#at least all the pain killers helped ... after i doubled them up an hour too late. whatever whatever.

[suncaptor]

It would be so much easier to not screw up everything in my life and my future if I could care about anything besides deep grief and brilliant terror and horror.

[marvelwitchergilmore]

I Can Feel You

Summary; Beau Arlen x Fe!OC (or reader if you wish) -> Agent Sandy Fletcher is brought to Montana to help on a case.

Warning: Swearing, Violence (crimial minds level - not a tie in), mentions of tortue, fluff (kinda) towards the end, angst.There is also an SPN reference if you can spot it.

They had plastered her as a rookie. Made it out that she didn’t know much but she knew just over the normal amount to pass every test in the field. 

By the gods were they wrong. 

Agent Sandy Fletcher arrived in Montana in the early hours of Thursday morning. She was picked up by Deputy Poppernak who kept her both entertained and up-to-date on the case at hand. 

She had been given her orders by her Chief. He wanted her away from town for a while. And, even though he wished that he didn’t have to, he needed to. Sandy needed out of Oregon. At least for a while. 

“Tell me, is your Sheriff as talkative as you?”

Popp blushed a little. “Sorry. I’m talking too much.”

Sandy smiled. “Oh, no. It’s nice. The people I’m usually with don’t speak more than two words a day.”

Popp went on to explain a few things about Sheriff Beau Arlen and his deputy Hoyt. “I’ve heard good things so far.” Sandy assured Popp. 

By the time she arrived at her home for the following however-many weeks, Sandy managed to grab a few hours of sleep before heading into the station at 8am. 

And they got straight onto the case. 

A double act. Childhood friends turned into a serial killer duo. They’d kidnap the helpless and weak, keep them alive for a few days but in the meanwhile make them wish they were dead until finally…they’d grant the victim one final wish. 

To let them die. 

It was better than going through the pain again and again and again. 

But it was two weeks after Sandy had joined the team and was with Beau, Denise, Cassie and Jenny that she was taken from them. 

The duo had been watching Denise’s house the entire evening, waiting for someone to come outside alone and be distracted long enough to be taken out. 

It just so happened to be Sandy. 

She had offered to take out the trash since Denise had cooked, Cassie and Jenny were handling the pots and Beau was clearing the dining room. 

But after 5 minutes, Beau popped his head outside from the backdoor to shout Sandy back inside. 

“She still not back yet?” Beau had smiled as he entered and Jenny took the stacked plates from his hands. 

“Wonder if she got lost?”

Beau chuckled and popped his head around the door. “Hey, Sandy! You get lost?”

But then nothing. 

Not a single thing. 

“Sandy?”

Beau looked back inside, the other three growing a little more concerned. “Sandy?”

Beau walked outside and around the corner cautiously. 

On the floor was the trash bag open, pouring its contents onto the grass whilst the lid was thrown across the lawn. 

“Hoyt!”

Jenny shot outside of the door and came to his side. “Where is she?”

Three sets of footprints. Sandy’s and two others. 

They’d got to her. 

Storming inside the station, Beau gave out his instructions to his officers, giving Hoyt things to follow up on and asking Cassie to keep Denise by her side at all times. 

“We don’t know how long they’d been watching us but I’m gonna guess the whole night.”

“Beau?”

“I need every officer reporting back to either myself or Hoyt. You go out in pairs. You do not-”

“Beau?”

“Separate from your partner-”

“Beau!” Poppernack shouted, finally catching his boss’ attention. “Look.”

Popp picked up the remote on his desk and cast the live tape from his inbox to the Tv screen. 

Sandy. 

She was out cold. A single lightbulb was somewhere, lighting her up just enough for them to all see the damage that had been done. 

She had blood dripping from her nose, cuts across her cheeks and collar bone. She had bruises around her eye but they’d hit her so it wouldn’t swell up. 

They wanted the station to know it was her. 

Everyone watched in silence, waiting for something to happen.

“It’s live, too. They’re streaming it but I can’t get a location.”

“Keep trying.” Beau was holding back every emotion he could so he simply sounded deflated. His eyes never once left the screen, even as he walked the few steps towards a desk to sit against it. 

Popp nodded and continued to try and find her. 

For a few moments, nothing happened and then a groan. 

Slowly, Sandy was coming around. Her head felt heavy and her neck was sore. How long had she been out?

Squinting her eyes due to the light, she finally managed to find some strength again and then she saw him. 

Sandy closed her eyes and groaned. “Oh, it’s you.”

“You’re still alive I see?”

“I’m guessing you were expecting a different ending.”

The guy behind the camera stood up. “Perhaps.”

“What is it with villain's being so vague in their answers?” Sandy questioned. “You never just get straight to the point. You have to make a whole song and dance about it and even then you don’t get to your point!”

A loud smack came across her cheek. Her hair covered her face but opened up the back of her neck for the camera to see yet another cut and taser markings. 

“Well, aren’t you just the perfect gentleman?” Sandy looked back up to him. 

Sharply, he yanked at her hair and placed another hand under his chin harshly. 

“I wouldn’t speak to me like that if I were you, Alexandra.”

“Don’t call me that.” Sandy gritted. “You’re not my mother.”

“It’s your name, though? Isn’t it? Alexandra Fletcher. Special Agent. Only child- well, that’s not exactly true. Is it?”

Sandy laughed. “What? You been looking through my family’s medical records again? Wasn’t smart enough to become a doctor to get them legally so you stole them? That it? Oh, your parents must be so proud.”

He sharply gripped at her throat again. 

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Didn’t know this was your angle. Always thought this was Ernie’s method.” Sandy continued. 

“What’s she doing? She’s going to get herself killed!” That was the main comment coming from the officers until Beau shushed them all. 

“Where is Ernie by the way? I thought you two were attached by the…” Sandy looked down a little. “You know? Everything.”

He placed more pressure on her throat but before she felt herself begin to pass out, Ernie walked inside. 

“Let her go. I want to have some fun with this one. She’s special.”

“Thanks.” Sandy steadied her breathing. “Last person who called me that was my 5th grade teacher.”

“Humor? Is that your distraction?”

“More of my entertainment than anything.” Sandy shrugged. “The Sesame Street writers have really gone down the drain since they replaced some of the acts.”

Ernie threw back his head in a laugh as he picked out his tools. “Ha! Let me guess? We’re Bert and Ernie?”

“Congratulations, you have fucking ears. You mom must have been so proud when you finally listened to her.”

“Oh, she was. She asked me to kill her neighbor for her. The dog kept shitting in our garden.” He explained before lowering his top half to be eye-level with her. “Just one thing? Why Bert and Ernie?”

“Well…I’ve read your files. And you both seem to have this…ooh, what’s the word?” It hit her. “Codependency. Well, one of you does.” Sandy whispered before gesturing over to Bert. 

Ernie smiled. “Is that right?”

“Yeah.”

Ernie’s face changed, no surprise to Sandy and he swiped his knife across her as he distracted her by punching her gut. 

“Your folks ever tell you it’s not nice to beat on girls?”

“Pops encouraged it, actually. Said women needed to know their place in society. Thinking. Having an opinion. It wasn’t right.”

“Do you believe that?”

Ernie shrugged. “Not really. I have met some extraordinary women along the way.”

“Who you’ve killed along the way?”

“Most.”

“What about him?” Sandy nodded over to Bert. 

“Oh, he'd be too afraid of them to try.”

“Seems pretty confident to me.” Sandy argued. “I mean, he had me shaking in my boots before you came in here.”

“I’m sure he did.”

Beau and some more of the officers continued to watch in silence whilst Jenny stood over Popp’s shoulder, trying to find a location on Sandy. 

Beau’s eyes stayed glued to the screen in front of him looking for any sign or hint for where she might be. 

She couldn’t be that far. She’d only been gone 3 hours - although it felt longer. 

And clearly, they’d had tied for a while. 

“Where are you, Sandy?”

“Do you have anything you’d like to say? Perhaps to that Sheriff of yours?” Ernie now asked as he circled her before finally leaning down behind her. “I saw how he was looking at you at dinner.”

Sandy rolled her eyes, “Oh, brother.”

“Now, I might not be the best expert but even I know when a guy is into you.”

“Why? Did you catch yourself in the mirror when checking Bert out?”

Ernie gave a harsh, fake smile. “Funny,”

“Oh, no. Please. Do continue.” Sandy’s voice was laced in sarcasm as she watched Ernie walk away. 

“You laugh, but I guess…part of you hopes I’m right.”

Sandy didn’t say anything but simply shot him a look of slight confusion for him to continue. 

“Because I also saw how you looked at him?”

“And how did I look at him?”

Ernie turned around and lent against his weapons table as another blade sat comfortably in his hands. “Like you’d do anything for him.”

Sandy thought about it for a moment. “Hhm, maybe. But he is my colleague so…maybe not anything.”

“Please, you were planning your wedding invitations.”

“Actually, it was our joint grave stone.” Sandy corrected. “Much like you with your very own partner in crime. I mean, there is a lovely plot of land for you out in the field. I mean, watching the stars from the little pond by that old willow tree? It would be very peaceful.”

“Sounds like you’ve found your own resting place.”

Sandy smiled, “Maybe.”

She could only hope that Beau or someone caught onto what she was saying. 

And he did.

Beau gave the order and after a final few minutes, they’d found the spot. 

For any main road, it would take just over an hour. 

“Okay, I need squad cars, Popp take Alpha,” Beau then pointed to a few more officers and gave them their orders. 

“Stream this to my phone.” Beau told Popp and the moment they got into Beau’s car, Jenny turned up the volume. 

“Is she okay?”

“I think.”

“You think? What do you mean-”

“Beau, she’s okay.” Jenny assured him. “She’s just sitting there watching them.”

“Okay.”

“She’ll be okay, Beau.” Jenny reassured him. “She’s tougher than we think.”

Beau couldn’t talk. He just nodded and pressed his foot on the gas. 

By the time they arrived, Beau and the others all switched off their headlights and sirens as they got closer to the barn. 

Once the SWAT and officers were surrounding the building, SWAT kicked down the door and they all entered. 

If Beau wasn’t so determined, the sight he was met with, he would have frozen. 

SWAT took care of the serial duo whilst Jenny searched the rest of the barn for evidence to further the conviction. 

Beau searched around the place before finally reaching Sandy, holstering his gun and leaning down. 

“Beau Arlen,” Sandy smiled in a weak laugh. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?”

Beau smiled as he quickly untied her and let her rest her weight against his arms as he helped her stand. 

“Could say the same for you, Sweetheart.”

Sandy smiled weakly as he took her in his arms and helped her walk outside to the medics. 

“Are you sure you can walk?”

“Beau, I have been through this a million times. I’m fine.”

As much as Beau would have once upon a time pushed her comment aside, he couldn’t. “What?”

“I’ll explain later, can we just..hurry?”

By the time Beau helped her out and got her to the medics, she was being rushed into hospital. 

“They haven’t cut too deep. I should only need a couple of stitches.”

“Try 30.” The paramedic said in response. “Maybe more.”

Beau gave Sandy ‘that’ look but she just rolled her eyes. “What?”

“How can you be so calm about this? Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Beau, I told you I’m fine.”

And she said the same when he finally was alone with her in her medical room once her nurse had finished the final stitches. 

“You keep saying you’re fine-”

“Are you okay? Do you need to see a doctor?”

“Sandy.”

“Beau.” She copied his tone. 

Then he gave her that look again. 

And she folded. 

“Okay. So maybe the reason I was sent here wasn’t just to help out.” Sandy explained. “There had been a few incidences, back in Oregon. I worked a couple of cases in the Organised Crime Unit and - long story short - they found me. Tied me up in their grandmother’s basement and said if I didn’t join them I’d be…swimming with the fishes, if you will.”

“But this isn’t on-”

“My record? I know. It’s for highly classified officials to know, only.” Sandy nodded. “It was both for my protection, should any of the family somehow make their way into the databases and for any future employers I may have. Being tortured by a crime boss isn’t exactly something that would sell when trying to get a job in law enforcement.”

“When did it happen?”

“A few years back.”

“And have you-”

“Received counseling? Yeah. Just over 18 months and now we talk every couple of months.”

Beau nodded and hung his head. “Beau? Look at me?”

Beau looked up. 

“I’m here. I’m alive. And I’m okay.” Sandy assured him in a soft voice. She reached out and took his hand. “Can you feel me? I can feel you.”

Beau squeezed her hand lightly. “I can feel you.”

Beau then pulled her into a tight hug which she gave back just as tight. He almost lost her tonight and yet she had been acting like nothing had happened. 

But, just as Beau’s arms began to relax around her, Sandy’s arms tightened. 

“Not yet.”

It was only two words, but Beau knew. Beau knew she was falling. That she was about to collapse beneath the weight of everything that had just happened. 

Eventually, Sandy let go and moved back to wipe her eyes. “When these pain meds wear off, I might need your help. I love Denise but she scares me.”

Beau nodded. “Oh, me too.”

Sandy smiled. “Thank you for finding me.”

“Thank you for telling me where you were.”

[purityoflust]

The Smile [Jeff The Killer X Victim!Reader] [PART 2]

Jeff the killer X Victim!

WARNING: Yandere. That's it. Yandere.

I finally decided how I would write part 2 to The Smile, which is my first and most popular post on my account so far. Anyone new who has come to read this, check out my other posts as well if you'd like. I'll post more like this. I also have a Quotev account with more fanfictions.

9/12/20, 3/4 days after the top part: God, AFTER SO LONG, I FINALLY DID IT! Took me days! I'm so sorry if this is a bit lazy, it is a tiny bit rushed by the end but how would you guys feel about a detailed part 3? I'll probably go as far as a part 3 or part 4 for the final part.

The vibrations in your brain felt warm and numbing - almost like when you have a horrible migraine and you can finally feel it subsiding with your eyes closed and your fingers gently holding down onto your eyelids as if you're holding your eyes into place to prevent them from bursting out of your skull. Upon waking up you can feel cold air settling into your skin. You haven't been awake 3 minutes and you already know what you're resting on; an extremely uncomfortable metal table. You've only seen them in movies but this was real.

The sound of a singsong voice just slightly echoing through what seemed like a moderately empty room. You groaned softly as you turned your head to your right, very slowly opening your eyes. Your vision blurred in and out, which, you wanted to rub to clear it out but as you went to lift your wrists, you felt pressure around them.

Something was holding your arms down. This catches your attention, blinking multiple times while turning your head back up straight and attempting to sit up. You were hardly successful with that, struggling while grunting under your breath to pull your hands from under what seemed to be a thick rope. As you pulled harder, you sucked in your stomach out of habit before immediately coming to a halt and choking up in pain.

This whole time you were ignoring the voice that was singing eerily nearby, "You and me, always forever~"

The voice was of a male. Scratchy, shaky. Familiar.

Familiar.

You could feel a string of your heart pop out of place as your breath stopped. That's when you knew something was wrong, but it just doesn't add up. You gulp while your eyeballs vigorously glance around to see where the source was coming from, only to see a figure in a corner. It was doubled over and it was sitting down on a simple wooden chair. Doubling over a...table? An average male figure, nothing unique. Although, the clothing style was unusual. At least what was on the clothes. He wore a fluffy white hoodie and what seemed to be black pants and black-and-white converse. The problem wasn't the outfit, no. His hoodie was spotted and had patterns upon patterns of darkened and more fresh-looking blood splatter. He had long black hair down to his shoulders. And luckily, his back was facing you.

You were dumbfounded. How did you get here, why are you restrained, and why is there a blood covered man near you? Is that even blood? Maybe it's paint or a design? Some people do wear clothes that have different kinds of blood splatter designs on them. Hm. Or he's an actual murderer about to gut you like a fish.

You wanted to speak. You wanted to speak so badly but you just couldn't. As you parted your lips, your throat went dry while your gaze stayed locked onto the bloody male that sat before you. The singing made you shiver as you tried so hard to remember where you could have heard or seen him. Why can't you remember?

The male then turned around to look at you. His singing had come to a gentle halt. Your mouth closed as he did so, your throat going completely dry and your whole body feeling like an ice cube. You were greeted with cold blue eyes. They looked hungry and bloodthirsty, yet they held a warm affection as they looked into your traumatized eyes. It was almost comforting until you saw the rest of his face. His skin was snow white and his lips looked dry. That's when more attention is drawn to his lower jaw. He's smiling. Too big for a normal person.

That's when you realize. He has a large smile carved into his cheeks going from ear to ear while his own lips were curled within a smile as well. And that's when it hits you.

And it hits you hard.

The memories of hours prior start brutally crashing into you, flooding back into your numb brain. All of the realization replaced itself with agonizing anxiety, your heart starting to race at speeds that felt impossible. You could pass out, but something inside you kept you awake. Something about him and about this whole situation was making you dizzy. The male slowly stands and turns his body all the way to face you. He seemed deranged, yet, he had a very relaxed stance and body language.

Uncomfortable silence loomed in the air.

He kept staring at you before slowly taking steps forward. You watch him carefully as your head feels like it's spinning, which you could notice your vision blurring a little bit here and there. The silence is suddenly disturbed with the male speaking up again, choking up in giggles. "Oh my sweet Y/N, you're awake~" He cooed, now standing over you. He leaned himself down and reached his hand to your cheek, gently brushing your skin with his surprisingly soft thumb. He leaned his face closer to yours. The smell of booze, blood, & smoke overwhelmed your nostrils. Yet it didn't seem to bother you that much.

His touch almost kind of made you feel...at ease. Your heart slowed itself and your breathing went back to pace. You felt fine, somewhat, but something in your stomach was still sore. The more you stare at him, the more memories come flooding back. The more memories flooding back, the easier you fit the puzzles together.

"M-my...stomach..--" You stutter out painfully.

In response to this, the male turned his head over to your abdomen and gently rested his other hand onto your bandaged stomach, applying very gentle pressure on it as to not hurt you. It was still slightly painful, causing you to groan under your breath.

"Oh, this...I'm sorry, my sweet butterfly. I had to make sure you wouldn't get away, and you didn't! Don't worry, Jack patched you up, so you'll be just fine!"

You remember now. You remember it all. The chase, your friend, the salty kiss before what you thought was your demise.

You naturally wondered as well; who's Jack?

"Wh-.." You weakly force air out of your throat again to speak, "why am I..tied-?"

"Oh, so you wouldn't be able to get away. I knew you would run away, or struggles, so I had to make sure you wouldn't do that!"

He was right. You would run away and struggle to get out of whatever the hell kind of place you're in. Well, knowing what he looks like. He DID stab you, after all. Who knows what this sicko wants.

He lifts his hand from your stomach and turns back to you, gently placing both of his hands at each side of your face. "You're so beautiful, Y/N. So sweet and so innocent. I couldn't keep letting the others eat you up like candy. You're mine and only mine. I need to protect you."

"Wh-who- are you?" You weren't really all too scared for some strange reason now. You were pretty calm. Probably from all of the energy this is draining.

"His name is Jeff." A deep and gruff voice cuts in.

The both of you turn your heads to the door of the room where a tall figure in all black stood. He was about 6"4 wearing heavy boots, black jeans, and a black hoodie. His hair was a dark brown though while he wore a mask. The mask was a dark blue with black goo oozing from the eyesockets. He was pretty intimidating even just by standing idly like a character waiting to be loaded in.

"And I'm Jack." He continued, "I'm the one who took care of your wound."

Jack stepped closer, soon standing at the other side of the table. He stood at the left as Jeff stood at the right.

"He wouldn't stop insisting I help."

You just blink, unknowing of what to respond with. He pursed his lips under his dark mask, in his own thought for a moment while staring down at you. You seemed calm enough, and your still pretty fresh injury was gonna hold you back anyway.

"[P]-[Pronoun]'s gonna-!" He attempts to blurt out, only to be stopped by you.

"I won't."

You were untied at your wrists and ankles, allowing yourself to pull your legs up and rest your feet at the top of the table, propping your knees up. It made your stomach feel weird, but it felt kind of nose and felt like it was easing the pain. You wrapped your arms around your knees, looking around the room more. "What is this place?" You ask.

"It's a medical room."

"Huh.." You shrug it off. Your anxiety levels had died down and the more you actually think about it, this isn't the worst thing that's happened. Your life has been pretty fucked up and you have damaged relationships everywhere. Honestly, being around new people and being far away from others sounds not too bad right now. Not like anyone would care anyway.

The next few hours, you're introduced to everyone else at the Mansion. They've been so...unique and honestly, you're surprised some people and beings like them even exist. They were all equally surprised with how little fear you showed.

You actually got along with most of them.

The others have taken a liking to you and hope you hang around longer. Alone in the living room, you, Jeff, Jack, and others sit at the couches and chairs in the living room, chatting away and getting to know them as they get to know you.

You feel Jeff wrap his arms around you and place a gentle kiss on your forehead, making your heart skip a beat.

You found out Jeff has been stalking you for months at a time. Watching your every move, eliminating anyone in the way. Huh, no wonder so many people in your life kept disappearing. You...couldn't bring yourself to be upset or scared, let alone even sad. You felt kind of at ease.

And far from uncomfortable. Someone loved you. Maybe more than they should, but they love you.

You didn't even feel upset at the fact Jeff had murdered that friend earlier. I mean, you just met the guy, so he wasn't even a 'friend'? So you paid no mind to it.

If anything, you really liked the thrill of someone being obsessed with you. A serial killer being so infatuated with you. He could be so protective of you and get rid of anyone you asked him to! There's is an advantage here. You knew he could snap and probably kill you intentionally or unintentionally, but you didn't mind. You really had no one else, technically speaking. No one that really cared. Not as much as he did.

Maybe he isn't so bad.

[libraryofloveletters]

Love Delivered To Your Doorstep

Evan Buckley x Reader

Warnings: fem!reader, mentions of cheating, break ups and killing/serial killers. (<in a joking context) 

Category: fluff for the most part. 

Word Count: 3.9k

Author’s Note: Doesn’t follow canon, it has a little of buck begins in there but it doesn't follow a strict timeline. It also is written like Buck moves to LA and has his apartment from the moment he moves there while trying to figure out what he wants to do. 

-----

Texting and calling was never your choice method of communication. 

Letters had always been more of your thing. 

Truthfully, they hadn't been your thing until your boyfriend moved halfway across the country for university. The two of you met in high school, freshman year and became inseparable since. Growing together and promising to always love each other no matter what -you always knew that couldn't be true but it never stopped you from telling him. 

When he told you that he was going to be applying to UCLA during your senior year of high school, it came as a bit of a shock to you. The plan was always going to college together, get engaged when you were done school and then married with a house by 30. 

You held out the hope of that being possible until the day he showed you his acceptance letter. 

You were incredibly proud of him but it was real now, he was leaving. 

You watched him pack up his entire life and uproot himself from New York and moved across the country. You sent the first letter to him at what was supposed to be his apartment. 

September 30th.

‘Hi baby! 

Just writing to see how you're settling in. How’s UCLA ? Have you gotten a chance to go around and get to see the place ? I know you’re there for school but you've got to live a little too. Hope your neighbours are sweet, your mom told me it’s a pretty nice place and it’s got a good view, sounds like your type of place. Hopefully I can come visit you soon. 

I started my classes last week. My chem professor is a pain in my ass already, he expects us to read an entire textbook in a week - well not exactly an entire textbook but you get the point. My biology professor is a sweetheart, she showed us pictures of her kids and talked about them for an hour, I didn't realize being a mother was so interesting but she was cool. Also showed us a video of an appendectomy that one of her colleagues performed last week. How are your classes and professors ? 

Did I mention I bumped into Sam at the grocery store ? Yeah, he’s back and he’s not fine to tell you the truth. He seemed like he was ready to snap but that might just be my judgment. He said to tell you hello if I spoke to you so- hello :) 

I’m going to sign off here, I know this one is short but I don’t have much to update you on. Life’s been pretty dull without you. Hope you’re having fun out there, soaking up the sun for me.

Write me back soon, I love you. 

Yours always, y/n’

You mailed the letter the next day, a few weeks had passed before you received a letter back. Except this letter had a different sender name but the same address.

October 22nd. 

‘Hi y/n,

This isn't your boyfriend. (I'm assuming that’s who you're writing too based on the context of the letter) I’m Evan, I live in the apartment you thought belonged to your boyfriend or maybe you got the address wrong, I’m not sure.  I know you were waiting for an update on all these exciting things that are happening at UCLA. I do not go to UCLA nor can I update you in anything exciting that’s happening there, sorry.

Anyways, the reason I'm writing you back is because I figured you’d want to know that this isn't the correct address and the person you were looking for isn't here before you send another letter and get no response. I was debating if I should have even written you back, but here I am, writing you back. 

Your professor for chem seems like an ass to be honest (hope that’s not rude) and your biology professor sounds great, is she hot by the way ? because bonus points for that. Anyways, are you studying medicine ? I'm guessing yes because of the classes you're taking. I'm thinking of signing up to become a first responder but I haven’t decided yet on what yet or if I'm actually going to do it. Anyways, good luck on your classes and the shitty chem professor. 

Hope you find your boyfriend (again, assuming) 

Peace out, 

Evan.’

To say you were shocked would be an understatement. How could the letter you sent to your boyfriend’s apartment belong to someone else ? Why was there someone else living in his apartment ? You dug through your apartment, searching for the paper he left you with the address, you finally found it buried in a drawer.

The address on the paper was identical to the one that Evan sent to you and to the one you sent prior to that. Either your boyfriend was lying or you were losing your mind. 

November 4th. 

‘Dear Evan, 

I'm sorry that I sent the first letter to you and as you guessed, I was looking for my boyfriend who seems to be a bit MIA right now. His mother says that’s the right address and the place that she helped him move into. So I'm not really sure what’s happening there. Anyways, sorry for unloading all of that on you. 

To answer your question, yes, I am studying medicine and no, she isn't hot. My bio professor is a 65 year old woman who loves her college aged kids very much. If that’s your definition of hot, then yes - she's got milf status

Have you decided yet if you’re going to sign up to be a first responder ? That’d be pretty cool. Imagine all the girls swoon over you and how many girls you’d pick up just for being a paramedic or a firefighter. 

Wait, are you into girls ? Or guys ? You know, whoever you're into, just imagine how many of them you’d pick up. 

Also, you’re not a murderer or anything right ? because I rather not answer questions when the police come asking about why I've been sending letters to a serial killer. 

Anyways, signing off for now. 

Yours always, y/n. 

ps. if you do end up bumping into or meeting a guy that looks like my boyfriend, (tall, brown hair, brown eyes. he’s got a pierced ear and a little butterfly tattoo by his collarbone- though not sure why or how you'd see his collarbone) let me know or tell him that his girlfriend is looking for him.

Double ps, what size shirt do you wear ?’

Buck laughed at your absurd question. A person he didn’t even know was asking what size shirt he wore. The letter was set on the coffee table with the rest of the mail, getting buried under all of the stuff he had on there. It was almost the end of December when he realized that he hadn't written you back yet. 

December 21st. 

‘Hey y/n, 

Sorry I've taken so long to get back to you. Things have been hectic over here. I’ve been doing some ‘soul-searching’ - I guess you could call it that and honestly, I don’t think if this whole first responders thing is for me. 

I tried out bartending or well, the technical term is mixologist and I’m liking it so far, I think i’m going to stick with it for now. 

How have you been ? How’s school ? Surely, you’re on break for the holidays right about now or at least when you get this letter. I hope that you're spending the break doing something fun. 

I’m not going to make this very long, I’m sure you’ve been busy with whatever you’re doing right now. 

Also, I’ve been meaning to ask. Have you located the mysteriously disappearing boyfriend yet ? I haven't seen anyone that fit your description. 

well, that’s not true- I did and just to be sure I asked to see his collarbone, he looked at me like I was a mad man so I guess it wasn't him ? 

Anyways, I hope you have a good holiday and you're probably gonna get this sometime between holidays, so merry belated (?) Christmas and happy New Years y/n. 

Peace out, 

Evan. 

ps. medium or large, depending on what it is. Hopefully that answers your question weirdo.’

January 13th. 

The morning of the 13th, he went down to check his mail. A box was there with his name on it, the return address was one he had only seen on an envelope. The box returned upstairs with him, setting it on the counter before opening it. 

Upon opening it, there was a letter and some colourful tissue paper with what seemed like a sweater under it. He opened the letter first.

‘Dear Evan, 

Happy New Years! How was your holiday going ? Did you do anything fun ? 

I’ve been good and school is good too, I'm almost done my first year, isn't that crazy ? Just a few more months to go. 

How’s your job as mr. mixologist going ? I'm sure you’ve met some wild people and heard some interesting stories. 

As for the boyfriend situation, that's over. I’m not surprised to tell you the truth but it still kinda sucks. Anyways, so what happened was that his older brother had come home from college last year and brought a friend with him. She went to the same school as his brother but transferred to UCLA- anyways long story short, they hooked up while he and I were still together and he moved in with her after his mom helped him move into the apartment I thought he had. 

But! I’m single and chilling now so it’s all good. (bonus, she cheated on him and left him so yeah) 

I got you a little something for Christmas and as a “sorry for unloading all my boyfriend drama on you” present. I was in the gift shop and it made me think of you. Do you celebrate Christmas? I forgot to check oops. If you don't, count it as a just a “sorry for unloading all my boyfriend drama on you” present? 

I got a large because I wasn't sure if it would fit. I hope you like it. That’s all for now.

Yours always, y/n.’

He unwrapped the tissue paper to see a blue sweater with the letters NYU on it. He smiled, he assumed that’s where you went. It was sweet that you took the time to get him something, even if it was a by the way thing. Not a lot of people would send something to a person they had been talking to via letters and halfway across the country. 

February 12th. 

2 days before Valentine's Day, your least favourite holiday of the year. You weren't looking forward to watching all your friends going on with their boyfriends and girlfriends. The mail had arrived while you were out, you picked it up and headed in. There were two envelopes with your name on it,  a plain white one and a red one. The red envelope was more squared than rectangular, you assumed it was a card- both had the same sender name. 

‘Hey y/n!

Thank you for the sweater, it was nice of you to think of me and get me something. I didn’t know we were doing gifts or I would have sent you something as well and yes, I do celebrate Christmas. 

My job as ‘mr. mixologist’ was going well until I quit. It just didn’t feel like the right fit for me you know ? I'm going to see what else is out there for me. 

Sorry to hear about your boyfriend, he seems like a douche. Who would cheat on you ? You seem great I mean at least you are on paper (did you get my joke, it’s hard to tell) 

Also, remember how I was thinking I might actually give that first responder thing a try? Imagine me as a firefighter, that’s pretty cool right ? 

So I kinda did a thing and signed up and then I got in. I started two weeks ago and it was kicking my ass at first but I've gotten a hang of it and things are going pretty well. There's three other Evans in my class so everyone calls me Buck-I kind of like it. 

The other envelope, hopefully you opened this one first, is a little something for you for valentines. Hope you like it. 

Peace out, 

Buck’ 

The red envelope was on your lap, you pulled the edges carefully not wanting to rip it. Inside was a plain white card with bright red letters that made you laugh. The cover read ‘I’m not sick of you yet!” Opening the card, a $20 fell onto your lap. There was a little message inside that went along with the cash. 

‘Since we aren't together and can’t spend valentines together, there’s some cash to get yourself a box of chocolates and a teddy bear. Happy Valentines Day y/n

Love, Buck.’ 

You smile, this was the first time that Buck had signed with ‘love, buck’ it had always been ‘peace out, buck.’ You tucked the card into the drawer, one you didn’t use very often so you knew it’d be safe there. 

*4 years later*

A few weeks had passed since Buck had last heard from y/n. His last letter to her was at the end of June, telling her all about the day he had spent at Hen and Karen’s. He always described every little detail so vividly that it made her feel like she was there with him- but it was now July, end of actually and moving into August. 

4 years had blown like nothing.

It felt like just yesterday he got the first letter in the mail. 4 years and they still had no idea what each other looked like but they knew every intricate and intimate detail about each other, their lives and the people in it. 

Y/n and Buck had grown rather close over the last few months- more than they already were. Y/n just went through a pretty shitty break up and Buck wasn't exactly big on relationships as of right now. 

He had just gotten home from work, his keys set on the counter when he realized that he forgot to check his mail. Stepping back out, there was a woman in the hallway and boxes scattered across her, leading into the apartment down the hall. 

She must be his new neighbour.

He wanted to go over and introduce himself but she was busy telling the movers where to set her couch so he decided that he would check the mail and then introduce himself when he returned so he did just that. 

Except, she was still busy. 

She leaned against the wall, watching the movers move what looked like a coffee table. She glanced up to see Buck walking by, she smiled and he returned the smile. 

Buck reaches his apartment, the mail in hand and steps in. He sorts through the pile, bills, ads, coupons and no letter from y/n. 

---

Your new apartment was a mess. You decided it was time for a change. You applied to a few hospitals after your break up and the one in LA hired you. So you dropped everything and moved- no family, no ties. 

A fresh start. 

It was a nice neighbourhood and the building was quiet. The neighbours you met were pleasant and welcoming. When you were having the furniture moved in, there was a blonde man who smiled at you and you assumed he lived in the unit down the hall because that’s where he stepped into. 

It was almost 11pm when you finally sat down. You had been on your feet all day and just wanted to eat something. The box with the dishes was beside the couch, you pulled the tape off and opened it. There was an envelope sitting on top of the stack of plates. 

Buck’s last letter to you. 

You must have tossed it into the boxes while packing and you forgot to write him back. Tumbling through the boxes, you find a sheet of paper and a pen from your bag. Sitting on the floor, the paper resting on an unopened box, you begin writing. 

‘Dear Buck, 

I’m sorry I've taken so long to get back to you. I quit my job, and uprooted my entire life. The break up sucked major ass as you know, so I decided it was time for a change. 

Guess where I decided to go ? 

Did you guess yet? 

No, not Canada, why would you guess Canada ? 

LA! 

Yeah, isn't that crazy that I ended up here of all places? Maybe we could get together one day (if you haven’t turned into a crazy serial killer that is.) 

Anyways, that’s why I've taken so long to write. I was packing when I got your letter and I tossed it in a box and just found it again. Anyways, I hope you’ve been good, how have things been at the station ? 

I promise I'll write again with more details soon, I just have to get settled in first. 

Yours always, y/n.’ 

Folding the paper, you slipped into an envelope. The address being scribbled into the back of the envelope. You were about to seal it when the building number caught your eye. 

It was the same number as the place you moved into. The same address, the building number, the same floor. 

The unit number was the only difference. 

There was no way you moved into the building that Buck lived in. 

You knew the address felt familiar when you saw the listing but you didn’t think anything of it nor did it occur to you that you knew the address. 

Stepping out of your apartment, looking at the number on the room and back down at the envelope in your hand. Buck’s apartment was down the hall. 

Part of you just wanted to mail it and keep things as it was but another part of you wanted to meet him, to see what he was really like in person. So there you were walking down the hallway at a quarter past 11 in the dead of the night to meet a man you had been sending letters to for the last 4 years. 

The end of the hallway, you stared at the black wooden door in front of you. Your brain weighing the options right now: he’s a sweetheart and welcoming and makes you feel comfortable or he’s a weird guy who’s been lying to you this whole time and you told him everything about you and now he’s going to kill you. 

Before you could register what you were doing, you knocked on the door. 

Glancing down at yourself, you were wearing a pair of old shorts and a t-shirt from high school that you found in a drawer while packing. Not an ideal outfit, maybe he’s sleeping and you can go home and change- the door opened, a man wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt stood there. He looked like he had just woken up. 

“Sorry, did I wake you?” 

“It's alright,” he yawned, his hand covering his mouth as he blinked away a few tears. “What can I do for you ?” he leaned against the door. 

“Um, this is an odd question-” you shifted, glancing down at the envelope in your hand. “Are you Buck ?” 

“I am, who are you ?” 

“Y/n.” 

You had never seen a man wake up that fast, he seemed surprised, confused and concerned all in one. “How- uh, are you- What ?” he mumbled. 

“I found your letter in the box after I moved, I moved into the apartment down the hall” you point to your left, Buck sticks his head out of the doorway and looks at the door you were pointing to. You were the woman in the hallway that he saw earlier, he knew you looked familiar. 

“I just wrote your letter and I noticed that the addresses were the same, just a different unit number so I decided to come check. Sorry if I bothered you, we can talk another day- it’s late and you probably have work” “Would you like to come in?” he opens the door a bit more, looking to you for an answer. 

“Um, okay sure.” stepping in, you can’t help but glance around. The apartment was similar to yours, the layout was a bit different though. “Can I get you something to drink ? Coffee, water ? A beer ?” he rounded the kitchen counter, you took a seat on one of the chairs by the counter. 

“Water’s fine, thanks” 

He reached for a bottle from the fridge, sliding it over to you. You gave him a smile, he leaned against the counter and was now looking- studying you. 

“I know we’ve talked to each other for 4 years but this is kinda strange” you chuckled awkwardly, Buck can't help but smile. 

“Yeah, it is, isn't it? but can I ask why you moved to LA?” 

“Well all of that was in the letter” you slide the envelope across the counter and he picks it up, opening it. Giving him a few moments to read, you watch his expression like you were hoping for some insight as to how he was feeling or what he was thinking. He let out a laugh, “how’d you know I'd guess Canada ?” you smiled at him, a small wave of relief washing over you for some reason. “Lucky guess I suppose” 

“Do you-” “What are-” the sentences cutting each other off, the two of you awkwardly smiling at each other. “You first” looking at him, he hums. 

“Do you have work tomorrow or are you busy ?” His eyes meet yours, you found yourself leaning forwards towards the counter- towards him. He made you feel comfortable, you’d go as far as to say safe, in a way you’ve never felt before. 

“No, I don't start until the 21st. Why ?” 

“I was thinking - if you're not busy and if you want to, of course. Maybe I could take you out for breakfast and I could show you around ? Or lunch or dinner ? Whatever works for you actually” he rambles, fiddling with his fingers to avoid eye contact. 

A small laugh slips past your lips causing him to look up, his brows furrowed as he studies your face, looking for an answer. 

“Breakfast sounds good, what time should I be ready for ?” 

“Uh, is 10 okay ?” he asks, you nod. “I’ll be ready for 10 then.” 

“Okay, I'll pick you up” he smiles. 

“Buck, we live in the same building.” 

“Oh right,” he chuckles, “well I'll be by yours at 10 then” the two of you smiling at each other. 

“Okay.” 

----

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[stories-to-tell-by-lantern-light]

Who Am I Really?

(Eyeless Jack X Reader)

Iron was all he could taste, as he hugged his arms close to his chest. The white snow that speckled the forest floor contrasted greatly with his newly acquired ash-grey skin. He could feel blood crusting under his fingernails, he could feel the sting of the cold snow underneath his bare feet as he walked. Whatever they did to him, he was no longer human that much was clear, his feet turned more animal-like and had ripped through his old shoes. If he was being honest with himself he knew that from the moment he awoke and could still see that he was no longer human.

Jack Nichols shivered as he caressed the hollow sockets where his eyes should’ve been. They were dripping with the black tar that was mercilessly poured in there by Jenny and her cult.

‘That absolute fucking bitch.’ He thought, and an animal-like snarl tore through his throat. He could feel the stretching and popping of his jaw as he ground his teeth together. Killing her and her stupid friends was therapeutic to him, remembering the taste of their blood as it filled his mouth when he tore out their throats made him feel euphoric. Pausing his steps only for a brief moment he let those memories of eating their flesh and organs consume him, it only served to make his mouth water.

What was wrong with him? Why did that memory, which happened only hours ago, make him so god damn hungry? What exactly had they done to him, as much as he tried not to dwell on that thought the hunger that ate away at him even after the slaughter was almost too much to handle. All Jack wanted when he woke up this morning was to go on a date with a cute girl, get a little drunk, and maybe get lucky (though realistically that was just wishful thinking). The true college experience one might say, even for a med student. Especially with a schedule as busy as his...that was as busy as his. He knew he should’ve just stuck to focusing on school and studying his brain out, god why did he have to listen to his friends as they urged him on the date.

‘What’s the worst that can happen?’

This. This was clearly the worst possible outcome.

What he really couldn’t believe, however, was that he allowed one of the cultists to get a hit on him, and a bad one at that. Turning his head to glance down at the tear in his thigh, it was a deep gash that desperately needed to get medical attention and fast. The only problem the former medical student faced was that whatever was pouring out of his leg wasn’t blood. It was a deep black ooze that stained the white snow that littered the forest floor. In fact, Jack wasn’t even sure if normal medical supplies would even heal his wound. Jack grit his teeth trudging onwards into the forest, a faint buzzing reverberated around in his skull like flies buzzing around a corpse that he couldn’t seem to shake.

He placed his hand against a tree the world spinning around him. Whatever the blood-like substance that was pouring out of his leg was, he was losing it fast. Jack heard the crunching of snow in front of him and a small gasp. It took most of his strength but he picked his head up and snarled. Jack bared his teeth and tried to make himself look as dangerous as possible, he felt like a wild animal that was cornered by the hunter. There was a girl in front of him, she had (h/l) (h/c) hair that was stuffed under a furry winter hat. She took a few steps back, her brown snow boots making giant footprints in her wake. He could hear the blood flowing through this girl’s veins, as her anxiety levels seemed to spike. The anxiety caused her heartbeat to quicken drastically, hearing the sound only served to increase Jack’s seemingly ceaseless hunger. Jack tried to take another step towards her, flexing the sharp nails on his hands but collapsed under his own weight, his fucking leg. He really couldn’t catch a break, could he?

“What are you?” The girl’s voice held a slight quiver to it and Jack could feel her sharp eyes burning holes into his body. He watched as she hesitantly took a step closer, her (f/c) parka standing out against the muted colors of the forest.

“I don’t know.” He responded with a raspy breath, she smelled divine but he had no strength to attack. Something in his bones told him that he was beyond human, something so much more, a god perhaps? What a silly thought that he couldn’t shake away. Through his quickly blurring vision, he swore he could make out a pair of fancy dress shoes a little bit behind the girl. He saw the girl drop to her knees and cover her ears, his vision went black and the sound of static accompanied the darkness.

---

Jack was expecting to be dead. He expected to be accompanied by beautiful white light, maybe an angel or something. However, it caught him very off guard when he suddenly awoke in a rather plush bed. He threw the plaid covers off himself unceremoniously and moved to swing his legs over the side of the bed. The baby god never got far because he let out a howl of pain as a sharp sensation traveled up his thigh. Shit right, his entire upper thigh was practically ripped open. He forgot all about that, glancing down at his wound he noticed it was wrapped tightly in medical bandages and he assumed it was stitched up underneath the dressings. Whoever fixed the wound seemed to have done at least a semi-decent job, at least he wasn’t dead. Sniffing the air with his newly acquired sense of smell he could make out the distinct smell of humans and...was that lavender?

Jack felt his stomach growl and he doubled over clutching it. They smelled delicious. He could practically hear their organs singing out to him, rip open the human, steal us, devour us.

He was snapped out of his thoughts by the door opening, in the middle of the doorway stood the exact girl he’d seen in the forest. Immediately going on the defense he bared his teeth opening his jaw as wide as he could, he heard the popping sound of his jaw as it extended, he felt something swirl around in his mouth. He felt a chill run down his spine at the unwelcomed sensation.

Did he have more than one tongue?

Shaking the thought away Jack didn’t move to attack, he was never the type. He would always rather listen to rationality before getting his hands dirty, the only issue was he was starving and the girl would absolutely make a fine meal.

“Don’t try demon.” The girl scoffed eyeing Jack up and down, if he was still his old college self he would’ve gotten flustered at the gesture. A girl showing him attention? Unheard of back them. However, after Jenny, he was almost positive he’d never let that happen again. His sockets looked down at what the girl held in her hands, it was a plate, a plate that had kidneys on top of it. He was only mildly aware of the fact that he was drooling all over himself. “Oh gross.” She scrunched up her nose placing the organs on the bottom of the bed.

Without hesitation, Jack attacked the cold meat shoving it in his mouth with vigor. He knew blood was all over his face and hands but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Jack knew the girl’s calculated eyes were watching his every move, even so, he couldn’t help but let out a groan of pleasure as the food slid down his throat. Once the meal was finished and Jack was satisfied he finally felt he had enough strength to start asking questions.

“Who are you?” He rasped, whipping his mouth with the back of what was left of his sleeve.

“Really? You’re asking ME that question.”

“I’m not a fan of your attitude.”

“I’m not a fan of you bleeding out on my property.”

Jack growled low and guttural.

“Don’t make me hurt you.” The girl had the audacity to laugh in his face was she not aware of what he was capable of now?

“Nice try but I’m not scared of you. You’re not allowed to hurt me as long as you’re under my care.” She pointed to herself with her thumb, puffing out her chest a little however he could hear her pulse increase just the slightest bit.

Jack only scowled.

“What pray tell is exactly stopping me?” He raised an eyebrow watching carefully as the girl lifted up her sleeve to her sweater. Scared into her wrist was a symbol that Jack had never seen before in his life, but for some unknown reason, he felt dread wash over him. Carved into her wrist was an O with an X slashed through it. “What’s that supposed to prove exactly? That you’re into weird tattoos?”

The (h/c)-ette let out a loud sigh like this conversation was boring her. Oh he’s sorry it’s not his fault he was turned into a fucking organ-eating monster by a cult at his local college! If he still had his eyes they would be rolling so far back into his skull, yet he still waited for the girl to explain.

“My name is (y/n), I’m a medical proxy under The Operator. Currently one of the only ones he has left because we keep getting killed off by rogue killers.” The girl, (y/n), clicked her tongue in clear distaste at the mention of said killers. “Since I’m under The Operator it means if you kill me, he’ll kill you, that’s the deal Jacky boy.” That put him on high alert.

“How the fuck do you know my name?”

“You’re certainly full of questions for someone just waking up out of a coma. If you must know The Operator gave me a brief rundown of your file after we found you in the woods.” (Y/n) crossed her arms over her chest “It’s your lucky day because you just got hired to work for him.” She gave him a round of applause, but it sounded more mocking than serious and he only grew more confused.

“This doesn't make any sense to me. I hope you’re aware.”

“I’m sure it isn’t. It’ll all be explained in due time. For now, all you have to focus on is getting better so you can begin your training. Lucky for you, I’m your registered nurse and caregiver, so enjoy your stay at castle de la (Y/n). Trust me when I say you should value your time here while you still have it.” A thousand more questions ran through Jack’s mind and his little question and answer session with his self-proclaimed nurse didn’t really help.

“So you’re a med student then?” She made a noise of affirmation picking at the strings of her sweater.

“Was a med student Jack, that pretty much came to a screeching halt after I was scouted by the boss man. That, however,” He watched as (Y/n) put a hand to her lips signaling him to stop asking questions, “Is a story for another day. The first order of business now that you’ve eaten is a shower. Cause no offense but you smell like dried blood, and coming from me that’s saying something cause I smell blood all the time.”

Jack still didn’t trust this stranger fully and it got under his skin that she seemed to know everything about him and he knew next to nothing about her. Yet, a shower did seem nice at this moment, he glanced down at his hands and noticed his nails were caked with dry blood. He could only imagine what every other part of his body looked like, (y/n) clearly didn’t bother cleaning him up aside from dressing his wounds.

“A shower sounds good.” Jack nodded in confirmation and the girl gave a relieved smile.

“Oh thank God you agreed, it took me a week of convincing to get Jeff to go take his first shower.” Jack decided it was best not to ask who Jeff was deciding that that was a can of worms he shouldn’t open just yet. She reached out to touch him and he immediately recoiled back almost biting her handoff, the smile that appeared disappeared into a frown.

“Don’t touch me.” Memories of Jenny’s friends holding him down while he pleaded for his life flashed across his mind. The blade coming closer and closer to Jack’s crystal blue eyes before making contact and-

“Alright, cannibal boy snap out of it. Can’t have you succumbing to blood lust just yet. You don’t wanna injure yourself more.” (Y/n) snapped her fingers next to his ears and he couldn’t help but feel a little grateful that she snapped him out of his stupor. “I was going to help you to the bathroom because you really shouldn’t put pressure on your leg. Is that okay?”

Jack felt himself nodding reluctantly. She was right, he really shouldn’t put stress on his leg or it could cause more harm than good. Especially since he didn’t know the extent of the injury yet, for all he knew he was lucky they didn’t hit the femoral artery. Her arms went around his waist as the god and the human girl hobbled to the bathroom together. On the short walk there Jack was trying to get a feel of the house, in case he needed to make a grand escape in the future.

“I’ll put some fresh clothes outside the door for you, call for me when you’re done so I can help you back to the bedroom.” (Y/n) explained as Jack hobbled into the bathroom, he didn’t feel the need to respond to her as he shut the door in her face. He heard a faint click of a tongue from the other side of the door and listened to the girls retreating footsteps.

Jack leaned against the sink putting most of his weight on his hands. The sink creaked at the newfound pressure and Jack wasn’t sure it was because it was an old house or because he had newfound strength. He glanced up at the mirror, it was weird somewhat seeing when you had absolutely no eyes. It was the first time since the incident he got a good look at himself, he looked about as good as he felt.

Terrible.

His auburn hair curled around his now pointed ears and was caked in mud and dirt. He was almost grateful that (y/n) didn’t touch him aside from the wound while he was unconscious, Jack couldn’t imagine what he might’ve done if he felt anyone go near his face. Speaking of his face, he opened his mouth and saw his teeth were shaved into razor-sharp fangs. His stomach turned as he remembered the exact reason why they were like that, organs. They were like that so he could eat organs. The thought wasn’t nearly as nauseating as it should’ve been.

His skin was unnatural and sickly grey color, as he lifted up his shirt the color seemed to spread all the way down his body. He glanced down at his hands and saw his nails were long and black, almost like those girls who wore acrylics, except he was sure their nails couldn’t rip into people's chests with a single swipe. Continuing down his body he lifted up one of his padded feet, he was correct in his assumption from earlier. They were much more animal-like, he wondered if they made him faster, what purpose could they possibly serve other than that?

Gently letting his footfall back down on the floor he shuffled to the shower and turned it on, the water sprayed out in a burst and he patiently waited for it to heat up. Eventually, he was able to step inside, not before knocking his head not only against the curtain rod but also on the showerhead.

“Fuck!” He snarled glaring down at the showerhead. Jack did a little double-take, okay he was also super tall, at least he got one blessing out of whatever the fuck was happening. Jack had to kneel on the ground in order to let the water roll down his body, with a deep breath he enjoyed the warm water pelting his skin. He fumbled around with the shampoo trying to figure out how to open it without popping a hole in the container. As the lid popped open he was hit with the calming scent of lavender.

~~~

“We’ll send someone to come back and check on him in about a month give or take, see how he’s adjusting and healing.” A figure spoke from the kitchen shaking a cigarette into an ashtray, as (y/n) stood across from him. The man ran a hand through his messy brown hair “Then we’ll reassess him, give him a test and see if he’s fit to come to the mansion.” Meanwhile, the girl heaved a sigh of her own and leaned against the cool tiles of her kitchen wall.

“So it’s gonna be my responsibility to explain everything that’s happening to him? Isn’t that supposed to be your job Tim?” (y/n) raised an eyebrow “You realize he’s, like, almost seven feet tall, has no eyes and eats organs right? I’m not even sure WHAT he is.” She muttered, “The rundown I got really only gave me his background and his clear trauma.”

Tim clicked his tongue like the girl in front of him was wasting his time, it made her ball up her fists subconsciously.

God, the main proxies really got on her fucking nerves sometimes.

“You won’t have to worry about that, The Operator will handle all of that throughout the coming weeks. No need to worry. You also don’t need to worry about harvesting organs for him, and hopefully, once he’s healed he’ll work on doing that himself. But for now, someone on a kill close by will be dropping off organs.” Tim’s nose scrunched up a little and the (h/c)-nette’s did the same, she normally prided herself on her strong stomach, but this was a lot even for her. “The only thing you have to do is monitor his eating, see how much he will need on a weekly basis, and obviously keep him alive.”

“Obviously.” They both seemed to have a mutual understanding about that at least, she fucks up and he dies they’re both in deep shit with The Operator. Tim reached to the side where his porcelain mask sat against the countertop.

“Don’t fuck it up.” He pointed to her before slipping out the door leaving the women alone with an organ-eating monster. (Y/n) mimicked ‘don’t fuck it up' in a nasal voice before kicking off the wall and heading back in the direction of her guest's room, she pulled out a pair of crutches from the closet and rested them by the bedside. She gently scratched at the faintly buzzing symbol on her wrist, this is going to be a long month.

[transsergio]

Emily's Top Surgery (Read on AO3)

Penemily / Gen / 4038 words

Emily has top surgery and their loving, perfect, beautiful girlfriend Penelope is their caretaker.

Notes: I refer to Emily as Penelope's girlfriend intentionally; Emily is a non-binary lesbian and in this particular story, is comfortable with the gendered term "girlfriend". However, if you see Emily referred to as she/her at any point, that's an editing mistake on my part and I mixed up their pronouns with Penelope's. I went through this a couple times to make sure I gendered them correctly, but one might have slipped through the cracks!

Also feels important to say that Dr. Dolan is a totally fictional doctor and not a reference to any real life surgeon

-

Surgery Day

Penelope has seen her team through too much already. Kidnappings, stab wounds, bullets – their jobs aren’t exactly arts and crafts. Yet, she thinks this might be the most nervous she has ever been. She’s been rapid-fire tapping her heel for the last hour and forty-five minutes, and trying to distract herself with her cell phone. Morgan texted a couple times to check in (once on behalf of Reid), but otherwise, radio silence. The few messages mean more than she can say; she is intimately familiar with how busy they are on a case. But she really wishes any of them were there to squeeze her hand right about now. She’d even take Strauss.

In the middle of Penelope’s billionth Candy Crush level, a doctor materializes in front of her. She startles and fumbles her phone trying to click it off. “Is it over? Can I see them now? How’d it go?”

As the doctor peels his surgical mask off, she sees he’s laughing at her. That’s good, right?

He says, “Everything went just fine, Ms. Garcia. Emily’s in the recovery room now, and we’ll let you back there about twenty minutes after they wake up. They’re going to be a little groggy and maybe nauseous. It all depends on how their body reacts to the anesthesia. They’ll most likely sleep for the rest of the day, but make sure to keep up with their medications, alright?”

Penelope nods fervently. “Absolutely, Dr. Dolan. Can do. Will do! And I’m sorry to ask this again but I really have to make sure, the whole operation was totally fine? Nothing went wrong? Everything…chopped off okay?”

The doctor stifles a chuckle. “Yes, Ms. Garcia. Everything went exactly as planned, no complications as of yet. We’ll see you tomorrow for Emily’s one day post-op appointment to check the surgery site and switch out the bandages for a binder, and then for their first week post-op. Okay?”

Penelope smiles back, still nodding along like Emily’s health depends on it.

The doctor shakes her hand and ducks back into the surgical ward, leaving Penelope to update the group chat.

“Emily’s out!!!!!! Doc says all good!!!!!! Will be with them soon 😍💖🥳”

She types almost as quickly as her heart is beating.

Penelope makes it through another few rounds of mobile games and desperately refreshing her Twitter feed before she risks checking the clock. It’s been half an hour. Shouldn’t Emily be awake by now? What if they never wake up? Could someone be permanently anesthetized? Reid would know. Maybe Penelope should call Reid. No, she can’t do that. They’re all off in Texas trying to catch a serial killer and she doesn’t need to distract them, not when they’re already down two team members. Kevin Lynch is pretty good, she hopes. She’s seen his work and it’s adequate. Nothing like the multi-tasking Penelope pulls off, but in the same ballpark. His boyfriend, Grant Anderson, vouched for him. It was unnecessary, and maybe Kevin shouldn’t have sent the person who got Elle shot to sing his praises, but at least they knew Grant. Kevin was a stranger from another department. A back-up.

“Penelope Garcia?” A nurse calls as she emerges from swinging double doors.

“Yes, right here!” Penelope chirps. She leaps to her feet and scurries over as quickly as her heels will allow.

The nurse walks her through the recovery ward and the steps to Emily’s post-op instructions. Emily has four different prescriptions already filled and two cannot be taken at the exact same time while one is an antibiotic and the other is just for nausea which they might not need and –

“This is all written down, right? Sorry, my head’s just like, woo, swimming right now,” Penelope says. Her eyes are wide and darting frantically between the curtained beds. She hates the fluorescent lights. Her skin is buzzing with all the sour electricity. The nurse assures her they’ll send them home with physical copies along with phone numbers in case of emergency.

They round the nurse’s station and finally, come to Emily. They’re shifting slightly in their bed, leaning forward and sipping at a dixie cup of water. They're groggy and slow, with the IV still in their arm. Penelope’s glad they don’t have a mirror – their bangs are scattered over their forehead in three wispy chunks, a way Penelope knows Emily hates.

“Hey sweetheart,” Penelope coos. She leans over the bed's plastic siding to kiss the top of Emily’s head, and run her fingers through their dark hair. Emily leans into the touch.

They croak, “Hey,” and cough to clear their throat, wincing all the while.

“That’d be because you were intubated,” the nurse says. “Take plenty of cough drops and you should feel much better.”

Penelope assures the nurse they will while Emily drifts in and out of focus.

“Did it work?” they ask.

“Did what, Em?”

“M’surgery.”

“Oh! Yeah, totally. You’ll see in a little bit. You’re just sleepy.”

“M’kay,” Emily says. Their head lolls back into their pillows as the muscles in their face tighten.

“Emily, what would you rate your pain out of ten?” the nurse asks, coming closer with her clipboard at the ready.

“Uh, five? Maybe six.”

Penelope looks to the nurse. “Is that bad? That sounds bad. I thought it wasn’t supposed to hurt right now.”

The nurse jots down a few notes before she answers. “It’s not unusual. We’ll up their pain killers before we remove the IV.”

Penelope plants herself firmly at Emily’s side in the meantime. They’ve redressed Emily in their own clothes, an oversized button-down and sweats. Well, Penelope assumes they put Emily’s bottoms back on. The blanket is still tucked tightly around their body like they’re some kind of soft, hot mummy. They stay like that for another fifteen minutes, Penelope working her nails through Emily’s scalp as they try to relax.

When Emily rates their pain at a four, then a three, Penelope helps the nurse settle them in a wheelchair. They roll a few feet into the hall before Emily claws for Penelope’s arm.

“Where’s the barf bag?” Penelope asks. She has her hand out and ready for the nurse to pass it over, and swings it into Emily’s face.

Emily, thankfully, does not puke. Their slow, steady breath crinkles the blue plastic bag, but all they fill it with is air. They keep a tight grip on the thing for safekeeping, even as they’re helped into the passenger’s seat of Penelope’s car.

“You ready to go home, lovebug?” Penelope keeps her voice low and sweet, like dark honey. Emily nods and Penelope grants her wish, starting the engine and turning out of the parking lot.

-❤-

One Day Post-Op

Penelope holds her breath as the nurse unwraps the medical bandages. She wonders if Em is doing the same. While she’s watching them, Emily’s eyes flit between her and the floor-length mirror fastened to the exam room wall.

The nurse is talking, and they’re both supposed to be listening, but who could expect them to? Emily has spent a couple grand (after insurance) and something like four years waiting for these next seconds. Penelope is just as invested, if not more, in Emily’s happiness. She’s not going to get the camera out, but wonders if she should just in case Emily cries.

Their eyes follow the final bandage as it unravels from Emily’s form.

And Emily’s mind goes quiet. They have two, deep red swoops where their chest used to bulge. Above and below, their body is nothing but smooth skin. They thought this would feel like shock. Like disbelief that they were finally here. Instead, it just feels right, as if this is the way it’s always been and some crappy daydream is over at last. They giggle, and Penelope glows like the sun has risen.

“Wow,” Penelope says, soft. She’s wrenched with admiration.

The nurse is smiling in the corner. She takes out a roll of Steri-Strips and measures them against Emily’s new scars. Scars! Emily finally has scars!

“Now the bruising should lessen in the next three to four weeks,” the nurse says. Oh, bruising. Emily almost hadn’t noticed. Their body is splotched with patches of yellow, green, and purple as if it’s trying to camouflage itself, but Emily’s not hiding from anything anymore.

They’re given more practical information, like how often Emily should be walking to avoid blood clots, how high they should lift their arms, how much they should be carrying – most of which tells them to stay reclined, arms down, to sleep as much as possible, but get in ten minutes of walking every few hours. Penelope hears more of this than Emily does, and again, they’re given written instructions just in case.

Emily takes one last look before the compression vest goes on. This will be the most uncomfortable part of the process, thank god. Emily chose a surgeon who used a tighter suture method rather than the typical drains intentionally. Still, the fit of the binder is exciting. Emily’s never had something lie flat on them before. Their body now falls in one fluid line without anything, even nipples, to interrupt.

“Em?”

Emily snaps to Penelope, who is standing and holding the door for them.

“Oh, right,” Emily says with half a laugh and a daze in their eyes. They thank the nurse, and the receptionist, and a passing surgeon that isn’t even Emily’s on the way out. This is the most gratitude Emily’s ever contained in their life, and they need to flush it through their system.

“And especially you,” Emily gushes as Penelope helps buckle their seatbelt. “You’re amazing. I can’t believe you’re taking time off for me, or that you’re not stir crazy already. Thank you.”

Penelope grins like she might burst, and can’t answer just yet. She gets them safely onto the highway for home first. “Of course I’m here for you, dumb-dumb! Not only because you literally can’t do anything for yourself right now, or because the hospital said you couldn’t have the surgery without having a caretaker, but, well – okay, maybe half for those reasons too. But because I love you. I’m so happy for you, and how happy you’re going to be, and that this is so good for you. I love you so much.” Penelope sniffles.

“Maybe you should have said all that before we left?” Emily asks. “You’re gonna cry the whole drive back, babe.”

Penelope swats at them. “I know, I know! But you’re on a strict schedule, my lovely angel, and you need your meds in like, thirty minutes.”

Emily laughs and catches Penelope’s hand in their own. They squeeze it tightly and press their lips to Penelope’s fingers. Emily only releases when Penelope tugs their grip toward the steering wheel.

“Next stop, Recoveryville,” Pen jokes.

-❤-

Five Days Post-Op

Emily is more or less comfortably laid on their couch. They have an arsenal of pillows stationed behind them, under their arms, and at the bend of their knees, and Penelope’s militant care routine keeping them afloat. For the last four days, they’ve done nothing but watch French art films together, eat ice cream, and order takeout. It’s been a nice break, Emily realizes. One they didn’t know they needed.

Penelope emerges from the kitchen with a bag of Doritos and a bright blue DVD in her hands.

“This looks like a bribe,” Emily says with a wry smile.

“That’s because it is. I am in no place to object to your choice of movies, especially after I promised I wouldn’t make fun of the accents anymore. But I was sorta hoping this would be a good opportunity to manhandle you into watching a real classic.” Penelope blocks the television in her pink pajama pants and Emily’s Yale hoodie. Penelope is well aware that Emily loves when she wears their clothes; she has to be doing this on purpose. And it’s working.

Emily bobs their head from side to side, considering the offer. “Alright, shoot. I’m willing to cut you a deal.”

Penelope slaps the movie cover over her face. Mamma Mia! (2008) Dir. Phyllida Lloyd.

“Oh, god.”

And Penelope reemerges, scowling. “Hey! I didn’t complain when you made me watch that sad movie about the woman with the dead family. This time, no one’s dead! And they’re in Greece! Okay, admittedly no one wants to hear Pierce Brosnan sing, but if you ignore him and focus on Meryl Streep the movie gets a lot better!”

This is not the first time Emily has heard argument on behalf of Mamma Mia! and it likely isn’t the last, either. Movie night in the Garcia-Prentiss household is in a state of constant debate and usually decided by a fair and unbiased coin toss. Emily considers it a miracle that Penelope’s lasted this long without putting up a fight, and considers it part of her generosity as their caretaker.

Emily scooches themself into a more upright position. “Trois coleurs: Bleu is a beautiful movie and you said you liked it, first of all. And I thought we were watching my movies because I’m the one healing.”

Penelope hesitates. “…Yes, but I may have also been doing a little eensy weensy bit of work at the same time because they’re also like, really slow and boring and Kevin needed the tiniest, tiniest bit of help on the Texas case.”

“Traitor!” Emily is aghast. “What about the deal?”

The deal, of course, was the promise they made each other after their third movie night. Emily was texting throughout The Muppets Take Manhattan and not entirely invested in Kermit and Miss Piggy’s wedding. Penelope was hurt, Emily was confused, and didn’t fully get it until Penelope fell asleep twenty minutes into Deux ou trois choses que je sais d'elle. From that point on, they agreed to compromise more on movie selection and to pay undivided attention to the films they did pick.

“You passed out! I thought the deal was void if you weren’t awake during your own movie!” Penelope said.

“Why didn't you wake me up?” Emily argued.

“Oh, yeah, I’m going to wake up the person who just had surgery so they can pay attention to the third sad foreign movie of the day. You need your rest, and Kevin has maybe half of my inimitable skills!” Penelope’s words were jumbling together as she went up an octave. “I know I’m on vacation but the team needed help and I didn’t want to abandon them with some computer monkey who doesn’t know the first thing about my system, much less the way the team works, and isn’t even a regular assist on cases like me and—”

Penelope is cut off by three short raps at their front door. A welcome escape.

“Pen!” Emily calls after her. “We’re not done here!”

“I think we are!” Penelope shouts back. She passes down the hall and peers through the peep hole, though, she really doesn’t need to. She recognizes the voices on the other side.

“We’re not too early, are we?”

“It’s two in the afternoon, genius.”

“I mean in days since Emily’s operation. They might not be up to company.”

“Then we’ll say hi to baby girl and head out, no big deal.”

Penelope swings the door wide open. “Definitely say hi to me, definitely do that!”

Morgan and Reid stand in their building’s hallway, Derek carrying bags of Chinese food, and Spencer juggling some sort of gift basket. Their eyes are tired and Derek’s stubble is looking rougher than usual, but they perk up in the light of their friend.

“Hey, there she is,” Morgan says. He comes in for a tight hug as he and Reid crowd themselves inside. “How’s everyone holdin’ up?”

“Peachy keen,” Penelope says. She squeezes Derek’s shoulder and leads them back to Emily by Reid’s hand. “Look who missed their favorite co-workers!”

“Hey, guys,” Emily says. Their heart warms at the sight of them. “What’re you doing here?”

“Now how’s that any way to greet a friend?” Morgan laughs. He lowers their takeout food to the coffee table and dives onto the couch beside Emily. “You been good to Garcia so far, or do we have to put the hurt on you?” He playfully punches Emily in their arm, and they cower in mock pain.

“Hey, no roughhousing!” Penelope scolds. “If anyone pulls any sort of muscle in the next twenty minutes, you’re all in timeout.”

Emily and Derek snicker in their seats and launch into the most recent case details. It’s a lot of the gory, icky stuff that Penelope doesn’t want to know unless she’s in her bat cave, so she takes Spencer and his basket into the kitchen.

“Doritos, huh?” he notices the bag Penelope drops on the counter. “You were trying to get something from them?”

Penelope answers with her head stuck in the fridge as she paws to the back for Spencer’s La Croix. “I may have wanted to watch one of my movies today, and I may have offered chips in payment.” She fishes a couple cans of LimonCello out, and huffs. “So what’s all this?”

“It’s from JJ. She wanted to come herself but didn’t think bringing Henry over was the best idea,” Spencer explains. He holds his drink gingerly with both hands and peers into the basket. It looks a lot like the one Penelope used for JJ’s baby shower, and is also definitely the same basket. Inside are a few bags of beef jerky, chocolate, a backscratcher with a little pink hand at its end, and an airline neck pillow with the Texas flag patterned over it.

“Awe. I’m definitely baking her cookies,” Penelope says. She leans back against the counter and eyes Spencer up and down. “Tough case?”

Spencer shifts from side to side and looks into the dark pit of his La Croix can. “Not much worse than usual. It was just… long. And Emily would’ve been a big help. None of us speak Spanish.”

“But you didn’t want to call right now,” Penelope guesses. “It’s all over though, right? All good? Everything wrapped up with a bow for good luck?”

Spencer nods and purses his lips. He looks over his shoulder to the living room, where Derek is describing something with his hands and Emily watches, wide-eyed and entertained. Spencer says, more to himself than Penelope, “It’s always good to be home.”

-❤-

Two Weeks Post-Op

“Emily Elizabeth Prentiss!”

Emily freezes with one arm reaching desperately above doctor-recommended height, and another gripping the cabinet door like their life depends on it. They press their forehead into the shelf, groaning, “That’s not my middle name.”

“I can make up whatever name I want! You know what Dr. Dolan said, and this is so far out of bounds!” Penelope stands in the kitchen threshold with her hands on her hips. She sighs and tugs Emily away from the cereal cabinet by their waist. When their arms are safely lowered to their sides, Penelope puts on her serious face, with her seriously furrowed eyebrows, and her serious frown on her lips. She asks, “Do you, like, want to injure yourself? Is this your new favorite hobby?”

Emily is petulant. “No, I want breakfast, and it’s on the third shelf. Let’s just pretend you got it for me, okay?”

Penelope grumbles her frustrations under her breath as she pulls down the family size box of Lucky Charms. She flurries around the space until she’s collected a bowl and spoon and settled them on the other side of the kitchen counter, where a bar stool and carton of milk wait for Emily.

“Sit,” Penelope orders. Emily complies with a glint in their eyes.

“Thank you,” they say, saturating their words with genuine love.

“Oh, stuff it.” Penelope pecks a kiss to their cheek regardless. She tries not to think about how cute Emily is when they’re smug, but it’s a losing battle. The way their nose scrunches, the smirk; not helping. Instead, Penelope picks a smidgeon of a fight.

“Your hair is greasy.”

And Emily’s face falls flat and exasperated. They let their spoon rest in the pool of marshmallows. “Can we do this after I eat?”

“Oh, lovebug. Absolutely not,” Penelope smiles knowingly. “You haven’t washed it in like, four days, which tells me that it’s not as easy as you said it was. Y’know, I was wondering who said washing your own hair was too much work immediately after having an operation? It would have to be someone super smart and beautiful and funny and—”

“It was you, Penelope. We all know it was you.”

“Funny; it was, wasn’t it?”

But Penelope lets them finish their cereal. She was about to eat her own Eggo waffles, after all. Once the dishes are rinsed and in the washer, she marches Emily straight into their bathroom. The tub thankfully doesn’t share a wall with the toilet, making it easier for Emily to scoot in next to the faucet. Penelope folds Emily’s towel (the towel that is dark purple, and not spring green, which Penelope keeps carefully out of the splash zone) (unlike Emily, who does not mind if their towel is damp long after it should be dry, and probably growing some type of mold) (okay, it’s not growing mold, but Penelope insists that it will eventually become mold-ridden if Emily doesn’t start hanging it up more consistently) along the side of the tub. Emily fits the towel under their neck, and Penelope guides them into position.

“Your hair is so thick,” Penelope comments.

Emily says, “You tell me that once a week.”

“Because it is. Now close your eyes.”

Penelope detaches the removable showerhead and lets the water warm her hand. When it’s a comfortable temperature, she douses Emily’s head. She maneuvers carefully around Emily’s forehead to avoid hitting their face, though Emily’s eyelids flutter when they worry the stream is near. Penelope thinks with their long eyelashes, they look like butterflies about to take flight.

She works the shampoo in with a gentle, but thorough touch. It’s when she rubs the lather into Emily’s scalp that Emily lets a soft moan break, and Penelope smiles. She takes pride in her work, whether she’s at her desk or in her soapy bathroom.

The shampoo swirls down the drain as Penelope rinses Emily free. Emily opens their eyes and tries to sit up, but Penelope pins their shoulders to the tub.

“Hold on! I haven’t conditioned yet.”

“Isn’t shampoo enough? We’re going to be here again in three days. It’s a hassle.”

Penelope does not think so. For the low price of two-thousand dollars and the risk of post-op complications, Penelope’s seen her girlfriend relax for the first time in, maybe ever. She’s going to drag it out as long as she can. Which, for right now, means dumping a handful of conditioner into her palm and rubbing it through the tips of Emily’s hair.

The final rinse is cleansing, like the weight falls from Emily’s shoulders. Penelope swipes the towel from Emily’s neck and cocoons their hair inside. She manages to keep their shirt dry, for the most part. Emily sits up with a pain in their shoulders, and does their best to hide it.

“What’s wrong?” Penelope prompts. Their best is not nearly good enough, not when Penelope has the analytical eye of someone who loves them. Penelope plants Emily on their shared bed for the first time since their surgery, already grateful to have a little of Emily’s smell in the room again. She sits behind them and overlaps their legs with hers. Penelope digs into the knots wound through their back as if she's torturing for information.

“It’s almost like you have a stressful job or something,” Penelope says.

Emily snorts. “Yeah, something like that.”

Penelope massages her way down until Emily feels looser under her fingers. She leans her head into the crook of Emily’s shoulder and presses a kiss to their skin. “We could ask for more time off,” she offers.

Emily slouches against Penelope’s body. “We could. But we have to go back at some point.”

“Let’s pretend we don’t.”

Emily exhales. “Sounds good to me.”

[captaincravatthecapricious]

After the Circus Part 4

Some thoughts from Tim.  I did not edit this, sorry.  

@janekfan

cw: strained friendships, arguing, fainting, dizziness, trauma, references to Jon's getting covered in lotion, disassociation, food mention, mentions of panic attacks (none in the story), canon typical season three Tim headspace (although he's being less mean!)

Tim’s eyes are burning.   He rubs at them absently.  Christ, his back hurts.  Elbow numb from pressing it into the break room table. 

He feels like he hasn’t closed his eyes longer than to blink since after Prentiss with those pain killers knocked him flat.  Feels like he hasn’t even blinked since Martin found out that Jon was kidnapped.  Didn’t even have that small bit of respite that is due to most creatures.  

He can’t take his eyes off Jon’s fragile form.  

He’s asleep on the couch.  Jon, that is.  Martin has dozed off at the table.  Chubby cheek smashed into it.  He’s pale, Martin is.  And tired.  There are deep circles under his eyes, almost starting to rival Jon’s.  Tim wants to brush the hair off his forehead.  Wants to tell him that it’s going to be okay, but Tim doesn’t believe that it’s going to be okay.  In fact, he’s fairly certain it won’t be.  Especially not after the Unknowing.  

Maybe… Maybe he could try.  For Martin.  Maybe.  

A quiet voice from deep within says that maybe he could even try for Jon.  Maybe.  

After all, what had Martin said?  Something about not letting the Circus claim any more lives.  A voice that sounds suspiciously like Martin whispers that that includes Tim’s life too.  

Imagining things.  

Christ, he needs to sleep.  

Nothing keeping him here now.  Not really.  Just… worry that he though he was done having.  

He really thought he could quell his care for his …the people who used to be his friends.  

The people he wouldn’t mind trying to be friends with again.  

Which leads him back to Jon.  Who he’s been staring at since …well he’s lost count.  

He’s asleep on the couch.  He’s shivering, but Tim isn’t going to take the blanket from Martin.  

Tim might almost want to care for Jon (while aggressively pretending not to care, of course).  But… but he hasn’t earned blanket rights.  Not after every hurt Jon has caused.  (The Martin in his sleep deprivation induced imaginings reminds him that most of the hurts were not caused by Jon.  Most, actually.  Jon caused some, but not most).  But Tim isn’t ready to believe that.  Or even if he believes it, not admit it for long enough to give Jon the blanket.  

In any case, Martin deserves it more.  Poor, optimistic, besotted Martin.  Tim tries to call him stupid.  Just in his head.  But a phantom, imagined voice (maybe Sasha’s?) shuts that thought down.  Christ, he’s losing it.  He needs to sleep.  Take a double shot of sleepy time cold medicine and hope that knocks him out.  

He’d do that now… but he isn’t leaving Martin here.  

And Martin isn’t going to leave Jon.  Not like this.  Not in a million years.  

Apparently Martin is A-Okay with someone stalking them and just going back to calling him a friend.  

Stop it, Tim.  Not helpful.  

And Jon really just looks frail and pathetic.  And that’s just made him angry recently, but right now… right now it makes him angry at the Circus.  

Which… not the best way to fix a friendship… if that’s even what he’s trying to do.  And he doesn’t know that for sure.  He isn’t sure of anything.  Head and eyes full of sand.  Burning and heavy and gritty.  Can’t think.  Doesn’t know if what he’s feeling makes any sense.  

The feelings don’t even feel like they belong to him.  Not at this stupid hour.  

What time even is it?  His phone ran out of juice, he thinks.  Died not long after Jon fell asleep again, before Martin fell asleep, before Tim took up his vigil.  Feels like he’s taking over for Martin.  Trying to care in his stead.  Trying to care enough that Martin will let himself get some proper rest.  

Which… which means Tim needs to do something.  And by something …well that probably means he needs to open his home to both Martin and Jon.  

Martin’s flat is too small for just one extra person, even as small as Jon, and there is no way in hell that Tim is going to let Martin alone with Jon.  Not when he knows Martin will give everything he has left to watch out for Jon.  Martin is quickly running out of things to give.  

Not that Tim has much to offer, but he can’t let Martin burn himself out completely on Jon.  

And Jon… well Tim hasn’t exactly been paying attention, but he thinks Jon is essentially homeless.  If him going back to sleeping on a shelf is any indication.  Or intending to, if he hadn’t passed out before reaching it.  

See, Tim isn’t that bad.  He brought Jon to the cot.  Miles better than a shelf.  

Probably, anyhow.  

Jon might have a mattress by now.  

He idly wonders if that hypothetical mattress would be like the one Tim used to host sleepovers on.  

Like the one Tim and Sasha and Jon shared on late nights after drinks and days full or research.  

And then he feels decidedly ill.  Because the Sasha in his memory isn’t the right one.  

He’d be sick if he had the energy.  

But he doesn’t.  

So he just readjusts and ;ays his head down on folded arms.  Back glad of the movement, but still protesting the new position just as much as the last.  

He’s decided, though.  When Martin wakes up, all three of them are going back to his flat.  

Until then he’ll watch the delicate rise and fall of Jon’s chest.  The rest doesn’t look easy.  Hasn’t since he got back.  Tim has to wonder if it’s been that way since Prentiss.  But he’s too tired to think.  Only has it in him to watch.  

Watch Jon whimper in his sleep.  Too weak to move about, like Tim knows Jon does when he isn’t weighed down by another person or his weighted blanket.  

He considers going to grab that blanket for Jon now, but he doesn’t have the energy to move.  (And a private part of him is worried that Jon will vanish if he looks away for even a moment.  Like he will be stolen away again.  Or that he will just… stop breathing.  Just fade away quietly without anyone to notice.  Or… care.  

So.  So Tim tries very hard not to think about where else he’s heard these words as he waits, and he watches, and he listens.  

When Jon wakes with a strangled scream, Martin nearly falls out of his chair.  Tim barely blinks.  Too tired to even move at that point.  He doesn’t want to think about how long he’s been awake.  

Martin’s by Jon’s side by this point.  A hand smoothing down his hair, and Jon’s crying again.  

Distantly he thinks he should probably try to get Jon to drink something or eat something.  Get some salt and water into him somehow.  But Tim is too tired to do that, and Jon’s crying too hard to do anything.  

Tim gives himself 30 seconds.  30 seconds to close his eyes, then stand up.  

He should be alarmed by the head rush that nearly takes him back down.  That’s not something he experiences too often, but… well he hasn’t exactly been taking care of himself.  

He trudges off to see if he can remember if he brought anything in with him.  If he did, he’ll grab that and anything that Martin might have brought in, and after that he’ll grab Jon’s weighted blanket.  

his feet feel like lead and he’s trying not to stumble over himself or the trailing blanket.  He’s got Martin’s bag over his shoulder, with the Tim’s water bottle and phone charger shoved in on top of Martin’s stuff.  Keys in his pocket.  Phone is his pocket.  Stifling a yawn in Jon’s blanket.  

He prods Martin with his shoe.  

“Come on, Marto.  We’re leaving.”

“I’m not leaving him!”  Loud and sudden and panicked.  

It starts Jon whimpering again.  

Pathetic, he thinks before he can stop himself.  

“He’s coming with us.  You can take the blanket or Jon, but either way, both are coming with us.”  

Martin glares at him in bleary suspicion.  “Where?”

“My flat.”

“Why?”

“So you don’t fall asleep at the table again.  And if that means getting Jon and you on my spare mattress or in my guest room, then so be it.”  

Martin slumps.  Partly because Jon is needing something or other, and early because …well… he looks basically dead.   

Tim can see when he gives in.  

Marin nods.  

Tim can also see when Martin realizes there is no way he can carry Jon, at least not until he’s gotten some proper rest.  And Tim doesn’t make Martin admit it.  

He hands off the backpack and the blanket, and scoops Jon up himself.  

Jon’s eyes flutter shut.  Heart racing against Tim’s chest, head lolling against his shoulder.  Fainted again.  It’s… starting to get worrying, in all honestly.  He hasn’t seen Jon this badly off since… well the few times he was running some truly scary fevers and the one time he didn’t sleep for an entire week.  

Jon isn’t feverish.  At least Tim doesn’t think he is.  Which means, it’s not a fever or it’s very low.  So Tim has to guess whatever Jon went through lead to a hell of a flare up.  

Nothing to do for that now.  

Maybe he can stop by a charity shop and get Jon a temporary cane tomorrow.  After he’s slept.  After he’s certain he won’t pass out from lack to sleep, himself.  

Get Jon a new cane, and hope Jon is up for solid food, because damn Tim wants crepes.  

He would sell his soul for some crepes.  

Martin is struggling to his feet.  Just as warn out as Tim.  

It isn’t a long walk to Tim’s flat.  He tries to hail a cab, but… he guesses it’s a weird hour on a week night.  No one is out.  

It isn’t a long walk.  

But Martin stumbles into him every few steps.  Trying to lean over to check on Jon.  

Jon is… conscious?  Maybe?  

But barely.  

He nudges Martin onto the couch.  Then drops Jon into his lap.  That should keep Martin from going anywhere.  

Then Tim drags out the sleepover mattress.  It hasn’t been out since… since Sasha was alive.  

Since before the Archives.  

It smells a little musty.  But… it feels like home as he tiredly wrestles some sheets onto it, and kicks his coffee table out of the way to make room for it.  

Martin stares at him uncomprehendingly.  

Tim leaves him to it.  

Tim fetches a lucozade for Jon, and two glasses of water.  

He goes and showers.  He brushes his teeth.  He throws on some sleep clothes.  

Martin still hasn’t really moved.  

Tim lifts Jon off his lap and onto the mattress.  He sets Jon down with more care than he can really take in right now.  And takes his place on Jon’s side.  

Jon looks to be sleeping, not unconscious now.  Good.  

“Marto you can shower if you want.  Feel free to find some clothes if you do.  Something should fit.  Or you can just… take a load off and join us.  Whichever.  But I’m going to sleep.”  

It’s been ages since he’s slept with Jon.  But… it feels like home.  Or… something like home.  He buries them both under Jon’s blanket, and under the spare duvet.  Drawing and arm around Jon, trying not to get lost in the tight feeling in his chest when Jon snuggles up close and tucks his nose against Tim’s clavicle.  

Tim pats the empty side of the mattress, and giving Martin something adjacent to a smile.  

When Tim wakes up.  Martin is sound asleep in some sweats that are oversized on Tim.  

He feels… heavy.  Both from exhaustion and from the weighted blanket.  

He can’t tell what time it is.  Blackout curtains are drawn against any light that could be.  It’s just… a dim grey… meaning there must be light spilling in from the kitchen.  Probably light out, then.  

Then… then he spares a glance for Jon.  Looking small and beaten in his arms.  

His eyes are open, and… he might actually be lucid this time.  

He makes a small question sound.  

It damn near breaks his heart.  

“Why are you being so nice?”  His voice is still wrecked.  It looks as though Jon might have burst a blood vessel whilst sobbing at the Institute, but he can’t be sure in this light.  Still.  It hurts.  

He also doesn’t have an answer.  

Pity is the wrong answer to give to Jon, and he knows it.  

But… it was some pity.  And some for Martin’s sake.  

He doesn’t know what to say.  

His silence, however is scaring Jon.  Jon who is starting to hyperventilate.  

“Hey.  Hey.  It’s okay.  I… I don’t know why.  But… I couldn’t leave you there.  And I couldn’t leave Martin even if I could.”  

Jon finally seems to notice that Martin is basically spooning him.  And makes a small sound.  

He looks back at Tim, a little teary.  

“Glad to see you awake, but maybe you should rest a little more.  I’d get you something to drink, but I don’t think I can get out without waking Martin.  But… but if you do need anything, I’ll risk it, so uh.   Let me know?”

Jon just shakes his head, and buries his face in Tim’s chest.  

Tim is… surprised.  Last time he was this close to Jon, Jon flinched away.  And that kind of makes him feel sick to think about.  And this… this makes something melt in his chest.  Something he hadn’t felt in a while.  

“Get some sleep, bud.  I’ll be here when you wake up.”  

Jon hmms, and Tim lets himself sleep.  

[ssa-pretty-boy]

Dizzy on the Come Down

Summary: Snippets of phone conversations between Spencer and his girlfriend while he’s away working on cases. Based on the song ‘Dizzy on the Comedown’ by Turnover.

Word Count: 2.7k

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Warnings: all fluff except for some brief phone sex / masturbation

A/N: This is mostly dialogue seeing as though its just phone conversations ha. Also, I’ve repurposed this a couple of times but each time I feel like it comes out a little better. Sooooo if you’ve seen this before… no you haven’t. 

——

Up and down like a red rubber ball

You’re always back and forth like the clock on the wall

I want to know about you

I’m spinning all around you

“Ya know,” Spencer thought aloud as he lounged back against the stiff mattress, “I’m really glad we ended up getting together. Your cat-and-mouse shit was getting really annoying.”

“Cat-and-mouse shit? Spencer Reid,” she paused to snort out a laugh, “I was smitten from the start and you know it! Besides, it took me weeks just to convince you to come into my apartment.”

A dark blush worked its way onto his cheeks even though he was alone in the dingy, motel room. “I was too,” he grinned. “I’m completely enamored, bubs. And I have been from the moment I saw you dancing around in that crap hole of a record store. And by the way, that’s called being a gentleman.”

“Okay first of all, its not a crap hole anymore since the new owner cleaned it up,” she defended, immensely proud of all her hard work she put into her store. “And second, its called you being too chicken to ask me out.” She laughed, knowing damn well that he had made her just as nervous and giddy as she made him. She smiled broadly and snuggled a little further into the leather arm chair, her legs dangling over one of the arms.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he chuckled.

If I stay do you think that we could change your routine?

I know a trick, I’ve always got a few up my sleeve

This life is controlled confusion

It’s just a grand illusion

“Today I was at this mall right? We were trying to find anyone who could have been a witness,” he paused, choking out a laugh, “Well, I saw this magician guy and he was doing card tricks. Derek and I went over to him but when we got closer I realized his form was all wrong-”

She wasn’t able to help the giggle that bubbled out of her, he simply could not resist the opportunity to show off his ‘sweet skills’ as he so loved to put it. “Let me guess: you showed him how to do the trick properly?”

He scoffed, “Of course I did. With technique like that he was giving magicians everywhere a bad name.”

“Oh I’m sure,” she teased, screwing the cap on the bottle of red nail polish she’d been using to paint her toes. “Did you finally teach Derek how to do one while you were at it?”

“Absolutely not! I can’t just reveille my secrets to a member of the general public, Y/N. The only reason the old guy got any help is because he was at least trying to teach himself.” She could practically see the look on his face right then, the overly dignified set to his jaw, his raised brows. 

“M’kay doc. Whatever you say,” she hummed into the receiver, fanning her freshly painted toenails. 

And you ask me “How do you feel when you’re away?”

And you ask me “How do you pass the days?”

“How are you feeling?” she whispered into the dark of their bedroom, her phone tucked between her shoulder and cheek.

He sighed, a long drawn out breath that could’ve easily been mistaken for a gust of wind. “It’s been pretty shitty; hectic and tiring ya know? Local P.D. doesn’t want to cooperate, the families are clearly not telling us something… But we caught a break today so we’re really hopeful things will start to turn around now. But right now?” Spencer paused, squeezing his eyes shut and sighing again, “Right now I just really fucking miss you.”

“I miss you too,” she whispered, clutching his pillow tightly to her chest. “Please just be safe, Spence.”

His chest tightened at her words, he knew worried she always was for him. “I will be baby.” 

Sing along to a song that I know

It goes bah bah bada, sing it over and over

Let it hypnotize you

I’m still here right beside you

“I cannot get that stupid song out of my head,” he groaned as the simple chorus of the over played pop song drifted through his mind again and again and again. 

She laughed, a melodic tune he’d missed so much in the past few days. It sounded slightly warped though the phone but it was her none the less. “Which one, doc?”

Scrubbing his hands over his face he sighed as he mindlessly flipped through a boating magazine he found tucked into the nightstand drawer. “I don’t even know the name of it. The chorus goes something like ‘bah bah bada’,” he hummed, his fingers subconsciously tapping out the rhythm on his thigh. 

“I think I could list off ten songs with a beat similar to that one,” she countered, her laugh still light and lilting.

Spencer rolled his eyes but he couldn’t help the small smile that was tugging at the corner of his lips. “Oh c’mon bubs, you know it! It’s the one you really like! You’re always singing it,” he mused, reminiscing on all the times he’d caught her humming it under her breath. 

Her eyebrows puled together as she concentrated, trying to recall the song he was speaking of. “Spence, there is honestly no telling. You know its like a 24 hour radio in my head!”

Hold my hand, you can follow my lead

You’re like a ballerina twirling round on your feet

And watching is so fantastic

I want to ask you 

Spencer hadn’t laughed in what felt like days, not a real belly aching laugh anyway. But she had him stitches, nearly doubled over at the lame jokes and stories she was telling him in attempts to lift his spirits, she knew how tough this case was. Finally after a moment she caught her breath. “Do you remember that time we were dancing around in the kitchen? It had to have been like midnight or something and you just started to twirl me around. And we ended up slipping because we both had socks on and I broke my arm?” 

“God, how could I forget that?” he groaned, softly laughing at the memory of the two of you tangled in a mess on the kitchen tiles. He had truly been scared to shitless regardless of her assurance that it wasn’t his fault. When he saw her trembling lip and the tears she had tried to hold at bay, it damn near broke his heart. “I was terrified I had hurt you really bad- worse than a broken arm! Then when I finally got you home from the hospital you were so high on the pain killers you could barely walk straight. I all but had to carry you to bed.”

“And you apologize for weeks and you probably still don’t believe that it wasn’t your fault.” She started laughing again as she said it and he could practically feel the love radiating from her, even from so far away.

“I really fucking love you.” Spencer smiled so wide it actually hurt his cheeks a little but it was an ache he’d always welcome. 

Would you come here and spin with me?

I’ve been dying to get you dizzy,

Find a way up into your head

So I can make you feel like new again

“I really fucking need you right now. I’ve been hard for days.” Well, she thought, what a way to answer the phone. 

Mindful of her surroundings, she bit down on her lip to suppress her laugh and quietly suggested that he go take care of that.

Scoffing, he rolled his eyes as if she could see him through the phone. “My hand has nothing on your mouth or your pussy.”

“Spencer!” she squealed and quickly reached up to turn down the volume on her cellphone when the lady next her gasped at what she had no doubt heard him say. 

Mumbling a quick ‘sorry’ to the other patrons, Y/N made a mad dash for the door of the crowded coffee shop. She looked over her shoulder to see the woman staring after her slack jawed. Cringing, she turned away from the storefront window, her cheeks and neck heating up as she started speed walking down the sidewalk. 

“Well, it’s fucking true! I’m dying to touch you again. To make you cum,” he said, his voice growing husky.

“Are you trying to have phone sex with me, doc? While I’m walking down the damn street? The people in the coffee shop probably thought I was some ten cent floozy!” The thinly veiled attempt at annoyance did nothing to hide the amusement in her voice. Spencer hummed, his hand sliding down over his stomach and toying with the drawstring of his faded (he refused to refer to them as ‘ratty’ as Y/N did) flannel pajama pants. “No way. Fifteen cents minimum.”

With a roll of her eyes she did laugh that time. “Can we put this conversation on hold until I get home? I’m literally only a block away from the apartment.”

Now collapse, take delight in the fall and catch your breath

I know you feel the ring from it 

So try and collect yourself now

It’s just a euphoric comedown

“Come on baby,” he practically growled as he continued to roughly tug on his throbbing cock. “Cum hard for me. Make the neighbors think I’m actually there.”

She gasped at his encouragement and sped up the fingers she had rubbing small, tight circles on her clit, she had nearly forgotten just how filthy his mouth could be. “Oh god,” she moaned, tossing her head back into the pillows and arching her back off the mattress, the phone nearly slipping from where she had it trapped between her shoulder and ear. Adding just the slightest bit of pressure as she continued to swirl her fingers, she came, choking on a hoarse call of his name. Letting the pure euphoria take over, her toes curled and legs trembled as the pleasure washed over her in waves. It wasn’t as intense as the orgasms he gave her but it would have to do until he got home.

At the sound of her cumming and calling out his name, Spencer met his own high. He grunted and easily milked himself through his own orgasm. The line went quiet for a moment and he thought she might have fallen asleep. “You still there sweet girl?” He was panting, still trying to catch his breath as he grabbed a few tissues and cleaned himself up.

“Yeah,” she sighed softly and Spencer was kicking himself for not thinking of switching to FaceTime so he could see the look on her face. “Just a little blissed out.”

And you ask me “How do you feel when you’re away?”

And you ask me “How do you pass the days?”

“How are you feeling?” she cooed. “You’re on bed rest right? You need to be if you aren’t. You have got to start getting some rest. That’s probably a big part in why you’re so sick. That and you don’t take vitamins or drink juices.”

Spencer rolled his eyes and tried to snap a snarky reply but all that came out was a bone-rattling cough. Groaning, he rolled onto his side and placing the phone on the pillow beside him and switched it to ‘speaker’ so he wouldn’t have to use the energy to hold the phone up. “I feel like hot garbage. Wish you were here,” he mumbled before another fit of coughs racked through his achy body.

She pouted and sat completely helpless in their bedroom, wishing more than anything that she could be there with him, nursing him back to health. “I’m sorry baby. I love you,” she offered quietly, hoping her words would comfort him in some way. 

“Love you too,” he rasped and she felt her heart sink a little further in her chest.

Cause I can still remember when you were afraid of the dark

And I told you to come and you followed where I asked you to go

“You know I’d follow you anywhere, right?” he whispered, pulling the scratchy sheet tighter around him. “To hell and back if I had to. All you have to do is ask and I’m there.”

Sighing, she squeezed her eyes shut and willed the tears away. “I know you would.”

They were both quiet for a while, letting the silence fall over them like a thick, comforting blanket. His eyes darted around his hotel room and he desperately wished he was back in his apartment with her. Holding her. Comforting her. “Its just scary ya know?” she finally spoke up. “I mean I have total faith in your ability to take care of yourself, don’t get me wrong. But being so far away from you… its terrifying and not to mention so fucking lonely sometimes. Every time the phone rings I’m terrified its going to be Derek or J.J. telling me you’ve been hurt. I know how much you love your job and I’d never ask you to choose, but it is scary.”

His heart dropped to the pit of his stomach, he swore it actually felt like it had cracked in half. “I know, baby. I know,” he sighed, raking a hand through his hair, tugging at the ends a little. “It wont be much longer now. I promise.” He paused again, eyes darting around the room in hopes of finding something to say to help ease her worries. Finally his eyes landed on the book peeking from his opened satchel at the foot of the bed. “Would you like me to read to you?” 

His offer was sweet and genuine and instantly brought a smile to her face. “Yeah, that would be nice.”

Would you come here and spin with me?

I’ve been dying to get you dizzy,

Find a way up into your head

So I can make you feel like new again

“Bubs,” Spencer cooed, his tone quiet and soothing. “Just come out to Las Vegas. Let me fly you out. We’re wrapping up the case now and my mom was asking about you when I called yesterday. She’d be thrilled to see you.”

Sniffling, she wiped at her nose. She was quiet for a few minutes, her attention focused on picking at a stray string on the fluffy white duvet covering their bed. “Can I? Come out there, I mean. I need you. I wont be in the way, I promise.”

Spencer was speaking quietly, trying not to draw too much attention to himself in the bustling precinct but he was practically buzzing with excitement at the thought of her accepting his offer. As discretely as he could, he sat down at the nearest unoccupied computer and pulled up a few airline websites to compare prices. “Of course you can baby. And there’s no way that you’d get in the way. I’ll book you a flight now. How long do you want to stay?”

“How long can I stay?” Her voice quiet like his own, raw from crying to him for the past fifteen minutes about how horrible her day had gone.

With the phone tucked between his ear and shoulder, he quickly browsed through the webpages, comparing the airlines and what each had to offer. “We can stay as long as you want,” he assured her, his tone making it evident just how serious he was about his offer.

“You were planning on a whole week, right?” she asked hesitantly, almost like she was afraid he would tell her that he had changed his mind.

He confirmed that a week was in fact the original plan but then offered to tack on a few extra days, he had the extra vacation time saved up so why not use them up. They both desperately needed the break. When she agreed he gave a comical ‘whoop!’ into the phone earning him several confused looks from not only his team mates but the local detectives that were still in the room. “This is going to be great. I can show you all my favorite places from when I was a kid! All you need is a little quality Spencer time and we’ll have you feeling like new in no time.”

“I think that’s exactly what I need.”

[justthehiddleswrites]

Unexpected Delivery | Tom Hiddleston x Reader

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x Reader

Summary:  You are 37 weeks pregnant when Tom books a vacation to a secluded cabin in the mountains of Scotland. You are assured you won't go into labor while gone but after an intimate moment with Tom, your water breaks. You are snowed in and the ambulance won't get there in time. Tom must now deliver the baby.

Warnings: implied smut, labor and giving birth

-

“Honey, we could have just stayed at a nice posh hotel in London,” you grumbled as you attempted to get out of the car, “You know in civilization.”

Tom hustled around to help you out. At 37 weeks pregnant, you weren’t as spry as normal.

“Come on, darling. Where is your sense of adventure?” He threw you one of his lady killer smiles.

“Being sat on by your child along with my bladder, that’s were. I swear she is all limbs just like her father.”

Tom chuckled and helped you across the short path and up the stairs to the cabin. He leaned over so his head was next to your swollen stomach.

“Listen in there, be nice to your mother. She is working hard to keep you safe. And she has had to do it without your dad.”

This trip had been all Tom’s idea. For most of the pregnancy, Tom had been away filming in Thailand. This was not the first time Tom had been away for big events. Your sister’s wedding. Graduations and important work events. But having to attend ultrasounds and midwife appointments on your own hit you hard. Pregnancy hormones only made it worse. You spent many nights crying into the phone to Tom and him reassuring you everything was fine and he would be there when it mattered.

It had been near Christmas when shooting finally wrapped. Tom had insisted on a baby moon before your due date. By then flying was off the table, so you two needed to pick somewhere within driving distance. You had suggested a posh hotel in London with a spa where you could be pampered. Tom, afraid of paparazzi, invading this precious time, chose a secluded cabin in Scotland.

“Are you sure we won’t get stuck up here?” you worried as a light dusting of snow started to cover the landscape. The doctor assured both of you at the last visit this baby wasn’t coming for at least two weeks, with your family’s history of overdue babies. But it did not make you worry any less. The nearest hospital was over an hour away. You did not want to have this baby in the mountains.

Tom kissed your forehead as he opened the front door.

“I checked the forecast, and only light snow. You have nothing to fear.”

You gave a weak smile, not convinced as you looked back and saw the snow beginning to cover the car.

About an hour later, Tom got a fire burning and a kettle going on the stove. The cabin was cozy. You shed your layers as you got inside. You were your own portable space heater these days. Tom brought over hot chocolate for you and hot tea for himself as the two of you settled underneath a thick quilt on the couch. You let out a sigh.

“It is cozy.”

“I’m glad you enjoy it. It’s not enough to make up for these past nine months, but now that filming is over, I intend to focus all my attention on you and this precious cargo.”

Tom rubbed his hand over your belly. You smiled and then winced as your stomach tightened.

“What’s wrong, darling?”

You rubbed the back of Tom’s hand.

“Just Braxton Hicks. They have getting worse over the last few weeks.”

Tom moved his hands to your shoulders and began to massage your tight shoulders. You let your head sink to your chest.

“That feels fantastic.”

Tom continued to work on the knots and move his hands to your back, kneading the space between your shoulder blades. You let a groan out.

“Darling, if you kept making such obscene noises, I will not be able to keep my hands to myself.”

Tom’s hands wandered to the front of your shirt, where he cupped your ample breasts. You let a chuckle go.

“Isn’t that what got us in this mess in the first place?”

Tom laughed as he turned you to take you into a deep embrace. His lips were soft but urgent. Both of your hands flew to his neck and hair, pulling him closer and deeper. God, you had missed him! Tom lowered you to the couch with a gentle hand, placing you on your side. However, you sat up and grabbed Tom’s arm.

“What?” he questioned as you tugged on him to follow.

“Honey, I am too big to have sex with you on a sofa. I saw a nice, big, and cozy king sized bed. Let’s do this right.”

Tom’s face lit up, and he grabbed both of your hands and dragged you to the bedroom. He had missed you as well! And his libido felt it too! The two of you didn’t even bother to shut the door before getting down to business.

***

After your lovemaking, the two of you fell asleep. You woke first and headed to the kitchen. The Braxton Hicks continued, and you winced with each contraction. Grabbing a coffee mug, you doubled over in pain, the mug crashing to the floor shattering.

“Tom!”

Your husband ran at the tone of your voice. He was panting as he found you on the floor. It was only then you noticed the wetness between your legs.

“Tom! My water broke. This baby is coming!” you panicked.

Tom’s eyes widened as he ran his hands through his hair. Still groggy from his slumber, he was trying to process everything happening. Shirtless, he rushed to the front door to start the car. The bitter cold hit his skin like needles and it dismayed him to see several feet of snow buried the car. There was no way he could dig it out in time!

“Tom!” you screamed as the contractions became more painful. “What is going on?”

“We’re snowed in!”

“WHAT?!”

“I’m sorry, darling. I will call an ambulance.” Tom replied, a shake in his voice.

By some miracle, he had reception. He dialed emergency and explained the situation. He gave them the address of the cabin. They told him to stay on the line until the paramedics could get there. Tom ran over to where you still lying on the ground. He helped you up to the armchair in the living area. You started to scream.

“Tom, I don’t think the baby can wait for an ambulance. She is ready to make her appearance sooner rather than later.”

You began to breathe like you learned in your birthing classes. Tom started yelling at the person on the phone in a panic.

“What do I do?!”

Tom listened intently to the voice on the line with a stern look on his face, nodding along with the instructions. He put the phone down and began to gather supplies: towels and blankets. He put the kettle on the stove and began boiling some water.

“Done. Now what?”

The color drained from Tom’s face as the operator told him the next step. He gulped and headed towards you.

He grabbed your hand and kissed the back of it. Sweat beaded across your forehead and the pain kept you from saying too much. Another contraction hit and you screamed.

“AAAHHHH!” you squeezed Tom’s hand hard and his knees buckled for a moment.

As the contraction subsided, Tom attempted to extract his hand from your grip but you just held on tighter. He placed his other hand on top of yours.

“I have to check your progress,” you looked at him in disbelief as you released his hand, “But not to worry, I’m a doctor.”

“That was for a movie, you idiot! I don’t want Dr. Laing to deliver this baby.”

His joke fell flat, and he refrained telling anymore for the rest of your labor. He pulled up your skirt and checked on your dilation. When his face came back into view, he looked ashen. He picked up the phone.

“The baby is crowning.”

You panicked.

“What?!” You felt a new sensation, “Tom! I want to push!”

Tom threw the phone down and returned to you.

“Not yet darling. No jokes. You are having this baby now. I will coach you through it. But you have to wait until I tell you push.”

You nodded your head. Tom placed a towel underneath your legs and grabbed some blankets to put beside him. You felt a contraction coming.

“All right, Y/N, Push!!”

You bore down and grunted.

“Three… Four…. doing great… Eight… Nine…”

At ten, you relaxed.

“Doing wonderfully,” Tom reassured as he massaged your knee. You felt another contraction coming on, “Here we go again. Push!”

You began to push again. Tom continued to encourage you. This continued for about three contractions. Tom looked up at you.

“All right, love. This last one should do it. I need to you push as hard as you can. You know you are tired, but you.. can.. do.. this.”

He looked up with his blue eyes filled with tears, pleading you to be strong for not just him but for your daughter you were about to meet. You nodded your head as you felt the contraction begin.

“PUSH!”

You pushed with all your might and before long you felt a release and moments later, you heard the cries of a baby. Tom worked to wrap the baby and placed her on your chest. The tears pricking his eyes.

“You did it! She is here. Meet our daughter.”

You started crying as you stared down at the tiny being you just gave birth to.

“She’s perfect,” you whispered as you kissed Tom softly on the lips.

“Just like her mother.” Tom beamed, “And I believe her name is going be…”

“Evelyn Rose.”

Tom seemed shocked.

“I thought you didn’t like the name Evelyn.”

“I changed my mind. Pregnant woman’s prerogative.”

Tom chuckled.

“Very well. Little Miss Evelyn Rose Hiddleston, welcome to the world.”

The two of you cooed over the baby until the paramedics showed up about twenty minutes later. They rushed to take care of you and the baby as they shuffled Tom to the perimeter. They transported all three of you to the hospital. Once you settled into a room, Tom joined you. You smiled at him.

“Hey.”

“Hey. This has been some day.”

You smiled.

“Now come on, where is your sense of adventure?”

Tom laughed.

“On the floor of that cabin when I delivered my daughter.”

“Oh, but think of the story.”

Tom winced. The papers would have a field day.

“True, but I was worried about you and Little Miss Evelyn here.”

He pointed to bassinet beside your bed where your child was sleeping for the moment.

“Well next time, let me pick where we stay and I will forgive you.”

The two of you laughed and Tom climbed into your bed to embrace you. Just as he settled Evelyn stirred and began to cry.

“Welcome to parenthood,” you said to Tom as you handed him a bottle, “Dad.”

Tom couldn’t argue that.

[megalony]

Two out of three

This is a King! Harry Styles imagine which might have a follow up, I’m unsure yet. There is a lot of angst and some fluff in this part, I hope you all like it, feedback is always appreciated.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem @butlegendsneverdie @langdonzvoid @jennyggggrrr @rogmeddows @radiob-l-a-hblah @rogertaylorsbitontheside @chlobo6 @rogertaylors-lipgloss @sj-thefan @omgitsearly @luckytrashgooprebel @scarsout @deaky-with-a-c @killer-queen-ofrhye @bluutac @vousmemanqueez @jonesyaddiction @ambi-and-sunflowers @milanosaurus @httpfandxms @saint-hardy @7-seas-of-fat-bottomed-girls @mrsalwayswritex @rogerina-owns-me @peterquillzsblog @im-an-adult-ish @crazylittlethingg @allauraleigh

Masterlist

Summary: Harry and (Y/n) are in labour expecting twins and people are counting on them having a boy so their is an heir to the throne. But things don’t go smoothly for the royal couple. (Set around early 1900s).

Enjoy.

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"We're supposed to have another month of this, yet." (Y/n) spoke quietly like she was afraid to break the calming atmosphere around them but the slow and tense way that she spoke gave away that she wasn't best pleased. They were supposed to have another month of preparing before they should have to think about labour and even though (Y/n) did want this to be over and done with soon, she didn't want it to be now.

She tried to force herself to smile but her lips only tightened to form into a wince when she tried to sit up straighter against the sea of pillows engulfing her and a twinge of pain tightened like a knot at the base of her spine. Pushing through the uncomfortable feeling, (Y/n) sat herself up straighter with a little help from Harry before she sank back into the feather pillow behind her that felt heavenly against her sore spine. A small push of air left (Y/n)'s lips when she let her spine and her back muscles relax but once she was relaxed on the bed her back felt much better.

"Better?" Harry smiled cautiously as he tried to move a few of the pillows so they were better surrounding (Y/n). More recently it seemed that every day Harry came back into their shared room, he would find another pillow on the bed or another blanket cocooned around (Y/n) like she was creating a burrow or a nest. He knew the pillows eased the pain in her back and made it more comfortable for her to sleep but at the same time, it was getting to the point where Harry couldn't move or sleep for pillows.

But if (Y/n) was indeed going into labour now like she suspected then the nest of pillows wouldn't be needed for much longer.

"Hm, I'll be better when this is over."

(Y/n) smoothed her hands over her stomach that now meant she couldn't see her feet or her legs when she laid down like this. Having another baby was a blessing to (Y/n) and Harry but (Y/n) had hoped she would get a bit closer to her due date before labour happened. It somehow felt safer if she reached her due date since they were having twins, it could ensure they were both okay and healthy and ready rather than being early.

"Don't pretend you don't like being pregnant." Harry coiled his arm to his chest when (Y/n) playfully hit him with a scowl on her face.

She knew he was partially joking but he wasn't being very sympathetic like she wanted him to be. They both knew that (Y/n) liked being pregnant because people didn't bother her half as much, no one pestered her in case she turned around and snapped at them which she pretended to blame on the hormones. No one said anything when she sat in on a meeting with Harry or when she wandered into the kitchen for a rather unusual snack or food concoction. And since reaching the seven month mark of the pregnancy (Y/n) had been confined to their room and on bed rest which meant no one bothered her or hassled her or got on her nerves.

Even though people did tend to fuss when she was pregnant and constantly ask if she was okay, it was better than being put down or treated like she was a little girl who didn't belong or know what she was doing. And there was something about the way that Harry looked at her when she was pregnant that made her stomach flutter with butterflies.

"Yes, but I also like seeing my feet and walking without being weighed down, Harry. Labour isn't very fun, either."

At the mere thought of what was going to happen in a few hours, (Y/n) grimaced and turned her head until she could bury her face in Harry's chest.

The first time around it was worrisome for them both because of why Harry was the King. Before him, it had been a Queen who was the Monarch but her childbirth had been so traumatic and harsh that the baby passed away and the Queen died four days later from a haemorrhage. Harry was King because the Queen's childbirth hadn't been successful so it made Harry scared beyond belief when he thought about (Y/n) having a baby. He loved his wife more than anything in the world and he couldn't continue if something happened to her.

(Y/n) knew the risks, there were so many women who were dying during childbirth or soon after from problems and infections and she did not want to be one of those women. It caused her to lie awake in the dead of night on many occasions fretting that when labour rolled around it would be the last thing she did or endured before she died.

But when they had Emily, even though it had gone on for just over two days and had been more than stressful, it had been okay. Only a few things had gone wrong but Emily had been born perfectly fine and healthy and (Y/n) recovered quickly. She didn't get an infection or suffer mass bleeding or suddenly pass away and they allowed Harry to be in the room when Emily was born when normally the man was supposed to wait outside. But him being the King meant it was hard for people to deny him anything.

"You, will be perfectly fine, my love." Harry pressed his lips to the top of her head in an attempt to calm her down but he could still sense the worry circulating through her head. Even when he turned on his side to face her and leaned to kiss her or smoothed his hand over her stomach, he could feel her concerns.

It was the first birth that was supposed to be the most worrisome and (Y/n) had got through Emily's birth like smooth sailing, but this time it was twins and that doubled the risk.

"I've heard things, Harry... it's supposed to be harder with twins, I could start bleeding with the second one or not be able to do it or the doctor might have to intervene and I don't want-" (Y/n) had heard things that made her skin crawl and she knew what labour was like, she'd lost all her energy before Emily was even born, by the time she had the first twin she might not have the strength to give birth to the second. Or the second one could get stuck, (Y/n) knew that had happened for one poor woman and (Y/n) did not want a doctor tampering with her to try and get the baby out.

She knew what doctors were like and they would be worse with her because this was an heir to the throne. They would care more about the baby than (Y/n).

"Sshh, you're overthinking and scaring yourself. You were brilliant having Emily and you're so strong, you'll be fine with these two, I know you will and I'll be there, I won't leave you."

"What if they're both girls?" (Y/n) had to ask, she had to know what Harry thought because it was a question that had been rattling around in her head for much longer than it should.

Times were progressing, Queens could be on the throne just like Queen Alexandra before Harry, but it wasn't the same because heirs to the throne were supposed to be boys. If Emily had been a boy then the members of the court and council would have left (Y/n) alone and that would be it, (Y/n) would have been praised to high heaven and adored because she had a boy. No one would expect her to want or have another baby if Emily had been a boy because she would have given Harry and heir to his throne.

Many women through history in the royal line had stopped after having a son.

But Emily was a beautiful little girl and if (Y/n) and Harry had a boy then the crown would not be placed on Emily's head. They were expected to have a boy and if at least one twin was not a boy then (Y/n) would be expected to have another baby and another until she had a boy.

Harry wouldn't expect her to. If he had his way he would have an army of little girls surrounding him, he wanted as many kids as possible and he didn't care about having an heir. If (Y/n) wanted no more kids after these twins he would be perfectly fine with how their family was but (Y/n) would feel inadequate. She was the source of the royal line, she was supposed to ensure a King could follow after Harry.

"Then I'll have four lovely ladies to spoil-"

"Harry I mean it." (Y/n) bit her lower lip to stop herself from crying, especially when Harry cupped her face with his hands and smoothed his thumbs over her cheeks. "I- I want so many children with you, b-but if they're both girls and labour is hard or makes me sick or I die then you won't have an heir."

(Y/n) wanted children, she wanted so many and not just because people expected her to bear children, she wanted them because she loved Harry with everything she had and she loved being a mother. But if this labour proved very difficult and it scarred (Y/n) in any way or made her ill having another baby might not be able to happen or she might be too afraid. If God forbid, this labour killed her and she had two girls, Harry would be left with three daughters and no son to take the throne.

"Don't say that I won't hear of it! You're too strong and stubborn to die we both know that and I won't let anything happen to you. But if we have two beautiful daughters and you want to stop there then that will forever be fine with me. I don't expect a boy, I would love Emily to take the throne after me because she's a smart little cookie. Don't you listen to what anyone else says because girls are much better than boys."

When they were in the last month of Emily's pregnancy people started to talk, things had to be put into place and it had to be discussed about what would happen if (Y/n) passed during labour and if the baby didn't make it either. It needed to be talked about so things could be set in place but Harry had lost his temper.

Every single member of staff and council in the palace had been under strict instructions not to worry (Y/n) with that talk and no one was to dare bring it up with Harry because he wouldn't have it. He wouldn't talk about the event of his wife or unborn child's death because it scared him and he knew if he lost (Y/n) he wouldn't want to continue living without her.

To hear (Y/n) saying she was afraid of dying made Harry want to sob or be sick because she didn't have to worry. He knew she was too strong to die, she had proved that when they had Emily.

If they didn't have a boy Harry would be content leaving his throne to Emily because even though she was only three she was a smart little girl already and she would grow up ready to be Queen.

When Harry leaned his temple against hers, (Y/n) closed her eyes and basked in the heat and love he was giving and it felt like he was trying to convey his thoughts from his mind into hers to try and calm her down. One of his hands stayed resting on her cheek whilst his other hand moved back down under her gown to caress her stomach. He massaged his fingers into her skin, trying to help ease the tension in her stomach when another twinge of pain shot through her that he could feel.

As long as his wife and twins were healthy Harry couldn't care less about anything else, their health and happiness meant more than if a King or Queen would follow his succession to the throne.

"No- come away Miss Emily!" The voice of Claire, Emily's governess, suddenly cut through the air in a hissed whisper that was a warning to the child to listen to her but everyone knew she wouldn't, she only listened to her parents.

It had been expected that as soon as Emily was born, she would be given to a nanny and then to a governess who would effectively bring her up and teach her. For royals, the parents were more role models than actually parents, they weren't supposed to get involved and change the nappies or dress their children or wake up during the night and feed them and get them back to sleep. But both (Y/n) and Harry had decided from the off that they were going to raise Emily.

Claire was only there to teach Emily and watch over her when her parents were simply too busy.

"Want my papa!" Emily's high pitched voice was more of a crying whine than a small giggle like it usually was and it made Harry pick his head up and lean up on his arm so he could look towards the door.

"I'm so sorry your Majesty, Miss Emily has a small fever and isn't feeling very well."

"My papa!" Emily let out such a wail for Harry that broke his heart and made (Y/n) shudder at her desperate tone. It was like everyone was always trying to separate Emily from her parents or act like they were too busy when they weren't. If someone was wrong they wanted Emily to come and find them.

Harry turned his head to look down at (Y/n) who nodded her head to his silent question that asked if she was well enough for Emily to stay with them for a while. But the pains weren't bad, they were only just starting meaning any proper contractions were a few hours away, (Y/n) was fine to have Emily lying with them for a while.

"It's not a problem Claire, she's fine. Come here baby girl." Harry sat himself up and gave a small nod to the governess before he reached his arms down to pick Emily up when she toddled round to his side of the bed. Harry sat her on his lap and smiled gently at his girl before he pressed his hand to her forehead, noticing she did have a bit of a fever. "You can leave her with us now, Claire."

Harry didn't bother to look over at the governess when she curtsied before exiting the room, leaving the family in peace.

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The lamps in the room were turned down until the flickering flames were only burning with the smallest flame possible, cascading the large room into a bask of burnt orange and vermilion light that felt like Harry was standing inside the sun itself. But rather than the light keeping his mind active and awake, the glistening colour made his mind soothe until he wanted to sleep rather than stay awake.

His bare feet padded against the carpet that should be worn down from how his feet had been constantly up and down on the same patch of floor in front of the windows which had the drapes pulled shut to keep the outside world away.

The girl in his arms was growing heavier by the second when she no longer held the control over her body which was limp in Harry's arms that were desperate to put her down after holding her for forty minutes straight.

Emily had woken up only an hour and a half after it took (Y/n) and Harry two hours to settle her down to sleep with them and she felt no better than when she came in to see them. So Harry took it upon himself to cradle Emily in his arms and pace the room with her to try and lull her back to sleep. When she cried or whimpered in his ear he started to hum and sing to her which really seemed to do the trick but now that she was asleep, he didn't want to set her down in case she woke up again.

Her head was resting neatly on Harry's shoulder with her small arms slung around his neck and her knees curled up against his stomach.

When a rather worrisome moan escaped (Y/n)'s lips, Harry stopped his pacing and turned around on the spot so he could cast his eyes over to the bed where (Y/n) was. It was close to midnight now and over the last hour (Y/n) had started to become restless. One moment Harry had helped her off the bed and onto the floor so she could kneel with her arms on the bed, the next moment she had been pacing up and down with him and more recently she decided to sit back down on the bed again.

(Y/n) had moved again since the last time Harry looked over at her, she was now kneeling in the middle of the bed slightly hunched over with her chin pressing into her chest.

"I- I think we should c... call the doctor." (Y/n) breathed through her words that were paused and stretched out when a pain caught her off guard.

Harry looked between (Y/n) and Emily for a few seconds before he quietly hummed in understanding. He watched (Y/n) as he slowly approached the bedroom door, a pained expression on his face when (Y/n) pressed one hand to her stomach before she leaned over and pressed her head into the bed, arching her back out to try and alleviate the pain she was feeling.

Opening the door, Harry padded down the hall until he found a maid passing by.

"Could you send for the doctor please, the Queen's going into labour?" Harry managed a small smile towards the maid as he tried to keep himself calm. He watched the way her eyes seemed to widen despite her obvious tiredness and she curtsied and nodded instantly.

There was something about the servants that always unsettled Harry because they always seemed to think he was a monster or a generally angry person when he was the very opposite. They talked and walked around him like he was going to snap at any moment and were always surprised when he used the manners he was taught or smiled or said please and thank you. He wasn't a monster.

"Of course, your Majesty. Would you like me to take Miss Emily to the nursery?"

Harry looked down to Emily who he almost forgot was still asleep in his arms, he'd simply forgotten about the way his arms were deadlocked in position or how she was clinging to him like a monkey clinging to a branch. He wanted to take her back himself and settle her to make sure she didn't wake up, but then again that would mean leaving (Y/n) on her own and he didn't really want to do that either.

"Yes, thank you but please make sure Claire stays with her I want her watched until her fever goes down."

He pressed a small kiss to Emily's temple before he slowly eased her down into the maid's waiting arms and unhooked her arms from around his neck. Even though she was calm and now asleep, Harry wanted Claire or anyone available to sit up and keep check on her so her fever didn't get worse because if it did they would have to send for another doctor to monitor her. Harry couldn't be sat with (Y/n) with half his attention panicking over whether Emily was okay and being looked after, he needed his full attention to be with (Y/n) tonight.

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"Almost there my love." Harry's lips were soothing against (Y/n)'s burning skin but his words didn't help like he was desperate for them to. All he had to offer was himself and his words, he had no ability to take away the tremendous agony (Y/n) was going through and he couldn't make this process go any quicker but he was doing anything he could to try and help.

"N-no I'm not."

Harry could feel (Y/n)'s words vibrating throughout her body that tensed dramatically and her jaw locked as she spoke and spat the words in anger. They might be nearly there to meeting their first baby but the second one wasn't even close to being born yet and (Y/n) didn't have the energy to keep this up. She knew it, she knew from the first moment the doctor told her she was expecting twins that it wasn't going to go in her favour. (Y/n) had a sixth sense that when labour rolled around she would use up all of her energy on the first baby or something would go wrong or she just wouldn't be well enough to keep pushing through and she was right.

The pain was so bad that she couldn't feel anything below her torso, her body was overheating to the point the windows had to be opened and cold rags were smothering her skin to stop her from combusting and she felt horribly sick to her stomach.

The only good thing about this was that this labour was going much faster because her body knew what it was meant to do now.

Leaning herself forward off of the pile of pillows behind her, (Y/n) pulled on Harry's hand until he got her message and shuffled forward with her, wrapping his free arm around her waist with his chest against her back in case she needed him to hold her up. He pressed his lips to her exposed shoulder where her gown had slipped down her arm and he began to brush his fingers up and down the side of her stomach like his fingers were brushes painting delicately over a canvas.

Harry let go of (Y/n)'s hand so he could crack his knuckles and stretch his fingers before he held her hand with a bit better grip since they were both sweating. He'd taken the liberty of removing all of his rings beside his wedding ring after learning last time that his rings had cut into both their hands and created slash marks without either of them feeling anything.

Such a shriek left (Y/n)'s lips that made Harry shake, especially when (Y/n) seemed to tense completely until he thought she'd become locked in place. But the moment her muscles loosened and she turned to jelly against Harry, he felt her chest releasing such a relieved yet exhausted sigh and he looked over at the doctor sitting on the end of the bed with a baby in his arms.

"What did I tell you? You've done it love, it won't be much longer now."

"Are t-they okay?"

(Y/n) couldn't seem to stop her body from shaking like she had electric currents rattling through her body and it hurt, it felt like she was falling through the sky with no clear landing in sight. She couldn't hear the baby crying but she couldn't focus her vision on the doctor long enough to see if their baby was moving or in shock or just too calm to bother with crying out.

Harry reacted quicker than (Y/n), the moment he heard a familiar gagging sound he let go of her hand to grab the bowl resting beside the bed and held it in front of her just as she threw up. He gently pulled her hair away from her face before rubbing his hand soothingly up and down her back but when his bright eyes darted down to look at the doctor, he was met with a grave face and a simple but grave shake of the head.

They'd lost a child.

A choked moan escaped (Y/n)'s lips that caught both men's attention before she threw her head back onto Harry's shoulder, her muscles tensing when she felt another contraction building up.

Out the corner of her eye, (Y/n) saw a maid taking the baby from the doctor before she scuttled out and into the adjoining study, presumably to clean up and weigh the baby. (Y/n) let the child drift from her mind like they had the room so she could try and focus her energy on the next baby.

Before the head was even born (Y/n) let out a horrid, bubbling sob before she pulled away from Harry and let herself sink back into the pillows. Everything hurt, everything ached and everything felt numb. (Y/n) wished her life was a tape that could be cut down to size so she could cut out the labour and just attach the before and after birth together. She wanted to jump straight from the first contraction to being laid in bed cradling her babies in her arms. But life didn't work that way and mother nature was cruel.

The round of screams and humiliated sobs that left (Y/n)'s lips were defeated and lifeless because she had no energy to put into her screams that could convey how she felt or do her pain any justice.

(Y/n) couldn't believe how exhausted yet thrilled she felt when the baby seemed to come into the world so effortlessly once their head was born. It was as if (Y/n) had blacked out for a while and was now awake and their baby was here. She could hear the rather loud scream that their baby let out the moment they were in the doctor's arms and it made (Y/n) smile.

Their baby had a very powerful set of lungs, that was good.

"Done... I'm done, it's over." (Y/n) closed her eyes and held her breath, swallowing the lump in her throat to prevent herself from feeling or being sick again as the bed seemed to envelope her in a congratulating hug that she sank into until she thought she had slipped into the next floor below.

When she found the will to do so, (Y/n) opened her eyes that immediately searched for Harry who was peering down at her. With what little energy she had left, (Y/n) reached her shaking hand up to cradle Harry's face when she saw him sobbing silently.

"A girl, your Majesty." The doctor moved his arms to let (Y/n) see her wailing baby before the same maid who took their first baby wrapped up their little girl with a very weak smile.

"M-my baby, w-where's m..my baby?" It was clear (Y/n) felt weak and she looked very pale and rather sick in Harry's opinion but it was only as to be expected after what she'd just gone through. As much as Harry wanted to lie to (Y/n) so she could rest and not feel her heart breaking, he couldn't help the small sob he let out at her confusion and he watched the exact moment her heart snapped in two and her lips curled in distaste.

(Y/n) couldn't question it. She couldn't ask why or how or tell Harry he was wrong, all she could do was scream like she had eaten glass which was now puncturing into her stomach and organs and was splitting her apart from the inside out.

Despite the agonising howl of pain that left (Y/n)'s lips, Harry leaned down until he could bury his face into the crook of her neck. He kissed her flush skin repeatedly to try and stop her screams but he knew nothing he could say or do was going to make this okay.

"Sshh, shh my love..." Harry felt (Y/n)'s trembling fingers tangling into his curls as she wailed and he cooed in her ear, not knowing how else to calm her down.

"W... what was it?" (Y/n) hiccuped through her few words which made Harry's head lift from her neck so he could look at the doctor. It didn't cross his mind to ask whether or not they'd had another girl or a boy, he only thought to dwell on the fact that whatever gender their baby was, they were not alive.

"A boy, your majesty." The doctor's voice was solemn and calm showing this kind of news was one he had had to deliver more than once, but never to the King and Queen.

(Y/n)'s chest shuddered and bounced up and down rapidly before a very low whine almost like a baby's wail for attention cut from her lips. She'd done what they'd asked, she'd had a boy and now she'd lost him. What were people going to say when they heard all the Queen could do was produce girls? How would they react when they found out she'd lost an heir to the throne but managed to have another girl?

(Y/n) smothered her face with her hands and screamed into her palms but Harry quickly reached down and removed her hands, he didn't want her smothering herself like that or hurting herself unintentionally. He would rather witness her screams than have her trying to hide them.

"Your Majesty, could we sit you up so I can examine you please? The afterbirth hasn't passed yet." The doctor's rather kind yet solemn tone grated on (Y/n)'s nerves when she knew it shouldn't. She wanted him to be rude to her, she wanted him to be annoyed and indifferent rather than kind because it was how people were going to treat her. He may as well be the same and be disappointed that she could give Harry another girl yet cost him a son at the same time.

She barely felt Harry and the doctor taking an arm each and gently ease her up so she was sitting up more or less straight against the pillows that clawed at her and pulled her back into a comforting yet broken embrace.

When Harry heard his name whimpered from (Y/n)'s chapped lips he felt another flood of tears leaving his eyes. He wanted to hold her like he normally did, he wanted to lay down at her side and wrap his arms around her waist with his front resting on top of her own. He wanted his face smothered into her neck and her breaths fanning through his curls. But he couldn't hold her like that yet.

Desperate to have (Y/n) in his arms properly, Harry gently moved (Y/n) as slowly and carefully as he could manage until he could worm his way behind her with her laid between his legs. He slipped his arms under her own and wrapped them around her, feeling a tiny bit calmer when (Y/n) moved her hands to tightly grip his own, sliding her fingers between the groves of his hands. He dipped his head down until he could kiss her cheek and keep his head pressing against her own, holding her tightly like she wanted because he had no need to fear her breaking in his hold for she was already broken.

For a few seconds whilst the doctor busied himself examining her and feeling her stomach, (Y/n) thought she was going to blackout or even die. She welcomed the darkness, she wanted it to smother her mind and take her away for a few hours until she could wake up and have this all be some kind of sordid nightmare she would forget in a heartbeat. But sleep nor death ever overtook her, she was left limp in Harry's arms.

"Is there a problem?" Harry prayed to God that there wasn't, they couldn't take any complications or errors or problems right now.

"Your Majesty..." The doctor waited patiently for (Y/n) to open her eyes and focus on him and he rubbed his hand over her knee to try and comfort her as well as ground her and keep her concentration that he desperately needed right now. "There is another baby, I've given you an injection to start more contractions so I need you to push again."

It was Harry's turn to have his lips curl up in distaste and his eyes darken like the night sky. They couldn't have another, (Y/n) couldn't have another. She was broken and exhausted and one more push away from slipping into a state close to death. Another baby could kill her, Harry knew they had been tempting fate by having twins, with the state (Y/n) was in she didn't look like she would survive another baby.

"I can't." (Y/n)'s voice was a whisper before she closed her eyes and turned her head to bury her face into Harry. She felt like going to sleep. She wanted to tell this doctor to have a word with God and take the third baby away, magic it into in-existence, into the dark realm where nothing existed because she couldn't give birth again. (Y/n) had nothing left, she was broken on the inside and out, her other two babies had taken everything she had.

When a dull, throbbing contraction slowly but steadily built up (Y/n) ignored it which somehow felt so easy when before a contraction was too hard to miss or push from her mind. She realised now that she hadn't felt the doctor give her the injection he spoke about, nor was she feeling much pain or even the baby moving.

"Sir, the longer we wait the worse she will become. She must push now."

Harry wiped his eyes with the back of his shaking hand before he turned his head to look at (Y/n) who stared up at him through half-lidded eyes.

"Love, this baby needs you... you have to try or else we stay stuck here like this and it will hurt so much more. Please... please, try for me." If (Y/n) didn't try her body was only going to feel more broken and confused and something could happen to the baby or to (Y/n). Harry couldn't lose (Y/n) now and as bad as it seemed, the baby wasn't as important to him right now. He needed (Y/n) and he needed to look after her but no one could do anything if she didn't try.

(Y/n) couldn't scream. All she could do was whimper and moan quietly and hope that what she was doing was pushing because she couldn't tell anymore, she could only work out that her mind was short circuiting and wanted to switch off completely.

A small, almost non-existent smile formed on (Y/n)'s face when she felt Harry humming in her ear and very lightly swaying them both side to side but it was to calm himself down as much as her. (Y/n) wasn't holding his hands very tightly at all and Harry was holding her up, she had no energy left it was very clear. But when Harry looked down he could see a river of blood surrounding his and (Y/n)'s legs.

When the head was born, Harry watched the doctor move his blood-covered gloved hands to inject something into (Y/n)'s stomach that he could only hope was to help with the bleeding.

"Just a little more, my love."

(Y/n) couldn't tell if the doctor was intervening and trying to help but she didn't care as long as the baby was out of her and she could go to sleep. Her shoulders slumped and her forehead fell against Harry's chin when she felt the weight lift from her stomach and the pain suddenly evaporated like steam from a hot bath.

"You have another boy." (Y/n) felt a single tear escape her eye and slowly trickle down the ridge of her nose and fall down her cheek before jumping free from her chin at those few words.

Had she killed this heir too?

"Open your eyes... (Y/n) open your eyes." Harry shook his arms a bit too violently for his own liking but he had to so (Y/n) wouldn't go to sleep. He couldn't have her falling asleep on him in case she never woke up. The urgency in his voice made the tears fall faster but it worked and caused (Y/n) to lift her head a little and open her eyes. And Harry watched her marvel at the baby the doctor was holding up for her to see.

Without speaking or thinking or even breathing, (Y/n) curled her fingers to her palms and moved her hands to indicate that she wanted her baby. Their first baby had died and been snatched away from them, their girl was lively but she wasn't here, someone else had her and was tending to her. (Y/n) wanted one of her babies to cradle and reassure herself this was real.

Harry locked eyes with the doctor and nodded with a look that told him not to refuse (Y/n)'s small request. They hadn't been asked if they wanted to hold their daughter and it was assumed they didn't want their first boy- who Harry was going to make sure he held very soon. They had to hold one of their babies now to keep them both sane.

He was tiny.

The little boy was much smaller than what Emily had been or their next girl who looked very healthy and was wailing showing that she was strong. This boy was pale grey-skinned rather than pink, his lips were tainted blue rather than red and he looked sickly. He wasn't breathing perfectly either but he was here, he was alive and for now he would be okay.

His fragile body was laid on (Y/n)'s chest and he curled up until he was almost invisible. (Y/n) moved her weak arms until one hand was on his back and the other was cradling the back of his head and she felt Harry's arms overlapping her own so he could hold them both closer to him like he wanted them all to merge into one. Harry knew they were both unwell, his wife and his youngest were going to need a lot of love and care to get them on the road to recovery.

But as he watched (Y/n)'s fingers skimming over their boy's head, he saw her lips curving into a tired, lost smile.

"We'll be okay, little one."

[littleoddwriter]

heyday just got my period sucks super bad haha so my comfort character now has to suffer- could i get transzsasz on his period?

Agony | Roman Sionis & Victor Zsasz

Hey! I hadn't planned on writing any more today, but then I got your request and I couldn't leave you alone in your times of need. I hope you'll be okay and that perhaps this fic can help you through the worst of it. You've got this, mate. <3

summary; Zsasz is on his shark week and in a lot of pain. Surprisingly, Roman is trying his best to help him, eventually.

notes; TW // Periods; Period Cramps; Gender Dysphoria; Feelings of Agony; Intrusive Thoughts; Mentioned Self-Harm/Self-Mutilation. Hurt/Comfort in a way; Domestic (in the end); Trans!Victor Zsasz.

It was that time of the month for Zsasz, and he couldn’t have been closer to taking his favourite knife and driving it into his abdomen to relieve himself.

Not only were the cramps worse than usual – or at least seemed that way – but he felt extremely dysphoric and was so fucking irritated.

He had almost snapped at Roman multiple times this morning. Luckily, he’s been able to catch himself every time still, but he didn’t know how much longer he could do that. It wasn’t his boss’s fault that he was in so much pain and he was supposed to protect and support him, not yell at him. That was Roman’s duty to do with everyone below him; which was everyone.

Wasn’t it just so fucking ironic that he was in so much pain that he could hardly bear it, though? He loved pain, craved it even. He fucking cut himself almost every day after freeing someone, so that it barely hurt anymore at all. But the pain that came with… it… was just so much fucking worse than any wound could ever be. It was pure agony, really.

Internally, he was screaming, wanting it to stop so badly. He didn’t want this shit, didn’t fucking need it. This part of his bodily functions was so useless to him, and he wished his body would have gotten the memo by now and work with him, instead of against.

No such luck, though.

Victor was hunched over, where he’s been standing next to Roman, who’s been talking with some business guy for the past hour. It wasn’t too noticeable that he was bent over a little more than usual, since his posture was always bad like that anyway. He just hoped his expression was as blank as usual, too, because he really didn’t feel like it. He could even feel sweat bead on his forehead.

He’s been so lost in his agonised thoughts that he’s startled a little, when all of a sudden Roman was right in his face, looking him over, searching for something in his expression.

Normally, he’d love having Roman so close, his attention only on him, but right now, he was so close to ripping his head off, if he so much as dared to say the wrong thing.

“What’s wrong with you, Victor?” Sionis asked, sounding – concerned? Was that what his concern sounded like? Zsasz couldn’t possibly tell.

“Nothing, boss. ‘M fine,” he muttered, albeit his voice sounded more strained than he’d have liked. Stupid voice, always betrayed him at the worst times.

Roman looked unimpressed. “You know I always need you at your best, Mr. Zsasz, don’t you? And I can’t shake the feeling that today you certainly are not at your best. Am I wrong?”

“I’m fine, boss. I swear, I’m ready to protect you, no matter what,” Victor lied through his teeth. He wouldn’t dare to admit that, no, Roman wasn’t wrong – He really wasn’t at his best today. Stupid bloody time of the month that no one fucking needed, he thought.

“I really don’t like being lied to. Especially not by my most trusted man. So I’ll ask again. And this time you’d better tell me the fucking truth, ‘kay? Are you at your best today, and if not, what’s wrong with you?”

Victor swallowed thickly, his mind running wild with possible answers that sounded true enough that he might get away with them. On another note, Roman knew Zsasz was trans. And they shared the penthouse, which meant that he’d know what was wrong with him that day sooner or later anyway. Stupid sanitary protection.

Sighing deeply, Victor relented; he didn’t want to lie to Roman, not unless he really had to for his safety, “It’s that time of the month for me, right now. So, you know. I’m in pain, is all.”

“What do you mean ‘that time of the month’?” Roman asked, so genuinely that Zsasz almost laughed in his face. Fuck, he was so uneducated in some areas, but Victor couldn’t blame him. He wasn’t the most educated person, either.

“I’m on my period, boss,” Zsasz dead-panned.

Realisation hit Roman like a truck, his eyebrows climbing up his forehead, understanding overcoming him in shock, and then he looked so mortified and disgusted that it amused Victor a little.

“Ew, Zsasz! Fuck…” Sionis shoved him a little in reaction. Not good.

A shock-wave of pain overcame Victor as his muscles contracted in the most agonising way possible and he felt himself leaking – fuck, it was so disgusting. He doubled over, holding his middle, and groaned. He was so lucky they’d been alone then.

“Fuck, shit, Victor! What the fuck!” Roman exclaimed, taking a step back. “C’mon, you must've felt worse pain in your life. I’m sure it can’t be that bad.”

Zsasz glared at his boss from where he was bent over still, breathing deeply, trying to calm himself. Roman just lifted his hands in a placating manner, looking only a little apologetic.

“Fine, maybe it is that bad. What can I do to help you?”

“You don’t have to do anything, boss. Not your job.”

“I’m aware of that, thank you very much for that observation, Victor," Roman replied sarcastically - he was such a bitch - but then his voice softened a little, "I’m offering you my help, so you’d better take me up on that, ‘kay?”

“Fine. Some pain-killers and a heat pad or some shit like that usually does the trick. Then I’d just have to find a position that doesn’t have me screaming in agony.”

“’Kay. I can do that,” Roman nodded. Then he stopped short, looking at Victor curiously – unsure, “Uh- Should I help you upstairs first?”

He was really trying, wasn’t he? It was kind of cute if Zsasz was to be honest.

“No, I’ll be fine. Thanks.”

Victor finally stood more up-right again, most of the sudden up-tick on the pain scale having gone back down again, and started going towards the stairway to the penthouse. Sionis was right behind him and Zsasz could feel his eyes boring into his back, a shiver running down his spine in response.

A little while later, the pain-killers Roman’s gotten him had started to take effect, easing some of the agonising cramps. In addition, he was holding a hot-water bag, which was covered in orange fuzz, against his abdomen. The best position he’s found was lying on his back on the chaise longue with his legs elevated, which was achieved by having them positioned on Roman’s thighs, who kept stroking Victor’s own in a soothing pattern.

It was disgustingly domestic, but exactly what he needed. Maybe Roman would be willing to go out on a limb for him every time he was struck by his body’s disastrous nature. More likely, he was going to ignore this has ever happened and never do it again for him, though.

Both were fine outcomes for Victor, really. He was content with the way it was at this moment.

[lassieposting]

otp questions for skugwife plz 🥺

1. Who said I love you first?

He did, about three seconds after laying eyes on her for the first time. He was Not Subtle. In his defence, he was in a field hospital at the time, covered in his own blood, and was high off his ass on pain relief, so.

2. Who laughs and kisses their partner on the cheek while their partner isn’t happy about something trivial to try and make them feel better?

Wifey. She's kind of handicapped here because Skug does his best to shield her from the worst parts of himself and the grim truth about war. He doesn't outright lie to her, but he'll censor what he tells her, leaving out the death and the blood and the gore, because he's grown up terrified of becoming his father and he's desperate to be the man she thinks he is, to be someone who's worthy of her love. He doesn't want her to ever look at him and see a killer. If she has to think of him at war, he wants her to think of her gallant hero who always saves the day. So a lot of the time, when he gets into a black mood, she doesn't actually know what's really distressing him. She knows he has nightmares, but he always claims he doesn't remember what they're about. She knows that sometimes he'll nick himself with a knife while he's helping her with dinner, and when she turns around he's just standing there watching his hand bleed like he's suddenly somewhere very far away, but she doesn't know why he gets like that. She knows he has days where she'll say his name four or five times before he even seems to hear her, and an unexpected gunshot from one of the neighbouring smallholdings will have him trembling and running to check on her. But she tries, when he's quiet and distant and sad. She'll hold him and stroke his hair or sing to him or take him out walking in the sunshine, and eventually he'll take her hand and kiss her knuckles and apologise for being an arse, and she never really knows how to tell him that she doesn't mind him having those days at all, she just wishes she knew how to make him stop hurting.

3. Who cuddles up to the other after a long day at work, and this soon escalates to a playful pillow fight?

Skug. They're a cuddly, affectionate couple anyway, but his favourite thing in the world is laying his head in her lap and having his hair stroked. The man melts. They'll cuddle up in the evenings and he'll keel over for her as soon as she pats her leg like come on then and they'll just. Catch each other up on what they've missed since the last time he was home, while she pets him. She'll tell him the latest drama in her friend circle and how her father's been dodging the advances of an elderly patient, and he'll give her a censored, family-friendly version of what he got up to at the front - so, all the funny stories, but with all the gore and death and hard choices edited out. If he says something sufficiently ridiculous, she'll swat him in the face with a cushion. Sometimes he'll fall asleep there and she'll keep playing with his curls until she thinks he's well and truly out of it, and then pick up her needlework to do over his head while he sleeps.

4. What is something that they gave one another that has a lot of meaning?

When they're courting, she makes him a scarf and sends it with the courier with one of her letters, because she didn't like to think of him being cold on night watches. It's red and has zero magical properties whatsoever, it's no Bespoke creation, but he wears it on every mission.

She has a locket with his portrait in it. He's ADHD as fuck and hates sitting still for hours, but she playfully tells him one time that he's "been away so long I almost forgot what you looked like," and he takes it seriously and makes sure that never happens again.

5. How would one another describe their partner?

Very similarly. They both think the other one is their better half and that they don't deserve them. She loves him because he's brave and clever and funny and not afraid to stand up for what he believes in. He loves her because she's good and kind and loving and makes him want to be a better man. They're that couple that are so caught up in each other's virtues that they completely miss each other's flaws.

6. Who wraps their arms around their partner as they look them in the eyes and compliments them with a goofy smile?

Skug, every time they go somewhere they'll be surrounded by His Kind Of People.

Wifey is a salt of the earth working/lower-middle-class sort of girl. She has a job. She's grown up doing all the cooking and cleaning for her father, and she continues to do a lot of it even after she gets married and Skug hires servants because she can't stand to be idle. She has a very limited education; she didn't spend her childhood being fussed over by governesses or taught to simper and dance and paint. So she feels very out of place at fancy Sanctuary parties, surrounded by Skug's superior officers and their sophisticated upper-class wives. She's worried about embarrassing him, she's worried about making him look bad, she's worried about being laughed at or insulted behind her back for being too common or too forthright or too lacking in pretty manners.

He'll pull her to one side before they're announced and remind her that she outshines every other woman in the room, that most of these people are boorish and ignorant anyway so who cares what they think, and that she's got nothing to worry about: she's far more charming than he is and the laws of probability suggest that if anyone is gonna put their foot in it and embarrass the other one, it'll be him.

7. Who loves saying ‘my wife’ or ‘my husband’ or ‘my spouse’?

Wifey, especially when they're newlyweds. She has absolutely no idea how she managed to land him. He's hers now, forever. She has to keep saying it to convince herself it's true. Skug is a bit baffled, but having someone so happy to lay claim to him gives him major heart eyes. He's not used to having someone be proud of him and want to show him off like he's something worth bragging about.

8. Who always talks about how amazing their partner is when their partner isn’t there and they just light up with genuine love and happiness?

God, both of them.

In Prussia, a few months after they get married, Morwenna Crow takes one for the team and spends three solid weeks indulging Skug while he talks about his wife just, constantly.

On Wifey's side, she has a gaggle of girlfriends who appear at the door of her lovely new home to take tea at the first opportunity after her honeymoon wanting all the salacious details. And? She has so much to tell them. Like a lot of young women at the time, the most she was given in the way of sex education was a vague lecture from an older married friend about Marital Duties that didn't really serve a purpose beyond making her really, really nervous about her wedding night.

(She tells Skug about this lecture while she's sprawled all over him somewhere between round two and round three on said wedding night. She's confused. She was told it would be distasteful and unpleasant and painful. Why would her friends lie to her? He laughs, and strokes her hair, and tells her her friends' husbands are clearly doing something wrong.)

So. She returns from her honeymoon with a lot of new information to share with her poor, deprived friends. She's not the only married woman in the group, but she's the only one who married for love, so the unmarried girls are looking at what they want for themselves, and the ones who married for wealth or status are lowkey living vicariously through her.

These gatherings are deeply unnerving for poor Skug. He'll pop into the parlour to kiss Wifey goodbye before he goes out riding with Ghastly, and like eight smirking women politely sipping tea will chorus good morning, Skulduggery like they know something he doesn't know, and something about the way they look at him makes him feel like they're starving and he's a juicy steak. And then he'll close the door behind him when he leaves the room and hear them all immediately explode into giggles. What the fuck do they talk about in there??? At least once he's asked Wifey if she's plotting to sacrifice him, or something.

9. Who loves it when their partner kisses them good morning?

Skug. When you've spent the last 6+ months snatching at sleep on a hard bed with itchy blankets in between night watches and enemy attacks and commando raids of your own, it becomes a real treat to get a full nights sleep and wake up in fresh sheets in your own bed with your wife pressed up against your back, kissing your neck and touching you under the blanket. He knows he's safe when he wakes up with her, and he misses feeling her burrow into his arms when they're apart.

10. Who shows the other how to balance a spoon on their nose?

Skug.

11. Who loves to pull pranks on the other? What type of pranks do they pull and do they pull their pranks off?

Wifey's favourite is to tell Skug she invited her father to stay for a week and watch him frantically try to arrange his face into any other expression than "horrified". This is doubly funny if he just came home and he's raring to get her into bed - "Oh, darling, we can't, Papa will be here shortly, and he's due to stay until Thursday next, you'll simply have to wait," - but she never lets him believe it for long. She's not, like, cruel.

12. What is something small that they would randomly pick up for one another?

Spending money is Skug's love language. He's always buying her "just a little something"s. Hair ribbons, jewellery, new dresses, books, paints...anything he sees and thinks she'd enjoy.

She bakes for him, when he's home. She doesn't think the army feeds him properly, and she knows he eats like a horse. Coming back from Ghastly's to the smell of homemade bread is one of his favourite things about being married.

13. Who is the one who can’t stop laughing when trying to tell a joke?

Wifey. She'll be doubled over wheezing, red in the face, and Skug will still have no idea what the joke is. She didn't get that far. She's the kind of person where, many hours later, he'll ask, "So what was that joke you wanted to tell me?" and it'll just. Set her off again.

14. Who would plan the other a surprise birthday party?

Skug. He's often away for Wifey's birthday, but he'll always try to wheedle some leave out of Corrival so he can come home and spend it with her. It doesn't always work - a lot of the time they simply can't spare him - but he does his best.

15. Who picks the other person up when hugging their partner?

Skug is a 6'4 beanpole of a man who likes small, petite women. Wifey is like 5'3 tops and he picks her up all the time. She weighs, like, nothing to him and she's really into how strong he is, so getting swept off her feet all the time doesn't bother her.

What does bother her is when his lanky ass forgets to bring things down from the top shelf before going away for a few months. She can't reach up there.

[snappedsky]

Fanatics 82

The Battalion help someone with a ghost problem.

*Links to previous and next chapters in reblog*

--

Ghost Hunters

           Colton walks down the crowded halls of his school. He keeps his head down and his eyes clued to his phone, trying to stay out of everyone’s way.

           When he reaches his locker, he opens it to find a folded piece of paper fluttering out of the door. He picks it up, looks around curiously, and unfolds it.

           ‘Meet me in the math room after school’

           Colton stares at it questionably, constantly rereading it. It doesn’t say who it’s from. School ends after just one more period. Should he go?

           After school, he ends up going. The classroom is empty and dark, except for one person sitting near the window. She stands up as Colton enters.

           “Cassandra?” he questions.

           Cassandra Keaton is the most popular girl in Colton’s class and in the three years they’ve been classmates, she has never once acknowledged his presence.

           “Oh man, am I about to be punked?” Colton asks, backing away fearfully. “Is a bucket of pig’s blood about to fall on me?”

           “No,” Cassandra snaps, “listen, I need your help.”

           “Then why did you leave that note? Why meet me after school?”

           “Because I don’t want anyone to know about this,” she explains, “look, you talk about your friends who fight ghosts all the time. I need their help. I’m being haunted.”

           “For real?” Colton asks suspiciously. “How do I know this isn’t just some elaborate scheme to humiliate me?”

           “It’s true!” she barks and grabs her phone. “Look, I have proof.”

           She shows him a video she recorded. It’s of her kitchen. Everything seems quiet at first but she’s clearly trembling as she peeks around the corner. Then a mug flies off the counter seemingly by itself and smashes into the wall next to her.

           “Did you see that?” Cassandra questions frantically, “that’s not the first time that’s happened either! There’s a ghost in my house and it’s been trying to kill me and my parents!”

           “Okay, that was kinda creepy,” Colton admits, “even though it could still be a fake video.”

           Cassandra growls at him.

           “Alright, alright, I’ll believe you,” he relents, “but…look, I’ll introduce you to my friend, Squee, but I can’t guarantee he’ll help you. He’s been having a…rough time lately.”

           “Just let me talk to him,” she insists, “I’ll convince him.”            “Fine,” Colton sighs, “we can walk there together.”

           “No,” Cassandra snaps, “I can’t risk us being seen together. I’ll meet you at your house later. Where do you live again?”

           “Grave Road.”

           “Oh. Right…”

           “Not all the rumours are true.”

           “Fine, whatever,” Cassandra sighs, “I’ll meet you there in an hour. Now wait ten minutes for me to leave the school before you leave.”            “Alright,” Colton grunts.

           She leaves without another word and Colton leans against the wall to wait for his turn to leave.

           “The things I do for a pretty face,” he sighs.  

           Later, Colton waits outside his house for Cassandra. She shows up right on time, eyeing the surrounding houses warily as she approaches him.

           “People say all these houses belong to serial killers,” she says fearfully.

           “They aren’t…entirely wrong…,” Colton murmurs then clears his throat. “Come on, I’ll introduce you to Squee.”

           They cross the yards to the neighboring house and Colton knocks on the door. Squee answers after a couple seconds. He looks tired. He blinks with surprise at Cassandra.

           “Hey, Squee,” Colton says, “this is my classmate, Cassandra. She uh needs your help.”

           “My house is haunted,” she explains, “and Colton says you fight ghosts. I need you to get rid of it.”

           “Uh,” Squee croaks, speechless before clearing his throat. “One second please.”            He grabs Colton’s shirt and yanks him into the house, slamming the door shut behind him.

           “You talk about me at school?” Squee questions.

           “Sometimes,” Colton shrugs.

           “Could you not?”

           “Look, if you don’t wanna help her, you don’t have to,” Colton says, “all I said is that I would introduce you. Besides, it could all be a fake trick.”            “You think so?” Squee questions.

           “I don’t know,” he admits.

           “Okay, well, I really don’t wanna help her.”            “Then don’t.”

           Squee opens the door, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “Look, Cassandra. Uh, I’m sorry about your…predicament. And I don’t know what kind of stories Colton tells at school, but I don’t fight ghosts. In fact, I actively try to avoid them.”

           “So all of Colton’s stories were lies?” Cassandra questions, “you didn’t battle a poltergeist in the graveyard?”

           “No, we did do that,” Squee admits.

           “Or fight a bunch of demons with water guns full of holy water?”

           “We did that too…”

           “Or trap a bunch of powerful poltergeists in a notebook?”

           “That’s also true…b-but I only did those things because I had to.”          

           “So you only look out for yourself,” Cassandra snorts.

           “Exactly,” Squee nods.

           “Please,” she begs as she grabs his hands, sending a tremendous shiver up his spine. “I can’t take this anymore. This ghost is trying to kill me and my parents. How can you, in good conscience, make me go back to that house without even trying to help me?”

           “Well…I don’t really know you…” he mutters.

           “Please,” she says again, “you’re my only hope.”            Squee groans and hangs his head. “Fine. I guess Dib wouldn’t be very happy if I said no. Now, please release my hands.”            She lets him go and he wipes his hands on his shirt. “Alright, I’ll call up my friends. Just give me your house address and we’ll see you there later.”

           Thank you,” Cassandra squeals. She quickly writes her address on a piece of paper before leaving.

           “Are you sure about this?” Colton asks.

           “No,” Squee sighs, “but I guess we can at least check it out.”

           He sends a text in the Battalion group chat about the situation. Everyone agrees to drive to Cassandra’s house together in the Epic.

           Cassandra answers the door quickly when they arrive, looking a bit more frazzled than when she met with Squee less than an hour ago.

           “Good evening,” Dib says jovially, “I’m Dib. This is Zim, Gaz, Tak, and Pepito, and you’ve already met Squee. We’re the Battalion.”

           “Right…” Cassandra replies with uncertainty.

           “You did the right thing in asking us for help with your ghost problem,” he continues, “we are old hands with this kind of thing. Squee and Pepito are both powerful clairvoyants and I am an expert at all things supernatural.”

           “What about those three?” she questions, nodding to Zim, Tak, and Gaz.

           “We’re pretty much the muscle,” Gaz replies.

           “Alright,” Cassandra grunts and holds open her door. “Come inside.”

           As they enter, Dib turns on a voice recorder. “We are now entering the subject’s house.”

           “You’re recording this?” Pepito questions incredulously.

           “Of course!” he replies excitedly, “this is the first time a stranger has ever asked us for help. I have to document it.”

           “Now.” Dib clears his throat and faces Cassandra. “Please state your name for the record.”

           “Uh Cassandra Keaton,” she replies.

           “When did this ghost start bothering you, Cassandra?”    

           “About a week ago.”

           “And do you know why?”

           “Um…no. It just randomly showed up.”

           “That’s odd,” Dib muses, “most spirits don’t lash out unless antagonized. Can you describe how it started and how it’s escalated?”

           “Well, at first it was just like footsteps in the hall or something,” Cassandra explains, “creepy but harmless. And then it turned into loud banging. And now it throws stuff around, sometimes right for me or my parents.”

           “Speaking of which, where are your parents now?” Dib asks.

           “They’re both still at work.”

           “Good, they won’t be in our way.”

           “Dib, can we hurry this up please,” Squee demands.

           “Oh, sure,” Dib nods, “go ahead.”

           “Okay, let’s get this over with so I can go home,” he grumbles as he and Pepito progress deeper into the house.

           “Wait, what’s the plan?” Cassandra asks.

           “Like I said, Squee and Pepito are both clairvoyants,” Dib explains, “they can see and communicate with spirits. So they’re gonna find your spirit and try to convince it to either leave or live here peacefully. Should that fail, we’ll have to resort to more…forceful means.”

           “You mean you can kill it?”

           “Well, ghosts are already dead, but in a sense, yes.”

           “Then why don’t you?” Cassandra demands.

           “I have to agree with the annoying human on this one,” Zim says.

           “Look, if we can settle this peacefully, then it’s better to do so,” Dib insists.

           “But I don’t want a ghost in my house, peaceful or not,” Cassandra snaps.

           “Why not?” Gaz questions, “it’d just be like having an invisible roommate.”

           “Because it’s my house!”

           “For all you know, the ghost was here first,” Dib points out, “which would make you the interloper.”

           Cassandra scoffs, insulted.

           Meanwhile, Pepito and Squee explore the house, on the lookout for the ghost.

           “It’s quiet,” Pepito observes.

           “Yeah,” Squee agrees, “maybe Colton was right and she is lying.”

           “The others wouldn’t be happy about that.”            They peek into what must be the parents’ bedroom. They barely catch a glimpse of a figure crouching in the middle of the floor when a picture frame flies at them. They duck out of the way, standing on either side of the doorframe.

           “I think we found our ghost,” Pepito says.

           “Uh huh,” Squee nods.

           “Hey!” Pepito calls out, waving his hand in the doorway. “We come in peace. We just wanna talk.”

           “It…hurts…” a pained voice replies.

           The boys look into the bedroom. They see the ghost curled up in the middle of the floor, doubled over and gripping his head. A misty aura is swirling around him somewhat gently but every couple seconds it seems to get agitated. The ghost peeks at them through his arm.

           “I’m Squee, this is Pepito,” Squee says as they cautiously approach. “What’s your name?”

           “Leonardo,” the ghost replies.

           “Why are you here, Leonardo?” Pepito asks.

           “I was called here.”

           “Called?” Squee questions.

           “Yes,” Leonardo croaks. He’s clearly in great pain and the aura around him is getting more agitated. “That girl and her friends called to me. So I went to them. Now I can’t leave.”

           Pepito and Squee look at each other in surprise and confusion.

           Back downstairs, the rest of the Battalion and Cassandra have moved to the living room. Zim, Tak, Dib, and Gaz are sitting patiently, but Cassandra hasn’t stopped pacing.

           “What’s taking so long?” she asks.

           “Pepito and Squee have likely found the ghost and are talking to it,” Dib replies.

           “Oh, great,” she scoffs, “I’m glad they can have a nice conversation with the thing that’s been trying to kill me all week.”

           “I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation,” he says reassuringly, “most spirits are harmless. Unless it’s devolving into a poltergeist. But that only happens to spirits under great distress.”

           They suddenly hear rapid footsteps coming down the hall before Pepito and Squee slide into the doorway, looking furious.

           “You lied!” Pepito barks, pointing accusingly at Cassandra.

           “Wh-what?” she questions.

           “You said you didn’t know why the ghost was here,” Squee snaps, “but you called it here! You and your friends used a Ouija board and called Leonardo here. But then you didn’t allow him to leave, and now he’s stuck here! And the longer he’s here, the more unstable he gets. That’s why he’s been attacking. It’s not his fault, it’s yours!”

           “Is this true?” Dib questions.

           Cassandra trembles beneath everyone’s accusing glares. “Alright! It’s true! My friends and I used a Ouija board to talk to a ghost. It responded and my friends got scared and left. I didn’t think it would stay.”

           “You didn’t give him permission to leave?” Dib asks.

           “Permission?”

           “When you call a spirit to the living world, you have to give it permission to leave,” he explains like it’s so obvious. “That’s séance 101. Now it’s stuck here which is probably causing it tremendous emotional distress, which would make it devolve into a poltergeist. That’s why the spiritual activity has been escalating and it’s started attacking you.”

           “This is why I hate helping people,” Squee groans, rubbing his forehead.

           “You have to help me!” Cassandra begs.

           “This really sounds like a ‘you’ problem now,” Tak says.

           “She’s right,” Dib nods, “unfortunately, only you can solve this. You and your friends gotta use a Ouija board to give the ghost permission to leave. That is, if it’s not too late.”

           “Can’t you just kill it?” Cassandra questions.

           “No way,” Pepito snaps, “this isn’t Leonardo’s fault, it’s yours.”

           “Yeah, if anyone should be killed, it’s you,” Squee agrees.

           “What?!” she squeals.

           “Relax,” Dib says, “we’re not actually gonna kill you.”

           “Aw,” Zim sighs, disappointed.

           “And if we can avoid destroying the ghost, we will,” he adds, “now call your friends over here so you can allow it to leave.”

           “Ugh, fine,” Cassandra groans and grabs her phone.

           A few minutes later, Cassandra’s friends arrive- Brett, Mitch, Laney, and Brittany. Everyone gathers in Cassandra’s bedroom; she and her friends sit on the floor around the Ouija board while the Battalion stand by the door.

           “First, call to the ghost and make sure it’s made contact,” Dib says.

           “His name’s Leonardo,” Squee points out.

           “Sorry. Call to Leonardo and make sure he’s made contact.”

           Cassandra and her friends rest their hands on the planchette. “Um, we call to the ghost haunting this house. Are you there?”

           The planchette slides to the word ‘Yes’, making Laney cry out with surprise. Pepito and Squee can see Leonardo standing over them. His aura is much more agitated now and his face is twisted up with pain.

           “Okay, now you all have to say ‘thank you for visiting. You may leave. Goodbye’,” Dib orders, “all at once now.”

           “Thank you for visiting,” Cassandra, Brett, Mitch, and Brittany say but Laney just whimpers fearfully.

           “You all have to say it!” Dib demands.

           “Laney, come on,” Brett insists.

           “Is…is anyone else cold?” she questions fearfully.

           Leonardo’s aura has gotten bigger and has started swirling around him angrily. His expression cannot be seen as he’s doubled over, clearly in great pain.

           “Hurry up and say the thing!” Pepito barks.

           “Laney, come on,” Brittany says gently. Laney nods and they all look at the Ouija board.

           “Thank you for visiting,” they say simultaneously.

           Leonardo’s aura suddenly knocks pictures off Cassandra’s wall, startling all of them into letting go of the planchette.

           “Don’t stop!” Dib orders.

           “Just hurry up and finish it already!” Zim barks.

           “He’s getting worse,” Squee observes.

           Leonardo falls to his knees, crying out in agony as his aura grows bigger and bigger, sending all loose objects flying about. Cassandra and her friends all scream and try to run, but Zim and Tak block the doorway.

           “Let us go!” Cassandra begs.

           “Not until you say the thing!” Zim barks.

           “How can we in all this?” she questions, gesturing to the tornado of flying objects.

           “Hang on,” Pepito says and sticks out his hands. He creates a bubble of black energy around Leonardo, containing his unstable aura. All of the flying objects drop to the floor.

           “His darkness is growing,” Pepito warns, “I can’t hold him for long. Hurry it up!”

           Cassandra and her friends quickly kneel around the Ouija board, placing their hands on the planchette.

           “Thank you for coming,” they say simultaneously. Pepito groans with exertion as Leonardo’s aura pounds against the bubble, threatening to break it. “You may leave.”

          The bubble shatters, making Pepito cry out in pain as the aura spreads throughout the room, picking up all the objects.

           “Goodbye!”

           Suddenly, everything stops. All the items float motionless in the air for a second as Leonardo’s aura just sort of shimmers. Then they all drop to the floor as it shrinks down until it’s just cloaking his figure. He looks up in surprise, all the pain gone from his expression. Then he stands up and smiles at Pepito and Squee.

           “Thank you,” he says as he disappears. “Goodbye.”

           “Bye,” Pepito smiles as he and Squee wave.

           “Is it…is it over?” Cassandra asks.

           “It’s over,” Dib smiles.

          “Cassandra?” Everyone turns to the voice and sees a man and woman looking into the room.

           “Mom, Dad,” Cassandra says.

           “What’s going on?” her dad questions.

           “Um…the ghost is gone,” she replies.

           “Oh, honey,” her mom sighs, “we told you, there’s no such thing as ghosts.”

           “Okay, we’re done here,” Dib grunts, “if I wanna hear a parent’s disbelief in their kid, I’d hang out with my dad. Let’s go.”

           “Expect a bill in the mail,” Gaz says as one by one, the Battalion leave the room.

           “Don’t summon anymore ghosts,” Pepito adds.

           “I’m never helping anyone again, never,” Squee swears.

           Zim and Tak both huff in annoyance.

           After they’ve left, Cassandra’s parents look back into the room.

           “You better clean up this mess,” her mom orders.

           “But Mom! A ghost really did this!” Cassandra insists as she follows them down the hall. “I had to talk to a bunch of nerds to save us!”

           Brett, Mitch, Laney, and Brittany look at each other.

           “Let’s never mention this to anyone,” Brittany says.

           The others nod. “Agreed.”

[sourwolfstories]

Hey! Do you have long fic recommendations? Can you involve some soulmate fics but AU are welcome too Long like 50k, 100k+ but really ill read anything

Soulmate fics (at least 50K)

When the Universe Comes Knocking (It’s Polite to Open the Door) by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

It was like a door he’d nailed shut in his brain suddenly exploded open, all of his past confusion and anger and hurt and adoration flooding out at once. Stiles? Was it actually Stiles?!

Stiles, the guy he’d had a crush on for fucking years growing up. The guy who’d been an absolute dick to him their whole last year of high school.

The guy who’d told him he loved him in a dirty men’s bathroom on prom night while drunk and upset because he thought Kira was Derek’s girlfriend.

That Stiles? But it couldn’t be!

Marks and Mics by DLanaDHZ

Hale siblings Derek and Laura have been hired to run security for Stiles Stilinski's music tour. Business as usual, except someone is trying really hard to prove they're incapable and hurt Stiles. Derek finds himself curious about Stiles' bitter attitude and a strange illness that plagues the singer. And on top of that, Derek's soulmate remains elusive.

Written Can’t Be Denied by lookslikenico, winglesswarrior

Since time immemorial the story of ‘soulmates’ has persisted. In short, the idea that somewhere out there is your perfect match, the one person who can complete you and with whom you can find total happiness.

The story goes that, the first time you meet your ‘soulmate’, the universe will give you a sign in what should be the most obvious way - somewhere in your immediate vicinity the word ‘soulmate’ will appear. If reports of ‘soulmates’ are to be believed, rather than being written of as hopeful delusions, then this ‘obvious’ signal is anything but, fleeting as it is. The word seemingly only appears for a matter of moments and only when two people first meet. There is no guarantee that they will be looking in the correct direction to see it, nor that they will have any idea who their supposed ‘soulmate’ actually is.

A fact that causes havoc the day that up and coming actor, Stiles Stilinski holds up a bottle emblazoned with the word 'soulmate' in the middle of a press conference where Derek Hale is working as a photographer, in the middle of the worst day of his life...

Connected by readridinghood

After the death of his wife, Stiles finds himself left alone with their three children, struggling to keep from being sucked into a void of grief and despair that her death left him with. Knowing his children are safe in the pack's arms under Derek's watchful eyes, he struggles to regain his footing. What do you do when the world keeps tumbling over you and what you've thought of as fact no longer holds true? As the world comes back into focus, so does the love for Derek he thought he'd long since conquered and now with his eyes open, what he thought was the end of him, is only a new beginning. A decade after he fell in love with Stiles, countless days of keeping himself restrained while building a friendship with him, Derek finds out with absolute certainty that Stiles is his mate. You only mate once in your life, so how is it that Stiles was mated to Sophia, his wife and mother of his three children, the woman he is grieving the loss of at the same moment that Derek makes his discovery.

Three Marks by sanam

"And then there was pain again, but this time it was in only three places—his arm, below his clavicle, and next to his heart, all on the left side. It felt like the skin was being sliced apart, ripped open, flayed off— And suddenly it was done. Derek looked across the room and saw the boy on the floor, looking about as bad as Derek felt."

Derek and Stiles learn that bonding is probably best done with ridiculous amounts of video games and maybe a little bit of time.

Other fics (at least 50K)

Rich Man, Poor Man by TyReed

During a first date gone horribly wrong, Stiles Stilinksi realizes that the snarky guy he's been asked out by is actually Derek Hale, an heir to Hale Industries, one of the most profitable companies in the entire world. Who is, for whatever reason, interested in the son of a teacher and a cop, a loser who spends all weekend watching movies in his pajamas, and who is also possibly one of the biggest dorks on the Internet.

At the same time, after screwing up their first date horribly, Derek Hale realizes that the funny guy he's asked out is Stiles Stilinksi, the warmest and kindest individual he's ever met in his life, with a family just a loving and caring. Who is, for whatever reason, interested in a guy who screws up everything he does, lacks any semblance of a backbone, and who is possibly one of the biggest history dorks in all of the United States.

These rich and poor men will come to experience a taste of each other's lives, and learn where the real blessings in the world can be found.

Feel it like a fever, burning through the night by LunaCanisLupus_22

“That was my favourite fern,” Deaton declares and Stiles glances at Scott for clarification that such a ridiculous statement just came out of his boss’ mouth.

“You could have just told me not to touch it,” Stiles points out sensibly, squirming inside with something he refuses to believe might be guilt.

Not about the dumb plant, but the instant devastation he’s currently overwhelmingly and inescapably capable of. He can destroy with one touch now.

This is going to complicate things so much.

Or the one where Stiles tries to do the noble self-sacrificing thing: gains a new power, a spectral skin colour and basically ruins his own life. 0/10 would not recommend.

It’s (Not) a Cult by lhr111

“Well Stiles, you told me a few weeks ago that you thought Derek was leading a cult.”

At that Derek whipped his head toward Stiles in shock. “You thought I was a cult leader?”

Stiles will not be shamed. “Well, either you or Peter. Peter made more sense, but since he deferred to you that one time I was a little unsure. I mean, what else could I think with all the weird shit going on. You, hanging out with random high school seniors, doing secret things, ordering them around like you are their parent, them actually doing what you tell them. It’s really weird, okay?”

“Are you familiar with Harry Potter?” Derek asks.

Talk about a non sequitur. “What? What does that have to do with anything? And, of course I know Harry Potter!”

“Well to quote Sirius Black, ‘Once again you’ve put your keen and penetrating mind to the task and as usual come to the wrong conclusion.’"

The Sheriff starts snickering, and Stiles is both insulted and also a little in love.

Call Me (Cliché) by SomewheresSword

When the sheriff's sister ends up in a wheelchair for the duration of summer, Stiles' dreams of three months full of pack bonding, late-night video games and bro-time with Scott come crashing down. He's temporarily relocated to Redford, a three hour drive away, and he can already tell he won't be getting many visitors.

Sure the pack will forget about him while he's gone, Stiles is determined to make the most of his summer of isolation, training his body and mind - and his magic - so he can come back with a bang, and maybe catch a certain Sourwolf's eye.

Then Derek shows up at his window one night with a flimsy excuse about needing research done. Suddenly, his summer away is looking a whole lot more interesting.

There’s No Escape for the Potato Man by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

“Who is this? Where’s Erica?”

“Wrong number, asshole!”

“Stop calling me an asshole,” the man on the other end snapped aggressively.

Stiles could understand. He’d be pretty aggressive too if he’d murdered someone and texted a wrong number to ask for help burying the body. This guy obviously failed How To Be a Serial Killer 101.

“What kind of idiot thinks I murdered someone?”

“The kind of idiot who got your text messages, you fucking dumbass!” he retorted hotly. “Maybe double check your contacts before sending a random stranger details on your nefarious plans to dispose of a freshly cut up body!”

“What?!” the guy on the other end demanded, crossed between horrendously confused and livid.

---------------

If you want more soulmate fics you can check that tag here

you can also find more long fics here and here

Happy Reading :)

[pinkhairedlily]

i'll be with you (but it'll be a different kind)

pairing: yoonkook/yoonjin | rating: G | ao3 read here

a short study on moving on

Yoongi broke the vinyl like he would a plate, a quaint awareness of a disaster but the quick denial of letting it fall – on the floor, in pieces. He swept each shard, vacuumed, and threw them in the bin. He crushed his music sheets and notes, thought better of it, and lit them with a scented candle.

Well, for fuck’s sake, the candle was his gift too.

So Yoongi walked to the collection area at three thirty in the morning, against the gusts of cold November wind, carrying all the evidence of the killer and the remains of its victim. He stood in front of the stack with an impulse to do something. Say a prayer? Curse them? Curse himself and bring them back to his apartment?

Ah, he wasn’t that stupid.

He truly wasn’t.

His stupidity was drained when he decided to fall in love with his roommate and friend that couldn’t be his in this lifetime.

So he came back to his home rid of everything Kim Seokjin owned and touched. Yes, even the bedsheets he washed yesterday.

“The couch it is.” He plopped down to its uncomfortable mattress and was immediately lulled not by the comfort of sleep but by the escape it offered.

He lost track of time in the next days… or probably weeks because the next time he went out for a walk to the mart, he was greeted by imposing Christmas decorations and too tall synthetic trees that wouldn’t look good in apartments that only housed one.

He came back, still alone, but at least joined now with ingredients for proper homemade food. He won’t be lonely on Christmas, not with two bottles of wine, a variety of seafood (which Namjoon hated the most, and Yoongi would order in the largest serving just to spite him), and his good old comfy socks.

He switched on the television to watch Melancholia, a fitting holiday movie in his honest opinion, and turned it up to the highest volume to tune out the looping Christmas carols outside his window and across the hallway where other occupants have rooms over to tide away the lonesome.

It was two thirty and two disaster films later that he heard the ghost of his broken heart.

It was one of the songs he wrote for Jin, the notes not at all the same, but the melody line was correctly embodied. He started up from his drunken stupor on the floor and trudged towards his kitchen sink where he dabbled his face in water.

It wasn’t the alcohol. So it certainly must be the crazy in him… well, until he realized the notes were coming from next door. The walls were thin anyway.

He nonchalantly knocked on the door of his neighbor, not caring at all if it was the devil’s hour, not when the tenant itself did not care about public disturbance.

It opened a crack wide enough for Yoongi to sweep the whole place up in seconds. Tidy floor, unmade bed, three monitors on a desk, neon lights, a christmas tree unabashedly decorated with the most frivolous pieces beside the dining table, and a guitar on top of it.

“Did I wake you?” He was taller than Yoongi, buffer, and very decorated like his Christmas tree. Daith, lobe, and eyebrow piercings, sleeve tattoos on his right arm, and shoulder-length electric blue hair tied in half-ponytail. But what caught his attention the most was the doe eyes that seemed too innocent, but Yoongi was familiar with the pretension that hovered on the surface. This boy knew pain enough to effectively cover it.

“That was my song,” Yoongi said in his usual deadpan delivery. He couldn’t get any cheerier than this.

John Doe perked up (if it could be any more possible). “Ah so you’re the one!” Then his expression immediately shifted to wariness. “Oh wait, you might be offended. I should apologize – “

“Some notes were mismatched, yes. Couldn’t be helped when you learned it by ear.” Yoongi looked at him for confirmation, and John Doe nodded enthusiastically. “But it’s all right. You played the piece so beautifully for someone who did not know it was a love letter.”

The way John Doe changed his smile to a thin line Yoongi knew at once that this was a person who simultaneously wore their heart on a sleeve but chained it before it could truly fall.

“Is it safe to assume the letter’s non-reciprocation when you haven’t played those songs for a month?”

“What else could there be?”

The neighbor bit the inside of his cheeks before answering, “Maybe you just didn’t need love letters anymore?”

Yoongi sighed. “Just keep it down. It’s three in the morning.”

“But it’s Christmas?” John Doe’s eyes suddenly widened. “Oh my manners! Merry Christmas Sir!”

“I don’t believe in Santa Claus. Or Jesus. Or capitalist splurges.” Yoongi shoved his hands into his sweatpants. “I have marinara surplus. Do you want a plate?”

-----------------

When New Year rolled again, Yoongi knocked on his neighbor’s door. He slept with headphones in full volume, god be damned his hearing, on newly bought bedsheets that did not smell of Jin and pillows that did not have a strand of his hair. He really couldn’t turn down John Doe’s question of whether he could still play the cursed song or maybe he was two-bottles-of-wine-disoriented enough to put up a rather good argument why he shouldn’t.

“So will you cover your ears when you go to sleep?” John Doe asked after his second slurping of seafood marinara.

“Why should I?” Meanwhile, Yoongi surfed Netflix for his disaster anxiety fix.

“Try Seeking a Friend for the End of the World.” John Doe finished his plate clean. He let out a burp with an apologetic smile to his temporary Christmas host. “Well, I was wondering if I could still play the song. It’s yours anyway so you have all the rights.”

Yoongi’s eyes glazed over the first few seconds of the film, slightly amused at the insurance agent selling an apocalyptic package. “When music is released to the public, it never becomes the composer’s alone. It is also owned by the listener…and whatever they deem the music to be.”

“I’m Jeon Jungkook.”

“I just let you eat my food.”

“I’ll be your friend for the end of the world.”

A beat. “Fine. Min Yoongi.”

But it was a week of listening to ragged notes and misplaced sharps, and his (still) perfectionist ass wanted to right it.

“It’s open,” Jungkook yelled from what Yoongi presumed was his computer chair.

He sauntered inside with measured caution and watched his neighbor tick away in codes on three different screens. Yoongi silently slid the music sheets on a small free space on Jungkook’s desk.

“Software developer?”

“Not really. I’m a solutions specialist, the yes-boy,” Jungkook replied with a smug grin. He hit enter and the lines start to jumble together as he swiveled to face Yoongi. “You re-wrote your notes. You must be a producer or something.”

Yoongi clucks. “Close. A film composer.”

“Do you go to Hollywood?”

“I’m not made for performative limelight. The shadows are bright enough.”

“Cool. I want to make a film someday.”

“You have a day job.”

“Can’t a man have two dreams?”

“Touche. One can never have too many.”

“What’s yours then, Yoongi?”

“Just one but it won’t be mine.”

-----------------

March. Spring coming alive, and for the first time in months, Yoongi genuinely thought he was getting better and over him. Jeon Doe (maybe he’ll always call him this) was a light companion – not imposing, a bit fluttery, but steady in his essence. Perhaps it was the continuous wonder that ebb in his eyes or the utterly soft disregard of pain for something nonchalant.

On the eve of March 1st, he stroked again the keys of his piano, and Jungkook came into his unit and accompanied him with a guitar. It was an improvisation of chaotic notes in Yoongi’s head and by magic, Jungkook floated with that tornado. The contrast and the blend gave way to an unlikely partnership of melody and rhythm.

And on March 1st, Yoongi felt butterflies again when Jungkook joined him on the bench and giddily watched his fingers dance on white and black.

But on the second day of the month, the butterflies were replaced with quicksand.

Kim Seokjin called and wanted to meet. It was funny how in a moment of hesitancy, it was his heart who doubled and his feet that led. Their favorite bar, whiskey on the rocks for Jin, dry scotch for him, and an expanse of silence of between them.

“He’s too busy with production at the moment.” Jin downed his drink in one gulp. Yoongi didn’t even need to ask.

And I’m the only one who’s available. “At the moment is how many months?”

“For three months now.”

“You should break up.” An unsolicited advice Yoongi gave more than twice with not much success.

“If I was a music company, maybe he would do me,” Jin jested, holding the empty glass in his hand. “Should I buy one?”

“Buy his affections as well and monopolize them.” It was a banter Jin was used too and maybe by now, he should have known that Yoongi hid half-truths in them.

“They’re too intense for me alone. He’s always destined for the world.”

What could Yoongi do but surrender at the unspoken request of comfort. “There’s someone who treats you like you’re his whole world.”

“I wish I did too.”

Yoongi never had a sip of his scotch, but Jin’s languid kiss was enough to get drunk on. He lost the flutter and the lightness, and dove headfirst in heavy, steely waters. Yoongi missed the suffocating pressure and the sensation of bursting at the seams. If his heart would burst at this moment, it would shatter a hundred times more for the many touches and whispers to follow. He would gladly die in this misshapen illusion.

-----------------

“Your door was always locked,” Jungkook greeted a month after, carrying a big tub of fermented kimchi. “My dad dropped by to give me spares.”

Two weeks before this, Jin left in a hurry to go to the airport, saying Namjoon had been in an accident, and two weeks after, Yoongi never heard back from him.

He accepted the side dish from his neighbor, but nothing went past Jungkook. Realization was plain in his face, but he chose not to comment on it.

“Yoongi.”

“Hmm.” It was danger meeting Jungkook’s eyes so Yoongi kept his downcast.

“I told you before.”

“What?”

“That I’ll be your friend for the end of the world.”

Yoongi didn’t respond, and Jungkook took the cue to leave.

He repeated that same line later that night when he heard Yoongi trash his place, his bare arm catching the brunt of a baseball bat just before it landed on the piano keys.

“Why would you go so far?” Yoongi sneered, anger seeping through his controlled demeanor.

“Why would you go so far?” Jungkook cradled his arm like he cradled his pain. Like it was nothing. “It’s the end of the world.”

“I need a friend.”

-----------------

It was easier being with Jungkook – lighter, happier, with no care in the world. He was also honest in a straightforward, unassuming, and endearing way especially when those doe eyes of his were used to an advantage.

When he told Yoongi in the middle of Battle Royale, out of the blue, with no precedence whatsoever that “I don’t want to be just your friend”, it knocked the air out of the latter. And when Jungkook followed it with “You can use me, however you want”, Yoongi knew he had to get things sorted.

Lest he wants Jungkook trapped inside the vortex of unresolved feelings.

So Yoongi didn’t give him a tangible response. He just skidded closer to him on the couch and Jeon Doe took the cue to lay his head on the crook of his neck as another student was slashed to their death on the screen.

When credits rolled in, Yoongi dipped his head and found Jungkook already waiting with bated breath.

-----------------

“Ah, you found me.”

Jin was back in his penthouse in Seoul, alone with no Namjoon in tow.

“Am I a week early?” Yoongi asked.

“I just got in today.” True enough, unopened suitcases littered his living room. Too many suitcases for a vacation. “I’m relocating back. Is there such a thing?”

Yoongi went to one luggage and punched in the password Jin used when Namjoon and him got together, it did not open, so he tried another combination. Ah, only his birthdate. Yoongi packed the first of his clothes to cabinets he was all too familiar with. He went on with this rudimentary task with Jin at the kitchen, cooking up something for the two of them.

In a parallel universe, Yoongi would have been happily contented with this.

Tidied up, folded, and free, the two went through a simple steak and pasta dinner.

“We broke up.” He twirled his fork endlessly. “It hit me when I saw him go to an award show. I could never keep up with him, Yoongi, not when I’m taking a backseat while his dreams sit in the front.”

“Don’t be silly.”

Jin stared at him like he was betrayed.

“Don’t be silly,” Yoongi repeated, drawling each word. “Namjoon and his goals sit in another sports car while you drive a rundown secondhand.”

That made Jin laugh. “You’re merciless.” And then he grimaced. “I never felt this neglected. It was never this way when I was with you.”

“We’ve never had anything, Jin. You didn’t let me have anything,” Yoongi finished clean his pasta. He folded his napkin like a good guest and waited for Jin’s retort.

But he just sighed, defeated. “I destroyed what good we had. I’m afraid I also lost the friendship.”

“You know I can’t go back again to you.” Yoongi didn’t know if he threw a question or a statement.

“I saw it the instant you came through that door.” Jin put down his fork and trained his eyes on his best friend. “Happiness looks good on you.”

“You would have known already if you had just looked at me.”

Jin gave him a sad smile. “And it would have been the best sight had I tried harder.” He picked up again his fork, his lips pursed, his eyes brimming with tears. It was a foreign scene, Jin coming undone in front of him, not because of Namjoon, because of him. “So who is this guy?”

“I call him Jeon Doe.”

Jin kept brushing the side of his eyes while he twirled strands of noodles in his fork. When he opened his mouth to eat, tears brushed down his cheeks, breaking in rivulets as he chewed. “That’s a stupid name.”

Yoongi noticed the upwelling – the comeuppance of what was lost trying to mask itself as the crescent emotions. He knew it when Jungkook kissed him back that night, that he could never go back to this uncertainty. “And stupidly in love with me too.”

Jin continued to chew with salty tears. “I’m sorry, Yoongi.”

His hands clenched at the name that left his lips. “I got tired of being your placeholder. You couldn’t just leave and expect me to stay in one place. I also crack every time you touch me, and I shatter every time you go. I broke, Jin. I got torn apart, and I wasn’t sure whether I could still handle your overspilling love for someone else when I couldn’t even hold any for me.” Yoongi’s fingers stretched to touch the dam that escaped his friend’s eyes. “You must understand.”

“I’m sorry, Yoongi,” Jin repeated. “And I understand it. I get it now. I see it. It’s just overwhelming – this mountain of regrets and what-ifs and utter disregard I made for my own happiness.”

“I got in the crossfire.”

“A victim willing.”

“But not anymore.”

Jin shook his head. “No, not anymore.” He intertwined his fingers with Yoongi. “I hope it works out for you and Jeon Doe.”

Not a minute longer, Yoongi pulled away from Jin’s touch. “I hope you heal.”

-----------------

Jin saw them on the same piano bench, playing a duet in the middle of a wedding reception, hands flying about, touches fleeting but enthralling, releasing captivating, fluttery sounds – almost akin to freedom.

He was seeing now in full high-definition panorama the gravity of his consequences. He let go of his two great loves, one he loved with no fail, the other he took to fail.

And so he welcomed the splendor of pain. He had two great loves, and regardless of how they ended, they deserved a thorough journey of grief. He could only hope that at the end of it was what he saw in Yoongi.

Freedom.

[birbyisbunin]

Day one of @kiramochii 's Pinktober prompt list (demon/yokai)

Demon Dabi x reader

Life is hard. It's always this way nothing seems to be better or easier, you always try to convince yourself that it will be ok, everything will get better but it just get worst.

Today was no difference you are forced to leave your apartment by the owner of the block cause you can't keep paying the rent when that jerk keep doubling it.

Your salary wasn't too much you worked as a waiteress in a café and now you're leaving to a new apartment for the seventh time this year.

But the rent was really low which was good for you but made you a little worried cause this one is actually bigger and nicer why is the rent cheaper plus you were the only one that lived in this block.

But you threw this thoughts aside cause you don't have another option anyway.

You entered your new home it was super clean which was strange cause no one had lived here for like 3 years but you thought maybe the owner is nice and he cleaned it for you.

And hell you were wrong, you spent the day exploring your new home and put your stuff in the wardrobe and shelves.

It's 12 am now you didn't notice that you passed your sleep time, you went to the bathroom to prepare yourself for sleeping.

After finishing your before bed rituals you entered your in your comfy sleep clothes when you were met with a figure sitting on your bed looking at you "hey there doll" the Demon like creature said with a chill smile as if you know each other since your birth.

You screamed your lungs throwing your phone at him and any thing was beside you he dodged all of them say "hey this is dangerous is this how humans treat their roommates" which made you even more scared now you are running towards the exit of the room and to the front door.

But as you turned to the exit of the room he suddenly appeared in front of you still smiling and their was some smoke around him.

You fell on the floor from the surprise unable to move from the fear that rode you praying that your death won't be so painful.

You have gave up looking at your killer who is kinda confused before shutting your eyes waiting for your death, at least you will be killed by a really hot and handsome demon.

You waiting for so long it was only a minute but felt like hour, then you finally opened your eyes again to meet the sight if that demon like creature now sitting on the floor infront of you kinda examine your features 'oh great this is exactly what I need a pervert demon' you thought to your self.

"Aren't you gonna kill me or what?" You said in a scared but joking tone which made him a little surprised by your question.

"What?? Why would I do that?" He replied with yet another question "because you are a demon and I assume I stepped in your house and now you want to kill me?".

He starts laughing really hard at your respond which made you pout and frown a little "hey!! It doesn't matter if you are a demon or not or if I scared you don't have the right to laugh at me like this plus I didn't say anything funny".

"Hahaha sorry I didn't mean to but couldn't hold it inside though" he said "and you don't need to be scared I won't hurt you I don't actually hurt humans at all if they don't mess with me plus it will be a waste to hurt a beauty like you" you slightly blushed at this which made him smirk.

"Hi I am Dabi the blue flame demon" he said standing up and offering you a hand to help you stand up as well.

You took his hand and stood looking at his unfamiliar features, his black horns, the black demon tail and some small wings at his back he looked so hot like how can a demon look this hot.

"Mmm my name is y/n nice to meet you" you said, "I am really sorry if I bothered you by moving in in your home I just had no idea you live here" you continued.

He chuckled and said "no problem it was boring living alone here anyway I think I will be nice to have someone around everytime someone moves in here once I appears say run and scream and I don't blame them I a demon after all and a scary looking one too" you looked away from him a little embarrassed from what you did earlier "sorry for doing the same earlier I was just surprised to see someone in my room it doesn't do anything with you being a demon I would have done the same if it was a human too" you said with an awkward smile "plus you look really fine actually you look really handsome Dabi" you added with the same smile.

He smiled "so you don't mind living here even though you know now I live here?" He said, you stood silent for a while don't know what to do you don't want to make him sad if you say no all fear from earlier disappear only worried that refusing will make him sad probably but like at the same time it's hard to say yes cause you are hell sure it will be a really spooky life and your life didn't need to get any spookier, finally after few minutes you gave your answer.

"No"

"I don't mind living here with you"

You said surprised with yourself, he also looked surprised by your answer "you know that I won't hurt you if you say no right?" He said making sure your decision wasn't taken based on your fear.

"I am sure of my decision I want to stay here plus not like I actually have a place to ho anyway" you said.

He smiled and as he smiled suddenly you felt something warm on your shoulder and blue light from it.

When the light and warmth disappeared you looked at your shoulder to find a blue flame tattoo on it, then you looked at Dabi confused.

"You are a kind person you are the only human that accepted me and as a return I am now all yours anything you want will happen once you ask I am now your servant" he said bowing to you.

Now you're more confused like what I have a demon servant now and you cringed actually at the word servant.

"Ah um can I just be your human friend or partner or anything I just don't like the servant and master term" you said laughing awkwardly which made Dabi smile softly.

"Yes we can"

*time skip*

Now after two months living with your new friend life is a lot easier and brighter you don't go to work cause Dabi can make money, you have a new friend that is the greatest friend you had ever had and you kinda had a crush on him too but this is another story.

Who thought that because of that greedy bustard you used to live in an apartment he owned, that you would have now such a great life that you almost wants to thank that man for your magical life you're having with Dabi.

You are happy that you waited and been patient it was all worth it.