#but fingers crossed one of those five days i can go into the office and just. study. japanese :D :D

[corvid-language-library]

Sooooo sometimes when we have no regular classes scheduled we get "office days", which are basically days when we're on call for cover. Most of us use these days to prepare materials for classes but usually we have to stretch it out fill our time and end up spending 1-3 hours twiddling our thumbs with nothing to do.

But we've now received a company-wide email saying office days are not for preparing classes and we should be doing something that "benefits the company or customers". Whatever the fuck that means. I have legit no idea what I'm supposed to be doing if I'm not prepping lessons; I thought that's what office days were for.

My supervisor said he considers us prepping for lessons/making materials "beneficial to the company and customers" because it allows us to deliver better lessons. But I asked him "does studying Japanese count because it means I'll have better interactions with students and parents" and he said yes. So in future I'll no longer have to pretend to be busy for like 3 hours; I can just openly get out my Japanese books and study! :D

[killerpancakeburger]

PULL ME CLOSER

SUMMARY: After a mission gone wrong, Soap narrowly cheats death. When visiting him in his hospital bed, overwhelming relief emboldens you, making you do something you regret. So you flee, resolved to avoid Sergeant MacTavish until the end of your days. 

But Johnny is done letting you slip through his fingers.

Part 1. Part 2.

PAIRING: Soap x f!Reader (reader has boobs, that's it)

TAGS: A pinch of angst, then tooth rotting fluff, Civilian!Reader, Anxious!Reader, Depressed!Reader, inexperienced!Reader, Desperate!Soap, Soft!Soap, mutual pining, first kiss, confessions, dirty talk, making out. Bit of a chase, but it's fluffy. Protective!Ghost bordering on controlling but he works on it. Swears, blood mention, injuries, miilitary inaccuracies, suggestive content.

WORDS COUNT: 5.6k

A/N: aaaAAAH F I N A L L Y! ITS KISSING TIME BABEYYY 💋 For @glitterypirateduck COD Vacation Mode challenge, prompts 32 with Ghost and 58 with Soap.

"Hey author, this is Soap x Reader, why is Ghost there...?" Because he just! Won't! Leave! 🙃 *you can now picture me trying to push him out of the room with all my meager strength but he doesn't budge an inch* 

As you pace around the office for the umpteenth time, you can tell from the glint in Ghost's eyes that he's seconds away from telling you to take a seat and stop writhing uselessly. 

When did you become so accustomed to the taciturn Lieutenant's expressions - or more accurately, lack of -, that you could figure out what was going on behind the mask? You couldn’t remember.

He's been keeping his gaze on you since you've sat down after learning the harrowing news; or, more exactly, since he's sat down and you've been fidgeting relentlessly.

You're feeling like a shark - to stop moving won't kill you, but it will cause the whole world to come crashing down. It will allow reality to become clearer, sharper, inescapable.

The arrival of Price in the room captures his lieutenant's attention before he can scold you. Gaz follows close behind. He offers you a reassuring smile before his captain addresses you.

“He's going to make it.”

Relief overwhelms you with just those five words; a colossal wave close to sending you tumbling down. Ghost's mask fails to hide his own calming.

Price sets his hands on his hips. His voice is gruffed but composed.

“All he needs now is rest… and some blood.”

“I'll do it,” you blurt out resolutely, taking a step towards your boss.

“No,” snarls Ghost, tone adamant.

You snap around to stare at him in shock and disbelief. He never raised his voice at you before. And, most importantly, he never tried to dictate your behavior. 

“Who do you think you are?! I'm not one of your fucking recruits-”

Price loudly coughs in his fist.

“Easy there.” 

He raises both hands in appeasement. “We don’t even know if you're compatible.”

“I'm a universal donor,” you counter immediately, determination unaltered.

“Course ya are,” scoffs Ghost derisively.

You glare at him with open animosity. What the fuck is wrong with him!?

“What is that even supposed to mean!?”

You throw your arms up in irritation.

“Enough! Both of you.”

John's tone extinguishes your shout with redoubtable efficiency. He's already not someone you would dare cross on casual days, but hearing him raise his voice makes you sheepish.

Nonetheless, you turn towards him, outraged and betrayed. "Both"!? Why both!? I'm not the one being an asshole for no reason!

“You've done this before?” the captain asks, looking at you.

You nod vigorously.

He indicates the door with his chin.

“Fine, then. Go see the nurses to set you up.”

You bolt out of the room without further ado, determined to not let Ghost get another word in. But you can still hear one last sentence as you hasten.

“As for you, Simon…It is none of your business.”

Giving blood has never been a walk in the park. Every time, you have to actively handle your nerves; resort to trusty relaxation methods, such as focusing on your breathing, or counting the tiles on the ceiling.

The stab of the needle is unpleasant, to say the least, but the wait between the jab and the removal is almost as challenging.

Nonetheless, you've done this before, you succeeded, and for Johnny, you'd be willing to do it for hours.

Power of will doesn't compensate blood loss however, and when you get up from the bed, you feel dizzy, your bandaged arm sore and stiff. The idea of meeting with Soap shortly helps you power through, and soon enough you’re sitting at a table in the canteen, empty at this hour of the day, stuffing your face with whatever snacks and drinks have been put aside to aid your recovery.

With nothing but concern for Johnny busying your mind, you end up eavesdropping on a couple of nearby cafeteria employees.

“You think that's really him?”

“Ain't that many guys going around with a skull mask.”

“I heard he killed a man with only a pen…”

Your eyes widen at the mention of a mask, and you groan in annoyance before turning around to see where the staff is looking.

Near the entrance, casually leaning against the wall, arms crossed, Ghost is watching over you like an overzealous bodyguard. He finally swapped his mission outfit for his trademark black hoodie and grey sweatpants. 

Exasperation flashes through you and you proceed to fling at him a cake wrapped in plastic. Your aim's never been anything to be proud of, but he's large enough that you manage to brush his shoulder.

“Get away from me, you creep!” you yell loud enough to be heard by him.

He gives you an inscrutable gaze before leaving the room, probably settling right on the other side of the door, not one to admit defeat so easily.

Minutes later, you leave the room to visit Soap, and observe with spiteful satisfaction that you were right - Ghost adopted the same position as before, against the corridor's wall. You glower at him as you pass by, and of course he remains unfazed.

You scoff with irritation before deciding to ignore him and focus on Johnny, accelerating the pace.

“Wait.”

You halt with a vexed sigh.

“If you intend to berate me again, I'm not gonna stand there and take it.”

“I know what you’re doing.”

You pivot to face him, exasperated by his sibylline remarks. He moved away from the wall and approached you while you had your back on him.

“Once again, what is that even supposed to mean?”

His cryptic attitude makes your blood boil with anger, one that could almost mask the feelings of hurt and betrayal he begets inside you. At some point, you've genuinely started to believe that you two became some kind of friends. Turns out that you've been naively imagining things this whole time.

“The whole self-sacrificing bullshit.”

You stare in incomprehension, searching his concealed features vainly for a clue, wishing you could rip that stupid mask off his face.

“I'm not sacrificing myself. It's just a bit of blood.”

He crosses his arms.

“We have stocks for that. And it's not just that. When he got into trouble with Price for making you skip work, you tried to take all the blame.”

“He did it to cheer me up-”

He keeps talking like you didn’t intervene.

“And when he pummeled that officer, you pretended it was all your fault.”

“I-”

“Luckily for you, Price's no sucker.”

You wince with distress.

“I just wanted to help. I hate being… feeling useless.”

“That's my problem. I swear it feels like you’d slash your own wrists if you thought it would ‘help’.”

You grimace but do not contradict him. It's actually kind of scary how much he figured you out.

“Let him take responsibility for his actions. He may look impulsive most of the time, but he knows what he's doing.”

Arms folded, you gaze fixedly at the floor in silence, not knowing what to add.

“I’m sorry.”

He talked loud enough to be understood, but the content of his sentence makes you doubt what he said as much as if he whispered. You stare at him with wide eyes, speechless. It's not that you categorically believe Ghost incapable of self-reflection, but at the same time, he's always striked you more as the type to never admit any weakness - except maybe in front of a trusted superior and longtime friend like Price.

“Shouldn't have tried to boss you around. Only made things worse. What happened with Johnny… made me…”

He acts like articulating an apology out loud has on him the effect of enthusiastically biting into a lemon - an irresistible temptation to annoy him emerges inside you. No harm in a little well-deserved payback.

“On edge? Touchy? Cranky? Irrita-”

“That'll do. Go, now.”

You turn away with an amused smile on your lips.

Witnessing the wounded sergeant in a hospital's bed is like a punch to the stomach. Maybe an actual punch would be more merciful.

Inside you, gratitude for his miraculous survival battles against sorrow caused by his pitiful state. An impressive bandage is wrapped around his head, one arm secured in a cast, the other bearing a couple of compresses. His face is littered with scratches and contusions.

When he notices you, frozen on the threshold, he beams.

“How's my little firecracker doing?”

That nickname. That damn nickname. He started using it after he caught you red-handed giving the middle finger to a rude officer who was leaving your office just as Soap was entering it. You tolerated it until you realized it was a reference to his love of explosions and all things blow-able, which made you ridiculously pleased, yet self-conscious all at once.

Your legs were already unsteady, so the complimentary alias almost finished you off. 

“That's my line, you Scottish bastard.” you retort, voice devoid of hostility despite the insult.

Closing the gap between you two with a few strides, you stop at what you consider a respectable distance.

“Why, I'm alive and kicking. No need fer ye to look so dejected.”

You scoff, both annoyed and moved by the attempt to console you. It's unbearable to see him so shattered and yet so upbeat, while you don't have a scratch but came so close to breaking down.

“I hate you,” you mumble.

“Ye love me.”

If you only knew… you wouldn’t dare to joke like that.

You smile ruefully, despite yourself.

“I'm serious. For a moment I…I really thought you… you weren't going to… shit.”

You furiously blink to get rid of the rising tears stinging your eyes, looking away shamefully.

“Hey, hey, hey, c'mere.”

He pats one side of the bed with his free hand invitingly. You obey, positioning yourself near the mattress close enough to touch. He grabs one of your hands and gently squeezes it.

“M sorry.” 

His tone is gruff, maybe a bit abashed. A pang of culpability pierces your heart. 

“What could you be sorry for? You were doing your job. I need to get over it.”

You’re not mine to lose.

“Fer makin’ ye cry. I hate it.”

Why does he have to be so kind?

You persist in trying to prove that you’re the one in the wrong here, not him.

“I shouldn't be crying. You’re the one who went through hell.”

He snorts.

“What's so funny?”

“Not funny, just… Ye didn’t even shed a tear when that bastard jumped ye the other day. Yet here ye are, crying over my sorry arse. Yer somethin’ else.”

The compliment takes you aback, and as his eyes sparkle with nothing but honesty, you fiddle with the bandage you received from the blood donation in a desperate effort to collect yourself.

“What’s that? Ye hurt?”

The concern in his voice warms your heart, even if it is unnecessary.

Soap rises from his pillow to some extent, pain obvious in his restricted movements. You react immediately, clicking your tongue in disapproval. Before you can think twice about it, you set your hand between his pecs and push him back, careful to not harm him, but firm.

“I didn't give you my blood just so you could spill it right away!”

He shouldn't be so easy to put back into his place, even with his wounds. Yet he goes down smoothly, docile under your imperious touch as if he was the unassuming civilian and you the imposing soldier.

His eyes linger on your hand before setting on you, the intensity and the heat of his gaze taking your breath away. His expression is one of surprise, but not of annoyance or revulsion, or at least that's what you hope from what you can read on his face.

Sinking into the lagoons of his eyes, you stare back in a daze. You can feel the rhythmic motions of his well-defined chest under your palm, rising and lowering as he breathes. Suddenly the contact becomes intolerable as your cheeks catch fire. You begin to withdraw but he grabs you just in time.

“Ye gave me yer blood?”

The urgency in his tone takes you by surprise, and so does his expression, one that's contemplating you like you've just announced that you've run in front of a truck for him.

“Price said you needed it-”

“Yer. Blood. We have a stock fer that!”

“I know, I just- I was there and I wanted to do something.”

“And they just let ye?”

“I asked real nicely.”

“Would have liked to see that.”

There's a challenging spark in his eye that you choose to ignore.

“It's just blood,” you mumble, shying away from his gaze, embarrassed by his reaction. You didn’t do this in the hopes that he would express eternal gratitude, nor that he'd be admiring of you.

“It will reconstitute on its own.”

He scoffs, unconvinced. Yet he doesn't sound too mad. There's a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, and he's looking at you like you hung the moon.

“Let's talk less about me, and more about you, ok? How are you feeling?”

“Parched,” he retorts while reaching for the water bottle on the nearby tray table.

Of course he's not expanding further. Johnny's the kind to dramatically whine over a paper cut for fun but somehow when it comes to serious, life-threatening injuries, he becomes stoically reserved, almost stingy with words.

You almost throw yourself at the bottle when you notice the slight wince of pain in the line of his mouth - despite his efforts to conceal it - and hand it over to him.

“Just ask me if you need something.”

“Oh bonnie, ye dunnae know what yer getting yerself into with promises like that.”

You openly roll your eyes. If he can make that sort of comment, surely he's not in that much pain after all.

“Let me guess: you’re gonna ask me to kiss your boo boos better.”

You regret your jibe the second you finish talking. You were supposed to only think those words, not pronounce them. He's the gorgeous individual who can take the liberty of flirting with anyone, but you… you’re not.

His only reaction is a chuckle.

“Hmm, what if ah did? Ask fer a kiss?”

His tone is provocative, his pout sultry and his eyes pleading.

You stare at him in thoughtful silence, cogitating your answer. 

He misinterprets your lack of response, and backpedals, stuttering while doing so. He starts to apologize, plainly, apparently convinced he went too far, ashamed by his own conduct.

You let him stew in his embarrassment a bit, not out of sadism but curiosity, rarely being granted the opportunity to see him so insecure.

This could be the chance to put an end to his flirting for good. The chance you've been waiting for. It's what you should do.

But there's a part of you that is fed up. Fed up of this pretty man and his pretty words, of this blue-eyed casanova that must see you as another conquest and nothing more. You’re sick of passively enduring his quips, his seduction, his winks, his smirks. So yes, you could ask him to stop.

Or you could give him a test of his own medicine.

Lifting his hand towards your face, you lock eyes with him to be certain he's watching, then tenderly press your lips to each of his scarred knuckles.

The ensuing quiet is deafening.

He half-opens his mouth, but no sound comes out. You never saw him so flustered. Is he… is he blushing?

Somehow, seeing his flush sets your own face on fire. The reality of what you’ve just done hits you like a freight train.

Panic surging inside you, you deal with the situation the way you know best when no other solution comes to mind - you flee. Pretending you don't hear Soap calling after you, you scramble out of the bedroom like the devil's on your heels. Ghost, settled on a chair in the hallway, throws you the closest thing he must have to a bewildered gaze in his repertoire as you storm off by him, gaze that you ignore vehemently.

The following weeks are spent visiting Soap only when he's asleep. Kyle is nice enough to let you know when that's the case. You can tell by the interrogative way he looks at you that a bunch of questions rush on the tip of his tongue: what happened, why are you not simply seeing his teammate when he's awake with the rest of them. But he's either kind or polite enough to not formulate his concerns out loud. Or maybe he thinks it's a private matter between the two of you.

Either way, you’re grateful, and you repay the favor any time you can, filling the break room with his favorite snacks, making him tea or ensuring his gear gets maintained first.

At some point Ghost half complains to you, half reprimands you - since Soap is one part of his current problem and you another.

“Fuckin’ hell, never been easy keepin’ Johnny in medical, but since ya visited him he's worse than ever. Care to explain?”

“I fucked up,” you confess, without adding anything else.

“Fucked up how?”

“I can’t tell you.”

He curses loudly, dragging a gloved hand over his face, appalled by your demeanor.

“Why the fuck not?”

“I'm taking my secret to the grave. All I can tell is that I made an absolute fool of myself, and therefore I can never appear in front of Johnny again.”

He half sighs, half groans, and rolls his eyes before pinching the bridge of his nose.

“You dramatic little…”

Soap eventually gets released from medical.

You spend a couple of weeks avoiding him to the best of your abilities, even though you can tell that Ghost is frankly sick of your antics, Price is five minutes away from berating you, and even Gaz starts to look at you with something that resembles disappointment. 

You actively despise yourself for ruining a perfectly good friendship. Especially because of a five seconds long action decided on a whim and carried out out of spite. You find yourself on the edge of tears a couple of times, yet unable to cry. Familiar rooms and corridors feel empty and awkwardly silent with his absence.

There are a bunch of close calls, and the base, or at least the part of it that you’re accustomed to, suddenly feels cramped.

But you hold on. 

Until you don't.

You're caught completely unaware, entering the break room as usual to get some coffee.

Only to freeze on the doorstep. Johnny's right there. Barely two meters away. It's the first time you lay eyes on him in what feels like forever. You can’t help but drink in the view.

He's sitting at a table, elbow leaning on it, cheek resting on his closed fist. Your eyes linger over the blue cobalt shirt he's wearing, your favorite of his, and his black fingerless gloves, which you've always had a weakness for. The corner of his lips are down, his eyebrows lightly frowned. Staring into space, he seems sullen.

Your heart tightens at the sight.

However you barely get the opportunity to indulge into your guilt, because next thing you know, your gazes meet. He perks up, eyes widening in surprise. You tense like a deer in the headlights, holding your breath. Dread swells inside you. You’re no braver than last time.

You turn around and decamp.

It's fine, you can come back later. You just need to unearth a hiding spot for now. The object of your affliction - on top of your affection - will probably be vexed enough by your reaction that he won't seek to confront you.

Yes, everything is just fine, you assure yourself - for no more than a handful of seconds.

Without warning, brawny, familiar arms close around your shoulders from behind, pinning your back against a muscular torso.

“Gotcha.”

The word is barely above a whisper, more a growl than anything else, enunciated right into your ear, sending shivers all over your body. You don’t find anything to do but clutch with both hands one of the tanned forearms pressed beneath your collarbone.

Fighting him off doesn't even cross your mind. It's not that you think you'd fail - you trust him to let you go at the first stern summon. You just don't want to forgo his embrace. He hasn’t hugged you since that time you've been mugged and one moment was enough to make you realize how much you’ve missed it.

“Dunnae whether to be upset ye ran away again, or to find it cute that ye thought ye could actually outrun me.”

You gulp, heart pounding and cheeks heating up.

“Johnny…”

A host of pitiful excuses accumulates behind your lips, but somehow none manage to make its way out.

He briefly tightens his hold, but the gesture feels more like a hug than a restraint. Did he… did he just squish you? Like some kind of… cuddle toy?

“Got nothin’ to tell me?”

The question is a taunt as much as a hint at reconciliation.

You try to pace yourself, and think logically about this predicament of your own making. You need to devise a strategy to come out - more or less - unscathed of this.

Soap sounds more smug than mad, but still, passably angry. Maybe there's a way to fix this. Be friends again like nothing happened. Maybe he can forgive you.

First, do not worsen things.

Two, apologize. Properly.

Three, keep your fingers crossed …?

“I'm… sorry?”

He chuckles darkly.

“Gonnae take more than that.”

You try to resist the effects this sentence, his husky voice, his proximity, his laugh have on you, the way they make your stomach twist in apprehension and… indisputable arousal. Resist the temptation to close your eyes so you could focus on his voice alone, on the warm breath brushing your skin, on the lips so close to your ear; to let go in his arms, lean with your whole weight on his body.

Focus, damn it, you admonish and beg yourself all at once. On something else. Anything else.

You’re about to argue that he cannot possibly expect you to succeed in making amends when you’re in this compromising position, but you don't get the time.

Johnny hauls you away inside the nearest room. In a split second, he flicked the lightswitch on and nearly slammed the door behind you.

Cleaning products and exiguity surround you, illuminated by a cheap light bulb.

A closet, helpfully supplies your mind. 

You barely have time to digest this information that Soap cages you against the wall, resting his forearms over your head. He contemplates you with a mix of melancholy and longing that renders your knees weak and sends a pang in your chest.

“Been going bloody mad with thoughts of ye.”

His voice is smooth like silk, tone sweet like honey, caressing your ears, warmth dripping inside your chest, making your head spin; or maybe it's a result of his closeness; or a consequence of his cerulean eyes boring into you.

“Ye got any idea how it felt to see ye leave without being able to do a bloody thing ‘bout it? Wanted nothing more than to rip off the tubes, get up, grab ye and lay back in bed with ye in my arms.”

He's intoxicating. He has to be, with how high, euphoric you're feeling, all your problems swept away, insignificant.

“Tell me to fuck off.”

You blink in incomprehension. Drunk on him, you may have lost track a little.

“I'll back off fer good.” 

Bliss makes way to horror.

“Look me in the eye and tell me ye hate me. Tell me I disgust ye. Tell me ye wish ye never met m-”

“No!”

Your shout has the merit to make him stop, even if you didn’t mean to yell. Your scream disconcerts him for a second before an exultant grin stretches his lips. His smugness is back with a vengeance.

“So ye do like me.”

“How could I not,” you mutter, capitulating, but avoiding his gaze.

He refuses to let you, and cups one side of your face to make you look at him. As you meet his eyes again, his thumb tenderly strokes your cheekbone. You feel your insides melt at the gesture.

“I like ye. A lot.”

He licks his lips, as if to grant himself some time to mull over his next words, and you automatically follow the motion.

“And I want to kiss ye. A lot.”

His hand slides from your cheek to your chin, slightly tilting your head back.

“Can I?”

It takes a moment for you to regain your voice. When you woke up this morning, you most definitely didn’t expect to receive a confession from John Mactavish. Your brain goes into overdrive.

Is this real? Am I dreaming?

“Johnny, listen…”

The gaze he's aiming at you glows with hope.

“You don’t want to be with me. I'm…” 

What? A shell of a human being? Broken?

“…a mess.”

Expectation is replaced by resolve in his turquoise pupils.

“I know exactly what I want. And it's ye. Wouldn't be here otherwise.”

His patience seems to unravel with each passing second, as he stares at you with something akin to desperation written on his face.

“Want me to beg? S’that it?”

“What? No-”

“Cause I can. Beg real pretty. Bet ye'd like that. Saw how ye looked at me the other day when I got on my knees for ye-”

He keeps babbling sweet and filthy nothings that set your face ablaze. He saw how you looked at him? Mortification briefly flares up inside you before you notice the amusement in the corner of his lips, the playful glimmer in his glance, tangled with the neediness - he's joking around. You adopt a stern expression to chasten him but quickly realize he's way too busy staring at your lips to get the message. So you grab both sides of his face to get his attention - two can play this game.

The sheepish, sad puppy face he gives you in return barely makes a notch in your firmness. You take a deep breath to steady yourself, right before diving into the unknown.

“Yes,” you profess - and before he can tease you for clarification - “You can kiss me.”

But as he leans forward to obey, an incriminating detail surfaces in your mind.

“Wait, wait…”

You cover his mouth with one hand. Then immediately regret it, with how his eyes devour you the way his mouth can’t, not helping your flustered state at all.

He gently grabs your wrist and removes your hand, before pressing a kiss into your palm, your wrist.

“Now, better say something, or I'm gonna kiss my way up.”

He hums pensively.

“Scratch that, I'm gonna kiss ye everywhere.”

Pleasant tingles travel your whole body at that. He looks up from your hand to stare at you, and there's a devious glint in his eyes that tells you he caught sight of it.

“I have never.. done this… before.”

This confession means a lot to you. It's a well-kept secret, as long as people don't already deduce it from your lack of social skills. You’d rather it stays this way, but you don't see how you can start a relationship while withholding this truth.

All you can hope now is that Soap will react in a manner you consider appropriate. If he judges you, if that fact makes you go down in his estimation, or if he starts seeing you as some sort of innocent, naive individual that he could get off on corrupting, you’re not sure you'll be able to recover from it.

All playfulness deserts his face. He observes you with a mix of solemnity and compassion.

“Oh, bonnie… I don't give a shite ‘bout that. We'll go as slow or as fast as ye want, aye?”

Stirred beyond words, you nod your assent.

Not wasting any more time, he presses his lips to yours. They're soft and warm. You expected a surge of unbridled desire, but he takes his sweet time with you, to become acquainted with your mouth. 

It only lasts a moment though; as he seems to gain in confidence and deepens the kiss, his motions fill with fervor, turn frantic. Hunger rivals devotion.

They say the greatest pleasure possible a human being can experience isn’t, well, pleasure; it's the end of pain - and he's kissing you like he's been aching for it, for so long, and he's finally getting relief. He's clinging onto you like the separation of those past weeks put him in severe withdrawal.

You probably would have let him continue if you weren't compelled by the imperative need to breathe. You turn away, panting.

Not interrupted in the slightest, he simply latches onto your neck instead.

Floating in a daze, you absently close one hand on the back of his shirt, and fondle his mohawk with the other.

“Hold on to me.”

The instruction takes a ridiculously long time to reach you. Thankfully, Soap picks up on that and grasps your hands to place them on the back of his neck. You only understand his goal when his fingers slide behind your thighs and he lifts you up effortlessly, wedging you between the wall and himself.

Once he gets his fill of your throat, he sneaks one forearm under your rear and lets go of one of your thigh, somehow managing to keep you in the air one-armed, to tug at the opening of your top.

Seeing him struggle to open your blouse one-handed, you reach down to assist; but just as you do that, he grabs one side of the clothing between his teeth, and pulling the other with his free hand, he rips off the first three snap fasteners in one go. Your eyes go wide, your mind torn between finding the gesture arousing or risible. 

You settle for a fond scoff.

“You animal.”

The name feels all the more appropriate because when he looks up at you, releasing the cloth, the hunger in his eyes is striking, and the wolfish grin he grants you is the one of a ravenous predator.

“You could have just asked-”

“S'faster,” he shrugs, at least as much as possible in his current position.

You barely notice the staple of your bra opening; he hauls you slightly higher, bringing your chest to mouth level, and dives between your breasts like a man starved. The contact makes you tilt your head back against the wall, sighing in pleasure. The sensation of his lips and tongue against your sensitive skin makes you coil: your fingers grasp the back of his shirt and his hair, pressing his head impossibly closer, your thighs clench around his torso, your toes curl.

“Fuck, Johnny.”

He moans your name in response, albeit a bit muffled. He sounds as afflicted as you are, if not more. The idea turns you on terribly.

You look down to see him, and the vision of his face feverishly pressed to your skin is almost unbearable.

Suddenly he recoils, eyes meeting yours, and opens his mouth to stick his tongue out, right in front of your nipple, holding still in silent question. Your crotch throbs with arousal and you bitterly regret your earlier assessment - this view is much harder to endure, by far. The deep, honest eagerness in his gaze, coupled with the absolute submission to your will he demonstrates…

That doesn't stop you from frenetically nodding your head in agreement. His lips close around your nipple and the flick of his tongue against it draws a whine out of you. His free hand softly squeeze your other breast.

If he wasn’t holding you, your legs probably would have given out.

A faraway ringtone painfully pierces through the torpor you’re deliciously lost in. Your ringtone.

Johnny swears under his breath and blindly gropes your ass to silence your phone lodged in your back pocket.

Your eyes snap open in horror as you abruptly emerge into reality.

“Shit, shit, SHIT! Put me down!”

You repeatly hit Soap's shoulders to get his attention and convey urgency, without putting real force behind it. He complies immediately.

Your soles barely reached the ground that you’re already whiping out the device from your pants. Your coworker's name is displayed on the screen. Turning your back on Johnny, you pick up the call in a panic.

“Hey… yes. Yes, I'll be there in a minute. …They're not here yet? Thank fuck.” 

As you sheepishly reassure your colleague that you’ll be there soon for the meeting that should have already started, you feel fingers fiddling with your blouse. Your first instinct is to bat Johnny's hands away, before grasping that he's actually putting your snaps back in place.

“Hm? Oh no, nothing bad. … I, uh… I just got held back. Anyway, see you soon.”

You hang up with shaky hands and a weary but relieved sigh.

The Scotsman's arms wrap around your waist from behind and he lovingly nuzzles his face against yours. His stubble prickles your skin, but the gesture is too endearing for you to spurn him.

“No more running away, aye?”

He exudes peacefulness, every muscle in his body content and relaxed. Where did Ghost's vicious attack dog go and who's this teddy bear?

“No more running,” you acquiesce.

“Good lass,” he purrs.

Normally, you would have gotten back at him for that patronizing comment, but you still feel bad for the way you treated him, so you just grunt.

“We'll pick up where we left off, hmm?”

Your cheeks burn furiously as you realize what he's referring to - his kisses wandering lower, to fulfill the “everywhere” part of the pledge he made earlier.

What the hell did you get yourself into?

[kiwanopie]

Laptop

boyfriend!kiyoomi part IV!

“So… Where’d you two meet?”

Sakusa sighs.

This was exactly the scenario he was trying to avoid. Sitting on the bed adjacent to his longtime teammate and trying to avert his eyes from the way he kicks his feet from under him like an overgrown school boy. His gleeful - prying eyes sear holes in the side of his head from where he’s got his nose pointed at his laptop monitor, and if his hunch should tell him anything; it’s that little Mr. GossipGirl won’t rest until he’s juiced him of all the mushy details.

But the problems not that he doesn’t like talking about you. It’s the opposite actually, he could start and never finish, it’s just…

It’s embarrassing to get all sweet and blushy in front of this honey-eyed fool or any of his teammates. He hates the vulnerability of it all. Fending off a smile and trying to minimize all of these very big, very honest feelings he has about you. And ever since meeting you he’s been very slowly but surely pushing himself away from his previous dispositions.

Aloof old Omi, safely reclusive - inside his little shell, has peeked his head out and fallen in love with the sun.

This guy’s gonna eat that shit up.

Sakusa grazes his finger along the touch pad, tapping it a few times before grumbling curtly. “Can you go to bed already?”

“Not without a bedtime story,” Atsumu chirps. “C’mon. Tell me all about ‘er! I know you want to.”

Sakusa sighs again as he taps in a few loud keys. White orange tinted light turning his skin a filtered fuchsia as the screen flickers. “What are you five? You’re a little too old to be swapping secrets like a grade schooler.”

“Is she a secret though?”

“She’s not.” And that’s a resolute answer if he’s ever heard one.

“Then why won’t you tell me about her?!”

“Because-“ Sakusa blows out an exasperated breath.

There’s a long moment he spends pointing his nose to the hotel ceiling to quietly deliberate. Longer the few seconds he spends clenching and unclenching his jaw as his eyes fall and his pupils twitch in careful thought. He opens his mouth - closes it again but his lips part on their own. Sakusa blows out a breath until his voice comes tumbling after it, and it pains him to know that his fight for composure was fruitless.

“If I tell you, will you shut up and go to bed?”

Atsumu crosses his fingers over his chest. “Hand to God.”

Sakusa stares at him for a while.

“We’ve been… dating for the past couple of years,” Three years and eighteen days of pure bliss. “She was one of my sister's students so we met through her.”

The uncut version is that Sakusa stormed his sister’s office before her lecture could fully clear to bitch about her saddling him with mom on his only days off. Had to have looked mad as a snake when he walked in there, face twisted up and everything.

And obviously a 6’4 Olympian isn’t what your average college student expects to run into during their four o’clock lecture, especially when he’s calling out to their professor like he’s got a loaded gun in his hand. But you were too busy filling in your last minute notes to care about him or whatever he was doing at the time.

Sakusa sees you but he doesn’t see you. He just knows you’re the only person in this room and there’s a wicked witch on the loose. “Have you seen Kyouka?”

You hum. “Sakusa-san?”

“Obviously.”

Your eyes are the first thing he notices when you raise your head. They’re doey and soft and disarming. You’ve got that kind of look to you that reminds him of a love song; one of those old school radio ones that you hear in the car on the way to work but it’s stuck in your head throughout the day and you can’t stop singing it under your breath.

“You look like someone shit in your laptop and closed it.” You say.

The tendons in his jaw stress as you point your extended arm toward the door. “She’s in Nabuya’s lecture down the hall but, I don’t think she’s gonna talk to you with your face all twisted up like that.”

Sakusa quietly nods before turning his heel for the door.

It took two whole months of silently pining and bringing his sister pickled daikon for lunch to finally get you to agree to go out with him, and since then he’s been living on cloud nine.

“Oh-Ho!,” Atsumu grins. “And did charmin’ ol Omi put the work on her? ‘That it?”

He didn’t anticipate how dry the air would be on your first date so he wound up with a nosebleed that geysered for like a solid five minutes. “Yeah…”

“A’right, a’right, So… How is it that I’m just hearin’ about her now? I mean, from that phone call-“

“Let’s not talk about the phone call.”

Atsumu titters. And he seems genuinely happy to see his friend all settled down and loving someone so earnestly. He knows how difficult relationships can be for a high maintenance guy like him, and it’s refreshing to see his edges softened a little. He kicks his feet until he’s pressed against the headboard adjacent to Sakusa, smiling at him from across the way as he cradles a pillow against his chest.

“You should know that you’re safe to talk about yer personal life with us, Omi. It’s not like we were gonna tease ya too much about it.”

Sakusa blows out a short breath through his nose. “I know that. It’s just-…”

The way Sakusa softens up is quite honestly enough to make him start to blush. “____’s really special to me. So, I guess it’s hard to bring her up without getting touchy about feedback.”

Atsumu throws his head back a little. “Well, it’s flatterin’ that you’re bein’ so honest about it with me.”

“Don’t get used to it.”

He snorts as he rests his head on the headboard with a quiet thump!

And then he furrows.

Atsumu leans in to get a better look at his monitor. “Why ya lookin’ up purses?”

Sakusa hurriedly shuts his laptop.

Physical therapy

[mykaelaaa]

afterwork hours

✰ agent lee harker and you get carried away in the late hours

✰warnings: crime mention? smut, thing for interrogation lol

"who was she?" your voice echoed down the staircase, arms intertwined as you turned corned to the empty, poorly lit hallway of the FBI building.

it was quite late as you were leaving, she texted you how today had been busy, had to stay past her usual work time blaming it on paperwork and a new case. she will come home to you either way but paying a visit to your hardworking, incredibly hot and intelligent girlfriend with coffee to go never bothered anyone, right?

besides, lee kept you away from her line of work for long enough. she insisted it's for your own good, the less you know about it the less could anyone harm you and she would never forgive herself. 

"sarah. she's security here, checks the cameras."

it was one of those days you had nothing better to do. so, with a little bit of begging and on-the-go promises you landed yourself a free tour of FBI building.

she wasn't really up for it but would do anything for you and you knew it (and took advantage of it).

"you know i shouldn't be doing this," lee spoke quietly, maybe too quiet for some untrained ear to not catch it but doesn't apply to you. 

"i know but risking it once in a while can be fun!" lee looked at you, weighing pros and cons of this short trip around the building with cameras pointed at every corner you turned but she was thankful you took her out of her shell sometimes.

"these are the offices," lee said with not much enthusiasm even though she took her one-time tour guide job seriously. "the cafeteria where we have our break, here's the exit to the garage-" 

"and um, this is the interrogation room, we get information out of people in here." 

"oh, so just like in the movies?" you asked her. 

"pretty much i guess." lee answered ready to move on and wrap it up and just go home with you but you didn't budge from where you were standing. "can i see it?"

"see what?" she looked at you curiously. 

you spared glances between her and the door back and forth, trying to give her a hint, tilting your head slightly. "the almighty and sacred interrogation room." that made her roll her eyes at you playfully. you pulled at her jacket, "please?"

lee towered over you, height difference playing quite a role here. your look made her weak in the knees but she can't let you get away with every impromptu idea that dawns on you.

"i-uh, i don't really think-"

"-there's no one in the building anyway, besides that sarah" you cut her off, doing a quick glance down and up the hallway, lee doing the same. "and? what do you think? pretty please, it will be like 2 minutes top. that depends on you though."  

she looked so captivating under that shitty flickering light, her tired eyes searched your face for whatever you meant by that last sentence. shirt and jacket slightly crumpled from you pulling on it and tie loose. yeah, there was something in the air. something that whatever happens in the next five minutes would go in your favor given that you have the FBI officer wrapped around your finger.

"fine," lee said reluctantly, rummaging through her pocket for keys. you patiently leaned against the wall with your arms crossed, eyeing her fruitless attempts at unlocking the door. she would never admit but you did make her nervous like a teenager.

when the key finally matched, she gave the "can't believe the shit i'm doing for you" look before entering.

lee stood awkwardly in the center of the room which had nothing worthy to be proud of in the context of design, she's been here before so she rather studied your expression. you took a seat at the table in the middle, "this is where it happens?" 

"yes."

you looked at the clock realizing you had some time for what just popped into your head. and to be honest, you've been dreaming about this for some time now, except she doesn't know.

"what kind of questions do you ask?" 

she knew very well she talked your ear off about it at home multiple times because you were always curious, yet she had no problem repeating herself for you, "we usually confirm the basic details of the suspect first then gradually get to the bottom of it."

finding her nerdy answer sweet, you hummed slowly, resting your chin on your hands in amusement.

"well, what do you ask exactly? let's pretend i robbed a bank, what would you ask me?"

lee was at the war trying to decide if you were just mocking her or genuinely curious about this whole ordeal. she paced back and forth the room with no purpose, tracking the tiles under her feet, thinking hard. "i'd ask you what were you doing before it happened."

"mhm, what else?" it made lee slowly turn her body towards you, observing you shift in your seat. she picked up on your, well, at least what seemed to her as teasing undertone.

lee was well aware. she would go as far as claiming she could read you like a book, something she thought was impossible but you made it real. you really did love her and she didn't know to take it.

truth to be told, at the end of the day she was an agent, that was her profession, minus the lack of training for picking up social cues but she's getting there. she'd find it hard to believe but whatever special thing you have going on you got her addicted to it in the best way possible. 

"i-i would ask you what led you to do a robbery. maybe how long you were planning it." 

slowly you rose to your feet, and with annoyingly slow steps you made your way toward your stoic girlfriend who studied your every move. she flinched at your cold hands playing pretend with her collar, fixing it for longer than needed. making contact with her neck both on purpose or not, she wasn't quite sure. 

your hands fell to her tie and she could sense your hot breath so painfully close as the words left your lips.

"let's say agent harker," your fingers now focusing on undoing her tie, she had no clue what you were about to say, or do which made her swallow her question nervously and let you continue. 

"what if i don't want to answer?"

if lee had to be perfectly honest, she wasn't fully paying attention to what you said. it's not that she didn't want to, it's just somewhat impossible with your legs tangled and your body pressing against hers.

the question passed her by quickly, "what do you mean?"

"any techniques or maybe punishment for that? how else would you get answers out of someone, right?" you half whispered, flashing her the best innocent smile you could make up on the spot and she caught on this time. 

lee peeled her eyes off of you and looked to the side, collecting her thoughts and letting her shy smile escape. "i don't think that's a good idea right now."

"why? i remember when you told me it's super soundproof in here for a reason." of course you remembered that.

"darling, we can't-" she couldn't finish her sentence with you tugging at her shirt again. "oh come on, no one is here anyway!"

"i work here and…" she felt your arms making patterns under her jacket, distracting her from whatever excuse she was making.

"you're no fun. you have no problem doing it in the car but here it's a problem. i don't see why-"

in an instant she had you pressed on the table with hands behind your back, gaining a clear upper hand in this nonsense quarrel effortlessly. lee managed to find herself between your legs and by the way her breath was hitting your face it was rather out of frustration with you than the effort it took.

you felt small under her gaze, like her every move depended solely on how you'd act. 

"was i not clear?" lee asked, lips barely inches away, never breaking eye contact with you while taking off her dark jacket. "lee, what-"

"i said was i not clear? do i need to repeat myself?" oh god. she looked so stunning with her unkempt uniform, gaze slightly lowered you're only used to seeing it on different occasions, an attitude she only saves for work and bedroom you wish you had a camera to capture this. 

you were too enamored with the officer in front of you to notice her hands already unbuttoning your jeans.

she whispered, "i'll give you your two minutes."

you pulled her closer, lips crashing for the first time since she left you this morning. lee halted her movements for a while, savoring your taste she missed more than she'd admit. "fuck, lee" the moan you left caused her to take a sharp breath, trying to hold herself together. how she wished you two were at home more than here so she could fuck you properly.

her skilled hands swiftly slipped past your panties straight to your already drenched core. lee grinned, brushing her lips against your ear as the words reached you. 

"you're such a slut, you know that? being so needy while i'm at work." she right away allowed two fingers to slip inside of you which made you let out a near scream before she trapped it, covering your mouth with her free hand. she wasted no time and the risk of being here made you both drown in eachother.

"the cameras everywhere, least you can do is shut up." 

everything about this whole situation made you lose your senses. lee's head dropped into the valley of your neck, leaving feathered kisses while checking the doors every few seconds, making your head spin. you felt her hand leave your mouth with trust that you will be quiet and dropped down to wrap around your neck, leaving pressure.

slim fingers were at a harsh pace, yet careful enough. you loved when she let herself go because clearly you were the only thing on her mind right now and the mission was to prove it.

biting your lip to keep the noises intact was hard, she started hitting deeper, spreading your legs further apart. you were so out of it even if someone opened the door you wouldn't notice. your hands not knowing what to do quickly found support on her shoulders. 

"lee, i'm- i'm so close, please," she wrapped her arm around your waist, helping you with the little strength you have left from collapsing on the table. considering it's late at night and you're having your brains fucked out in the FBI building right now, lee got you covered. 

"oh yeah?" connecting the dots and making a mental note to ask you about it later, if she had the guts, this was obviously something you've been wanting to do. not that it's unusual for her girlfriend to completely crumble under her touch at all, it's just that she feels you are way too into this whole roleplay.

lee felt your grip getting tighter with each second, knowing you're close she curled her fingers the way she knows drives you mad. her other hand cupped your face tenderly, making you look at her, noses barely touching but it was intimate.

"'you gonna cum for me?"  

all you could do was weakly nod before throwing your head back again. as the final moan slipped past you, lee was holding your shaking body close to her, fingers still buried deep inside. 

she gave you time to catch a breath, her fingers regretfully leaving you. you watched her fix your strands that were out of place before she stopped near your lips.

lee brushed her thumb against them, "open." 

you tasted yourself on her fingers, her eyes not once leaving yours while doing so. she had a sly smile on making you think she enjoyed this as much as you did. 

pulling her by the tie you gave her a deep kiss one last time, which she returned back, trying not to get carried away.

"i know the camera was behind you."

"which means?"

"hope that bitch sarah saw us. it's her shift tonight, no?" 

✰this was totally NOT my fantasy or whateverrr i swear on god (what ovulation does to a fanfic writer (im so sorry sooo unnecessarily long u cud see i was going thru it)

[corpsebasil]

Shapeshifter Part 2

Part 1

Y/N, as it turned out, had more energy than almost all of Nikolai’s crew. Mal batted her away when she transformed into a cat, leaping onto his back as he walked across the ship towards the rail of it. Nikolai watched in amusement, allowing her to perch on his shoulder when another quick flash turned her into a small, white and grey hawk. She pecked him lightly on the side of his head before settling in, already having had decided that the prince was her favorite person on this ship.

“We should discuss the plan,” Mal said, eyeing the hawk in annoyance. She’d been terrorizing him all day, first as a rat sitting on his chest when he woke up, causing him to fall out of his hammock in shock, then as a snake that wound around his neck while he was trying to eat breakfast.

Everyone else seemed to find it infinitely funny, Y/N most of all, but Nikolai had been hoping to see her real face at some point that day. He couldn’t stop thinking about her last night—could hardly sleep as his mind drifted back to that white wolf form of hers and her strange power.

“When we sail in, we’ll take a group and attack together. Alina should be the one to kill it, but if it’s too vicious, it might not matter who ends the creatures life.” Nikolai said, pointing out at the eerie looking island in the distance. Was it his imagination, or did the hawk on his shoulder seem to burrow closer into his neck? “I hope you like fancy weapons, tracker friend.”

“What about her?” Mal asked, gesturing to Y/N. She snapped her beak at his outstretched fingers with a sassy click. “There’s got to be a way for her to help.”

“I’m not going to risk her life unless she offers it.” Nikolai argued, giving the shifter a glance. Mal mumbled something incoherent and strode away, headed to Tolya and Tamar to discuss the plan. Nikolai’s voice softened when he spoke, his eyes pinned on the distant island. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. This is going to be dangerous, and I’d rather not have the last shifter in the world die on my watch.”

The hawk seemed to ponder his words and then flew off, ducking inside the door of his office. When she emerged, sipping a glass of water with his shirt back on, she walked over to him barefoot, already staring out at the horizon as well.

“I might not be the last one.” She offered, tilting her pretty head at him. “But I’m definitely not letting you go alone.”

“You’d be safer here.”

“I can protect you, princeling.”

He rolled his eyes but smirked, glancing away from her. When he spoke again his tone was serious, tension crossing his shoulders.

“Hell of a way to die, though.” He said, casting her a sidelong glance. “A sea whip. Saints save us.”

“What does it look like?” She asked, and he tugged a sketching of the monster out of his jacket. When she saw it, her face paled. It looked like…and those teeth.. “No.” She scoffed. “You’re not going to fight that thing.”

“And why not?”

“Risking my chances of marrying a pirate prince? Very selfish of you.”

Nikolai grinned when she knocked her shoulder against his, her smile purely feline. But his expression sobered, and he gave her a questioning look.

“You’re coming with us, then?”

“No.” She said simply, her expression suddenly grave, and cast a look over to Alina and Mal. They had been her only companions for the past few days, and though she enjoyed annoying the hell out of them, they were also the only friends that understood what having power was like, what being feared was like, that she’d had in a while. “I’m not going with you. Because you aren’t going.”

The prince had all of five seconds to register her words before the girl hoisted herself over the rail and dropped into the ocean, disappearing completely under the waves. Nikolai shouted as Mal and his crewmates sprinted over, gasping in shock at the shifter that had just leaped over the side of the boat.

“Where the hell is she going?” Mal demanded, glaring at Nikolai like it was his fault. “I thought she was scouting not—”

He didn’t get to finish his sentence.

Not when a beast, so similar to the sea-whip and just as terrifying, flew out of the water and arced over the ship. Nikolai gaped up at it, it’s gigantic, menacing size, before it crashed down into the sea on the opposite side, spraying them with saltwater.

“Saints,” Alina gasped, watching as the beast’s body rippled just under the surface, swimming at a rapid clip towards the sea-whip’s caves. “She’s going to get herself killed. She’s been shifting all morning.”

“Can this ship move any faster?” Mal demanded, face paling, and Nikolai nodded mutely before rushing towards the wheel.

***

It took them five minutes to reach the entrance to the caves. Five minutes. And waiting there, on the beach, was…was…

“Y/N!” Mal shouted, tossing himself off the side of the ship and swimming towards her. Nikolai cursed to high heavens before he followed, Toyla complaining behind him that no one exited the ship in the civilized way, before going after his captain.

A monster lay on the beach. Huge, daunting, teeth gleaming in the sunlight. It was dead, huge bite marks gouged into its neck, and Nikolai shuddered as they approached.

“Where’s Y/N?” He searched around, the shifter no where in sight, when Alina suddenly shrieked. Nikolai jolted forward, running to the Sun Summoner’s side, then froze, ice filling his veins at the sight before him.

Y/N lay unconscious on the ground, every inch of her body exposed, with a deadly looking wound on her left leg. From thigh to knee the flesh was ripped, teeth marks marring her flawless skin. Blood pumped horrifically fast from the wound and all Nikolai could do was stare, gaping, down at the shifter who had risked her life for his entire crew.

She had killed it, had done the task for them, but it may very well have dragged her right after it into the underworld.

“Fucking move.” Mal cursed, knocking the prince out of the way. He tugged his shirt off and wrapped it as tight as he could around the injury, only for blood to soak the fabric in a mere second. Then he bundled her up in his coat and lifted her, holding the girl tight against his chest as he moved back towards the ship.

And Nikolai only gaped after them, his head reeling, the tang of blood in the air hot and heavy in his nose.

***

Y/N woke up from the worst nightmare of her life, only to enter a worse one when she opened her eyes.

She’d never been in so much agony. Had never shifted into something so big before; she had never been so reckless. And for strangers.

Truthfully, she was tired of a meaningless existence. Of stealing scraps of food from strangers, of being on the run, of spying or sneaking around or working for criminals that took advantage of her gifts. She wanted to mean something, so she wanted to protect her new friends.

And she wondered briefly if she might have actually died and this was what hell was like.

“Y/N.” A male voice said, groggy with sleep, and she tried to sit up. But a gasp of pain make her vision blur; fire seemed to burn down every inch of her skin, and her leg—she was terrified to look. “Hold on, just—just hold on.”

It was Nikolai, and a moment later, after some shuffling, she felt a prick of pain in her leg that made her cry out. She smacked at him, damn the agony the movement caused, but after a couple of heartbeats a sense of calm washed over her and the pain eased.

She groaned and laid back again, closing her eyes to welcome the bliss of a break from the torture. Nikolai moved close and scanned her face, setting down the injection he’d given her on his side-table. Sunlight leaked in through the windows of his bedroom. How long had it been?

“Do you need help sitting up?” He offered, and she nodded, allowing him to put an arm around her and prop her up on the pillows. She was shivering, damp with sweat, and she knew she had a fever. “You’ve been out for three days.” He said, his voice quiet and tight, and she gave him an incredulous look.

“How did—” she took in his face, his handsome features warped with pain and fear. “You saved me.”

“You saved us.” His laugh was unamused, and he reached out, resting the back of his hand against her forehead before he filled her water glass. “Why the hell would you do that? You don’t owe us anything.”

She remembered the sea-whip, the way it had roared in challenge. But she had overestimated it’s size, and overpowered the smaller monster easily when she’d tried to replicate the drawing he’d shown her. She snapped it’s neck, but not before it sank it’s rotten teeth into her thigh and almost tore her leg off.

She remembered the agony, the way that she barely made it two steps before she shifted back into her human form, and blacked out.

“I told you,” she laughed softly, taking a sip of water. “I like pirate princes.”

The expression on his face and the heat in his eyes told her he wanted to kiss the hell out of her, but his eyes moved down and he flinched at the sight of her leg. She looked down too, and nearly fainted. Her leg was covered in stitches, large gauge marks that had stayed when she’d shifted back sewn together, her flesh marred and ugly. The bleeding had stopped, but the bruising…the sight of the black thread in her skin…

She barely stifled a sob with her hand before she looked away, trying to focus on anything—anything but the ugly wound that she knew would scar. For the rest of her life, that marred flesh would transfer to any form she shifted to, marking her skin with the proof of her fight with the sea-whip. She was lucky they hadn’t amputated the limb, but she was vain, and was mortified that the prince beside her had seen her in such a destroyed state.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N.” He told her, reaching out to grip her hand. “I owe you my life. I owe you a debt I can never repay.”

She wiped her eyes with her free hand and looked at him, at the prince who she’d sacrificed her life for. He truly was gloriously handsome. And he was kind, she noticed, and he’d done his best to take care of her.

“Just keep the pain-killers and broth coming, prince, and we’re even.”

The relieved smile that crossed his face that she was even able to be playful right now warmed her chest. He stood, moving to grant her request and scrounge up some broth for her, when she called out to him, stopping him at the door.

“And Nikolai?” She asked, voice sweet. He glanced over, raising a brow. “What Im healed, you owe me a date.”

His grin was stunning, and she laughed when he shook his head at her, amused.

“I’ll do more than go on a date with you, sweetheart.” He teased, giving her a searing up down. “I can teach you everything I learned to do to women in the five years since you last saw me.” When her face reddened, he added, “that’s a promise.”

Then he left, and she tucked the blankets under her chin, knowing there was no way in hell she was letting that pirate prince go.

[kaydenverse]

grocery emergency

pairing: simon "ghost" riley x reader x john "soap" mctavish

18+ MINORS DNI

genre: smut with fluff mixed in

word count: 2.6k

a/n: i swear i'm trying to get more works out i've just had a rough start to my year so bare with me for the time being lmao but enjoy this that's been sitting in my google docs for like a month

content warnings: gender neutral reader, phone sex, excessive swearing, teasing, switch reader, switch simon, switch johnny, quickie, price is so done, gaz is a little shit

summary: why the fuck haven’t we as a society figured out how to teleport yet? johnny’s got somewhere he needs to be and it’s not standing in a hallway on the phone on base. 

“how much longer are we gonna be here, cap?” johnny questions as he lightly taps a stack of papers on the coffee table in front of him and straightens them out. he neatly sets them back down on the table before sitting up a little to stretch his back. 

johnny sits cross legged on the floor in front of the polished coffee table. although it would probably be better for his back to sit on the cushioned black leather couch opposite of him where kyle had been sitting before he went to grab a file price had asked for. but still he swears the floor is more comfortable. his tailbone is starting to hurt though, he realizes.

he’s still going to sit on the floor

“i’ve got one more folder and gaz is going to bring another one in a couple minutes,” price sighs, his office chair creaking as he leans back into it. “we should be done after those and you'll be free to go, son.” johnny’s heart swells a bit at the nickname but instead of telling price that, he huffs which makes the captain chuckle.

the five of you had gotten back from a successful mission in moscow, just a simple recon, a few days ago. now you had to do the boring parts of your jobs, the long debriefings and the piles of paperwork.

you and ghost had remained tucked away at the top of an abandoned building with your sniper guns to cover soap, gaz, and price while they had raided the warehouse across the street. because the three of them had been in the main action, naturally, they had more paperwork to cover than the two who kept look-out from a distance. 

but don’t get anyone wrong, of course the two of you still did a phenomenal job of dropping any and all of the strays who tried to escape the wrath of your three teammates. they were sorely mistaken when a bullet from your gun would lodge itself into their necks. 

johnny sighs as he picks another folder up and flips it open. his mind begins to wander before he’s even gotten halfway through the first page.

he’s thinking about this morning.

again. 

-

in all honesty, earlier that morning, johnny had deeply considered turning his car back around and called in sick because of how desperate and clingy his two partners had been while he had gotten ready. he to go in and finish up some leftover paperwork with price. he had swatted both your hands and simon’s away from dripping past the waistband of his pants. 

“stop it.” johnny said sternly as he grabbed your wrist when your fingers began to work their way down his happy trail yet again. “i’ll be gone for barely half a day, maybe less, we’re almost done with everything. you can wait.” he snickers. you groan in defeat and slump forward so your right cheek presses up against his back. simon leans in the doorway of the bathroom with his arms crossed over his chest. 

he would gladly stay and let your hands wander all over him but he knows he’ll be at least an hour late because johnny likes to take his time with you in the mornings. price wouldn’t be too excited about the late arrival. not after the last time that happened.

“i’ll just fuck simon then.” you resort, your voice still laced with drowsiness from having woken up to johnny’s 7 am alarm. you still keep your arms locked around johnny’s waist and one corner of simon’s mouth perks up at the suggestion. the messy blond hair atop Simon’s head that curls around the tops of his ears and the sleepy look in his eyes only makes your sexual frustration grow. 

“no.” johnny says, plain and simple. he combs a hand through his mohawk. “wait until i get back home, both of you.” he locks eyes with simon through the mirror he’s standing in front of. 

simon hums with his head held high as he strides over to the two of you. he kisses the top of johnny’s head, catching a whiff of johnny’s eucalyptus scented shampoo. he then kisses the top of your head that smell like your own shampoo. he makes sure what he murmurs to you is loud enough that johnny can hear too.

“you can fuck me all you’d like once he’s left for work, darling.” simon’s sleepiness adds an extra gruffness to his already deep voice. that alone nearly made johnny call price and ask to do the paperwork tomorrow.

nearly. 

“sure, go ahead.” johnny turns around to face the two of you. “but if you do so and i find out, i won't let either of you cum for a week.” the almost cold tone of his voice as he speaks and the cocking of his head makes you go weak in the knees and simon grins. “and i always find out.” 

“not always.” simon says in a very matter of fact way. the grin that plasters across johnny’s face is devilish. if simon hadn’t grabbed ahold of your hip when he’d kissed your head, you’re almost sure that your knees would’ve completely given out from how wonderfully taunting johnny looked. 

“i pay good attention to detail, lieutenant, i always know.” he gives you a peck on your lips then simon’s before slipping out of the bathroom to finish getting ready for the day. 

-

johnny is pulled out of his thoughts when his phone begins to vibrate on the table. normally he would  let it send whoever had called to voicemail due to his current task but his heart jumps when he sees your contact name and the contact picture of you smiling softly at the camera. in that photo, he can tell you're looking at him and not the camera because of the look of adoration on your face. 

he glances up at price who nods to let him take the call. you don’t often call him when he’s at the office and you’re home. you’d usually just text him and let him respond when he can so he assumes it must be important if you’re calling. 

“hey, what’s up-“ johnny is almost immediately cut off by you speaking. 

“can si and i please fuck? we were going to wait until you got home, i swear to god we were, but i feel like i’m going to fucking explode right fucking now. you can stay on the phone if you want to.” you’re so straight to the point that a cackle from simon can be heard through the phone. 

johnny is ridden speechless for a few seconds at such a forward request. he can hear the desperation in your words, you’re not even trying to be subtle at all. he blinks before he speaks again. 

“sorry cap, grocery emergency.” johnny stands up to excuse himself. price is a tad confused but lets him go to solve the problem. johnny eyes clock above the door before walking out into the hall. 

“you’ve got seven minutes. go.” johnny leans back against the wall with his free hand shoved into his pocket. immediately, johnny can hear the two of you begin to shuffle around. he can also hear the sloppy kisses that are exchanged between the soft thuds of clothing hitting the floor. 

“simon,” you say in a stern manner. “let me ride you.” the bluntness in your voice makes johnny exhale a small laugh. 

you will forever be a stubborn one in bed.

“but-“ simon sounds winded, sounds like you’d refused to let him take his lips off yours to breathe. 

you had. 

“ah,” all shuffling on the other end of the phone ceases at the sound of johnny’s voice. he hums in approval as the scot waits until a new recruit, who’s name slips johnny’s mind at the moment, to quickly shuffle past him and down the hall. they exchange a silent nod of greeting before the recruit disappears around the corner. “listen to them. since you decided to be such a brat this morning.” he then continues in a slightly hushed tone. 

johnny can clearly visualize simon giving the phone a glare that he just knows simon just gave as he allows you to settle in his lap. the phone falls silent again and johnny grins proudly.

you’re both waiting for his next call of instruction. 

always so good for him.

“well? hurry it up, you’re losin’ time.” johnny glances down at his watch to see you’ve both got just over five minutes left. the shuffling resumes followed but a pleased groan from simon. johnny knows that kind of groan from the many times he’s pinched simon’s nipples. 

“no teasing,” simon’s voice has pitched up ever so slightly. johnny shivers delightfully at the small detail. “no time for that.” 

“so needy.” you coo which you then follow up with a low moan. when the wet sounds of you picking your hips up and then quickly dropping back down spills through the speaker of johnny’s phone, he swears his knees almost buckle. he leans his head back against the wall and stares at the ceiling. 

you’d both prepared for him to give in, touched each other before you’d called him.

he makes a mental note to praise the two of you on this silly little scheme later on. 

oh, how he wishes he was there. 

oh, how he wishes to sit himself on the end of the bed and watch his partners desperately pull orgasms out of each other. 

oh, how he wishes he can see simon’s glossed over eyes peak over your shoulder and moan out a whiny ‘please touch us.’ to johnny. 

“stop trying to hold your tongue, let it out si.” your sultry tone makes johnny let out a shaky breath.

oh, how he wishes he were there. 

simon groans as the wet sound over the phone picks up in pace and volume. johnny clicks the volume up on his phone two clicks. any louder and anyone who were to walk by would very clearly hear sounds that one certainly wouldn’t make at in grocery store. 

“three minutes.” johnny glances down at his watch again. he could swear his soul left his body for a second when he hears a faint gag followed by a chuckle from you. 

“so fucking pretty sucking on my fingers like that.” your voice is much closer to the microphone now. you’d picked up your phone and held it as you ground your hips down onto simon’s. johnny can now clearly hear simon’s panting and shaky groans. 

simon always likes to joke that if anyone, and i mean anyone, somehow knew just how pathetic simon could get at the hands of you and johnny, he just might have to kill them.

 he’s obviously kidding.

maybe. 

“johnny,” simon breathes out and johnny thinks he’s about to collapse. the name is muffled, almost slurred really. your fingers pressing down on simon’s tongue force him to sound like that. 

why the fuck haven’t we as a society figured out how to teleport yet? johnny’s got somewhere he needs to be and it’s not standing in a hallway on the phone on base. 

unbelievable. 

“you gonna cum for us, si? come on make it quick, you’re down to two minutes.” johnny hums and both of you make a noise of pleasure at that. the drop in johnny’s tone makes his accent sound thicker in the best way possible. on top of that, the time limit is exciting you far more than either of you had anticipated.

“fucking-“ you’re words fizzle out into a whine when johnny hears the way simon begin to meet your bounces on him. that skin-on-skin noise that johnny loves to hear so much grows louder. “i’m gonna fucking cum.” he then hears you drop the phone. he can picture the way you start shaking atop simon when your incredibly pleased sob fills johnny’s ear. 

“there you go, just like that.” simon sighs as your fingers slip out of his mouth. he wraps an arm around your hips to move you himself. johnny’s hips twitch at the rasp in simon’s voice. he’s starting to wish he didn’t leave you both on edge this morning. 

he should’ve known his two bratty partners would  both do this to him.

“45 seconds or i’ll make you stop and i’m not touching either of you until tomorrow instead of when i get home.” johnny keeps his voice flat to hide how needy he’s starting to get.

that’s a lie.

that’s a lie and all three of you know it. 

he’d have his hands on both of you before the front door is even fully closed and locked regardless of how long you take. 

not even a full two seconds later, you’re squeezing your knees around simon’s waist. “come on pretty boy.” you moan out as you fall apart. and that pet name has him spilling into you seconds later. johnny can feel the tips of his ears burning bright fucking red. 

he’s hard now and there’s nothing he can do about it until he gets home to you two.

“finished with 15 seconds to spare.” johnny’s makes sure you can hear the smile in his voice. “i’m impressed.” 

“well having been on edge from this morning really helped.” you’re panting and feel like mush in simon’s lap. 

“you’re an arse for that by the way.” simon grunts. johnny snickers and shrugs his shoulders. 

“you liked it though, both of ya did.” johnny points out and takes the beat of silence as confirmation.”but seven minutes are up, i gotta go.” he says reluctantly. he feels like he should stick around for aftercare for a bit but he is unfortunately needed elsewhere. 

damn that all of that paperwork, why can’t it fill itself out? 

but he knows you two can take care of each other. he smiles at the thought. 

“you brats both did so well. i’ll decide if that little plan is punishment worthy or not later. that was a genius plan by the way.” johnny chuckles. his heart swells both of your laughs. such wonderful sounds. 

“i love you, johnny.” your voice is back next to the speaker again. his heart somehow manages to swell even bigger when you kiss the phone. 

“i also love you, mctavish.” simon adds. he kisses the phone as well but only because you silently insisted that he did. he pretends to hate doing that. 

“i love you both too. i’ll be home soon so please be good until then.” johnny says, kissing the phone two times for his two favorite people.

“be good until then” you playfully mock the mohawked man’s accent. simon can’t help but snort at that. 

“very funny.” johnny chuckles. “and please actually go to the store, we need more milk.” he doesn’t notice kyle standing in the doorway of his office a few feet away with a file in his hands until he hangs up and turns to walk to price’s office door again. johnny’s face flushes at the amused look on his teammates face.

“how long you been standin’ there, mate?” johnny shyly slipped his phone into his back pocket. 

“opened the door right when you were telling your brats how well they did.” kyle teases. thankfully, that’s all that kyle says before opening the door to price’s office and walks, leaving the door open for johnny to follow him back in. 

but, kyle will be bringing this back up later over comms next mission. 

and price is going to question his life choices when he has to get the four of you back on task.

he pauses so he can quickly… adjust himself… before opening the door to price’s office again. 

“groceries sorted out?” price raises his eyebrows at the sergeant who once again seats himself in the chair across from his desk. 

“sorted out.” johnny nods, praying that price can’t see how red his ears are.

price sees, he always does. 

johnny flushes even harder at price’s next words while kyle erupts into laughter. 

“now let's get this paperwork sorted and quick so you can get home to help with those so-called “groceries” yeah?”

[munson-blurbs]

@corrodedcoffinfest Day 8: Band Politics

Word Count: 614/Rating: T/Pairing: none/CW: conflict, mild political discourse/Tags: Eddie Munson, Gareth, Jeff, Grant, Robin Buckley, angst, arguments

Divider credit to @silkholland

December 1988

“They want us to do what?”

Eddie can hardly believe his ears. This must be the result of too many years of loud music, riffs heard from The Hideout to Madison Square Garden. No, there is absolutely no way–

Robin gives the boys a look that says she’s just as shocked as they are. “I asked if they had the wrong number. But, nope. They want you to play at Bush's inauguration.”

“No fucking way.” Eddie drums his fingers on his chair, glancing around the band manager’s office. “The same assholes who spent the last five years telling us that our music was the work of Satan are now asking us to play at the White House?”

“Technically,” Jeff interjects, “they’re asking us to play at the Capitol.”

Eddie rolls his eyes, crossing one leg over the other. “Whatever. The point stands–we’re not doing it.”

“Says who?” Gareth scoffs.

“Yeah, don’t we get a vote?” Grant’s voice takes on a challenging tone; it grates at Eddie like nails on a chalkboard. “I didn’t realize that this was the Eddie Munson Band.”

They can’t be serious, Eddie thinks. They’re just giving me a hard time. Busting my balls.

Robin speaks up before any of them can talk again. “It’ll draw plenty of attention. No one is expecting Corroded Coffin to be at the inauguration.” She grazes her teeth over her lower lip, peeling back a bit of pale pink lipstick. “Talk it over, but we need an answer by tomorrow.”

“We already have our answer. It’s a big, fat, no way in hell.”

Gareth stands up, placing himself right in front of Eddie. “We have the chance to play in front of the entire country, and you’re gonna throw that away, for what?”

“To prove a point.”

“What point? That we don’t want more people listening to our music?”

“That we’re not sell-outs!” Eddie slammed his fists on the chair’s wooden arms. “I’m not gonna kiss politicians’ corrupt asses just for a few more fans. It goes against everything we stand for!”

Jeff sighed, scratching the back of his neck. “Okay, but picture this: kids watching the inauguration, their parents and teachers thinking that they’re getting this great educational experience, and then—BOOM! They hear real music for the first time in their lives. Because of us.” He raises his brows. “This performance could shape the future of metal.”

Eddie chortles. “‘Shape the future of metal’? What kind of kumbaya bullshit is that?” Pretending not to notice the hurt on his friend’s face, he digs his heels in deeper. “How about the fans we already have thinking that we’re pro-government. Might as well stop playing all of our songs about anarchy.”

Grant gets to his feet next. “It’s three against one, dude. Just give it up. We can’t throw away this opportunity.”

“Well, good luck going on without your lead singer.” With that, Eddie storms out. A pit lays where his stomach should be, heavy with the weight of anger. 

The guys could do whatever they wanted. They could bend over and spread ‘em for those hoity-toity politicians. All of the new fans they might acquire means nothing if they had to sell their souls to get them. 

Eddie had spent all of his teenage years living with the rumors of devil-worshiping escapades masquerading as Dungeons & Dragons campaigns. He certainly wasn’t going to start worshiping actual evil entities—the ones who sat in their gigantic mansions and cut welfare and foodstamps and Social Security benefits without batting an eye—just for more fame. 

Maybe I’m an asshole, he thinks, pushing open the door and stomping into the lobby, but at least I’m not a goddamn sell-out. 

--

[clickoly]

O'Knutzy Week - Day 1

I saw the prompt Racing on the bingo card and I couldn't resist. 

Me? Watching twenty cars go vroom vroom in a circle for sixty laps every other weekend? Absolutely not. 

Here's the first of five parts of Starboys, a Cubs Formula One AU! 

(Leo will arrive in style, fashionably late, tomorrow)

Characters belong to the amazing @lumosinlove. A big thank you to @oknutzy-week-2024 for organizing the fest. 

A5: We lost

Link to Ao3 here

Monza, Italy

National Automobile Racetrack

The late August heat radiating from the pit lane was anything but a pleasant welcome. Sliding his sunglasses into messy hair, slightly sweaty from a short walk under the scorching sun, Logan took a quick look around. 

The Silver garage was uncharacteristically quiet, with only a few mechanics loading tires onto trailers, probably setting them up for tomorrow's free practice sessions.

The weekend hadn't even started yet, and Logan already wished it were over. He ached to wash away the feeling of too many sleepless nights off his body, to get rid of the latent headache that had been haunting him for days—ever since he'd boarded that flight from Amsterdam alone. 

What would happen if he refused to show up? Would they fire him? He actually considered hiding for a second, just as the back door to the offices opened. 

"Logan?" 

The unmistakable sound of Celeste's voice made him turn around. 

"Oui, maman?"

"Don't maman me, Tremblay," she stepped closer. "You're late." 

"I know," Logan risked an innocent grin. "Please tell me why I have to do this."

The threatening look he earned was more eloquent than any real answer. "Okay, okay," he held his hands up in a sign of truce. "Who's at the press conference?" 

Celeste had a habit of memorizing every single detail of his schedule. "Olli, Thomas, Jackson and Finn," she recited. "Do I have to remind you to behave?" 

"You know I hate those fucking-"

"Language," Celeste playfully pressed a finger to his chest, then tilted her head toward the door. "Go charm everyone with that sweet face of yours."

"Yeah," Logan huffed. "If anyone so much as breathes a word about last week, I swear to God–"

"You will kindly remind them it was a misunderstanding." 

"Mais non," he tried to reason. Had it been a misunderstanding?

"Logan, they want to throw gasoline on this already raging fire. We won't let them." 

"Fine," he gave up. There was no point in arguing with her. "But he better be on the same page." 

Celeste Dumais wasn't just any manager. She was a friend, a steady presence at Logan's side. And she also happened to be the scariest human being he'd ever met in his life. At least when she wanted to be.

"Go," she insisted. The bossy yet extremely loving tone came out, capable of commanding an army and taking care of a wild household at once. "Behave, and be ready for dinner at six. Pascal is taking us to his favorite restaurant in town, and Katie wants to show you she's learned to eat spaghetti."

"All by herself?"

"And with a fork. Can you believe that?" 

Logan's smile was genuine. "Merci, maman."

Down the hall in the Media Center, Logan could hear the loud chatter of people. He checked his watch and realized that they were probably waiting for him to start the conference. 

Media day, real fun. 

The same old faces welcomed him as he sat down at the end of a long red couch, right next to Thomas Walker, Racing Bull's first seat. 

"Care to join the party?" Thomas whispered, muffling his words from the cameras. 

"I'd rather not," Logan crossed his arms and leaned against the backrest. "But apparently I have no choice." 

Thomas tried to stifle a laugh as the journalist spoke into his microphone, drawing everyone's attention. 

"Welcome everybody to the drivers' press conference ahead of the FIA Formula One Italian Grand Prix," he said to the cameras. Years of interviews and conversations with this man, and still Logan found it tricky to understand his thick Scottish accent. "Here are our five drivers joining us today. Closest to me is the home hero for this weekend, Finn O'Hara."

Finn actually smiled for the audience and politely returned the greeting with a grateful nod. 

"Then we have Olli Halla, Jackson Nadeau, Thomas Walker and Logan Tremblay. Welcome to you all."  

Every other Thursday afternoon on race weekends, when his teammate James wasn't on call, Logan was forced to sit through the same boring go-to questions—usually asked by the same three people. What can you tell us about last week's results? What are your expectations for this weekend? And each time, he tried his best to hide his discomfort behind safely prepared answers, carefully tailored to avoid any kind of drama—the very thing reporters were always looking for.

"Why don't we start with you, Finn?" The man, Tom, asked. "How does it feel, as an American, to be able to race again in red in front of the Italian crowd?"

"Oh, man," Finn laughed, and the rapid clicking of camera shutters instantly filled the room.

Fucker.

"This is incredible," he went on. "Every year it feels like coming home. The fans are amazing, and their support means everything to me and, of course, to the team."

Not only was Finn an elite driver, but he also had an innate talent for winning people's hearts with the silliest of comments. Finn O'Hara was pure charm, and Logan hated to admit it, but he had always been a little jealous of his natural way with people—reporters, journalists, fans. Finn acted like he was born to be in the spotlight and, most importantly, on the top step of the podium. It came as no surprise to Logan when Finn received a multi-year contract offer from the most prestigious racing team in the world, the one people could name without thinking twice when asked about Formula One.

Ask a child to draw a car, and they will certainly draw it red—the same crimson as the Scuderia's vibrant and historic livery, the flagship of Made in Italy. 

"Let's move on to Logan," Tom said eventually, his voice as calm and punctuated as usual. "Shall we go back to last weekend? I believe it was a tough one for you, but you still managed to finish the race." 

Logan took his time answering. He grabbed the mic, untangled the long cable twisted at his feet, and slowly pulled it to his mouth, white knuckles clutching the metal casing. "It was," he said coldly. His free hand reached for his hair, feeling exposed by the absence of his snapback. "But there's not much to add, to be honest. As I said in the post-race interview, I got damaged by the contact and the car lost a little performance in terms of aerodynamics," he explained calmly. 

"The safety car he..." Logan trailed off. "The safety car helped. The mechanics did a mega job during the pit stop and fixed the problem enough to let me cross the finish line."

But I still don't know why it happened.

"It was absolutely a fantastic team effort," agreed Tom. "What about your predictions for this Sunday?" 

Logan's lips twitched on autopilot into a cocky smile. "Oh, I can totally see a win." 

"Best of luck to you," the man smiled back. "Now I think we have time to take questions from the print media."

Logan tensed. This was the tough part, when sports journalists went on a merciless gossip hunt, looking for the best headline for their next article. And once again, Logan found himself in their crosshairs. 

It didn't take long for Tom to give the floor to the most annoying of them all.

"Peter Jones, ESPN F1," the man said as he switched on the microphone. "Finn, the DNF at Zandvoort cost you important points in the battle for the championship," he paused. His greedy eyes flicked not so casually between Finn and Logan. "What are the consequences in the close fight between you and the current leader?" 

A subtle question, because Logan knew exactly where this was going. He couldn't help but turn to look at Finn, who sat up straighter on the couch and inadvertently moved a hand to rub the back of his neck—as he always did when he was nervous. 

"Like you said," he cleared his throat, "it's still a tight fight. I made a mistake and I apologized, because..." Logan heard the hesitation in his voice, a faint tremor. "We both lost something last week. The race, good points..." Finn's eyes went blurry for a fleeting moment. "But I have to focus more on the future if I want to close the gap between us. And that's still my goal, so I'd say nothing has really changed". 

"So everything's okay between the two of you?"

Logan had watched the footage in his hotel room. He remembered storming out of his box. He had wanted to talk, to understand. And they just ended up yelling at each other in the middle of the paddock. Fifteen minutes later, the pictures were all over the Internet. 

Sparks flying on and off the track. Tempers flare as Tremblay and O'Hara clash after today's collision, the official F1 account had captioned the post on Instagram. 

"Of course," Finn nodded, a half smile on his lips, uncertain. "Yeah, good rivals and all." 

Rivals. That's what they were these days. Faces of the rivalry between two legendary, antagonistic teams. Names in capital letters on magazine titles and website headlines. 

One against the other.

As soon as they were dismissed, Logan bolted out of the room. It was four in the afternoon, and he still had to find a way to get out of the circuit unnoticed.

Logan wasn't being hostile. He loved his job and the life that came with it—or almost all of it. Even if it meant exposing himself more than he actually liked. 

Just not today, not now, not when the constant pounding in his head kept his focus far away, trapped in a conversation he wished had turned out differently. 

He was close to the exit door when he heard footsteps running after him. 

"Logan, wait." 

"Not in the mood," he said without looking back.

"Lo." a warm hand cupped his shoulder. "Please." 

They hadn't talked in almost a week, a first for them. Finn had texted, but Logan had needed time to figure out why he was so upset. In the back of his mind, Logan replayed the scene for the thousandth time.

Lap fifty, one hour and forty minutes into the race. Logan was leading the Dutch Grand Prix, going through Sector 2 with a 0.286-second lead over Finn, who had his DRS open. At the entrance to Turn 11, they were neck-to-neck, fighting for the apex.

The contact between the two cars happened out of the blue. It felt like a punch in the gut. 

Logan had watched the tape over and over, looking for a valid justification, an explanation. There had been plenty of room for both cars, and yet Finn had pushed him off the track, damaging Logan's front wing and knocking himself out of the race.

"You lied," Logan said firmly, still with his back to Finn. 

"What?"

"You said you apologized. But you didn't."

Finn let out a heavy breath, a hint of disbelief in it. He stepped in front of him, tall and broad as he was, brown eyes unbearably sad. 

"You think I did it on purpose?" he asked, his voice shaking with emotion. 

Logan held Finn's gaze. He felt all the tension in his body release at the sight of the hurt on his face. "Finn, I could never. Merde, I just... I don't understand why you snapped at me like that." 

You know what, Logan? Fuck you too. I don't have to explain anything to anyone. Just leave me alone.  

"I didn't mean to," Finn ducked his head, shying away from him. "I was tired of people asking me what happened and..." he shrugged helplessly. "You were so angry and I was furious because I'm an asshole and that was a fucking rookie mistake." Finn finally looked back at him, "I'm so sorry, Lo. I should have told you right away. I'm sorry." 

We both lost something last week. Something.

Logan closed his eyes.

Competitiveness was rooted in his DNA. He'd been racing for as long as he could remember, and he knew he would become a professional driver from the moment he sat in a kart for the first time at the tender age of five. The son of Marius Tremblay, a legend of the sport, following in his father's footsteps. 

He'd come a long way, with ups and downs, blissful achievements, countless defeats and steady improvement. And yet he'd found his way to this, to be a two-time world champion at the pinnacle of motorsport. To compete for a third title against Finn, the best friend he could've ever asked for. The only thing he hadn't expected to find on this competitive journey, and yet the most precious.

Logan had lost a race. That was it, a mistake. He certainly wasn't going to make the one to let Finn go. He could barely stand the idea of fighting with him. 

Still, he kept his face straight. He would never have given in that easily. "Listen," he said seriously, fighting the urge to hold Finn as he grew even paler, the freckles on his nose and cheekbones a stark contrast to his milky skin. "If you're not taking me out for a drink tonight, we're done."

A sparkle lit up those helplessly kind, soothing eyes. "We're not supposed to drink alcohol, Tremblay," Finn smiled shyly. 

"D'accord," Logan rolled his eyes and bit back a smile of his own. "Alcohol free it is."

[skyfallslayer]

Should We Stay or Should We Go? || Chapter Five - Part 1

-A ST Rewrite Feat. Steve Harrington x Henderson!OFC-

Main Masterlist || Series Masterlist

🎲Summary: Hopper breaks into Hawkins Lab, while Nancy and Jonathan confront the forces that took Will and Steph. The boys, and even to their surprise, Steve, ask Mr. Clarke how to travel to another dimension; All while Stephanie frantically starts looking for Will after hearing his cries.

🎲Pairings: Will x Platonic!OFC; Dustin x Sister!OC; Slow burn! Steve x Henderson!OFC (Ex-bestfriends to Lovers); Slow burn! Byler

🎲Rating: Teen-Mature

🎲Word Count: 22,544 (In Total)

🎲Date: 7/31/24

🎲Warnings: Heavy Angst; Heavy Language & Dialogue; References To Broken Friendship; Mental Strain/Breaking Down; Physical Fighting; Lying; "Death"; Funerals; Crying; Talks of Corpses; Being Drugged; Brief Alcohol Consumption; Unwanted Touching; Suggestive Dialogue; Suicidal Thoughts; Minor Blood; A Certain "Curse" Comes Into Play Early; The Byers Family's Mental Strain; Hopper Being a Great Cop & A Total Mess; Dustin Being a Gangster & A Overprotective Brother; The Harringtons' A+ Parenting; Steve's Emotional Damage & Signing Up To Be A Babysitter; Stephanie & Will Deserved All The Love, man. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK

(And let me know if I missed anything)

🎲A/N: Heads up, Readers! This document is split between two parts. For some reason Tumblr said I reach my 1,000 space limit, or something like that and wouldn't let me post it because it's so long. But at the very end of this part will be a spot you can click on for the next. Hopefully where I cut it off makes sense. Hope y'all in for a treat :) - And as you probably will notice when you're reading this, I left out Lonnie, Joyce's ex-husband. I left the scene out of chapter two where Jonathan goes to meet him and inform him that Will is missing. I felt like I really did need to write that, kind of like I don't feel like writing him in this chapter either. He doesn't exactly benefit this story, and this chapter/episode, is the last appearance of the character anyway, so... I just decided to just cut him, and replace his intense "dialogue" with a scene between Joyce and Jonathan. Hope you understand, and enjoy this chapter ❤️

Hopper wasn’t sure what he was even doing or thinking anymore. He got the answers he was looking for, but there were still some follow up questions about those answers that he needed to know. When the horrible, horrible thought crossed his mind about breaking into the morgue and seeing if the poor kids’ bodies were even real, he barely even hesitated. Why he didn’t hesitate kind of scared him. I mean, did deep down he know his doubts might be real?

So he swallowed and drove over to the place, still in his street clothes, hat discarded in his seat, and smelling like cigarettes and three hour old alcohol. He got out of his car, parking illegally, and was surprised to see the receptionist outside the door.

“Hey, Patty. Heading home?” He said, and she perks up upon seeing his face.

“Oh, Chief. Perfect timing. I was just debating if I should call you or not.” She says, confusing him.

“Is there a problem?”

“I…” She sighs. “I-I don’t know. About… ten minutes ago, I would say, a young lad came in and said his brother left something behind and wanted to retrieve it. I let him do it, but I noticed he hasn’t come back. And when I try calling out to the officer in the back I get no response. Frankly, I’m a little freaked out to investigate myself.”

A young lad? An officer? That’s weird. “Did you recognize this man? The one who came in?”

“I don’t recall seeing him this morning. Just Ms. Byers, her son and of course Ms. Henderson. But that’s all I’ve seen all day.” Patty explains before pointing in the distance. “I’m assuming that’s his car.”

Hopper follows her finger, a familiar black BMW was parked a few feet away. If it wasn’t for her pointing it out, he surely would have missed it since the area had poor lighting. It didn’t take him long to realize who’s car that was.

He puts on a front to calm her. “I’ll see what’s going on. Just wait right here. I’ll make it quick. ‘Kay?”

“Okay. Thank you, Chief.”

As soon as he’s inside, his hand is already on his holster. Judging by the car, he knew the Harrington kid was here, which he’s not exactly sure why; But to be honest, him being here was his least concern at the moment. He was more concerned about another officer being here. I mean, this was a morgue, people unfortunately die all the time, whether it was just natural or part of a crime; So it didn’t make any sense why the murders of two local kids would get special treatment.

His mind of course wanders back to the bar earlier where he had to beat the crap out of O’Bannon just to get some answers.

.

“Okay…” Hopper pins him to the wall. “Let’s try this one more time.” He grabs the man by the chin, squeezing. “Who told you to be out there? What were you doing out there?” He watched for an answer, and when he wasn’t getting any, he dialed back his fist.

“I don’t know!” David shouts. “I don’t know. They… they just told me to call it in and not let anybody get too close.

“Get close to what?!”

“The bodies.”

.

The bodies. Someone told him not to get close to the bodies. There was something about Will and Stephanie’s bodies that no one was supposed to get close to, and needed a cop to guard the morgue.

And I am a little afraid to find out why though. As Hopper got closer to the back, he immediately saw something that made him draw out his gun. The cop, whom he didn’t recognize at all, was lying unconscious on the floor (At least he hoped he was unconscious). He runs over quietly, and squats down to check for a pulse. Breathing. That’s good.

Now for the real question is… why was he unconscious? Was this the teenager’s doing? He frowns and pushes open the unlock door carefully, and steps inside. The cold temperature hits him hard but he doesn’t shiver; Maybe it was the adrenaline that was pumping in his veins, and pulled his heart to his feet. It was so eerily quiet, it was like straight out of a horror movie. He had half expected someone to come through the shadows with a knife. As he move inland more, he heard some shuffling and someone muttered, ‘What the fuck’, and then decided to push open the door to the fridge.

He must have startled the other party, which so happened to be the Harrington kid, brown eyes blown wide and (Oh, the irony) a knife pointed his way. They both stared at one another in silence, both surprised to find each other here…

Both surprised that they had the same idea/doubts.

Hopper’s eyes trailed past the boy’s shoulder, landing on the table where he could see the top of the dead girl’s head. What is he–

Then he stops himself when he notices something else. In the tips of Steve’s fingers, he sees a small ball of… cotton. Afraid, but he didn’t show it, he starts walking towards the table, lowering his weapon as Steve sidesteps to give him room – Hopper’s heart almost stops. He sees the incision immediately, and the white fluff pooling out of it. The two of their gazes meet, silence was enough to tell the adult everything. 

Deciding he needed to know more, he pulls the sheet back over the body and slides her back in before searching for another one. In the drawer below, he pulls out Will’s body and pulls the sheet back. It was still a sickening sight to see, despite knowing damn well it was a fake; But he still needed to know. Still not saying any words, Hopper holds his hand out and Steve gets the message and hands over his blade.

With no hesitation, Hopper digs into the realistic flesh, the flesh that was dry and had no prior incisions like it should have, and pulls out the same fluff like the last one. 

Oh, my God. His doubts were real. The bodies were fakes. But if that was the case, where were the children? Closing the blade and handing it back, Hopper grabs the teenager by the bicep and strings him along. “Come on.”

They leave in a hurry, only slowing their pace when they see Patty outside. Hopper puts on a cheeky smile, still holding onto Steve. “Dang, teenagers. Always wanting to do a good prank.” He chuckles. “Everything’s all good. Goodnight, Patty.”

“Uh…” She stares at him, slightly confused but still waves goodbye. “‘Night, Chief.” He drags the boy back to his car, glancing back to make sure she was inside before exploding. 

“Hey, listen–” Steve begins, as he tries to wiggle out of his hold.

“What did I say about forgetting our conversation at school?” Hopper snaps, and let’s go.

He scoffs and gives him a look. “How could I forget? Especially the way you reacted? How could I forget all that?”

“Listen, son, whatever this is–” The adult gestures around. “Is dangerous. Something’s going on, and it’s a dangerous slope.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“You know?” Now it was Hopper’s turn to scoff. “Then why the fuck are you running head first into this?”

“‘Cause I had doubts too. I thought about everything, and nothing’s adding up, Chief.” Steve explains, getting a groan from the man. “Nothing’s making sense. They said the two of them drowned in the Quarry, but I highly doubt that. But, who knows! Maybe they did get pushed towards the Quarry, but they also took a shotgun with them. If someone was chasing them to a cliff, why didn’t they use the gun? Why did they feel like they had to make their bodies fake? Were they actually taken and not lost? Or–”

“I’m going to stop you right there.” Hopper says, holding his hand up. “I know you have questions, I get that, but you really need to stop and let me handle it.”

Steve shakes his head. “I’m not letting this go.”

“You should. Before you get hurt.”

“They stuffed my friend like she was a fucking stuffed animal!”

“I thought she wasn’t your friend anymore?” Hopper asked, and Steve shut his mouth and looked away. His face softens a tad. Just a tad. “Listen, something is definitely going on, that’s as clear as day. But when I poked around today, I noticed someone was following me, which means I’m getting close to something that I’m not supposed to.”

“That means you’re on the right track then.”

“Yes. But that’s a track that I don’t want you on.”

“Chief–”

“Steve.” Hopper steps closer, and grabs him by the shoulder. “I know this is an emotional time, but I need you to trust me, and let me do this. Please.” He swallows the lump in his throat. “I can’t see another kid get hurt or die on me. So trust me, and stay away. Okay?”

Steve nods slowly. “Okay.”

“Good. Go home. Be safe. And please, do not do anything stupid.” He warns, because he’s about to do something stupid. But Jim Hopper doesn’t really know Steve Harrington all that well.

Because the teenager was already planning on doing something stupid too.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

|| THE OTHER SIDE ||

Besides the migraine, Stephanie wakes up to the sound of screaming. She shoots up from her sleeping form, big blue orbs blown wide and adrenaline starts to spike. Memories came in slowly, remembering the way her body basically gave her the finger and shut off on its own, falling into the deepest, but dreamless sleep. Her body felt colder than usual, and hugs herself for warmth.

What is… She winces at the pain in her temples spike, followed by a small drop of blood coming out of her nose. Slowly, she reaches up to touch, her fingertips stained red. She wonders if she hit her head too hard when she fell over. That could explain the headache, the nosebleed and the feeling of being in a fog. Hopefully she didn’t give herself a concussion. That’s the last thing she needs.

And that’s when she hears the scream again.

She felt a shiver, not from the cold, run down her spine immediately. She knows that scream so familiar now, it’s engraved in the back of her skull.

“Will.” She mutters, and looks around. Sure enough everything was here except for him. “Will?!” And then another scream, and Steph wastes no time to grab her pistol and bolt back towards the house. “WILL!!”

Completely scared – heart beating, head pounding, blood trickled down her chin – and the thought of not losing her footing was keeping her going. She doesn’t know why he was gone. Did he run off on his own? Did the monster get him? She’s not so sure, and she doesn’t care. She just needs to find him and make sure he’s safe. 

“Will!” She shouts again, completely obviously how short the run time was,  and rammed through the back door and–

Right back outside. 

She stumbled to the stop, and her eyes burned in the light, the buttercream sun and the sound of peace, and the feeling of warmth she hasn’t felt for days now. Confusion hits her now, and she suddenly finds herself on her very own lawn that was connected to her very own home. She blinks, and looks around, spinning on her heels like a twirl. Everything looked… normal. No weird snow-like substance falling from the sky, no darkness, no weird plants that pulsate, and drop temperatures close to zero. She was back home, and totally not in a scary place she’s been stuck in.

But how did I– How did I get back here? She touches her head, thinking. None of it made sense. She ran through Will’s back door and now she’s here? Back at her home? The normal version? This doesn’t–

Then, a car pulled into the driveway, making her breath get taken away. It was a 1960s station wagon, her Mom’s car, her Mom’s old car, The one that had gotten totaled in an accident years ago. 

She tilts her head, squinting like it would just change at any second. Why is it–

Then the front door opened in a flash with another shocking sight. Her grandmother, the one that passed away when she was just a kid, was standing in the doorway with a huge smile on her non-sickly face.

// Oh, baby, they’re here // She says, and that’s when she’s hit with another strike to the gut.

Stephanie watched as her barely five year old self shifted around her granny, practically bouncing down the steps towards the yellow car. Her mother gets out first, with a small bundle of cloth in her arms, which her younger self was giggling about.

// Stephanie, come meet your brother, Dustin // She said, with a smile that touched her eyes and soul.

Her younger self laughed as she showed her baby sibling. // Hi, Dustin //

Stephanie stared, the confusion intensifying by hundreds, no even sure what else to say except, “What the fuck…?”

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Hopper manages to sneak through the door just as a scientist left for the night. He was out of his mind, he knows that for sure, especially since he decided to trespass into Hawkins Labs that seemed more guarded the last time he was here. He was also more out of his mind when he decided to head inside the place that was blocked off and had two large hazardous signs on the entrance. Well… what do they say?

You only live once.

The hallway was short lived, leading right up to a door that was of course locked, and unable to access it without a passkey.

“Shit.” He said, unaware of the two security guards rushing up behind him.

“Hands up!” They shouted, guns drawn. “Forgot all the cameras, bub?”

Hopper decided to play it cool, his face calm with a smile as he slowly turned around, hands in the air. “Look, Dr. Brenner asked for me specifically. Okay? How else do you think I got in here?”

One of the guards raised an eyebrow, using a free hand to reach for his walkie. “What’s your name again?”

“It’s Jim Hopper.” A little chuckle. “Chief Jim Hopper.”

He presses the button. “Yeah, I’ve got Jim Hopper–”

And the Chief landed a punch across his jaw, sending him to the floor and grabbing his gun. He immediately points it to the other party, and pins both his arms against the wall. The guy over the radio shouts what’s going on, but Hopper ignores it and takes the guard’s weapon away from him too.

“Hey…” His fingers latched around the badge. “You mind if I borrow this one?” 

He plucks it off and swipes the card, never taking his eyes on the conscious guard until the door shuts. As soon as he’s in the dark room, Hopper shoots a bullet through the card reader, trapping himself inside.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Meanwhile, on the other side of town, the boys were back at the Wheeler house, all lounging around in the basement, trying to process everything they heard on the radio.

“What was Will saying? Like home... but dark?” Mike said, pacing around, occasionally glancing at Eleven who was laying in a daze on his couch. He feels a bit bad that they might have pushed her too far tonight.

“And empty.” Lucas adds, face in his hands.

“Empty and cold.” Dustin says, sitting on the steps, a worried look on his face. “Wait, did he say cold? And who was he talking to?”

“Could have been your sister.” Mike suggested.

“No. He said my sister was passed out. There’s no way that was her.” Dustin groans. “That stupid radio kept going in and out.”

“Like home. Like his house?”

Lucas perks up with a snap of his fingers. “Or maybe like Hawkins.”

“Upside down.” El mutters from her spot on the couch.

“What’d she say?”

Mike was suddenly hit with realization and springs over to the table. “Upside down!”

“What?”

“Upside down.” He waves them over, and flips his upside down game board back over. “When El showed us where Will and Steph were, she flipped the board over, remember?” He flips it over again. “Upside down. Dark. Empty.”

“Do you understand what he’s talking about?” Lucas asked, meeting his other friend’s eyes.

“I’ll admit, I’m a little lost.” Dustin said, sheepishly. 

“Guys, come on, just think about it.” Mike pressures. “When El took us to find them, she took us to Will’s house, right?”

“Yeah. And they weren’t there.” Lucas points out.

“But what if they were there? What if we just couldn’t see them? What if they were on the other side? What if–” He flips the board back to its normal side. “This is Hawkins and–”  And then back to the blank side. “This is where they are? The Upside Down.”

Dustin gasps. “Like the Vale of Shadows.” It took his friends a moment to process the reality of this as he fished out his ‘unofficial’ D&D guidebook. He flips to the page he was talking about. “The Vale of Shadows is a dimension that is a dark reflection or echo of our world. It is a place of decay and death. A plane out of phase. A place of monsters. It is right next to you, and you…” He locks fearful eyes with them. “Don’t even see it.”

“An alternate dimension.” Mike realizes, terrified as well. 

“But... how... how do we get there?” Lucas asked, worriedly.

“You cast Shadow Walk.” Dustin answers.

“In real life, dummy.”

“We can’t shadow walk, but…” His blue eyes trail to their sleepy friend. “Maybe she can.”

“Do you know how we get there?” Mike asks, hopefully. “To the Upside Down?”

Unfortunately for them…

She shook her head no.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

“Will?” Hopper frantically called out into the darkness, frantically scanning the area with his flashlight. “Stephanie?”

From what he can tell, this area mimicked a hospital. The white walls, colorless floors, the cold. I guess he should have suspected the rooms lined in the hallway to be filled with beds, but what he wasn’t expecting was the rooms to be catered with a few stuffed animals and security cameras in them. He also got a sudden wave of sickness when he saw a drawing done by a child on the wall, one that looked pretty recent.

What the hell? And that was his last thought before he could hear alarms blaring in the distance. He was honestly surprised they didn’t sound it sooner. So with a gun back in his hand, Hopper raced frantically down the rest of the halls, checking each room he could find.

“Will? Stephanie? Kids?” He shouts, and picks up speed. Come on. Where are they?

When he reaches the end of the hallway, he finds an elevator. A slight blessing in some way, but he also dreaded what else he might find. Are the kids really here? Or is he really following a thin thread? 

“I see him!” Someone shouts just as the door opens. “Hey! Stop!”

Hopper just gives them a sharp glare as the door seals him inside, heading down yet another level. When he did arrive, this floor was a lot creeper than the last. This time it did have lighting, except only every other light fixture ‘worked’ (It was more flickering on and off), and there was something floating in the air – a substance that looked like snow, but wasn’t. 

“Will? Stephanie?” He manages to yell before breaking into a coughing fit. “W-Will? St-Stephanie? Kids!” He continued to cough, covering his mouth with his elbow as he continued his trek. “What in the world?”

When he entered the room at the end of the hall, he saw something he cannot explain. Stretching along the back wall was a very disgusting looking plant; Black veins shot out like the spiderwebs that were hanging off of them, and the middle of it, the core, seemed to glow a red hue and it was… pulsating. In a strange case of curiosity, Hopper couldn’t help but reach out to touch the stickiness.

What is this thing? And that’s when he catches something moving in the corner of his eye. He whips around, gun out again and starts looking around worriedly. And just like a fucking horror flick, a man in a hazmat suit came right out of the darkness and straight towards him. 

“Hey!” He takes a step back as a warning. “Hey! Hey!”

And then out of the depth again, only this time he did not see, another masked up individuals come from behind–

And plunges a needle into his neck.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Jonathan was rushing home rather late. His little… “shopping trip” was cut short by none other than a schoolmate, Nancy Wheeler. Never in his sixteen years on the planet did he think he would get a visit from her – and over something so strange. But now, he was trying to get back home, to tell his mother that she wasn’t insane, that he finally understood what she was saying these past few days.

When he got home the first thing he noticed was there was a big gaping hole on the front of his house. Distressfully, he did his best to rush inside, finding his poor mother shivering with a conveniently placed axe by her feet. It didn’t take a genius to put two-and-two together.

“Mom, what happened?” He asked, and she didn’t even flinch – almost didn’t acknowledge he was even there. 

“Oh… hey, Jonathan.” She said, the exhaustion made her look ten times her age. “How was the shopping?”

“Forget shopping. Jesus, you’re freezing.” He replies, slugging his jacket off and placing it over her. “Just wait right here.”

It took a few minutes to retrieve a few things from the shed, but he managed to nail up a tarp to block the chilly November winds. Holding back the urge to shiver himself, he focuses his strength back onto his mother.

“Mom.” He begins, sitting down next to her (He even takes her cold hands into his own). “What happened?”

“Oh…” She shakes her head with a sniffle. “Nothing, sweety.”

“No, not nothing.” Guilt started to eat at him a bit (Why didn’t he believe his own mother in the first place?). “Why did you take the wall down?”

“Jonathan, it’s nothing–”

“Mom… that thing you saw before–” He swallows “Did it come back?”

She shakes her head again. “Who cares. Maybe it was all in my head after all.”

“No, it was not.” Jonathan reaches inside his jacket pocket, pulling a photo out. “The thing you saw, is this it?”

“Jonathan–”

“Mom, please. Just look.” He gives her a set of pleading eyes. “Please.”

It took a moment, but she did. It took another moment for her to process what she was looking at. And another for the realization to settle in. 

“W-Where did you get this?” Joyce gasps, and points at it.

Jonathan takes a second to think over his story. “Two days after Will and Stephanie disappeared, I decided to look in the area they vanished from. Somehow, I ended up at a house where one of my schoolmates was having a party; Nancy was there with her friend Barbara. Remember Barbara?”

“Yeah, I remember Barbara.”

“Well, you know she’s missing right?”

“I’ve heard. So you…” Joyce gives a look. “You saw her before she went missing?”

“Yeah.” He nods. “But before you scold me, I ended up taking pictures of the people at the party, one of them happened to be Barbara when she was alone at the pool.”

“Jonathan–”

“I know, I said wait… Please.”

“Okay.” She nods. “Continue.”

“Okay. So I snapped a picture, and as soon as I snapped it, she was gone.”

“Gone?” Her look intensifies. “What do you mean ‘Gone’?”

“It’s like she vanished out of thin air. I thought it was weird. Kind of freaked me out too, so I left.” He frowns, scared. Even when he found out what may have happened, he still couldn’t wrap his head around it. “It wasn’t until earlier today that Nancy came up to me and asked to see my photos, from there she revealed she saw something at the house. A man with no face.”

Joyce covered her mouth with her hand, processing. “Oh, my god…”

“Mom, is this what you saw? Is this what came out of the wall the night before?”

She shakes her head eagerly. “Y-Yes. This is what I saw.” She replies, ending with a small sob. “I… I couldn’t hear them, y-your brother and Stephanie, but I just…” She touches her chest, her heart. “I-I just had this feeling that I knew they were there, right next to me and–” She sighs heavily, feeling like she’s losing her mind again.

Jonathan starts rubbing soothing circles on her back, still holding one of her hands. “It’s okay. Take your time. Just… walk me through everything. Please.”

Another sigh, but this time it was for her to steady herself. “Okay. I… started hanging lights, ‘cause when I-I was in the store I felt their presence, the lights on the aisle flickered, so I thought maybe I can get some reaction here. It took a few hours and I did. I said, one blink for ‘Yes’, two blinks for ‘No’. But–” She bites her lips. “It wasn’t giving me the questions I needed, so I painted the wall.”

“The alphabet wall?” He asked, gesturing behind them with his head.

“Y-Yeah.”

“What did you ask them? What did they say?”

“I… I-I really could only get one answer. I asked them, ‘Where are they?’. Then, they gave me a strange response.”

“Which was?”

“‘Right here’.” She points to the floor. “They said, ‘Right here’.” She frowns. “I… I tried asking what that means, but then they told me to ‘Run’. And that’s when that… th-that thing came out of the wall.”

“It came out of the wall, okay. Um–” His eyes glance over to the tarp. “Is that why you took the axe to the wall? Were… were you trying to see if it was in there?”

“No.” Another shake of her head. “I heard him. I heard Will a few hours ago, so I… I peeled back the wallpaper, and… there was this– this bubble type thing inside, and… a-and I could see him, hear him. He was talking, and he was scared. I asked him where he was, and he told me he was here, but it was dark and cold. And… s-something was coming for him, so I told him to run, and…”

“You took down the wall to see if he was there?”

She nods. “Y-Yes.”

“Okay.” He says, nodding to. He was trying to process this. “Okay. Okay. Okay. Um… shit.” He starts rubbing the side of his head. “I… I don’t have an answer for this.”

Joyce laughs quietly. “Yeah, neither do I.” She sighs. “I don’t know… I do know what to do. All I can do is communicate when I can get a hold of him.”

“Yeah.” He frowns. “I guess…”

Suddenly, the lights flickered for a few seconds, and the boombox flipped on. 

.

[ ♪ –or should I go?

If you say that you are mine

I’ll be here ‘till the end of time

So you got to let me know

Should I stay or should I go? ♪ ] 

.

Jonathan had jumped to his feet when it turned on, and got all defensive. “What the–”

“See?” Joyce said, touching her son’s arm to get him to calm down. “Your brother is here.”

The eldest stared at the box, imagining his little brother laying on the floor with his legs in the air, and adding color to a drawing he’d finished. He felt a bit relieved that his brother was still “around”; But it also made him feel terrible, because…

.

.

.

He has no idea how to get Will back to them.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

|| THE OTHER SIDE ||

Will will admit… that this did not go as he planned or at least hoped it would have. He actually got through to his mother, he actually got to see his mother. Even if it wasn’t the clearest image, he could tell it was her. He wonders when the beast crawled out of the wall earlier it must have left behind some kind of doorway to the other side. The sucky part was, no matter how hard he pushed on that… disgusting bubble it wouldn’t budge. All he could do was explain where he was to her and hoping she understood before the faceless beast returned to hunt.

But Will wasn’t shaking this thing off. This thing seemed to be mad, a bit pissed off with the way the movements were, frustrated even as it let out a few growls and huffs of air. He tried to make a few runs for the door, but everytime it kept lunging and throwing him off track. He felt his heart pounding in his ears as he trips on something, losing the shotgun and literally crawling across the hallway to get away. 

He finds himself on the verge of tears at this point, wondering if this is how his life will end: By dying by a literal monster on his big brother’s bedroom floor. 

Will starts pleading quietly, the beast’s meaty hand reaching out towards him, and at the last minute, Will moves out of the way. The beast ran into Jonathan’s desk  before rerouting and stalking over his prey again. Will curls up into a ball in the corner, muttering ‘I’m sorry’ to everyone he knows…

Then his brother’s boombox fell, turning it right on, and causing the lights to start flickering like a rave. 

.

[ ♪ –or should I go? ♪ ]

.

The beast flitched hard, almost like it was hurt by the vocals coming out of the box. It made a distressful sound, Will uncurling himself to watch this turn of events unfold. 

.

[ ♪ If you say that you are mine

I’ll be here ‘till the end of time

So you got to let me know

Should I stay or should I go? ♪ ]

.

The thing lets out a shriek and starts jerking its head around, before calling it quits. It practically threw its body out the room, running frantically around the house until it finally got out and disappeared. Will followed carefully, poking his head down the hallway where he was met with silence again. The beast was gone. Like… actually gone. Scared away by The Clash? It almost seemed too good to be true.

.

[ ♪ It’s always tease, tease, tease

You’re happy when I’m on my knees

One day it’s fine and next it’s black

So if you want me– ♪ ] 

.

He comes over and shuts the boombox off with a small smile, and gets an idea. Rummaging around the filth, he started stuffing some cassettes into his coat pockets until they were full before shifting over to pick up the boombox until he remembered something. A boombox is a bit hefty to be lugging around, and what if it gets to be too much and then they have to ditch it? Then what? What could they use? That’s when he remembers his brother had a walkman lying around somewhere. He eventually finds it, and starts making his way back to Stephanie. 

Will did his best to carry everything in his tiny grip, still a little scared that the beast might make an appearance again (It’s not like he could whip out his gun quick enough ‘cause his hands are full), but now he knew it’s weakness. Who knew it was something so silly like music?

Maybe… this could be our way out? He wonders about that, and he also wonders about the way he communicated with his mom earlier. If the beast could travel to both worlds, could it also be their key to getting out of here? Could there be another gate somewhere? It was questions like these that were going to be hard to answer. Hawkins was so big, how long would it take them to search every nook and cranny for a gateway home?

This is something I got to run by Stephanie. Speaking of… When he got closer to where they settled down, he noticed she was actually awake; Sitting on her knees in the grass, looking like she hadn’t noticed his presence yet.

So, she is awake. Weird. I thought she would have run after me when reading the note I left her. But he shrugs it off. Maybe she was more understanding than he thought. With a huge smile on his face, he picks up his pace to tell her the good news.

“Hey, Steph. Before you get mad, I found a way to protect ourselves.” He explains, setting the items down next to her. “When I accidentally turned on the boombox, the monster got all frightened and ran off. I know that sounds weird, but it works! We can roam freely just by playing a song! Isn’t that crazy?”

He was expecting a scolding, maybe even a laugh, or a look of disbelief, but he certainly didn’t think she wouldn’t say anything. He doesn’t recall her being the type of person to give the silent treatment if mad. Will repeated the last sentence to see if he would get something, and that’s when he finally noticed something odd. The girl wasn’t… moving. She was just sitting there on her knees, slightly hunched over, looking like a statue.

He’s not going to lie, it was kind of freaking him out. “Stephanie?” He slowly crouches down in front of her, and brushes a few strands of hair out of her face and nearly falls back.

To his shock he finds her looking paler than the last few days, and her eyes were bloodshot red and dry, but that wasn’t what was scaring him. What was scaring him was the fact that her blue eyes looked unnatural, and that her pupils had completely disappeared from sight. To him, she looked like she was possessed. 

Will finds himself growing pale himself, completely scared of what’s happening to his friend. “Stephanie?”

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

|| THE OTHER SIDE ||

Stephanie couldn’t help but follow them inside. Her grandmother was saying to Claudia all kinds of loving things, as her younger self wouldn’t stop expressing how much she wanted to hold her baby brother. It all seems so surreal, it felt like it happened only yesterday, but it was in fact twelve years ago. 

She runs up the stairs and through the door, as soon as she does, the memory changes. The three of them vanished, and the house looks like it was spruced up more in this scene change. Now, she sees her younger self was a little bit older, Dustin was too, and they both were sitting on the floor in the living room, playing a game on their Atari. 

// You’re cheating // Her brother pouts as soon as the score on pong changes to double digits.

She snorts. // How am I cheating? It only has one control //

// Still cheating //

// Dustin… //

Stephanie smiles at the antics. This was pretty much the same conversation every time they played a video game of some sort. It makes her laugh and feel good every time she thinks about it. But this still doesn’t explain what’s going on.

// Ugh, this doesn’t make any sense! // Dustin, a different version, yells from the dining room table. His head lays across one of his books as his big sister looks over it, perplexed. 

// I don’t remember learning any of this // She mumbles, scratching her head. 

// I’m going to fail… //

// You’re not going to fail //

// I’m totally going to fail //

The oldest shakes her head at his antics. She remembers this too, and despite the hardship of it, he still passed with a B. It’s still better than nothing.

She then nearly jumps out of her shoes when she swears something exploded in her kitchen. She rushes over, finding herself again standing off to the side in disbelief. That’s when she saw her brother standing tall and proud with batter all over his face. 

// Pancakes are done // He said, oblivious to her shock. 

She rubs her face, cringing at the time Dustin tried to make breakfast on his own which was a complete disaster. How he managed to burn and undercook everything was beyond her knowledge. Oh, Dusty.

Then, she perks up again when her little bro is replaced by her mother. Her hair is tied back, and she’s wearing her kiss the cook apron. “Mom?”

// Hey, Ms. Henderson? //

Stephanie gasps quietly and spares a glance to the side where the entrance to the basement was. Just like she thought, she finds herself staring at a young Steve Harrington, probably about eight years old.

“Steve?” She said, taking him in. A little stripe button up shirt, shorts and small bandage on his cheek; He was also flashing a grin with a couple baby teeth missing.

// Yes, Steve? // Claudia said, not taking her eyes off the stove.

// Can we eat downstairs? Fia and I are almost done with our game //

Fia. Her heart clenched at the nickname she hasn’t heard in such a long time. I kind of… miss it. 

I mean, her brother calls her Phanie which was special to her, but that was something only he ever called her. And Steph was just a common nickname to call all ‘Stephanies’. However, Steve’s little nickname for her was really unique and special to her.

Apparently it was still special to her.

Some more was said but she didn’t listen, and before she knew it, little Steve was running back down the stairs. 

“Hey!” She shouts and chases after him. As soon as she gets off the last step she finds herself somewhere different again. She was met with a few flashing strobe lights, loud music and lots of laughter. She recognizes this place rather quickly, it was the roller rink they built in the mall a few years back.

// Steve! Stop! // Her preteen self yells, looking like a newborn colt on rollerblades. She was hanging onto dear life to her best friend who could not stop laughing at her over reaction. 

// You know you’re going to have let go soon // Steve says, as she shakes her head.

// Nope. No way. I don’t want to fall again //

// Falling comes with the practice, you know //

She sends him a look. // Easy for you to say. You haven’t fallen once! //

// What can I say? // He starts slowly pushing her away, only holding onto her hands for support. // I’m just a natural //

// Steve! Please! // She said, a mixture of panic and laughter. // Come on! //

He hums, acting like he was thinking before he lets go of one of her hands. // Oops //

// Steve! // She warns, and slouches a bit to keep herself small so she doesn’t slip.

// Relax, Fia. I wasn’t going to let you go // He replies, truthfully, warmly. // I’ll hold your hand until you’re confident enough. Okay? //

// You better, Harrington //

// I will. Relax. Here // He pulls her back, waiting for her to steady herself again before explaining. // This is what you have to do. First– //

Stephanie couldn’t help but smile. She loves that memory so much. It was so perfect in her eyes. The all American boy was the most elegant roller skater she’s ever seen, and he was so dorky and teasing, but patient while teaching her the ropes. She wishes sometimes she could go back to this day over and over again. I miss this so much. 

.

.

“Little Stevie here can’t protect you any more.”

.

.

And just like that, the scene changes again, only this time it feels more heavy and darker – like it was sucking the soul out of her. She felt so scared all of a sudden, and when she blinked she was sitting at a bar top. The smell of booze, money and cigarettes nearly knocked her over… and sent a chill through her body.

N-No. This was a painful memory she was trying to forget. What was she doing here? What was the point of–

“Are you not having fun, Munchkin?”

Now that voice almost made her die on the spot. Terrified, she slowly turns to her left, finding the only other person inside the place. He was rather tall, 

A bit lanky but built, dark hair and blue eyes. The genes that ran so strong in this family, the genes that her and Dustin hated they both had. And he’s sitting there with a stupid smirk on his bearded face, one that makes her want to crawl into a hole or slap off. She almost couldn’t speak as she felt like she lost her voice.

.

.

.

“D-Dad?”

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Jonathan’s bitter thoughts were pulled back into reality the early next morning by his own mother, who was helping him with his tie.

“Why are we sending daggers at our home phone?” Joyce asked, heavy makeup covering her exhaustion, a black jacket clings to her body that acted like her blouse. 

His gaze follows back to the phone before back to her. “I know we agreed not to talk to him at all, besides it being pointless because Will’s body is a fake, but still. He can’t even give us a call about his own son’s death?”

She finishes his tie, frowning out of sadness with a hint of hate for her ex-husband. “Well, another reason why I’m not with your father. This should be a lesson to you, don’t just settle for the first person that gives you attention, or makes your rebellious phase feel ‘special’. I know I’m not the best mother–”

“You’re the perfect mother.” Jonathan pushes, wholeheartedly. “I know it was hard, but for someone doing it on your own, you always made time for us, loved us, and did only what you thought was best. A thousand times more than whatever dad did. I just…” He gets a bit teary eyed. “I just wished I believed you in the beginning. Maybe things would have been different.”

Joyce chokes down her own sob. “Oh.” She brushes a tear from the corner of her eye. “You’re going to make me bawl.”

He quietly laughs. “Sorry.”

“And you know, I’m not upset that you didn’t believe me. I never was, and never will be. I am glad that you came around though.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She smiles. “Jonathan?”

“Yeah?” 

“Don’t… don’t do anything stupid, okay? We’re going to go to the funeral, act like we’re in mourning, and when everything is over, we’re going to figure this out. We’re going to figure out what really happened with you brother. Okay?”

He puts on a good smile and nods. “Okay.” Jonathan agrees with a heavy feeling. He knows he agrees, but deep down he’s not. He’ll pretend to grieve, pretend that he mourns his not-so-dead brother, he’ll pretend that he’s not going to do anything with going through his mom first. In reality, it’s the opposite. 

In reality, he’s about to do the stupidest thing in probably his entire life. 

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Claudia Henderson had to fix her make up for the fifth time already, and she hasn’t even left the house, almost too scared to even leave the door. She was sitting on the couch, a ball tissues in one hand and her baby’s photograph in another. She was shaking all over, trying to hold down more sobs. Her son eventually appeared, dressed in black, pretty curls brushed back neatly, and had a glass of water in his palm.

She looks up, watching him silently offering it. “Oh, thank you, honey.” She replies, gesturing for him to set it down. He does, and scoots next to her. 

Dustin can’t stand that his mom is this way, and half of him wants to blurt out that something about his sister’s and Will’s disappearance doesn’t seem right, and the bodies in the caskets had to be fakes, but he can’t. He can’t go off a theory that has barely any evidence still.

“Oh… look at her face. I’m going to miss her pretty face.” Claudia continues, touching the picture. “Her little curls, her freckles, her… beautiful blue eyes, those…”

Dustin’s heart clenched. “Dad’s eyes…”

“Oh, not him. Not his.” She shakes her head, batting her honey brown orbs. “No. You and your sister’s are so unique.” She reaches up to cup her son’s cheek, him leaning into the touch. “Hers is like a sky and sapphire, and yours is like this cross of sky, this pale blue and, uh…”

He gives her a goofy smile. “A light denim jean.”

That got her to laugh. “A light denim jean, yes. That’s… that’s perfect.” She then pulls him into a hug. “It’s going to be hard, but we’re going to get through this. Together.”

Suddenly Dustin felt the wind get knocked out of him. What if… what if he and his friends were actually wrong? What if they were just imagining everything? What if his big sister was actually dead? 

What if… she really is gone? He couldn’t stop himself from tearing up, a single stray rolling down his cheeks, clenching his sister’s necklace in the palm of his hand like it would make her appear in his arms.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Now you know who wasn’t ready for the funeral? I mean how could he when he just woke up in a cold sweat and a dazed look in his eye. Jim Hopper finds himself on his couch, still wearing the same clothes (minus the jacket) that he seemed to have sweated through most of the thin material. It didn’t take long for him to remember what happened last night and immediately bolted up. He takes in his coffee table, which to him seemed way messier than he left it (Plus, there were a lot more empty beer cans than he consumed over the few days).

Grabbing his gun that was right in front of, Hopper wastes no time to run outside with it held high. But as he searched the land that he was all alone on, he didn’t see anything or anyone out of the ordinary. He almost started to doubt that last night even occurred. 

Almost. That’s the keyword.

Coming back inside, he examines himself in the bathroom mirror, trying to find the needle marking in his neck. It took a hot minute, the doubt was coming back until his finger picked up the tiniest drop of blood. Now, the paranoia was setting in, and that’s when he started tearing his trailer apart. Anything he could get his hands on, pictures frames, light bulbs, home phones, stereo system, VHS player, cookie jars, anything was torn apart in his hands. He even went so far by cutting open his couch cushions with a knife. 

In a hot, sweating, panting mess, he was about to give up until he noticed he forgot to check his overhead light. Just tall enough to reach it on his own, Hopper carefully unscrews the fixture and that’s when he saw it.

The bug. 

Plucking it off so hard that the wires ripped, he examined it close, the disbelief came first, and ended with sheer anger.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

I guess you could say that Steve “snuck out” of his home, dressed appropriately in black attire, still thinking about what his next “detective” move could be. The funerals were being held together to make it emotionally easier for the families, and everyone in town was welcome to come. His parents wouldn’t have approved, anyone associated with them wouldn’t either, but I guess the “good” thing about coming to the graveyard is that he wouldn’t have to worry about any of them. The only person he knows that will be there is his girlfriend. Speaking of…

Nancy was quick to notice after getting out of the car herself with her family. She was honestly surprised a bit, but didn’t let that weigh her down as she excuses herself to come over.

“Steve?” She said, as he flicked her a sad smile. “How… how are you?”

“I’m… I’m good. Really, um–” He replies, fiddling with his hands. “How are you?”

“Fine.”

“That’s good. How’s your brother doing?”

“Mike?” She takes a quick glance back his way. “He’s coping, I guess. I don’t know. He’s been really quiet.”

“Yeah, I guess that makes sense.” Steve says, nodding slowly. “Listen, Nance, I wanted to apologize for how I reacted the other night.”

Nancy shakes her head. “Steve, it’s alright. I get it. You’ll tell me about the relationship with your parents eventually. I honestly really don’t care if you do or not. It’s not my business.”

“I know, but still. I got a little snappy and–”

“Steve, it’s fine. I get–”

“My parents don’t like her.” He blurts out, silencing her. He watches her tilt her head, waiting for him to elaborate. “My parents never… approved of my friendship with Stephanie. She wasn’t up to their… ‘standards’. So…” He sighs. “My parents are probably going to gut me when they find out I’m here.”

“Gut you?” She asked, worriedly. Was it really that bad for him to be here? “Friends or not, she still was a classmate, the least you can do is show up for a quick respect.”

“Yeah, they don’t see it like that. They…” His throat felt dry. Every time he starts remembering a few things about his past, his parents, he just feels like he’s going to shut down and hide. 

“Steve?” Nancy says, pulling him out of the rut. “They… what?” She needs to know more, she wants to know more. She didn’t like that he looked like a kicked puppy. What has his parents done to him?

“She wasn’t like Tommy or Carol, or even you. Steph was sweet and caring, but didn’t dress like a girl should, she didn’t talk like a girl should, she didn’t…” He laughs, a mixture of nerves and distaste towards his parents. “She likes heavy metal, she likes to wear black and stomp around in big combat boots, and she would always do the craziest shit I’ve ever seen. She wasn’t the girl my parents wanted me to hang out with because she wasn’t a ‘girly-girl’. She fits in with the school’s ‘freaks’.”

“Steve…”

“Sometimes… I miss it. I miss going behind my parents’ backs to hang out with her.” He says, sadly. “But I… I had to end it… for her sake.”

Well that’s news. She thought, piqued. “What do you mean by that?”

“I–” His attention was caught by someone else arriving. “I… I’m going to go pay my respects. I’ll catch up to you later, Nance.”

“‘Kay.” She mumbles, watching him leave with a heavy heart.

Steve makes his way over to the family he used to call his own; The mother gets out, in her own head, while the brother immediately stops in his tracks – looking like a deer in headlights upon seeing him. 

“Ms. Henderson.” He begins, getting her attention (His throat felt tight again and his chest felt like it was being kicked in). “I don’t know if you remember me. I’m Steve Harrington.”

“Steve?” It takes Claudia a moment to recognize him. “Steve! Oh, my gosh, I do remember you.” She smiles. “You’ve grown quite into a young man.”

Steve blushes a bit. “Uh, thank you. Um, listen I… I know your daughter and I had a bit of a falling out, but I thought it would be alright if I gave you my condolences. If you… approve that of course.”

“Oh, honey, I appreciate it. Friendships, I know, tend to end sometimes, and it can be hard. But I really do appreciate you coming.”

‘That’s good to hear.” He clears his throat and takes a step back. “I’ll be going now.”

“Oh, why don’t you stay?” She said, with her son perking up at the news.

“What?” Dustin said, a bit sharp for his mother’s liking.

“Dustin.” She turned and scolded. Her son gave her a shrug of disbelief, making her sigh. “Sorry. Do you mind staying for the wake? I think it would be nice if we can catch up.”

Steve was honestly lost for words. He’s guessing that Stephanie never actually told them what occurred… at least she didn’t tell her mother the truth. His gaze falls on Dustin who was pouting a bit and looking at the ground; The bitterness he probably had makes Steve wonder if he knew the truth. It was making him feel pretty shitty right now.

Jesus. If his mom wasn’t here I’m sure he would deck me by now. But Steve ignores this and just smiles. “If you insist, Ms. Henderson.”

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Jonathan, or course, ignores his mom’s pleas not to do something stupid. Him and Nancy had both stepped off to the side to discuss their findings, hoping to form some kind of plan of action. “This is where we know for sure it’s been, right?” He says, holding a small map of the area, some places marked with a red X.

Nancy leans in closer. “So, that’s…”

“Steve’s house.” He starts pointing out each mark and their meaning. “And that’s the woods where they found Steph’s car, and that’s my house.”

“It’s all so close.”

“Yeah. Exactly. I mean, it’s all within a mile or something. Whatever this thing is, it’s... it’s not traveling far.”

Nancy locks eyes with him, realizing what he was suggesting. “You want to go out there.”

“We might not find anything.” He admits with a shrug.

“I found something. And if we do see it… then what?”

He inhales. “We kill it.”

“Kill it?” She said, surprised. “Are you serious?”

“What? You want to find this thing and take another photo? Yell at it?”

“This is a terrible idea.”

“Yeah, well, it’s the best we’ve got.”

She shakes her head. “Jonathan–”

“What? You can tell someone, but they’re not gonna believe you. You know that.” He points out as she frowns.

“Your mom believed you.”

He averts his eyes from her. “She’s been through enough. It’s time for me to worry about this thing.”

“She deserves to know.”

“Yeah, and I’ll tell her when this thing is dead.”

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Dustin was leaning against the wall next to a table full of snacks and drinks, ruefully chewing on some knock off brand cookies. His daggers were set on Steve who was chatting with his mom for most of the wake now. He still can’t believe he even showed up, the same boy who broke his sister’s heart and reverted her back into a bit of a hermit. Now, he loves his sister, his friends do too (probably as much as he does), but he kind of felt sad that after being disowned by Steve she decided to hang out with them more. Times at the arcade she was always driving them; The past few Halloweens she’s been stuck with them; A few times a week at school they would sneak outside for lunch and have it together. It was sad that no one else wanted to hang out with his sister, and it made him mad in more ways than one because of it. 

Stupid ass people. He thought, taking another harsh bit out of the food.

“Uh, Dustin–” Lucas says, nudging him a bit. “Maybe try to be a little more subtle on the lasers you’re shooting out at Steve.”

Dustin doesn’t answer his question, instead replying with, “These aren’t real Nilla Wafers.”

“Alright enough about him for a moment.” Mike interrupts, and tries to be the reasonable one. “How do we do this?”

“Do what?” Dustin mumbled, turning and taking another handful of cookies, making his friend sigh.

As the boys were distracted a bit, Steve had finally finished the nice chat with Claudia. He almost forgot how sweet she was, and how he remembers he wishes his own mother was like that. It could explain why he was always over at Stephanie’s house when he was young (he kind of misses it). He excused himself for something to drink, only to accidentally wander into another conversation that couldn’t help but hearing. 

Mike sighs. “Mr. Clarke. We were going to ask him our questions about another dimension.” 

“Oh, right. Another dimension.” Dustin says, nonchalantly, his friends looking at each other with confusion. 

“What’s your deal, man?” Lucas asked, confused on the sudden attitude change (and both him and Mike know it’s not about Steve). 

“My deal is what if I’m actually wrong? What if they really are dead?” 

Lucas made a look. “Dude, I’m supposed to be the skeptical one here. And besides, you’re the one who told us about hearing Will over the radio.”

“This funeral must be messing with your head.” Mike points out. “Will and Steph are alive. Where they are, we don’t know. But we aren’t going to know if we don’t ask Mr. Clarke about dimensional travel.”

“Yeah, man. Don’t be so down yet.” Lucas pats him on the back, before pointing out something. “Look. There he is.”

The Wheeler boy makes the first move, looking a bit sluggish to suggest he was sad. “Mr. Clarke?” 

“Oh, hey there.” He says, sending them a bittersweet smile. “How are you boys holding up?”

“We’re in... mourning.” Lucas replies, pretending to be glum too.

“We were wondering if you had time to talk?” Mike asks, nervously.

“We have some questions.”

“A lot of questions.” Steve says out of the blue, shocking the kids who were not expecting this. As the kids looked like they were fishes out of water, Mr. Clarke was overjoyed to see him.

“Ah, Steven. I haven’t seen you in a while. My, you’ve grown to be quite the stud.” He replies, his ex-student bowing with excitement. 

“You flatter me. Uh… the boys here were sharing a few things with me that I couldn’t really answer.” Steve points out, still having no idea where this was going and hopes he doesn’t screw it up. “But uh, hey! I always remember you were a man of answers.”

That seemed to fuel the adult’s ego a bit and got him more excited. “Oh, well, I can certainly try. Uh–” He gestures to an open table. “Let’s talk.”

Mike sits and is the first to speak, “So, you know how in Cosmos, Carl Sagan talks about other dimensions? Like, beyond our world?”

“Yeah, sure. Theoretically.”

“Right, theoretically.”

“So, theoretically, how do we travel there?” Lucas asks, getting right into it.

“Ah.” Mr. Clarke nods. “You guys have been thinking about Hugh Everett’s Many-Worlds Interpretation, haven’t you?” 

The boys subtly glanced at each other, having no clue who he was talking about; Even Steve was trying to remember if he ever learned this when was young. But they shook their heads ‘Yes’, and went along with it. 

“Well, basically, there are parallel universes.” The teacher begins. “Just like our world, but just infinite variations of it. Which means there’s a world out there where none of this tragic stuff ever happened.”

“Yeah, that’s not what they’re talking about.” Steve blurts out, before realizing he spoke. “Right?”

“Y-Yep!” Mike said, nodding eagerly. 

“We were thinking of more of an evil dimension, like the Vale of Shadows.” Dustin replies, the anger disappearing for now. “You know the Vale of Shadows?”

Mr. Clarke’s face lights up a bit. “An echo of the Material Plane, where necrotic and shadow magic—”

“Yeah, exactly.” Mike butts in, quickly. “If that did exist, a place like the Vale of Shadows, how would we travel there?”

“Theoretically.” Lucas adds.

Mr. Clarke’s gaze locks with Steve’s, who just shrugs. “Hey, I told you I couldn’t answer their questions.” He says, rendering everyone silence.

The teacher took a moment to think this over. “Well…” He picks up an empty paper plate and takes out a pen, drawing two lines and a tiny stick figure on top of it. “Picture... an acrobat… standing on a tightrope.” He shows off his drawing to everyone, before holding in a position where everyone could see.

He continues, “Now, the tightrope is our dimension. And our dimension has rules. You can move forwards, or backwards.” He drew an arrow on each side of the figure. “But, what if… right next to our acrobat, there is a flea?” He draws a tiny insect next to it. “Now, the flea can also travel back and forth, just like the acrobat. Right?”

“Right.” They boys said, intrigued. 

“Here’s where things get really interesting. The flea can also travel this way…” He draws an arrow between the two lines. “Along the side of the rope. He can even go…” And another below it. “Underneath the rope.”

“Upside down.” The boys said, in unison (Steve just flashed them a confused look).

“Exactly.”

“But we’re not the flea, we’re the acrobat.” Mike asked, everything clicking in place. 

“In this metaphor, yes, we’re the acrobat.” 

“So we can’t go upside down?” Lucas asked, an undertone of concern.

“No.”

“Well, is there any way for the acrobat to get to the Upside Down?” Dustin asked, hopefully.

“Well…” Mr. Clarke jogs his brain. “You’d have to create a massive amount of energy. More than humans are currently capable of creating, mind you, to open up some kind of tear in time and space, and then…” He folds the plate in half, and aggressively pokes his pen through it. “You create a doorway.”

“Like a gate?”

“Sure. Like a gate. But again, this is all–”

“Theoretical.” Lucas says, almost rolling his eyes at how many times this word was repeated.

“But…” Mike shifts in his seat, another question lingering around. “But what if this gate already existed?”

“Well, if it did, I... I think we’d know. It would disrupt gravity, the magnetic field, our environment. Heck, it might even swallow us up whole. Science is neat. But I’m afraid it’s not very forgiving.”

The boys were left awestruck, all three of them looking at each other and agreed on something in silence.

“Wow, uh… thanks, Mr. Clarke.” Mike replies, standing up. “You, uh, really answered our questions.”

“Any time. Is there anything else I can help you with?” He asked, as they shook their heads.

“Uh, nope! W-We’re good. We’re, uh…”

“We’re off to grieve some more.” Dustin said, his friends agreeing.

“Yep. Thanks again, Mr. Clarke. See you at school.”

“Uh–” He watches his students leave, a little thrown off by the mood swings. “See you around.”

“I… better see what’s up with them.” Steve replies, taking a stand too. “It was nice seeing you again.”

“You too.”

Steve quickened his pace to catch up with the group that was now outside, a small part of him can’t believe what he’s about to do or say. “I didn’t know you guys felt the same way.”

“Why are you following us?” Mike asked, stopping with annoyance all over his face.

“Look, I didn’t mean to bud in, but it just so happens that you guys feel the same way I do about this situation surrounding Stephanie and Will.”

Lucas rolls his eyes for real this time. “Ignore him. He probably just feels bad.” He says, and they started walking away, wanting some time alone to think their plan over.

“No, guys, come on. Listen to me.” 

“Stop following us, man.”

“Guys, just a moment of your time–”

“Leave us alone.” Mike snaps harshly. 

Steve sighs heavily, the debating he felt was necessary was suddenly over and he finally lets it out. “Her body’s fake!”

And like pressing pause on a TV, the boys immediately stopped. It took them a moment, a solid moment to process what he’d just said before turning around and staring like he was crazy.

Dustin was the first one to speak, the fierceness he spoke with earlier had returned with a hint of disbelief. “What?”

Well there’s no backing down now. Steve thought, and went along with the punches. “I went to the morgue last night, with the Police Chief. Your sister’s and Will’s bodies are fake. I don’t know what’s going on, but whatever happened to them, someone doesn’t want people to know how, what or why.”

“You went to the morgue?” Lucas said, after another moment, to process what he just admitted.

“With the Police Chief?” Mike adds.

Dustin shakes his head, not sure how he feels about this. “H-How do I know you’re not lying? You’re the reason my sister was in a rut that whole school year.”

Steve frowns, apologetically. “Listen, I’ll admit I was an asshole, but despite that, I would never, ever lie about something like this. Even if someone I didn’t know, I would never snoop that low. And…” He shifts his weight around. “And if you don’t believe me, you can call the Chief yourself. Although, he’d probably be pretty mad because he told me to forget about what I saw. So…”

Forget being gutted by my parents later, he would definitely kill me on sight if he knew about this. Steve waits anxiously as the boys look at each other, mutely communicating like they were doing earlier. 

Lucas looks between them and shrugs (Even Mike does too, as Dustin looks a bit on edge still). “I think he’s telling the truth, man.”

“If he is, why bother?” Dustin asks, looking over at the teenager. “Your friendship’s been long gone with my sister.”

“Yeah, it has.” Steve admits, heart clenching again. “But it doesn’t change the fact that I know her, and when I found out the official ruling for her death, I knew something felt off.” His frown deepens. “I was going to do a little investigation on my own, until I overheard you boys talking about how you don’t buy any of this bullshit either.”

Although I’m still a little confused on the whole other dimension thing. But he kept his mouth shut for now as the boys looked at each other again.

“Can you excuse us for a second?” Mike said, turning around and pulling his friends into a huddle. “Listen–”

“No way.” Dustin says, putting his foot down.

Lucas sighs. “Dustin, look, I understand the hate for this guy, but either way, if we take him in or not, he’s going to be snooping around too. You know, you can’t beat ‘em, you join ‘em, right?”

“Plus, he is older, and he can get away with a lot more shit when things get tough for us.” Mike points out, and they all looked back at him for a second. “Come on, man. The more the merrier, you know?”

Lucas and Mike plead with Dustin with just a look, and soon he caves in.

“Fine.” He says, arms crossed. “But the moment he disrespects my sister, he’s out.” 

“Agreed.” Lucas said, and they disassembled.

“Hey, Steve?” Mike said, getting his attention. “You think you can come over to my house afterwards?”

-To Be Continued-

Read Part 2: Here

~

-Taglist is Open-

@ladygrey03 @poppet05 @tooearlyforthis @lovesfics @lordzzz

@mirkwoodshewolf @sadbitchfangirl @olivewisp

@emsownuniverse @unspecifiedvisitor @smaryamsstuff @kitty49646 @jinxeee @bookkeeperlove @prozacgooble @goth-baby98 @aainr @luca-random-stuff @catradorapotter

[ravenwriter16]

Creative Minds Think Alike

Episode One---Episode two---Episode three---Episode Four (Here)---Episode Five---Episode Six

Featuring the Amazing: @kinshenewa

Reminder! If the content creator doesn't approve of how i represented them, or their AUs/OCs then I will edit my work or DELETE it. It's not my intention to mock or belittle anyone's work. This series is supposed to showcase amazing creators!

I do not beta read! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!!!

I stand there in the hallway, my back to the wall with all the windows. Arms crossed and feathers bristling. I tap my foot impatiently while tugging on my collar. My formal wear was tight and uncomfortable, the emblem badge on my chest feeling very heavy as of late.

I look around again, my annoyed expression disappearing whenever some castle residents. I smile and wave at them, my frustration not directed at them. I pull out my pocket watch, clicking the button and watching as the lid flips open. I check the time, tsking and closing it with a flick of my wrist.

“Those Staff Bots are late.”  I grumble, folding my hands behind my back.

My eyes dart to the wall in front of me. Between two doors, was a big movie poster. The caption read ‘Captain Foxy’s Pirate Adventure’. Featuring, of course, Foxy in his pirate ensemble along with pirates Freddy and Bonnie and mermaid Chica.

I smile, snorting in amusement quietly. “I’ll have to check in with the captain one of these days…that reminds me I have to sort through the pirate DCA AU files 1K-854…”

Beeping draws my attention. I slowly turn my head to the right, staring down the two Staff Bots. I raise a brow, “What’s been taking you so long?”

“Moons.” One beeps, the top of its head bearing deep scratches.

I drag a hand down my face, sighing heavily. “Okay. I’ll add ‘Send out proper Staff Bot care instructions’ when I get back to my office. Do you need to go to P&S or can you function?”

They both raise their toolboxes and pull on the rim of their baseball caps.

I smile, stepping forward to rest a hand on their shoulders. “Fantastic. Now, shall we?”

They nod and I pat their shoulder once before stepping towards the poster. I examine it for a moment before reaching up and pressing the fox icon above two crossing swords on his hat. It pushes in with a click and the sound of gears turning and shifting follow after.

“The Creator is already expecting us and we are running late.” I turn my head slightly over my shoulder, “So let’s do the best we can.”

The two give affirmative beeps.

The sounds from the poster cease, and it swings open. I nod my head, snapping my fingers as I step into the room. The Staff Bots follow me in without a second thought. The room starts off as dark then warm hues of purples, yellows, and blues light up the room.

It was a large circular room, with a dome ceiling that looked like it could retract to allow one a view of the sky.  On the floor is a beautiful mosaic of the Sun and the Moon. The tiles shining with the sunlight streaming in from the large windows circling the room. Flowing curtains of purple hand above each window.

Along both sides of the room were hallways that lead to utilities and/or storage. In the center of the main room was a small pillar. On top of this stand was a crystal ball, thick golden and silver threads keeping the orb in place.

“Kinshenewa? Hello? We’re here to fix the pipe leak.”

 The Staff Bots behind me stop while I trek closer to the crystal ball. I reach out and hover my hand over the shining orb. Images float to the surface, but none of them were of the Creator I was looking for.

“Hello?” A voice calls out.

I look up, not able to stop the blood from draining my face. In front of me was the Celestial Jester known as Sun. His blue eyes spot us and the frills around his head flutter. He claps his hands together as he saunters over.

“You must be the crew Cadence hired.” Sun gives a small bow, “I am Council Member Sun. And you are?”

“Archivist Number 16 Ravenwriter. But you may call me Raven.” I return his bow with one of my own.

I straighten up and gesture to the Staff Bots, “I hope you do remember the policy regarding the help?”

Sun pouts, “Yes…I don’t know why though.”

I level him with a stern stare, “Because all you DCA variants think it’s funny to destroy the people keeping the castle running.”

Sun laughs, “Oh yes…It was very fun last get-together.”

“For YOU. I, on the other hand, had a MOUNTAIN of paperwork that took me WEEKS to finish.” I shudder, wings puffing up.

Sun perks up, finally laying eyes on my wings. I don’t like the look he was giving me or how his hands twitched. I clear my throat, “Um…KINSHENEWA?!”

A clattering sound could be heard from the hall to the left. “Coming! Coming!”

I heave a sigh of relief. Stepping into the main room was a six-foot tall woman. She drags one hand through her wavy brown hair. When she turns, I can see that some of her hair was shaved on the left side, leaving the strands to be too short compared to the other side, but long enough to be tucked behind her ear.

She was wearing a pair of black, jean shorts and a black t-shirt. The clothing fitting and showcasing her built body. Her black shoes leaving small wet puddles as she steps into the room.

Her hazel eyes find mine. She breathes out a relived sigh, “Raven?”

“That’s me. So sorry to bother you, but we’re here for the pipe burst you reported. Could you please point to the bathroom?” I tilt my head with a smile.

“Yeah. I just came from there.” She jabs a finger behind her shoulder, “Right down there.”

I snap my fingers and the Staff Bots zoom away, beeping as they speed down the hall. I pull out my pocket watch and check the time, “Should be done in no time, Miss Cadence.”

“Thank you! I cannot take another day of Eclipse complaining about what the water does to his electricity…” She shakes her head the looks to Sun, “When will he be back again?”

Sun tilts his head, holding his chin, “Should be around dinner time. Something about a big bounty he couldn’t pass up.” He waves his hand dismissively.

Cadence looks back at me, “Do you want to sit down while you wait?”

I smile, “Yes please!”

I follow her to the couches in the middle of the room. The pillows being stars, moons, and suns. Even some plushies of the Daycare Attendant were there. I take my seat on one of the couches, sitting between a Moon plushie and a sun-themed pillow.

Sun and Cadence take the couch opposite of me. Sun pulling Cadence into his lap and nuzzling the top of her head. Cadence looks me up and down.

“I’m sorry, but have we ever met before?”

I shake my head, “Not that I’m aware of. But in your defensive, I have been held up in the office and…peeling alien potatoes…”

Sun wrinkles his nose, “Is THAT what that smell is?”

I grimace, “Yes…”

The door to the room opening, draws all our attention. Moon steps in, carrying a few books in his arms as he closes the door behind him with a sigh. When he turns around, he stills upon seeing me.

He looks to Sun for answers. Sun smiles, “She’s here for the busted pipe.”

“Oh.” Moon nods his head, walking closer, “You mean the one you broke because you were trying to fix it yourself?”

“HEY! I wasn't the one who thought flushing an ENTIRE roll of toilet paper was a good idea for an experiment!"

“By the way,” Cadence ignores them both as they argue back and forth. The jester’s voices loud but I could still make out her voice. “Will this cost anything?”

“Nothing at all!” I reassure. “But I will need you to review and sign some documents. Nothing big, just stating that if our services were unsatisfactory then we’ll send another maintenance crew by to fix our mistakes.”

“Sounds great! Ompf! SUN!” She swats at Sun’s hands, which were squishing her face into his chest. Moon was now on the couch, pulling one of her arms closer to him.

She was literally in caught in a tug-a-war.

I raise a brow, “Is this normal?”

“Sadly, yes…” her sigh was defeated, showing her resign to her fate. Cadence looks over at her shoulder, eyeing the hall were the sounds of drills whirling and metal clinking echo from. Moon succeeds in stealing her away from his brother, smirking victoriously.

Sun pouts, standing, “Fine! I’ll prepare some mash-potatoes then!”

He huffs as he turns on his heels and heads to the other hall way.

I smile, “That reminds me, we received another shipment of Sundrops and Moondrops. When would you like us to deliver it to your room?”

“Anytime is okay with me. Was there any difficulty with the shipment?” She reaches up and scratches the spot under Moon’s chin.

“We encountered a Troll trying to sneak in past the gates, but he’s been neutralized and some of our Y/n Placeholders are dealing with him as we speak. There is no need to worry.”

“A Troll huh? How many does that make today?” she tilts her head.

“Twenty-Three…” I sigh, leaning back against the couch. “They’re relentless…”

Cadence snarls, baring her teeth while clenching her fists tightly. Moon growls as well, feeling his creator’s anger. I can feel her Auora pulsate from her, feeling like a ton of bricks were weighing down on my chest. A bright purple light surrounds her and takes over her eyes.

Trolls were no laugh matter. They can sneak into the castle at any time and cause unnecessary chaos. They wreck anything they can get their hands on. Painting their sludge over Creator’s paintings and drawings. Adding hate notes when they find written scrolls. They trash rooms or steal supplies.

They were pests.

“By the way.” I stand up and dig a small pouch of ruby hearts out of my pocket. I hand it to Moon, who takes it and gives it to Cadence. “This is on behalf of the Council of the Aligned Society of Creative Minds. They thank you for letting them hire Eclipse to hunt down some wanted Frauds.”

She calms down, the lights fading and her eyes returning to her normal color. I even feel the weight on my chest rise.

“No problem.” She smiles, taking the bag, “Please feel free to call on him anytime.”

“Will do!” I smile.

The Staff Bots roll out, beeping affirmatively before wheeling to the door and exiting. I nod my head, looking back at Cadence, who was now on her feet.

She walks me to the door, “Thank you again for your help.”

“Anytime! Oh!” I stop for a second, “I also wanted to tell you that the castle is hosting a gala in a few days. Would it be okay if you could help me gather some things for the theme?”

She crosses her arms, “That depends? What’s the theme.”

I laugh, “Celestial Dreams~. Or so I’m told…”

“Sound’s fun, I’m in!” She smiles, patting my back.

I wince at her strength, wings shooting up. She opens the door, and I step out.

“Have a great rest of your week!” I bow in farewell.

“You too!” She waves.

“Sweetling?! I have the mash potatoes!” Sun calls out

She perks up and takes off running, the door slowly closing behind her. I wait to make sure the door is securely closed. I smile at the echoing of the lock clicking in place.

I turn and walk down the hall. I pull out a Sundrop that I had swiped from the bowl near the door. I unwrap it and pop the orange treat in my mouth.

I smile, humming to myself. “Yum!”

***

That's Episode four! Thank you again @kinshenewa for letting me use you and your AMAZING Celestial Jesters AU. If you guys haven't read it, go check it out!

Sorry if this fic was hard to follow! But I had a lot of fun writing it and talking with @kinshenewa regarding her room and her AU!

Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed yourself! Have an Amazing Day or Night!

[xreaderbooks]

Paradise on Earth (17)

Chapter: 17. The Bonfire

Pair: JJ Maybank x Routledge! Reader

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: Language, Underage drinking, Violence and Jealousy

Summary: Pope receives new information, and the annual bonfire is a bowl of drama.

a/n: not fully proofread and a day later than promised but here it is...

Available on Wattpad and AO3

Chapter 16 - Series Masterlist - Navigation - Chapter 18

Nobody knew what to do after the explosion, it was like time had stilled, it was like a bomb went off with you and your friends hiding behind the trenches. Sarah’s wailing and sobbing, the radios police officers had carried on them had picked up on frequencies from other cops in the area. Shoupe had responded, informing them of what had just occurred then ushering you, your brother, Pope, JJ, and Kie, off the dock.

Sarah was allowed to stay, being as this was her property, her father’s property and he was dead. She stayed in Topper's arms, teary-eyed as she watched John B walk away without a word in her direction.

What could he say? What could any of you say?

I’m sorry? For her loss, probably. But none of you would truly mean it, Ward Cameron was better off dead.

None of you wanted to leave Sarah in her home alone with her brother who had attempted to murder her not 24 hours ago, but nobody dared to convince her to go with you all.

The weekend would end and you would all have to be back in school tomorrow, spending the last day fishing by the dock and contemplating the meaning of life after what you had just witnessed.

Day turned into night, JJ and Kie went to buy beer while you, Pope, and John B, lay on the HMS Pogue. The three of you stared up into the night sky in reflection. Your brother had just confessed to him and Sarah breaking up.

“I don’t get it,” John B voices after minutes of silence, “I don’t.”

“Love is five minutes of pleasure for a lifetime of pain.”

You snap your fingers at Pope’s poetic words, “Jesus if you wrote a book about heartbreak, I’d the shit out of it… Did it really only last five minutes though?”

You tried to lighten the mood a little, though clearly, those weren’t the vibes the two heartbroken boys were on. Lowkey, neither were you, but showing it would just open a can of worms (questions) that you weren’t ready to deal with.

Pope turns his head to his left, where you lay in between him and John B, “What is wrong with you?”

“What’s going on with you and Kie?” You quip, sitting up and crossing your legs with your knees outwards. You technically already knew what Kie had told you, but you wanted to hear his thoughts.

“Well, she just wants to be friends.”

“Oh, death blow,” John B exhales. “I’m sorry, man.”

“I-I didn’t even see it coming,” Pope lifted and let his hands fall onto his stomach.

You pursed your lips, not knowing what to say. Thankfully, you didn’t because the duo that left had just come back, tossing beer your way. You almost didn’t catch yours, JJ threw it at you swiftly, and you glared at him to which he ignored you.

“What are you guys doing down here?” He asked. “Having a good cry?”

“Cry?” John B and Pope ask each other, “What are you talking about? We don’t cry.”

You were about to, seeing Kie wearing JJ’s sweater, the size overwhelming her frame. You popped open the can and sipped on it.

“You know it’s not your fault right?” She asks JB with a smile.

“You think she’ll come back?”

“She’s one of us,” She inhales smoke from a joint, no doubt she and JJ already started smoking.

He smiles to himself, “Sarah’s a pogue.”

~~~

“Y/n!”

A loud feminine voice yelled in your ear, you jolted awake, your hand swinging to hit whoever disturbed you.

“Woah, chill,” She steps back.

“What the fuck, Kiara,” You mumble into your pillow once you saw it was her.

“It’s Monday, we have school.”

You wanted to die, quickly and right now, in your sleep preferably. Your bed had never felt more comfortable, you felt like you had just closed your eyes and here this bitch was waking you from your slumber.

You physically could not open your eyes, they felt permanently shut. You felt yourself drift…

“Y/n!”

“Oh my god!” You cried out, “Okay, okay, I swear if John B and Jayj, aren’t getting the same treatment I’m suing.”

You rubbed your eyes, feeling your eyesight get better, you needed to wash your face. You changed into jeans and a grey cotton long-sleeve, the autumn air coming in, allowing you to wear your cozy clothing without dying of heatstroke.

You wobble your way to the bathroom about to open the door when it opens for you, your eyes widen before you as a familiar blond (who you still weren’t talking to) appears before you, you both switch places and you shut the door. You quickly freshened up and went back to your room, snatching up your bookbag from the floor.

“We have a geometry test in 30 minutes,” Pope informs John B, dragging him along and pulling JJ by his collar into the Twinkie.

You stayed behind, catching a ride with Kie, the both of you didn’t have a test in the morning and decided you can be late to first period and homeroom to buy some groceries.

Kie insisted she pays, she saw how empty the fridge was before she woke you up and wanted to do something about it.

“You seriously don’t have to do that,” You protest as she pulls out a credit card.

She gives you a look, “I can’t just let you guys starve, now c’mon let’s drop this off before we’re even more late.”

~~~

After school, with a full fridge, you eat a bowl of fruit you picked out at the store as Pope explains how Mr. Sunn pulled them into his classroom and gave them Denmark Tanny’s diary.

“August 15th set sail from Port-au-prince on calm seas.” Pope Reads, “Came upon the Spanish ship San Jose on fire, the entire deck was aflame and we could hear the screams of men trapped below. The Spanish Captain cared about only one thing; his valuable cargo, the Cross of Santo Domingo, and countless bars of gold.”

“Once the cargo was on board we went to help the crew but Captain Limberey ordered us to pull bayonets and not to let any of the Spanish crew on board. He robbed them and left them to die.”

“So it didn’t go down off Bermuda,” JJ confirmed.

“And it was a Limberey, stealing shit again,” Kie scoffed.

Pope nods, “This diary proves that both the gold and the Cross of Santo Domingo were on the Royal Merchant.”

“Why didn’t we find it in the well then?” JJ asked. “If Denmark was able to get this bedazzled cross off of the Merchant to shore, why didn’t he just hide it with the gold?”

“Because it was too big,” You piece his question together. “He had to hide it someplace else, obviously.”

“But where?” John B questions.

“Right before he was hung, Denmark said he’d buried the treasure at the foot of the angel,” Pope explains.

“I thought this was about the key,” JJ looks confused.

“Right, so what’s the connection?” Kie observes.

Pope repeats the line, “‘The path to the tomb begins in the island room.’”

“But what is the island room?” She rolls her eyes.

“You know what helps me figure shit out?” JJ hops up from his place on the couch on the porch, you hold your breath for what he was about to say, knowing it could be potentially catastrophic. “Smoking beers and drinking weed, the ideas just pour out of me.”

“I don’t think we need another one of your ideas,” You look up at him from your seat.

“Not like yours are any better,” He snaps back and continues his statement. “If we just sit here and try to figure this out, we’re gonna get nowhere, but if we get creative and go to this bonfire tonight… maybe we’ll get somewhere.”

“Or, just a perfect excuse to party,” You slump in your seat.

“Well, I just got disowned by my parents and I’m an official member of the I-have-nothing-to-lose club,” Kie pipes in, meaning she’s in.

“Pope?” JJ looks to him hopefully.

He sighs, “We’re so close.”

JJ kneels down in front of Pope, “Think about how much you could think if you just gave your brain a rest.”

John B, JJ, and Kie give him looks of encouragement, you didn’t even bother, still bitter at JJ, though you were down for a party you weren’t gonna tell him that.

Pope ends up conceding, the others bursting into cheers as they make plans to pre-game. You and your friends all take shots of some cheap vodka from a corner store that you all knew didn’t ID before heading to the bonfire.

~~~

Every year it was set in a small old abandoned amphitheater-like place, dozens of teens from all parts of the island, gathered here for a beginning of the year rager. Kind of like a last hurrah, though the last hurrah would have technically been the last one, point is- people went wild. In a good way.

Pope and Kie were in conversation, hopping out of the Twinkie, not looking back twice, you stayed with JJ and John B, thinking you and John B would at least stick together.

Of course, you were wrong, one of John B’s old hookups had been desperately begging for his attention, not even bothering to try to hide her obviousness.

JJ gave you one look before heading in another direction with a beer he was shotgunning.

You took a breath, letting the annoyance roll off you as you went in search of a drink, JJ would find a whore to fuck as John B would, Pope and Kie will go socialize and you would drink to drink yourself numb.

You bumped into a broad shoulder when trying to weave your way through people, you meant to apologize and move on but the guy who looked over his shoulder to see who had disrupted his conversation was cute. Really cute, forget about JJ for a whole night, cute.

You replaced the frown with a sheepish smile and softened your eyes to look at the boy through your lashes, “Sorry.”

“No harm done,” He turned his full attention to you. “What’s your name, Gorgeous?” His features made you want to say, ‘Whatever you want it to be’ but you held off.

“Y/n, nice to meet you…”

“James,” He hit you with a flirtatious smirk. ‘Another one whose name starts with J’ You willed away the urge your roll your eyes. The guy had dimples, and light brown eyes that weren’t usually your type but it complimented him well.

You spent a good 45 minutes talking to him, he made the conversation flow and was easy to talk to, you were surprised you hadn’t seen him around or heard about him but then again he was very much the ‘boy-next-door’ type.

He flirted like he was into you but it teetered the line of him just being a really nice dude. It frustrated you since you just wanted a good make out, have it lead to something else maybe, but you didn’t want to push and he wasn’t offering.

“I was thinking maybe a weekend when you’re not so busy with school, we could hang out?” He looked at you hopefully.

“I-”

“She can’t,” You felt the weight of JJ’s arm sling around your shoulder, pulling you into him as if you were naturally a part of him. You wriggled underneath him to get out of his hold but he didn’t budge, only pulling you tighter.

“Oh,” James' face faltered a little before brightening up again, “No worries then. It was nice talking to you, Y/n.”

It was over. He was too nice of a guy to argue with JJ who was close enough to indicate that there was something between you, even though that couldn’t be farther from the truth.

“Wait- James!” You groaned and hid your face in your hands feeling aggravated at the blond who had immediately slid his arm off your shoulders the minute the brunet was gone. You were in mourning for the sweet boy you had hoped to get to know more. “I hate you.”

“I send away one hopeless guy, and I get knocked down your list of favorite people?” JJ repeats the words you told him the other day before the big argument.

“No, you've been acting like the world’s biggest dick, that’s how you get knocked down my list.” You bump your shoulder against him as you shove past him and he walks after you. “Leave me alone.”

“No,” He persists.

“JJ, I don’t want to talk to you right now.”

“That’s fine because I wanna talk to you.”

You falter in my steps and my eyes narrow in thought, wondering what the hell was up with him and his quick change of emotions.

“I didn’t like you talking to that guy-”

“So what, you were jealous?” The nerve of this guy, “Was that what that was?”

He hesitates, “Y/n, I’m just trying to look after you.”

“I don’t need you to look out for me, JJ, Jesus!” My voice raises, “I don’t need you!”

“You almost died the other day, and I wasn’t there.”

“That’s not your fault as much as it wasn’t mine, but if you want to hide your feelings behind some bullshit, go ahead but don’t use me as an excuse. You can be Kiara’s knight in shining armor but not mine.”

“The fuck are you talking about?”

You felt the sting of tears hit the back of your eyes, this was not how tonight was supposed to go, “You and Kie. There is something there and while that’s still going on, you are not allowed to feel upset or jealous when I talk to a guy at a fucking party.”

“Y/n-”

Shouts were coming from the pit, people rushed towards the scene and you heard Sarah’s voice call out John B’s name. You sighed and looked at JJ who was already running into the mess of people.

Can there never be just one day, you glare into the dark sky. You had the keys of the Twinkie on you, John B mistakenly tossing them to you when you were all walking to the party.

You didn’t feel like dealing with whatever was going on, so while everyone was watching what you guessed was another fight, you took a therapeutic walk to the van. You started up the engine and crossed your legs on the dash of the passenger seat.

Your friends soon joined you, Kie went into the driver’s seat next to you, John B held a beer can up to his forehead on the seat behind you, Pope was across from him and JJ just walked up to the open side door.

“Well that was unexpected,” He crushes an empty can.

Kie turns her head to him with furrowed brows, “Was it?”

~~~

It was silent around the fire at the Chateau. You all took in the night, not knowing what else to do. What was supposed to be a distraction to help you all regain mental energy, just turned out to be more chaos that needed to be quieted.

With all that happened at the party, you sat the furthest away from JJ on the other end of where he was sitting, you tiredly leaned your head on John B’s shoulder, with your marshmallow on the end of a stick, melting in the fire.

That was until he started sporadically moving trying to get a bite of Kie’s s’more and your marshmallow fell into the pit. You pursed your lips, this night couldn’t get any worse.

“I have never hated you more,” You tell John B who left his seat and crouched on the other side of you for something.

“I’m stealing your marshmallow,” Kie warned Pope who protested.

“Hand me one, please?” You reach out to grab another marshmallow she stole.

John B tapped your back and told you all to shush, “Soembody’s here.”

“You don’t think Topper would…” Kie sets her stick down. “Do you have your gun?”

The five of your turn toward the rustling coming from the trees.

“Oh, now she wants the gun,” JJ’s tone accusatory as he recalls all the times Kiara scolded JJ for having the gun.

“Oh, now you don’t have the gun?”

John B calls out to the person in the trees, and lo and behold, it’s Limberey’s manservant- Renfield.

“You have got to be kidding me,” You whisper to yourself, thinking back on how you thought the night couldn’t get any worse.

The man comes out of hiding with his hands up in surrender, “Lovely evening we’re having.”

It definitely was not a lovely evening, especially not with him here, you all knew what he was here for. John B had tricked him and his boss into thinking they had the right key, Pope’s family’s key.

“Look, I don’t hold judges with any of y’all, alright?” He stops a couple of feet away from the group. “But this can go hard, or this can go easy, you know what I’m here for. Let me give you a little demonstration, you see that swing?”

He points to the swing you used to sit on in your childhood, JJ or John B would push you on it, sometimes pushing so far you would fly off.

“I got the best bow hunters in the Army Rangers with me,” He whistles sharply and an arrow comes flying through barely passing JJ’s nose and hitting the carved tree. “Now, they're out there, they’ll stick you just as soon as I say so.”

JJ moves to swing at Renfield with a long rusty piece of metal but he all too soon whistles and another arrow lands directly next to JJ’s foot.

The realization hits everyone at the same time it seems, you look at Pope sympathetically, these guys he brought with him were clearly good. If any of you had any tricks, one of you would get shot.

“I’m not gonna give you a countdown or any bullshit like that, I’m just gonna whistle.” He stood in front of Pope, tension was heavy as he held eye contact with Pope.

Your friend looked pained as he dug into the pocket of his shorts and brought out the key with the red string, “This key belongs to my family.”

“I’m losing patience with you, Pope,” Renfield brings his fingers to his lips as a threat.

Slowly, Pope hands it to the man.

“You did the right thing kid, knowing when you don't have a choice is an underappreciated talent,” he waves the key in front of Pope. “You be safe.”

You felt like you could finally breathe with him several paces away from you all now, but Pope looked like he was about to cry and you went after him as he stormed off.

~~~

Chapter 18

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[bybobbysbeard]

WIP Wednesday

Some Hawaii Five-O hurt/comfort and a first kiss. Set early series, Danny POV.

“Kinda wild that our most successful drug raid was because I took a shortcut to my dentist's office. Oh hey, I bet the governor can get me out of the missed appointment fee.”

“Our most successful raid?” Steve asks incredulously.

Danny waves a hand over his bruised body. “Ah, but you were looking for me, so I still get credit.”

Steve tips his head back down and hurray, the super intense eye contact is back. “Yeah, I was. Looking for you, I mean. We tore through that place for you Danno.”

“I know Steve. I knew you were looking for me as soon as I woke up in that fucking car.”

“What happened after that? Obviously the car crashed but their injuries weren’t consistent. And you hit the road at speed judging by this.” One of Steve’s hands lets go of Danny’s and reaches up to the left side of his face. He traces the edge of the road rash on his jaw, and Danny wants to see how bad the damage is, but he doesn’t want Steve to stop touching him. The hand migrates to cupping his jawline, fingertips stroking the thin skin behind his ear and down his neck.

Steve seems to realize what he’s doing and his hand stops moving. He’s leaning close, over Danny’s immobilized left arm. His other hand is still holding Danny’s. Danny licks his dry lips and Steve’s eyes zero in on the movement, that heat Danny’s been chasing for months coming back into his eyes. And Danny’s fucking tired. He hurts all over, and is ready for another dose of pain meds. He hasn't even been awake an hour, but he wants to sleep for a day. He’s tired of wanting Steve, but having him just out of reach. It’s been months of touching and flirting that crosses too many lines, and no payoff other than his own right hand at the end of the night.

“Steve…please.”

Steve swallows heavily, and Danny is a detective alright, he detects. He is making a connection between Steve and Danny saying please in that tone of voice. Steve leans forward and Danny tries to meet him but with one leg off the bed and one useless arm he doesn’t have a lot of leverage. Steve closes the distance between them, face too close for Danny to focus, so he shuts his eyes and tips his chin up the smallest amount.

There’s the softest press of lips against his, tender, and so gentle Danny could cry. Danny squeezes Steve’s hand, and Steve crowds just the slightest bit closer to him. Danny tilts his head into Steve’s grasp and lets his lips part and woah, that’s what he’s been missing. Of course, Steve presses the advantage immediately, tongue darting out to trace Danny’s lips and Danny shivers all over. Danny’s already felt those lips on his hand today, but this is a whole new experience. A fucking paradigm shift of a kiss. Even with their stubble scraping together, it’s wet and hot, and getting hotter as Steve holds him right where he wants him.

Danny’s exhausted but Ma Williams didn’t raise no quitter, so he’s giving as good as he can in the circumstances. Sure, Steve is controlling the kiss, but as Danny nips that plush lower lip, Steve is the one that groans, low and sexy. Danny feels like he’s igniting, kiss growing rougher until Steve is pressing him into the bed, that big, calloused hand on his face and fingers twisted in his hair. Jesus Christ, Danny has imagined kissing his boss a lot, but his fantasies never came close to this.

[talltalesandbedtimestories]

“Let You Off With A Warning” - Beau Arlen x Reader

Part of the “Guardian of the Gulch” Series

Rating Teen

Beau Arlen x Reader (eventually)

Tags: Fluff and Flirting

Word Count: 1900

There's a new sheriff in town. And he just so happens to have parked his RV in your campgrounds. What's a park ranger to do with all that Texas charm strutting around on a fine pair of bow legs?

I'm participating in @jacklesversebingo and this part will fill my "Food as Bonding" square.

Image created in Canva (credit for photo used: ABC/Michael Moriatis)

Corey’s eyes are ready to roll right out of his eye sockets. He slumps over the counter, office phone pressed tight to his ear.

“Absolutely.” He enunciates every syllable. “Yes. I can see how that would be quite an intrusion.” Those stubby fingers snap to get your attention. 

You’re finishing up your checklist after vehicle patrol. When did fireworks become an every night of the week event for days prior to the Fourth? The annoyance can become dangerous in Black Sandy State Park. Especially when bored kids and drunk adults get it in their heads to light things on fire on campgrounds during drought conditions. You’re figuring that’s what the call’s about. Things had been relatively quiet so far that night.

You had hoped they were going to stay that way. All you wanted to do was clock out in the next five minutes, get home, and catch up on “The Bachelor” episodes filling up space on your DVR.

“We’ll have someone head over and take care of it.” Corey smiles at you.

You groan back at your Park Manager. You’re the only other someone.

~

You head to the campsite that phoned the office first. It’s a husband and wife with a large brood. They’ve got every creature comfort under the sun - or in this case, moonlight - in their parcel paradise by Hauser Lake. The Class A motorhome makes you wonder what kind of house they left behind. 

The wife is the one running her mouth at you even though the husband had called to lodge the complaint. You try to wrap your head around the noise she’s harping about and how it’s possibly bothering the four kids. All of the children are laser-focused on handheld devices. They don’t even look up when mom asks them to corroborate how annoying the sound from their neighbor is. 

If you had your way, you’d block all WiFi access in every part of Black Sandy. 

After the requisite pleasantries, you turn and trudge through the shadows to the lodger who’ll be getting a talking to. Though not the talk Mrs. Devonshire is expecting.

You adjust the cap on your head. The voice emerging from one solitary speaker is muffled and mono on your approach. The silver Airstream is curvy and sleek. A standout that manages to sparkle even in the dark.

Its owner sits in a lawn chair. He’s watching some old time western projected onto a white sheet tautly stretched between two poles.

His eyes have cottoned on to your movement seconds ago, you're sure of it. His day job requires him to be hyper aware of his surroundings at all times.

“To what do I owe the honor of a house call this late, Ranger? Raccoon invasion? Dump station on the fritz?” He stands to greet you. An open beer dangles from his fingertips.

“Nothing that exciting, Sheriff.” The Bachelor’s got nothing on this specimen. The handful of times you’ve crossed paths, you are never quite prepared to be in this man’s presence.

“I’m not on duty. Call me Beau, remember?” He grins to confirm the allowance of such informality.

You sigh. “Afraid I am on duty. And have to request a favor.”

He nods and tilts his head over to the Devonshires. “Let me guess? I’ve done something to upset Linda.”

You raise an eyebrow. “How’d you know?”

“I had her figured out as soon as she waltzed over to introduce herself bright and early this morning before I left for work.” His lids widen in emphasis. “Ten minutes of my life I’ll never get back. Is she about to release the kraken?”

You chuckle. “Just turn down the volume on your movie a smidge, please.” You pinch two fingers together. “We’ve never had a complaint about you before, so no worries. We’ll let you off with a verbal warning this time.” You grin.

He’s amused at that. “Mighty kind of ya. Well, let me do it right in front of you, so you can put it down in your incident report.” He strolls over to the speaker and dials down the knob. “Perpetrator immediately complied with the request.” He announces, a little on the loud side. “In case Linda’s watching.”

You stifle a laugh. “I’m guessing she doesn’t know you’re the Sheriff of Lewis and Clark County?”

He shakes his head. “How would she? I don’t think I got five words in this morning.” He lifts the lid of a green cooler with the toe of his cowboy boot, bends down and pulls out another beer bottle. He has a bounce in his step on his way back to you. “But, you know, I don’t reckon it would’ve even mattered. She still would’ve had Larry make the call.”

“How’d you know Larry called?”

He shrugs and offers you the beer. “Lucky guess.”

You wave a hand. “On duty, remember?”

A tip of his wrist has him checking his watch. “You getting paid time and a half? It’s almost nine.”

You smile at how well he catalogs information and smooth talks with all that easy Texas charm. By your second run-in with him he’d found out your work schedule and how important it was for you to stick to it. He even had you fess up, somehow, to your penchant for reality TV, especially shows of the love competition variety. You grab the beer and twist off the top. The beer tingles down your throat in a welcome swallow. “It’s all your fault I’m still here.”

“Well, then, let me make it up to you. Sit a spell.” Before you can register, he’s snapped open another lawn chair near his own. He presents it with a flourish.

“I guess I should hang around for a bit. Make sure you don’t get yourself in more trouble.” The chair settles into the dirt under your weight.

“Not the first time it’s been suggested I need a chaperone.” He sits alongside you.

You nod at the movie. “What’re you watching?”

He stares at you, disheartened. “Really?”

“I don’t do westerns.”

“Pale Rider. Clint Eastwood. It’s a classic.” His head shakes. “Kids today.”

You scoff. “Kid?”

“You can’t be more than 25,” he states with complete earnestness.

“You don’t need to butter me up, Beau. I already said you’d get off on a warning.”

“How about some bribery then, just to ensure nothing ends up on my permanent record.” He nudges a bowl on the tiny circular table in your direction.

It’s hard to make out the contents. You squint. Light from the projector brightens up the scene for a moment. “Oh, you found them.” You pull out a cherry and tug at the fruity flesh between your teeth to release the stem.

“I did. Saw ‘em at a farmer’s market in town. You were right. Flathead cherries are amazing.”

“Hm.” You concur and indulge in the sweetness. “So good.”

Beau snickers. “You two need some alone time?”

“So good,” you repeat. “First pick of the season reminds you of what you’ve been missing all year.”

He nods and grabs a couple for himself. “That’s what the guy at the stand was spoutin’.”

Beau Arlen has only been the sheriff for a few weeks. But you agree with the assessment that most have of him. He’s an affable and acceptable substitute while Walter Tubb recuperates. Arlen’s smart and ingratiates himself easily with everyone in the county. He knows those that keep things running in Helena by their first names already. And as you are someone that secures and protects a part of state land in the county under his jurisdiction– well, you get to share a beer and some cherries with him tonight. 

The conversation is light and dances about with no rhyme or reason.

“What’s your favorite meal to eat back home?” He asks with great interest. With an angling of his head upward, he shoots a cherry pit out of his mouth like a mini cannonball into the shadows. You think he’s intentionally aiming in the direction of the Devonshires. “Like, the kind that needs your undivided attention?”

“Easy. Grilled salmon and roasted asparagus with mashed potatoes.”

Beau takes a swig. “Found anything comparable here?”

“Not yet. Doubtful it’ll be anything close to what I could get back home in Oregon.” You course correct and try not to be too hard on the place you’ve called home for the past two years. “But, you can fish a decent dinner out on the lake.” You thumb at the water behind the trailer. “The trout and perch are tasty.”

“I haven’t gotten around to fishing in Hauser yet.” He sighs.

“Seems like every time I turn on the local news, something major is going on in the area. Most of it ain’t good.”

“Tell me about it. I thought this would be a slow drip favor of a job for a friend. I was saying to Hoyt today that a dam holding back all the crime must’ve burst as soon as I got here.”

You make a note to give Jenny Hoyt a call. You haven’t hung out with her or Cassie in a bit. It’s time to catch up and get all the details you can about the new sheriff in town. “Well, what crime has Helena committed when it comes to your favorite meal back home?”

“Oh.” Beau’s lips flap as he releases air from his lungs. “Haven’t found a good T-bone yet. Tried grilling a couple myself but I don’t know, just not the same. What I wouldn’t do for a melt in your mouth steak with some buttered corn on the cob and a baked potato topped with sour cream and chives.” He licks his lips with a far away stare.

You grin at how fond his expression is over the memory. You kind of wish he’d stare at you like that for even a second.

Some soft pops ricochet in the night air. You both sit up at the sound.

“Fireworks.” Beau states. You nod and then wait to see if anything can be seen in the distance lighting up the sky. It quiets again after some seconds. “You better get home before you can never leave,” Beau decides. You open your mouth to protest. He only shakes his head and cuts you off. “Hey, if Corey’s got something to say about it, just tell him the sheriff can pinch hit if he needs backup.”

You smile. “Not sure if that’ll fly coming from me.”

“Then you tell him to call me if he needs confirmation.” He nods and this time the smile he gives you is fond and, dare you think it, a bit flirty. “Besides, you’ve got a bachelor waiting for you at home, doncha?”

The laugh bubbles out of you. “I doubt he’ll be any better company.” You purse your lips at the confession that gave more of your thoughts away than intended.

He stills at the compliment and takes it in for a long beat. The smile that curls up is soft and sweet. “Thank you.”

“Thank you.” You rise and leave the half drunk beer on the table. 

Beau rises as well, always the gentleman. 

“Have a good night.” You hurry out the words to match your steps.

You don’t dare turn to look back at the sheriff. You can’t stop grinning like a giddy school girl.

His voice, low and warm in the summer night, draws out, “You have a good night as well.” He adds, “Ranger.”

Read Part 2 Here

[intoanotherworld23]

Getting The Truth

Pairing: Reader x Bradley Bradshaw

Warnings: Mention of killing and murder, some swear words

Length: 3.9k+ words

Summary: You’re one of the best journalists in your field, and then one day convicted serial killer, Bradley Bradshaw announces that he would like to be interviewed since he’s on death row, and is willing to do anything to get the truth out

Comments??? Hearts??? Reblogs??? If you wish to be added to a tag list let me know and I’ll be more than happy to add you!! Thank you all so much I hope you enjoy!! XOXO

✨Please do not copy and paste my work or steal my work or publish my work as your own or else I will have you reported✨

Part 2

"Did you hear?" Your friend Erica squealed as she leaned over the front of your cubicle as you typed away for your new report.

"Hear what?" Asking without stopping as you quickly glanced up at her.

"That convicted killer Bradshaw requested to be interviewed." Now that information had your full attention.

"Bradley Bradshaw?" Squinting your eyes at her. "Convicted serial killer Bradley Bradshaw?"

"Yep." Popping the p as you leaned back in your chair. "Came out early this morning his attorney made a statement."

"He's been in prison for like five years that doesn't make sense why he wants to talk now." Crossing your arms across your chest as you slowly shook your head. "When does he want to do this interview?"

"Apparently he demanded it be done this afternoon."

"This afternoon?" Repeating her words with a shocked expression on your face. "You've got to be kidding."

"I know I couldn't believe what I heard either." Erica exclaimed with wide eyes.

"There's no way they would let that happen." Scoffing through your nose at the thought of them letting him get what he wants.

"I heard it's cause he's on death row." Now that made a little sense as to why he wanted to talk.

"Well yeah I would hope after brutally murdering over a dozen women he'd be put on death row."

"Maybe he wants to clear his conscious." She shrugged her shoulders.

"Who in the world would want to interview someone like him anyway?" Your voice dripping with disgust at the thought of being alone with someone like him anyway.

"Someone whose stupid and isn't afraid of anything." She joked as you both laughed.

"Well I'll tell you I wouldn't even come within a hundred yards of that man." Pointing your finger at her in a matter of fact. "They couldn't get me to do something like that."

"Me neither I would rather just shoot myself if I had to interview him."

"Y/L/N." Turning your head to see your boss standing in the door way of his office looking straight at you. "Can I talk to you in my office for a moment."

"Yes Mr.Seresin." Nodding his head as he turned back into his office.

"Someone's in trouble." Your friend teased with a singing voice as you rolled your eyes giving her the middle finger.

"If I'm in trouble I'm taking your ass down with me." You sneered at her standing up walking towards his office.

As you stood in the doorway knocking on the door he looked up from his paperwork motioning you to sit down. Shutting the door behind you as you took a seat patiently waiting for him to finish whatever he was doing. He rarely called you into his office like this usually he called you on the phone to talk.

"Im sure you've heard all about this Bradley Bradshaw prick." He started off as you nodded your head.

"Yeah I was just kept up to speed." Smacking your lips together.

"Then you've also heard he wants the person to do the interview to be a woman?" Staring straight at him as you wondered where he was going with this.

"I did not." Your stomach churning at the feeling of where this talk was going, and what you were probably going to be asked.

"Which is why I wanted to talk to you." Clearing his throat as you waited to hear those dreadful words. "I want you to do the interview."

"I hope this is some kind of prank." Blurting out loud as he clasped his hands together on the desk.

"You're one of my best journalists." He complimented you as you sat frozen. "You're the only person who could ace this interview."

"I don't know." Looking down at your lap as your nerves were all over the place.

"Besides you would be the only person to do this interview, and you could get your name out there." He really wasn't going to let this go, and he did have a point.

Doing this interview would mean getting your name plastered over news channels, and radios. Everyone would know who you are, and it could also mean a pay increase which didn't sound too bad. It just horrified you to no extent being in the same room with that man.

"Do I really have a choice." Not meaning to say that out loud, but to yourself.

"I have you scheduled to be there at four thirty." Ignoring your statement as he informed you of details.

"You already called them?" Exclaiming as you leaned forward in your chair. The little shit had already decided who was going to do this interview.

"Well yes I knew you'd be the woman for the job." Smiling widely as he complimented you again.

"Can I at least have someone else come with me?" Asking him with nothing but hope in your voice.

"No he requested that only one person be there." Begrudgingly shaking his head disappointment written across your face.

"Fine." Sighing loudly as you stood up facing the door.

"You'll be fine Y/N I promise." He tried making you feel better but all you could do was just nod your head.

Dragging your feet as you walked back to your cubicle. Erica was by your desk immediately staring into your soul waiting to hear everything. As you sat down slumping your body in the chair looking up at her. Silently telling her exactly what she was worried about.

"Shut the fuck up." Whispering as you just nodded your head. "He's making you do the interview."

"Yep at four thirty today." Wishing that you would have just called in sick or something today.

"Could someone at least go with you?"

"Nope I already asked apparently this guy doesn't want anybody else there."

"Damn." Snapping her fingers as she looked at you with sympathy. "Well thank goodness I'm not as good as a reporter as you."

"Yeah we all can't be so lucky as you." Voice fanning with sarcasm it made her giggle.

"Well bring your mace with you just in case."

"Probably not allowed to have any kind of weapons on me." Informing her as she pursed her lips looking away.

"Shit your right." She responded as you laughed at her failed attempt to help.

"But they can't take away my mean right hook." You joked holding your right hand up in a fist as Erica shook her head at you.

"I hate to break it to you Y/N but your hands are like marshmallows."

Giving her a pathetic chuckle you decided keeping busy until it was time to leave would be the best thing. Except it wasn't cause your mind was racing at the thought of being alone in a room with this man. Unable to stop thinking about what could happen to you there. Even lunch was horrible unable to stomach eating anything at that moment.

Looking at the clock what felt like every ten seconds. Watching at time got closer and closer to leaving. Wishing that you could just skip through time, and avoid doing this interview. Maybe you could play sick and your boss would assign someone else to do it. Mr. Seresin wasn't that stupid he'd know right away what you were trying to do.

Wondering to yourself if you should call family and friends to let them know where you are in case anything were to happen. Surely the place would be well guarded enough so nothing would happen to you.

Gathering your things you grabbed your tape recorder shoving it into your purse. Standing up you could see all kinds of looks from everyone. Guessing that word spread very quickly who was the unfortunate soul who had to do this interview.

Erica looking up at you giving you two thumbs up as you smiled at her. Heading out the front doors and to your car. Breathing through your mouth as you sat in your car for a minute to calm down. This wasn't how you expected you were going to spend the rest of your afternoon.

As you headed down the road you turned on some music hoping that would help put your mind at ease. Telling yourself that it wasn't Bradley Bradshaw you were going to interview but someone else. That helped at least a little bit easing your nerves.

You never really understood why your town lived pretty close to a maximum state prison, and why you lived in that town. You'd think something like that would scare people off, and not want to live there. The drive wasn't too bad and you found yourself almost calming down.

That dream faded though as soon as you pulled up to the large prison. Noting the tall fences that were lined with thick barbed wires, and towers on every corner with multiple armed guards patrolling the area. You've seen prisons before but this one looked scary and menacing.

"I have an interview with Bradley Bradshaw at four thirty." Handing the guard at the gate your ID and work badge. Watching as he scanned them through the system.

"Your gonna pull up to that parking lot over there and go through those double doors where you'll go through metal detectors." He informed you as he handed you your stuff back.

As you thanked him you couldn't help but notice the look of sympathy he gave you. Like he felt bad a woman like you had to be in the same room as a psychopath. Your palms were sweating now as you pulled into an empty spot. Heart felt like it was racing a million beats per second.

"Remove any jewelry you may have and put your purse or bag into the tray and step through the machine." A guard yelled when he saw you walk in looking around.

As you did what he asked you stepped through the detector, and watched your bag going down the conveyor belt. Once they figured you were clean you grabbed your bag, and looked around to see where you needed to go.

"Uh excuse me." Timidly asking a guard catching his attention. "I have an interview at four thirty with Bradley Bradshaw where do I need to go?"

"You'll want to talk to Mr. Simpson first and he'll tell you what to do from there. Go down that hall all the way to the end you'll see his name."

"Thank you." The guard nodding as you turned to where he pointed and walked down the hall.

Once you reached the end you saw his name in bold letter on the door. Knocking on the door you heard shuffling around before a loud voice telling you to come in. Opening the door just enough to step in to see a tall thin man sitting at his desk shuffling through paperwork.

"You must be my brave journalist." Greeting as he looked up at you.

"That would be me."

"I'm Beau Simpson I'm head of security here." Not knowing what to say you just nodded your head noticing all his certificates and medals he had.

"Well I must say I'm glad we were able to find someone so quickly to do this interview." Smiling widely as he stood up to walk towards you.

"Any chance to do a big story like this I'm in." Trying your best to sound excited and not disgusted.

"You know we've had a lot of journalist come in here, but I must say none of them have been as attractive like you."

"Thank you." Standing there awkwardly feeling slightly uncomfortable as his eyes were practically undressing you.

"There are a couple of rules that we have to go over." He coughed as he fiddled with a pen.

"Of course."

"Do not stand too close to the cell. Do not hand him anything or let him hand you anything. If he makes any threats you yell for us and we'll escort you out immediately." His manner and tone very serious. "Do you understand?"

"Yes sir I do." Nodding your head feeling a little lightheaded suddenly.

"Well let's get this thing over with shall we?" Leading you out of his office and back down the same hall.

"I trust you're not nervous?" He asked as you two stepped onto an elevator.

"Only a little."

"Well don't show it Bradley can sense the nervous ones." His words didn't make you feel better.

"We have him located on the maximum security floor." He continued as you walked down another hallway where you could hear loud voices coming from all around you.

"Why is that?" You asked as you tried to keep up with him.

"He attacked some guards a while back and almost killed them." Feeling your throat closing as you tried swallow the saliva pooling in your mouth.

"Why is he separated from everyone else?" Noticing there was no other cell doors down this hall.

"He doesn't do well with others." Was all he said as you two stopped in front of another gate guarded with some security a loud buzzing went off and the door opened.

"Has he ever gone through any psychiatric evaluation?" You hated to ask but you were curious.

"Many times." He responded. "They've all said the same thing."

"Which was?" You pressed his body language becoming rigid.

"That he was a lost cause." Not turning to face you as you continued to walk down a hall.

A couple security guards were standing there as they nodded there heads at you. This was becoming all too real now. This wasn't just some bad dream this was reality. You were literally just a few feet away from a very dangerous man, and anything could happen. There was no turning back at this point.

"This is where I leave you good luck." Patting your shoulder as him and the other guards walked through the gate.

“You’ll do just fine,” one of the guards whispered to you as he pointed to a camera, “we’ll be watching you the whole time.”

Giving him a courteous nod with a soft smile watching them as they left realizing that you were now alone. Slowly walking down the rest of the hall to the cell he was staying in. As you stood in front of the cell now you saw him laying on the bed his back leaned up against the wall. A book in his hand not bothering to even look up at you.

"You must be the beautiful Y/N." His words like ice as he said your name. The air was thick with tension and the room felt like you were in a sauna.

"How did you know my name?" Trying not to stutter as you talked.

"They informed me of your coming." Bradley placing his book down as he looked right at you.

"Well let's get this interview started shall we." Grabbing your tape recorder out as you grabbed a chair leaning against the wall pulling it to face the cell.

"Now Mr. Bradshaw what made you decide to do this interview?" Leaning the recorder closer to him.

"Please call me Bradley." He smiled at you as you bit back your tongue not wanting to anger him.

"Bradley." The name sounded like poison on your tongue. "What made you decide to do this interview?"

"Because I'm innocent." His words completely turn you for a spin. Not expecting him to say that.

"Your innocent?" Questioning him to further explain. "Are you saying you didn't kill these women?"

"I was framed by someone. Someone that I know very well." He continued as he stood up this time.

"And who is that someone?" Not believing him for one second.

"You don't believe me do you?" Ignoring your question sensing your doubt in his answer.

"It's kind of hard to believe you when your DNA was found all over the crime scene of these murders." Holding the scoff hanging in the back of your throat.

"Like I said I was framed." He repeated his words. "Someone planted my DNA on their bodies."

"Tell me who." You pushed but he just chuckled lightly.

"Does it really matter they've already convicted me, and they want to throw away the lock and key." He didn't sound sad or angry but more of accepting of his fate.

“Why didn’t you say anything during the trial?”

“The man kisses everyone asses there’s no way they would ever look into it.” The scary thing was he sounded so confident that someone did, and he was actually being framed.

"Did you know any of these women?" You continued.

"Yes I did." He nodded his head as he was standing right in front of the cell bars. "I went on dates with them."

"So women you went out with just whined up dead." You stated out loud to yourself. "Why do you think that is?"

"Because someone had it out for me and wanted me to pay."

"Seems a little extreme to butcher women all because they've got a problem with you." Squinting your eyes at him as you tried not to laugh at his response.

"People do crazy things when fueled by anger." He smiled at you as he sat back down on the bed.

"Several psychiatrists stated you deserve to be put to death." Crossing a leg over the other. "Do you agree with them."

"They were paid to lie." Shaking his head as his fists clenched in his lap.

"By who?" You asked cocking your head to the side.

"By the same person who framed me for these murders." He stated matter of factly.

"How do you know that?"

"Because I just do."

As you stared at him so many things were running through your mind. That this man really was crazy and murdered all those women, but was just in major denial of it. There is no way someone could have framed him for all these murders and then paid people to lie about it. That something you see in a cliche movie.

"You don't have a husband do you." He stated as you squirmed in your seat. "I noticed you're not wearing a wedding ring."

"Are you scared of commitment?" His questions were becoming a little too personal.

"No." Glaring at him at this point.

"Do you have a boyfriend?" He asked you making you scrunch your brows.

"I don't think that's any of your business." Snapping at him a little harshly.

"It's only fair I get to ask you some questions." He was amused that he was getting to you.

"You asked to be interviewed." You scoffed not even bothering to turn off the tape recorder.

"Touché." Smirking at you sensing the real you coming out.

He was clearly trying to get a rise out of you. Which he probably did with most women anyway. Seeing if he could see which right buttons to push and then proceed with flying colors.

"Why did you want a woman to do this interview Bradley?" Now this was something you were genuinely curious about.

"I love women." He answer basic making you roll your eyes.

"Oh please." Whispering to yourself and Bradley chuckled when he heard you knowing his response wasn’t helping his case.

"Because women give off a sense of safety and comfort. There like a warm blanket to wrap around you when you feel cold or scared. A sense of security if you will."

"Do all women make you feel like that?"

"Not all of them." He looked down again at his hands.

Clicking the tape recorder off you shoved it back inside your bag just wanting to get out of there. This was the most confusing and weirdest interview that you have ever done. You just wanted to get out of there and into the safety of your own home.

"I think I've got all I need here." Standing up as you adjusted yourself Bradley standing up as well.

"Thank you." Bradley bowed his head to you.

"Mhm." You mumbled through your lips as you turned to head back down the hall. Feeling his eyes on you as you walked away.

"See you soon Y/N." His words almost had you stopped in your tracks. They didn't sound menacing or threatening though. As much as you wanted to ask him what he meant you just had to get out of there.

Smacking the button to get out of there the buzzer when off. Swinging the door open and practically jogging out of there the security guards watching you as you left. Mr. Simpson was nowhere in sight and you really didn't want to wait up for him.

He was creepy anyway and would probably try to ask you out anyway. You really didn't feel like dealing with any more men right now.

Making it to the parking lot you hauled ass out of there and took off down the street. Texting Erica that you were done and that you had survived the interview. All you wanted to do was get home and get into something comfortable, make a nice meal and then go to bed. It was starting to get dark anyway.

As you made it home you almost slumped into bed and called it a night right there. You just wanted to spend the rest of your evening relaxing and not worrying. Today was mentally exhausting for you, and you'd just hope you didn't have to go back. Cause then you really would call in sick.

The time going by quicker than you expected as you checked your phone it see it was almost eleven at night. Turning the tv off you made your way into the bedroom to get ready for bed. After brushing your teeth and doing your routine you jumped into bed, and set your alarm for the next morning.

Placing the covers over yourself as you snuggled into a comfortable position. Closing your eyes as you started to let the darkness of sleep consume you. Until your phone started to ring your eyes snapping wide open to see who was calling you this late.

"Erica?" You raspy voice answering the phone. "You better have a good reason for calling me."

"Please tell me you're watching the news." Her words rushed and panicked.

"No cause I'm getting ready to sleep." Groaning rubbing a hand over your face.

"Turn on the news now." Her words demanding.

"Okay okay calm down." Shuffling back into your living room you turned your tv on flipping to your local news.

"We have breaking news coming in from one of our local sources and we have just been informed that convicted serial killer Bradley Bradshaw wasn't found in his cell this evening,"sitting on the edge of your seat now biting your nails, "Sources say Bradley has escaped from prison."

[staycalmandhugaclone]

If you're new, this all starts with Touch Starved - Echo! You can read this little chunk as a standalone, or head back to the beginning for the full experience!

Febuwhump Day 1 Part 5

Touch-Starved – Crosshair - Fed up with Crosshair's dismissal of her help after a nearly disastrous escape, Doc finally snaps.

Warnings: Maybe light arachnophobia? Cursing, yelling, brief mention of injection

WC: 2,622

If not for the delicate sensors flashing across the overlay of my visor, I would have lost the others miles back, legs burning as I sprinted through the dense underbrush of the ancient forest. Fun. Yeah. I swear, next time a commanding officer called a mission either ‘fun’ or ‘simple’ or ‘easy’ I was going to strap the 70Ib medpack to their shoulders and let them see for themselves how fun it was to go racing through overgrown foliage so thick you could only hope it wasn’t concealing the massive trunk of one of those towering trees while being chased by dozens of ten-legged, very hostile carnivorous insects taller than Wrecker.

‘Scout the area for future outpost locations.’ ‘No known Separatist forces in that area, so should be an easy hike for you guys… have fun.’ That pompous old man better hope I didn’t stumble across him in a deserted hallway…

“Doc, eyes up!” Hunter’s voice barked over the com. I didn’t hesitate, body instantly responding by jerking both pistols toward the dark canopy. Those massive beasts blended in perfectly with the mess of bark and leaves, but my visor emphasized their movement and synced with sensors in the armor stretching down my arms and hands to guide my aim. From this distance, however, the handful of bolts that struck it from my rapid barrage of shots was only just enough to dissuade it from charging, sending the thing retreating to whatever web or hollow hid beyond that impenetrable layer of plant life to lick it’s wounds.  

Hunter and Wrecker were holding back the brunt of the assault behind us while Tech had raced ahead to ready the ship. Echo was somewhere near me, the ceaseless sound of his pistol the only thing granting me any certainty that I hadn’t strayed, and Crosshair laid in perfect stillness somewhere up ahead, blue bolts appearing like magic the instant one of those creatures got too close.

“There appears to be another wave incoming from the north. I suggest you hurry.” I briefly muted my com to release a violent string of curses on painfully quick, panted gasps even as I strained to force myself to move faster, hands training from one creature to the next at the relentless alerts chiming from my targeting system. In barely the span of a single heartbeat, I noted the glint of metal beneath one of those alerts, and my chest seized.

“Crosshair! Five o’clock!” The words tore from me in a panic. He was well beyond the range of my pistols; too far for any of us to do more than watch as he rolled hazardously over the branch he’d perched atop in an instinctual rush to avoid the sudden charge of the spider-like beast. The ancient tree shuddered beneath the assault, the terrible creaking of its moss-covered limb screaming over even the chaos of battle raging all around me.

“Crosshair!” Hunter’s voice boomed over the intercom just as the wood shattered. Even as he began to fall, Crosshair leveled the elegant barrel of his rifle at the creature and, with a single flash of light, sent it tumbling limp to the forest floor below. The instant he pulled the trigger, his hand darted out behind him, and I could only guess toward the desperation with which his fingers clawed into the sleek, moss-covered bark for any whisper of purchase. “There’s a vine twenty feet below you!”

The sniper barely glanced down before angling that lithe body against the massive trunk for whatever traction it might offer, rifle clasped carefully in one hand. The renewed frenzy driving me forward numbed the fire burning through abused muscle, diverting without a second thought from the path to the Marauder to sprint toward Crosshair, eyes locked on his rapid descent. I barely noticed the thin vine until his free hand snatch it midair, lower body arching forward like a pendulum for the half-second it held his weight. His mic just picked up the tiny hitch of his breath, and the rest of the forest went suddenly mute beneath it, beneath the fear in that flutter of air breaking over clenched teeth. Hand still locked around that traitorous vine, he began to fall.

Barely a dozen strides separated me from the base of the tree when his body suddenly snapped to a halt arm jerking above his head. I’d only just made out the loop of green caught around his wrist before his hand slipped free he crashed the final handful of meters to the ground.

Pistols already thrown into my holsters, I snatched the scanner from the side of my pack and slammed to my knees beside him. Before even coming to a full stop, my fingers darted out and slipped under his bucket to find the rapid dance of his pulse hammering just beneath his jaw as my other hand began the scan. Ignoring the listless flail of his arm trying to push me away, I maintained that position for just a few fleeting seconds, monitoring the rhythm while reading over the flashing text scrolling over my screen, trusting the others to cover us.

“‘M fine – get the kriff off me!” He snapped, movements gaining more strength as he finally wrenched my hand away. Beyond a sprained wrist and some bruising that would bring all manner of unsettling colors to his back, his armor seemed to save him from the worst of it. Ignoring the sharp words, I forced my arm beneath his shoulders and, with a surge of power fueled more by adrenaline than strength, hauled him up against me. He staggered beside me for barely a single stride before pushing away and racing forward on his own.

He said nothing as we ran, but I noted with painful clarity the way his right hand tucked slightly against his chest. Even if the damage was relatively minor, the pain was clearly severe enough to still even an attempt to use it. Cringing at the fresh hurt that surely tore through the limb with each stride, I tried to force my attention back to the encroaching wildlife, but the wave of fire from the others was finally beginning to allow us some breathing room.

“I want everyone strapped in now! Tech: we’re thirty seconds out.” Hunter ordered barely seconds before the top fin of the Marauder came into view. Nearly the instant my feet touched that ramp, we began to hover, and I had just enough time to throw myself into a crash seat, followed almost immediately by the others, before we were rocketing through the trees.

The quiet beneath five sets of heavy breathing offered frightfully little comfort, attention already turning to Crosshair. He glared blindly through the flooring beneath his feet, hand carefully limp inches above his thigh, jaw tensing beneath absent attempts to shift his fingers. As soon as the worst of the turbulence eased, I quickly freed myself from the mesh harness and trotted toward him.

“Try not to move it. Let me-” I started, already reaching for the swelling limb, but he quickly pulled away from me.

“I didn’t ask for your help!” He snarled, “You want to get all touchy-feely with the others, fine! But stay the kriff away from me!” For a brief moment, I was too shocked to reply, barely noting the grimace weighing heavily over Wrecker’s face, nor the annoyance in Echo’s glare as the man stalked quickly from the cabin.

“I’ll talk to him.” Hunter offered wearily, but that only fueled my rage.

“Don’t you dare.” The quiet threat in my words instantly drew his attention. Eyes shifting between me and the retreating form of his brother, his brow slowly raised in something between sympathy and skepticism. I merely narrowed my eyes before throwing my pack down and starting quickly after the sharp-tongued sniper. As soon as Crosshair saw me storm into the bunk room after him, that glare hardened into something dangerous, lips twisting into a snarl.

“No! You’re going to shut that karking mouth and listen to me!” I barked in the split second before he could unleash whatever retort boiled over his tongue.

“Or what? You’ll make me?” He challenged, shoulders rolling back as his head tipped forward, looking at me with those sharp eyes.

“Oh, grow up!” I spat, stalking forward until barely an inch lay between us. “You want to act all better-off-alone? Fine! You want to insult me and push me away? Kriffing go for it! But you have exactly three options right now!” Despite the fleeting space, I brought a hand up to count off, “Keep up this damn tough-guy osik, and I put you on med-leave until that wrist heals on its own.” I held up a second finger, “You walk into medbay and take a very painful bacta injection between your scaphoid and trapezium carpal bones.” My voice lowered only slightly into a growl as I raised the third, “Or sit your shebs on that karking cot, and let me do my job.”

He offered no retort to that, fury burning in those brilliant eyes as he stared me down, but I didn’t move, unflinching beneath the intensity of his rage. How long did he stand there, mind working for some alternative; any excuse to ignore me, to prove me wrong, before, finally, his teeth clicked from the way his jaw ground, gaze sliding reluctantly to the wall just behind me. Shoulders painfully taut, he sat heavily on the bed beside us. I’d apologize to Hunter later, but his was the easiest to access at that moment.

I didn’t try to catch his gaze as I kneeled before him, once more reaching for his hand. I just caught the way his lips pulled into a slight grimace at that first contact, muscles tensing beneath the instinctual drive to pull away; to flee, but he forced himself still. Without a word, I pulled the vambrace from his forearm before carefully beginning to ease the glove free. I could feel the slight twitch steal through his arm, but, again, he fought it.

Already, the joint looked painfully inflamed. I didn’t bother requesting he focus on his breathing or offer quiet conversation to distract him as my thumbs swept lightly in tandem along his palm both to trail over each bone in search of any hidden soreness as well as to begin pushing the swelling out of the angry tissue. I could feel his gaze carefully trained on me, eyes following my every movement with a violent distrust that robbed me of my earlier rage.

Pointedly ignoring the heat burring into me from his glare, I merely focused on my own movements, softly testing the sensitivity of the apex of the sprain and surrounding tissue to map out what I had to work with. Touch dragging back to the tips of those long fingers, I carded my fingers around each digit in turn. With a meticulous calm, I dragged the heel of my palm up his, swept the pad of my thumbs along the lines of tendons and over the ridges of bone until some whisper of that tension began to ease.

I was careful not to risk looking at him fully, but managed to catch a brief glimpse of him as my touch roamed delicately over his wrist before working into the lean muscles of his forearm. That rage was beginning to fall away, something so near to fascination just touching those eyes that left me holding my breath. This wouldn’t fix the sprain; not really, but the simple act of pushing the swelling from the injured tissue would greatly help with the pain and quicken its healing. In conjunction with the bacta patches stashed in one of the pouches lashed to my waist, I was hopeful that he would be nearly back to normal before reaching Kamino.

As I began dragging long, leisurely movements from the tips of fingers carefully supported against mine, up his palm, touch growing delicate over the swelling mound around his wrist, before firmly sweeping up the length of his forearm, he finally began to lose himself, eyes drooping as his head gradually sank lower toward his chest with each laxed breath.

I felt my movements slowing, reluctant to let him go for fear of never being allowed this moment of stillness with him again. Selfishly, I found myself returning to already blissfully limp muscles, working over each joint just once more, granting myself endless excuses to warrant a half dozen final adjustments before, with a slow, reluctant breath, reaching for the kit at my waist.

Only a whisper of that tension returned to him, eyes following me almost lazily before quieting upon seeing the basic madpack, and I tried to justify that quiet in the gentleness of my movements as I carefully secured the bactapatch against his wrist with meticulously applied bandages. I didn’t pull away from him once I’d finished, hesitating a moment before finally letting my eyes find his. That stillness lingered for a long while as he passively took in the gratitude burning through me, the silent plea screaming beneath my certainty that, the instant either of us moved or spoke or simply remembered the existence of a reality beyond this room, this moment of trust would vanish.

My arm seemed to move on its own, carefully resting his bandaged hand atop his thigh before just beginning to reach for his other one, palm held open in a quiet invitation as I let just the faintest glimmer of hope touch my gaze. He glanced briefly to my open hand, mind slowly returning to some level of awareness, and I felt that cold flush of defeat wash through me as his eyes shifted pointedly away, brows just tensing before his jaw clicked shut.

Without a word, he quickly pushed himself to his feet and stalked passed me. My hands sank back to my thighs, body deflating beneath the blanket rejection as the unapologetic hiss of the door closed behind him, leaving me too aware of the isolation that left me in. Fighting back the threat of guilt and regret at the harshness of my earlier words, I resigned myself to continued dismissal from the final member of this squad I was still trying to embrace as mine and thoughtlessly reached for the discarded wrappers around me from the used medkit.

Just as I’d begun calling some bit of motion back into my limbs, ready to finally force myself to my feet, the door opened once more. Expecting a kind word of sympathy from Echo or quiet reassurance from Hunter, I didn’t bother turning to look, unwilling to let them see the lingering hint of sadness I hadn’t yet managed to force back. The shock that tore through me when Crosshair dropped heavily back onto the cot, pinched glare turned pointedly to the far end of the room as he nearly thrust his other hand toward me left me staggering, lips just parted in a tiny gasp.

If he heard the way my breath caught as I let out a long, barely controlled sigh before reaching almost reverently for the offered limb, he made no show of it. I couldn’t begin to force back the smile, the lightness that burst through me as I gently eased the gear from his arm, overcome in that flood of relief. I knew this didn’t mean he truly trusted me, nor even that he more than tolerated my presence, but it was a start, and, as the smooth motion of my hands working over his gradually lulled him back into that blissed calm, I let myself finally begin to feel some hope that, just maybe, I could find my place here.

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[iamvegorott]

Carried Away

For @ariesshower824 Here's some Host working way too late, and Night deciding it's time to head home

Carried Away

Night knew that his mate had the habit of working late enough that it would technically be the next day, and tonight was one of those times. The Demon creator strolled through the nearly empty halls, hearing the last remaining Humans cursing at themselves for losing track of time or having their own Demon partners trying to get them to leave. It was a bit funny hearing his own kind being so attached to their Humans, much like how he was to his own.

Night paused and watched one of The Twins carrying the head Researcher out of his office, giving him an idea of how to handle his workaholic.

"Have a good evening, Mare." Night nodded a bit with his parting words. "And good luck with your pouting Human."

"I'm not pouting!" Mad protested through his pout, arms crossed as he was held over Mare's shoulder.

"Try to get some sleep, Madrick. Work cannot be done if you're too tired." Night advised, chuckling when Mad just continued his pout with a huff.

"See you tomorrow." Mare gave a little salute before walking off. Night just gave another nod and resumed his journey to Host's office. "Owl? It's time to head home." Night said as he stepped into the room, not bothering with knocking.

"Let me finish these last few pages, and we can go." Host ran his fingers over the page he was on.

"Those pages will still be here tomorrow," Night stated, going to Host's desk.

"I'm already in the middle of them, might as well finish before I lose my motivation." Host stated back, pausing when he felt Night's hands on his shoulders.

"You never lose motivation, owl. You're always ready to work." Night hummed and began working on the knots in Host's shoulders, grinning when he saw his mate melting a little.

"I'll only need five minutes." Host was still trying to fight against calling it a day.

"Five minutes turn into twenty, and twenty turns into an hour. I know how this goes."

"I am not that bad."

"You can be." Night leaned over and whispered into Host's ear, deciding to go with the idea he had earlier. "And I am three seconds away from just carrying you home."

"You would never." Host scoffed.

"One." Night nearly purred his count.

"You're being ridiculous."

"Two."

"You're not actually going to do that."

"Three."

"Night!" Host yelped in shock when Night turned his chair and pulled him out of it. "Put me down this instant!" He demanded as he found himself up in Night's arms.

"Nope. I warned you that I would carry you. And I always follow through." Night began heading out of the office. "And everyone else has already gone, so there is no worry about being seen like this."

"That is not my concern."

"Tell that to your blush."

"I am not-!"

"Perhaps we could help ourselves to some of those chocolates I bought this morning. A sweet treat before bed." Night grinned when that offer got Host to stop.

"You're not playing fair." Host huffed, resting his head on Night's shoulder and allowing himself to be carried out of the building with no more resistance.

"I love you too."