want to take a look at you in my lab, just to be sure."

A grin grew on his face as he leaned into her touch. "If you wanted to get your hands on me, Doc, you just had to ask." 

"Wha-- That's... I didn't--" Shannon stuttered, letting his arm fall as she took half a step back.

Astraea's pulse quickened at their interaction. Without a second thought, she slid herself between them. "Why don't you look after Elder Rain; he needs you more. I can bandage Troy."

"Are you sure? I don't mind." 

"Positive." Astraea insisted, guiding Shannon further from Troy. "Basic wound care I can handle. You handle the real doctoring."

Shannon glanced back to Troy and nodded. "Okay. If you need me, come get me."

"Of course." Astraea agreed. As Shannon left, she stepped closer to Troy, ready to examine his wound. 

A smirk pulled on his lips. His fingers raked through his hair. 

"What's that look for?"  

"First the Doc, now you!" His grin widened. His shoulders pulled back with new confidence. "You ladies can't keep your hands off me. I can't say I blame you, though. I heard scars make a man more attractive."

"You wish." She scoffed softly, attempting to walk away. 

"I'm just saying, you were very insistent just now, how you came running over and pushed the Doc away." His brow quirked as he turned in front of her causing her to stop. "It's almost as if you wanted me all to yourself."

Her face warmed for a second, but she shook it off. She held the back of her hand against his forehead. "Oh, no! It's worse than I thought. Your blood loss has led to fever and delirium." She shoved him playfully.

"Ow!" He held his arm, feigning pain even though she had pushed his other side. "What kind of nurse are you?"

"I guess you'll have to wait and see." She smirked. "Let's go get you cleaned up!"

Troy followed her closely into the lodge, where Astraea led him to the bathroom with the first aid kit. 

"Sit." She pointed to the ledge of the tub. "Take off your jacket and shirt."

"You know it's just a flesh wound on my arm. My t-shirt isn't in the way. I could roll up the sleeve."

"Are you the nurse here?" She insisted, "Shirt off!"

"Demanding—" he smirked, doing as he was told, "I like it."

Her gaze raked down his tanned, toned torso. 

He watched her intently, enjoying her darkening gaze. "Like what you see? I don't have insurance, but if you'd like to make a full exam, I'm sure we can come to some arrangement."

"You're relentless." She turned away to hide her smile. Quickly, she filled a bowl with water and grabbed a cloth.

"You were the one staring."

"Was not," but even she knew her words rang hollow. Astraea sat beside him. She let the water drip from the wet cloth onto his arm. The thickened blood around the injury loosened and pooled into the base of the tub. The bowl of clear liquid darkened with each rinse. 

Troy focused on her gentle care, trying to stay as still as possible despite the growing pain.

Her careful fingers inspected the area around the wound. Some blood still escaped, but the injury wasn't deep. His arm trembled as she applied antiseptic wash. "Just a flesh wound."

He relished her soft touch despite the intense sting. He swallowed hard, keeping his tone strong and even. "I believe that was my assessment as well." 

She nodded. "I guess even you can be right sometimes."

"So you admit it... I was right, and you just wanted me all to yourself." He wagged his brow, his lips pressing into a cheeky grin.

Astraea pressed slightly harder into the wound as she wrapped his arm in a bandage.

"Easy," he winced. 

"Whoops. My bad. I was having trouble focusing. Obviously, my thoughts of ravishing you now that we're alone were too much for me to handle. I can barely restrain myself." She hoped her sarcastic tone and eye roll would deter further presses into the issue. She exhaled purposefully, hoping to relieve the warmth that continued to grow in her cheeks at the actual thoughts of him clouding her mind. 

As she looked up from the wound, she caught his gaze. He was closer than she expected—his face just a breath away, though neither of them moved.

"How does it look?"

"You'll live." 

His hand settled on hers on the edge of the tub. 

She licked her lips, her eyes locked with his. Any attempt to inhibit the warmth in her cheeks was lost at the moment. 

"Astraea?"

"Yes, Troy?" 

His thumb brushed across her knuckles. The heat of his breath tickled her lips. "Thank you." He leaned forward, closing the gap. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, lingering a moment longer than he probably should have.

"Don't mention it." She quickly turned away, cleaning up the mess they'd made. 

Troy slid his shirt back on and attempted to wash the blood out of his jacket. 

The two shared the small space, stealing glimpses of the other, a subtle smile on their faces each time their gaze met.

A/N 2: Sorry for the lack of creativity in the title. Nothing was coming to me.

Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed this. I don't like when other characters get to tend to my LIs wounds. Like no. Let me do that!!! Soft touches and tender moments!

Tags in a reblog, let me know if you'd like to be added or removed

[skylarmoon71]

Timeless Wells (Flash) - Speedster Chapter 17

“Great job on the molecular splicer. I have to say it’s remarkable that you both were able to utilize its functions so efficiently. Keep up the good work and you just might have a future at Star Labs.” 

Your supervisor pats Avery on the back and she sends you a thumbs up. Once he’s gone, she’s basically bouncing off the walls.

“That was incredible!! I can’t believe I actually reassembled it. I was so worried I would mess up but it worked. Thank you, thank you, thank you!!”

She tackles you into a hug and you laugh.

“You worked really hard, I’m proud of you. I feel really bad taking partial credit when you did it on your own.”

She pulls back.

“Are you kidding me, you stayed back here with me for a week to help me learn how to build it from scratch. You should be getting all the praise. It is nice to be recognized though.” Her cheeks flush.

“I’m glad people are finally seeing your potential. I know you’ll do great things in the future Avery.”

She’s smiling, but this one is a bit teary. She starts laughing through it.

“S-Sorry I don’t mean to get emotional. It’s just been a while since anyone has had faith in meaning. It feels nice.” Maybe it’s your mind playing a trick on you, but for a split second you see an image of yourself in her. Beaten down and filled with doubt. Watching her smile now is almost as great as when you first realized Harrison truly did care about your future.

“Pay it forward..”

This is exactly what he meant.

It feels amazing.

“I’M TIRED OF ALL THE CRAP I’LL SHOW ALL OF YOU!!”

The yell from the other lab catches you both by surprise. You walk out, and Evan’s hands are lifted in the air as he backs away.

“Listen George, we made a mistake. Calm down. “

George is the very same bully who’d been mouthing off to Avery on your first day there.

People have scattered and both you and Avery run over. Your supervisor is in the corner leaned against the wall. His entire palm is frozen and he’s clutching it to his chest. From the looks of it, the device in George’s hand is a cold gun.

“Someone sabotaged my work, it was set to dispense heat!!”

George is still yelling and pointing the gun around wildly. Everyone in the lab backs up, and you stand at the entrance, unsure of what to do. Evan is trying to de-escalate the situation. A position you really don’t like. Avery looks equally as worried.

“Drop the gun!!”

Security is rushing in and they begin to usher people back. You’re forced into the crowd, and now you can’t even make out Evan’s body.

“Put it down!!”

Yelling at him isn’t the smartest choice right now.

“B-Back up or I swear I’ll shoot!!”

You don’t like this one bit. You seem to be drifting farther away as others try to scramble from the disaster that’s about to go down. You barely catch a glimpse of Avery’s hair. You’re fighting to get back to the front, pushing bodies aside. When you finally make it through, your eyes lift, and you hear the sound of the gun going off. Both officers have opened fire and George follows suit.

You flinch, and it all stops.

This isn’t like all the other times that you’ve used your speed. You’ve never encountered this before. Everything has completely stopped.

“Evan.”

It’s an impulse, you run in his direction, and you can see the blast of cold energy that has literally frozen in place. The multiple bullets fired have also stopped.

None of this really makes sense, but right now, you have to get them all out of danger. You grab the bullets from their stagnant state, sliding them into your pockets. Eyes moving behind, you nudge both the officers as well as Evan to the right, out of the line of fire from George’s weapon. When you’re positive that the space is clear, you remove the gun from his hands. Now he’s just standing there looking angry. It might be a bit petty on your part, but you slap him across the face.

“Asshole.”

You grumble.

In a beat, time restarts and you hear grunts from both ends. George crashes to the ground harshly, sliding a few feet and you wince. Evan tumbles too, along with the officers.

You’re the only one left standing in the middle, arms lifted a bit awkwardly.

Maybe you had miscalculated with the position.

“Umm..”

The two security guards pick themselves up off the ground after a beat. For a moment they look disoriented, but they quickly gather themselves and race to George. Cuffing him and taking his gun.

You move to Evan, helping him to his feet.

“W-What happened?”

You shook your head.

“Evan! (Y/N)!!”

Avery drops to the ground the second she sees you and she pulls you both into a hug.

“I’m so glad you’re okay, I was so scared!!”

Evan pats her arm with a laugh.

“We’re fine. I’m not sure how but we are. “ He turns to you, and you rub his arm with a smile.

“We’re all fine.” You assure, returning the hug.

~~~

George was arrested and his weapon was confiscated. Regardless of the mistake, he’d made a pretty good invention. Maybe if he hadn’t been so hotheaded, the end result would have been different. Your supervisor was given leave to recover from the injury to his arm. You watched at the many patrol cars and news vans that were present. 

Evan was in an ambulance being checked out, Avery right beside him. A number of other workers were experiencing the same. Harrison had appeared to greet and assure everyone that it was all under control.

You were still reeling on what took place. For a moment it felt like you had actually, willfully stopped time.

“I suppose I have you to thank for everyone’s safety.”

Harrison had managed to get away from the cameras and the cops. He was now standing at the back with you. Reaching into your pocket, you pulled out the bullets, opening your palms. He stared down in shock.

“I..I think I might have learned how to stop time Harrison.”

You look up, and he can see the fear that is so prominent in your eyes.

“I know you have faith in me, in what I can do but I..I have the negative speed force coursing through my veins. I-If I get stronger than I am now then I could-”

He takes your hand, covering the bullets in your palms.

“Then you’ll overcome it. Today you made a conscious decision. You risked revealing your identity to save innocent people. If that isn’t a show of your character, I don’t know what is. Whatever happens from here on out, I’ll protect you.”

Your hands quiver as you look at him. So ready to jump in front of a train for you.

How the hell does he expect you not to fall in love with him when he says that, looks at you that way.

“Promise me that if I ever go bad, if this whole thing goes south, you’ll stop me. You won’t let anyone get hurt. I need you to promise me.”

He shakes his head.

“I can’t make that promise, because it’s never going to happen.”

There isn’t a day where this man doesn’t surprise you. 

[munstysmind]

YOUR WEAKNESS - OPERATION HAWKBACK

WARNING/S: Kidnapping/abduction, interrogation, criminal activity, murder

DISCLAIMER: DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION FOR MY WORK TO BE USED IN ANY CAPACITY

Divider by @firefly-graphics

YOUR WEAKNESS MASTERLIST

please let me know if you would like to me added to a taglist

The sound of her footsteps echoing off the walls of the abandoned building, a woman dressed in all black ties her long hair up into a messy bun as she makes her way down the hallway towards a door guarded by a heavily armed man in full tactical gear.

"Is it him?" she asks the guard when she reaches him, securing a stray piece of hair into the base of her bun.

"Yes ma'am" he replies with a firm nod before turning and unlocking the door.

He steps a slide, holding the door open for her as she enters the room.

It's a large miserable space. Cold, covered in mould, smelling like death. It's the kind of place that makes you want a week long shower.

It's illuminated by a single fluorescent light right in the centre of the room, a terrified looking man bound to a chair directly underneath it.

"You have something I want" she says, walking up and leaning over him, her hands holding the arms of the chair.

"There's been a mistake. You...  you've got the wrong person. Please" he tells her, his voice shaking.

"Ashton Blakley, born March 17th, 1987. Married to Faith Blakley. She's just had a baby, your first child. A daughter. You named her Daisy, after your mother. It was her middle name. Poor thing, stabbed to death in a home invasion three years ago. Your father died of a heart attack the day after you buried her. How am I doing so far?" she asks, smirking at the look of shock on the poor man's face.

"You have a Bachelor's in Math and Computer Science from Princeton. Full ride scholarship. Recurred as an analysis by the NSA right after graduation. Been there almost 7 years. Top secret clearance"

"Who... who are you? What do you want?"

"You've been stealing classified documents and selling them to America's enemies for the past six months"

"What!? No!"

"I wonder how long it's going to take them to notice the security breaches, I give it another few months at least"

"I haven't stolen anything, and I sure as hell haven't sold classified documents to our enemies, that's treason"

"You have and honestly, I don't care. I really don't. All I want are the files on Operation Hawkback"

"Hawkback?"

"STOP PLAYING DUMB!"

"I'm not... I have no idea what you're talking about"

She lets out an angry growl and punches him in the face, the force of the blow knocking him and the chair over.

"You're going to give me the information I want. How much it hurts is up to you" she says, pulling the chair upright as theres a knock on the door.

"I want names, now" she tells him, completely ignoring whoever is on the other side of the door 

"I can't tell you what I don't know" he whispers, jumping when there's another knock on the door followed by the loud squeak of it being opened.

"WHAT?" she yells, whipping around to see a young man with glasses, no older than twenty, standing in the doorway clutching a tablet to his chest.

"We're in. There's not much but we got a name" he says cautiously, very aware of what she did to the last person who interrupted her while she was interrogating someone. 

"Who?"

"Steven McGarret. Ex SEAL. He's a cop now. Runs some taskforce in Hawaii"

She lets out a chuckle and slowly shakes her head as a smirk spreads across her face. Of course he's involved. He's always involved.

She pulls out the gun from the holster on the back of her pants and points it at her hostage before pulling the trigger, shooting him right between the eyes.

"Clean this up" she says motioning to his lifeless body slumped in the chair, blood slowly dripping from the bullet wound that just ended his life.

"Ye... yes ma'am" the mortified young man says, unable to take his eyes of the man she just murdered.

"And pack a bag, we're going to Hawaii" she tells him before walking out of room, leaving him standing there in a silence broken by the sound of the steady trickle of water running down the wall.

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