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pi-cat000 · 3 years

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BNHA: Kakashi dimension hops crossover (6)

Summary: Kakashi gets dumbed into the My Hero Academia universe through random plot devise.

Characters: Kakashi Hatake

Fandoms: My Hero Academia and Naruto

WARNINGS: Mentions of violence/injury

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As predicted, the day following the seal’s application is miserable. His chest is tight with almost anxiety, pins and needles run up and down his arms making his skin itch, and he is increasingly lethargic. All symptoms of a chakra imbalance and to be expected when one’s normal chakra replacement rate was thrown out. The sensations would pass once his body adjusted as they had with his sharingan.

He is eating three square meals a day, doing the bare minimum when it came to exercise routines and avoiding excess chakra use. It had been literal years since he had had this much bed rest. If he were ever going to slap a chakra collecting seal on himself, this was a perfect time. Okay, so maybe he should have steadily increased the chakra drain over the course of a few weeks for a smoother adjustment period. Hindsight and all that.

What mattered was that he would be fine, and he just had to wait it out. Bright side? No one had commented on the seal yet. Oh, he has definitely noticed serval people throwing the odd confused frown at his shoulder, but that was as far as anyone had gone in acknowledging it. His oh so clever strategy of acting like nothing was wrong worked so much better when he wasn’t surrounded by other shinobi and medic-nin.

“Your blood pressure is still too high. Are you sure you haven’t been experiencing any additional fatigue or other symptoms? Is something about the hospital causing additional stress? If there is something wrong, we should work on strategies to fix the problem.”

Well… it worked on everyone who wasn’t Wada. The man was irritatingly persistent in his doctoring. Apparently, the pressure of adjusting to an increased chakra drain wasn’t doing his body any favours.

“Maybe it’s a part of my quirk. High regeneration. High blood pressure.” Kakashi shrugs loosely not bothering to look up from HEROES and HEROINES May Issue. Unlike his previous reading material, people gave him odd looks when they saw him reading these magazines which immediately upped their entertainment value 100-fold.

Wada undoes the compression sleeve he had been using to measure Kakashi’s blood pressure, lecturing as he goes, “From what I can tell your cells produce more energy-rich molecules, ATP, NADH, then is typical, increasing cellular functions. Where your cells are getting the energy to produce these molecules, I have no idea seeing as you eat about the same amount as any baseline human. What I can safely say is that it should not influence your blood pressure. If anything, your blood pressure should be a bit lower than average. Now don’t dodge the question.”

He pauses, waiting for Kakashi to cave and suddenly confess. Kakashi, an old hat at dodging medical questions, continues reading unperturbed.

“I’ve been at this for over 30 years. An attack like the one you suffered is understandably traumatic, not to mention the stress of severe amnesia. I’m sure, whatever is bothering you, I’ve heard it before.”

Kakashi very much doubts that. “I feel fine.”

Wada huffs, unconvinced, “Young men. You all think that admitting you have a problem is a sign of weakness. High blood pressure can damage your heart and lead to problems later in life so finding the cause is important.” Good thing a shinobi life spans tended to max out around 30. The odds of him making it to an age where he’d have to worry about the long-term effects of anything were pretty low. He doesn’t voice this opinion, continuing to read.

Wada continues talking with greater gusto, “No matter, I’ll prescribe you something for stress hopefully that’ll help with your blood pressure. However, this is no replacement for healthy habits both physical and mental. You should consider professional therapy.”

Kakashi snorts. Yeah, that sounds about right.

“Oh, you think that’s funny do you,” Wada makes to grab HEROES and HEROIENS and he lets the doctor pull the magazine free from his hand. It gives him a good view of the man’s irate expression.

“No, of course not.” Kakashi attempts to placate and gets a light smack over the head with said magazine for his troubles.

“There is no shame in pursuing a healthy mind!”

“Weren’t we going to test my quirk today?” He complains to derail the current line of questioning.

“I have half a mind to put it off and have you rest another week,” is threatened before Wada’s stern expression relaxes, “Lucky for you, I’ve booked you into serval tests that can’t be rescheduled.”

Kakashi breaths out dramatically. He thinks Wada might have made a good medic-nin if he had lived in Konoha. Sure, he is a little too trusting, but he was also not above pestering his patients into taking better care of themselves. Sakura would approve.

The doctor, with the assistance of an attending nurse he hadn’t bothered to learn the name of, helps Kakashi out of his bed and into a wheelchair, ignoring his protests about his leg being all but healed.

“You’re to avoid putting weight on it until you start physical therapy,” Wada snaps at his continued complaints, “You’ll need to be careful, extended bed rest and surgery can leave your muscles weakened. Also, leave that magazine behind. You’re doing eye tests when do you think you’ll have time to read!”

Kakashi doesn’t push the matter further, resigning himself to being wheeled down the hospital halls like the invalid he was pretending to be. It is not like Wada knew about his frequent excursions to the roof or the fact that he has been running through strengthening exercises on his own time for several weeks now. Best he keeps that information to himself.

Partway down the hall, he pulls out HEROES and HEROIENS from where he had slipped it into his shirt, enjoying Wada’s exasperated expression. Of course, he stops reading when the doctor threatens to start lecturing again. The man could definitely talk when given the chance.

Wada and the nurse take wheel him to a set of double-door elevators which take them down several floors below the ground level. The hallway they exit of a mirror of every other hospital hallway. Grey and white walls, pale blue lino floor and bright fluorescent overhead lights. The only difference is that this hallway is lined with heavy-looking metal doors. From snooping through patient files, he knows that all quirk tests are carried out in specially designated underground ‘safety rooms.’ That doesn't make him any more thrilled about being several stories underground. It cut down on his escape roots.

“These are some of the more secure recovery wards in the hospital,” Wada explains as their little group stops at a small reception desk where the doctor taps away at a computer screen, “they’re mostly for treating patients with unstable quirks.” Kakashi maintains a neutral expression, accepting the explanation.

Wada wheels him up to a steel door, swiping his ID card which also doubled as a key to many areas of the hospital. The heavy door is automated and slides open. A lot of the doors in the hospital operate this way and always made sneaking around slightly more troublesome.

Inside walls and floor are plain white and there is an odd number of tables and chairs pushed to one side out of the way. Everything stinks of disinfectant. On the far wall is a single solitary painting of a tree in a field, the only splash of colour in an otherwise depressingly sparse room. A poor attempt at living up the space. The opposite wall sports a rectangular, reflective surface which was probably some sort of observation booth. Well, if being underground hadn’t put him on edge, this obvious confinement room definitely did the job. Kakashi eyes the space. Worse comes to worst, he could use the kamui and remove the adjoining hallway wall then climb his way out through the elevator shaft. There are only two other people in the room with him and one woman at the reception desk, all were most likely unenhanced with quirks unsuited to combat, easily removed. He doesn’t let his body language reflect his unease. He is just a little on edge because the new seal is messing with his body’s natural homeostasis. If this is a trap there would have been other signs of deception before now.

“Yes, I know it might seem like a whole lot of fuss just to run through a few flashcards,” Wada comments, oblivious to Kakashi’s poor mood. He waves to his assisting nurse who wheels over and lowers one of the metallic tables so Kakashi doesn’t have to move from his wheelchair. “But it’s a standard safety procedure when an unknown quirk is involved. Trust me, this is a lot easier than travelling to an external testing range.”

Wada stops to give Kakashi a once over, frowning, “How much do you know about your quirk sub-type?”

Kakashi shrugs, “Nothing much.”

“Ah,” The doctor’s frown grows, and he grimaces, “Of course you don’t.” A sigh.

“Typically, ocular quirks will act to enhanced sight in some way or improve base level memorisation and recall ability. It is also common to have a replicating function, allowing the user to produce some sort of copy of things they see. In rarer cases, ocular quirks result in precognitive abilities.” Wada explanation falters, “They can also have a line-of-sight emitter effect, such as laser vision, optical blasts, a few instances of mind control and other mental effects. These can also be incredibly dangerous if the user isn’t in control. There have even been instances where whole buildings have been levelled.”

“I see.” He supposes Wada's irritation at this private 'quirk' testing made a bit more sense. A doctor faced with an unknown and possibly dangerous ability would be annoyed if said patient went about experimenting without taking safety precautions.

“I should have checked whether you knew the dangers instead of just assuming. Apologies. That is my own error.”

He peers at Kakashi, almost guilty now, “and you don’t have a phone either so there would have been no way for you to research quirks yourself.”

“Ah,” Kakashi rubs the back of his head not likening how torn up the other man seems to be seeing as Kakashi had ever been in any real danger. “Don’t worry about it,” he reassures.

His reassurances land flat, the doctor still frowning, “I’ll see if I can get you access to the internet somehow.”

Privately, Kakashi adds 'research' to the list of functions ‘phones’ apparently provided and 'internet' to his growing list of terms to investigate.

Wada sighs again. “Regardless, let’s get these tests done first.” He places a thick folder labelled National Standard for Registration: Kit Type 3 alongside one of those portable keyboard-less computers the doctors tended to carry around. “Hold on, been a while since I’ve done one of these. Need to find the rights files. Ah, here we go. First, these rooms are monitored, and all tests are recorded. The data collected is confidential, accessible only to the patient and physician unless doing so causes the patent harm. Information regarding quirk function and use is shared with the Registry Office. You have a right to stop testing at any point. You got that?”

Kakashi grunts, his already poor mood souring further. He is not sure he wants the hospital - or anyone - keeping records of anything sharingan related.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Wada continues unperturbed, a testament to his serval weeks of trying to doctor Kakashi, “remember to let me know if you’re experiencing any discomfort. Don’t want you busting anymore blood vessels.

Kakashi lets out a tired breath, “Sure.” The sooner they left this room the better.

“We’ll test memory and vision first to compare to your baseline, then we’ll run through the replication and precognitive tests just in case.”

The nurse, who had been on the opposite side of the room waves, “All ready over here.” There is now a large poster with letters of varying sizes hung on the wall. He recognises the chart from his previous eye tests.

“Okay, let’s start with just uncovering it. Make sure you’re looking away from me as a precaution.”

Kakashi resists rolling his non- sharingan eye at the obvious instruction, shifting his attention to the poster on the wall. He flips his padded eyepatch up with his index finger so it partially rests on his forehead. All the letters, no matter the size, immediately snap into sharp focus. Nothing spontaneously combusts under his gaze. When he glances at the painting of the tree, he can now see a lack of brush texture, suggesting that it wasn’t a painting but a print of some sort. With that useless information now forever etched into his memory, he turns back to examine at Wada.

The sharingan picks out all the wrinkles and pores lining the older face. It focuses in on minuscule muscle movements as the man’s expression shifts from professional and accommodating to curious. The doctor’s fingers twitch ever so slightly over his computer. Most likely an unconscious habit. The man’s breath is slightly uneven like his chest can’t smoothly expand, suggesting some sort of lung problem. A past smoking habit perhaps? Nothing threatening is revealed.

“Doctor.” Kakashi prompts when Wada spends a little too long staring back at him. The sharingun did have a weak hypnotic effect, encouraging extended eye contact to help catch targets in genjutsu. Kakashi rarely uncovered his eye in the presence of civilians so he doesn’t know if the effect is more pronounced or if Wada is just curious.

Wada blinks, “Well…I certainly see where the ‘wheel’ description comes from.” He spends a second more staring then turns to start writing notes and tapping away at his computer screen. “I wonder if those spinning tomoe are purely cosmetic or if they have some other function because they are certainly fascinating to look at. There is also faint bioluminescence to the eye which is a common feature of ocular quirks…”

Honestly, the blatant eye contact is weird. Even his closest allies tended to avoid looking at his sharingan out of habit - expect for Naruto who was an outlier in almost everything - for understandable reasons. He thinks the people here would also exercise caution if an ocular abilities included mind control or exploding a person through eye contact. But no, Wada just goes right ahead and stares. A few seconds later and the unnamed nurse is also looking curiously at his eye. … …

Aside from redoing a standard eye exam, Kakashi runs through a marathon of flashcards to test both his memory and then precognitive abilities. The tests are done with lights on then in the dark and Kakashi is given a perfect 20/20 and an enhancement score of ‘15 grades above average’ for both. There are also several pages worth of words and numbers in progressively complex arrangements to test his information retention. Of course, everything is easily remembered with the sharingun active.

“Well, it seems to give general across the board vision enhancement alongside perfect recall and retention,” Wada finally concludes as he records all Kakashi’s results, “Of course, we’ll have to re-test retention in a few days so see if the information degrades over an extended period and we don’t know whether your quirk effects your long distance eyesight, but, for now, this appears to be all. The link between your quirked eye and the regenerative side-effect is still unknown. Odd that we couldn’t trigger any ‘copy’ function considering the quirks name though ‘copy’ could also be a reference to memorisation. If any other features do reveal themselves make sure you alert a medical professional.”

… …

Kakashi despises the process of getting an MRI with a heated passion. He hates having to lie prone in a loud confined space. It is the height of discomfort, making him tense up and clench his jaw. It is only the fact that Kakashi had researched and mentally prepared himself for the experience that stops him from accidentally snapping someone’s neck.

“We’ll have the results back in a few days,” Wada informs once the trying ordeal is over with, “From there we’ll update the Registry so you’re properly in the system. Speaking of which, have you made any progress on remembering a surname? I need something for the forms.”

“Hatake,” he grunts, too irritated to bother evading - he just wants to return to his room and wait out the side effects of his seal in peace- the question like he had every other time the man asked, “I think I prefer Kakashi though.”

It wasn’t like the name meant anything here and, who knows, maybe someone would come looking for him. This way they would have a trail to follow.

#bnha #bnha fanfic #naruto #boku no academia #CrossOver #kakshi hatake #dimension travel AU #fanfiction #my hero academia #more hospital stuff #probably a bunch of medical inaccuracies #quirk biology #quirk stuff #world building

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drxwsyni · 4 years

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Fault in Honesty︱Yandere Chisaki Kai/Overhaul x f!Reader

Anonymous asked: “Hi! I love your work! Do you think you could do a scenario with yandere overhaul and fem. Reader where she tells him she hates him?”

a/n: Ngl I’ve been having some writers block lately so doing a good ol’ sfw (or at least in yandere standards) oneshot was very refreshing. Also the section in italics represents a flashback! Thanks for the request babes <3

Warnings: implied stockholm, captivity

1.9k Words

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If you could hazard a guess as to where exactly you went wrong, it would be the day you let the comfort of his security first outshine the red flags. To an outsider, they’d be unavoidably obvious. But for you, someone experiencing a side of Chisaki reserved only to make appearances in your presence, they became muted. Vibrant and glaring warnings were but a momentary afterthought, given no more than a few seconds of contemplation before you returned to focusing on the ideal in front of you.

The ideal is still present now, only it’s being held together by the constricting realities that overlooking those red flags have brought about.

Walls seemingly inescapable, corridors twisting and unending. Perpetually trapping you underground, without an inkling of an idea as to which door would lead you to salvation. All coupled with the pain shooting up your legs with each time your bare feet collided with the tile, a dress airy and doing little to shield you from the deep set chill running past your exposed skin.

You shivered, both from the discomfort of the cold, and from the anxieties riddling your system.

By some form of chance luck, your frantic searching lead you to a stairwell, from one door to another, and into an all too familiar room.

The setting was by far more comforting than the bleak hallways below you. Once dull and sterile surroundings faded, your focus favouring the warmth. You spent many an hour in Chisaki’s study mere months ago, keeping the young boss company without question. Sometimes you’d simply exist alongside him, the copious amounts of work keeping Chisaki from indulging himself in conversation with you. Those moments were regrettable, as you could never stay with him all day. So you would leave him to his devices sooner or later, returning home while he continued to manage his ‘business.’

You suppose he detested the fact that you would inevitably take a leave of absence more than you originally perceived. And while his first move to initiate a more domestic closeness with you was endearing at the time, it only served to muddle your thoughts with regret now.

• • •

Your hand in his, seated close enough to him that your knees were touching. The leather couch situated in the study was always your go-to spot when waiting for your lover to fulfill his duties as a leader for the day. He managed to do so before you left this time, much to your appreciation.

“Anything you could possibly need is already in place, angel. With you living here we’d be able to spend more time together. And…” Pausing, as if to gather his thoughts while absentmindedly squeezing your hand gently in his, Chisaki soon continued. “...It would be beneficial if I were able to monitor your health more closely.”

You regarded the man with a warm and loving smile, finding slight humour in his predictable ways. For one, your wellbeing was always at the top of his concerns. It felt like such a passive occurrence at this point, Chisaki keeping those interests in mind like it was second nature. And you supposed, with how he so clearly treated you on another level of appreciation compared to everyone else in his life, that the quality would only be expected in a man who ensures such a high level of diligence in everything he does.

Chisaki also had a tendency to rush things with you. So naturally, his offer wasn’t something you were entirely surprised to hear. But unfortunately for him, there still resided some resistance in you.

“Don’t you think it’s a little too soon to be moving in together? Don’t get me wrong, Kai. I’d love to spend more time with you. It’s just―”

“This would be good for you. It’s dangerous for you to be living on your own, so you understand why I’m worried about you, right?”

Although he didn’t explicitly state it, you knew what Chisaki was referring to. The unavoidable fact of your quirklessness. He would never say that it made you weak, but you knew it was the root of his anxieties. You living alone was far more risky than he was willing to accept.

But you loved him. So, perhaps the change wasn’t something you should fear?

You let out a small sigh, still unsure, but resigning yourself for now. “...I suppose, if you think it would be best.”

In an act of tenderness, Chisaki took your hand that he was still holding, raising it to his lips. He planted a feathered kiss to the back of it, maintaining a gaze filled with adoration the whole time. Your heart fluttered at the gentle affection, feeling your face warm with a certain bashfulness.

He was pleased with your acceptance, albeit hesitant and largely unsure. “You’ll come around to the idea.”

And with the way Chisaki’s words and actions―not only now, but also in times before―left your better intuitions molding to match his, you thought you’d come around to it too.

• • •

The heavy wooden door behind you, a dark oak cut hand carved and lavish, opened in a swift motion. The abruptness of it earned a startled flinch from your body, you quickly turning around to view the culprit of the commotion in fear.

Like a deer in headlights, your whole being froze in place. Chisaki stood in the doorway, only he didn’t appear to be nearly as surprised as you.

If anything, he was calm.

His eyes trailed up and down your form, taking in your uneasy state. Slowly, he stepped into the room, shutting the door behind him. “It’s not good for your health for you to be up so late, my love.”

The dismissal of the situation sent a wave of frustration through you. Knowing he didn’t regret any of his actions, what he had put you through, and the reason why you were here―it was infuriating. The possessiveness, withholding your freedom like it wasn’t a necessity, because to him wasn’t. None of your misgivings resonated with him.

You regarded the composed leader, feeling your resistance begin to crumble from his mere presence. “Is this what you wanted?” Regrettably, your voice cracked midways through the question.

He almost looked disappointed, the fact of your apprehension being an unwanted outcome of the decisions he’d made for you. But he was nothing if not steadfast in his ways, a quality outshining the sorrow he felt for finding you so distressed. “All I’ve wanted is to ensure your health and safety. That’s what I’ve done, and I will not apologize for it.”

Another bit of your resolve faltered, your lower lip trembling as you fought to hold yourself together. “Even though I’m a prisoner?”

Chisaki let the words hang in the air for a moment, more so to let you process them instead, hoping you’d understand as much as he did that the statement couldn’t be farther from what you were to him. He moved across the room, taking his black dust mask off while he spoke, placing it on an end table. “I could hardly call you that. You live quite nicely―comfortable living quarters, balanced meals―everything you need and more to get by.”

“Everything except for my freedom, Kai. I mean...can’t you see how wrong this is?” In truth, you knew trying to reason with the man would get you nowhere. It wouldn’t change his mind, and it certainly wouldn’t help you in your now failed attempt to leave him. The thought of the uselessness of the whole thing wore you down, knowing putting up a fight would be for nothing in the end. You’d lost not from the moment he’d stepped into the room, but from the moment you agreed to be his all those months ago.

He faced you once again, mask and gloves removed, able to expose himself in such a way to you only. “It’s dangerous for someone with your connections to live outside of my compound―you know that. There are people who wouldn’t hesitate to use you as leverage against me.” He drew closer, an approach slow, as if trying to ease your nerves. “Tell me, have I ever hurt you?”

You inwardly cursed the man for knowing exactly what to say. His words were meditated, aiming only to lead you into compliance. The question was doing exactly that, because there was no other answer than the one he wanted to hear. The fact that no, he hadn’t. At least not physically. He truly did care for all of your needs. And even when it came to the mental anguish you went through, he always gave you space when you needed it. So really, you had no other choice but speaking that admittance.

Quietly, you did, “N-no, but―”

“So, you can’t deny that everything I do has your wellbeing in mind?”

As he took steps forward, you took some back. Soon enough you were hitting the front of his desk, unable to put any more distance between the two of you as he came closer.

“I can tell you understand that, angel. All I wish is for you to accept it.”

You shook your head, saltine tears falling down your cheeks. Confliction riddled your body and soul, part of you wanting to keep up those feeble forms of resistance, while the other part yearned to finally give in. It would be so much easier if you did, which was the worst part about it. Before you found yourself trapped by him, you truly did love Chisaki.

And somehow, even after all he’s done, those emotions never quite vanished.

“I don’t...I don’t want to be okay with this. Or be okay with you…” Your gaze fell, sniffling through your words. “I hate you―or at least, I’m supposed to hate you. But I fail at even doing that.”

You didn’t have to look up to know he was standing in front of you. Not when the uncharacteristic sound of a softness in his voice was in such a close proximity.

“That’s not a failure…”

Carefully, Chisaki cupped your face in his hands, prompting you to lift your head. Through a blurred vision you regarded his piercing amber eyes. Those set intently on yours, concerned but stern, matching his words to a T.

“You know this is what’s best for you. It’s just taking a while for that to sink in, but you’ll come around to it.” He delicately wiped away your tears as he spoke, the action soothing the torrent of discouragement inside of you. “Now, I’ll get you something to help you fall asleep, and we can forget this ever happened.”

Like always, nothing he did was a simple offer. His statements were final, and you were forced to comply whether you wished to do so or not. Only now, the notion of yearning for free will against his demands was unclear in your mind.

As it stood, and would continue to stand forever, agreeing with Chisaki was the option that had been growing on you as of late. Tonight’s events happened in a spur of the moment. In all honesty, you were unsure of yourself the moment you stepped foot outside your room. It always lingered in the back of your mind that your efforts wouldn’t get you anywhere. So, now that you were faced with that truth, resigning yourself to his whims wasn’t as hard as you thought it would be.

You let him guide you back to your room. You accepted the medication he gave without a second thought.

And soon you fell asleep, sorrows replaced with the calm and comfort Chisaki provided.

#yandere bnha #bnha fanfiction #yandere overhaul #yandere chisaki kai #yandere mha #yandere my hero academia #yandere overhaul x reader #yandere x you #yandere #yanderecore #yandere writing #yandere fanfiction #yandere male #bnhabookclub

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fairyoftbz · 4 years

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[19:54]

🎄Day 20 of the Christmas project🎄

a/n: mention of a horrible male manager (sexist, misogynist,...)

As soon as you had stepped outside of your office, goosebumps ran through your entire body, making your hands and legs shake. Exhaustion not helping to get rid of the uncomfortable feeling, you walked on the sidewalk to reach the parking lot which was a few meters away from the building where you worked. Snowflakes were falling in abundance, adorning your hair with a freshness that was meant to be uncomfortable. Nervous, tired and hungry, it was with a groan that you rummaged through your bag for your car keys while carrying important files under your arm.

Your manager was the perfect example of an asshole, but you couldn't say anything if you wanted to keep your job as long as possible. Besides being sexist and a misogynist, he made you work extremely irregular hours, to the point of going to work on a Sunday afternoon. According to him, it was urgent for you to work on the files you were currently carrying, and it could not wait until tomorrow. And do you know why he makes you work? Simply because he was too busy flirting and eyeing his secretary's plunging low-cut neckline to do his tasks, forcing you to do all the work for him. And yes, the world was unfair sometimes. This morning, you had left the apartment furious, cursing your damn manager for making you his slave, knowing full well that you weren't going to get another afternoon off for working today.

The environment you worked in was horrible, quite simply because you had refused your manager's advances during your first few months in the company, repeating to him several times that you were already committed in a relationship. Your words had hurt his ego, and since then, he made your life a real struggle. After several weeks of enduring sexist remarks every day and long evenings talking about it with Jacob, you decided to shift up a gear by threatening him to tell his superiors about his behaviour towards every woman who refused his advances. You did great because he quit his masquerade the next day, and this along with the rest of your female colleagues.

Finally, you managed to get the keys out of your bag with one hand, throwing the files in the passenger seat before getting into the vehicle as quickly as possible. You locked the doors behind you - simple forethought, you were always careful when it's late at night and you're alone, you don't want to repeat a bad memory of the past - and turned on the ignition. You rubbed your hands as you played with the buttons on the dashboard, finally feeling hot air coming out of the air conditioning caress your face. You shook your head and let water drops on the steering wheel, suddenly feeling that your hair was wet from the snow. Fortunately, you were foresighted, in addition to the heaters, there was a beanie that belonged to Jacob in the glove compartment. You rushed to put it on, now feeling more comfortable with something protecting your damp hair from the cold.

The further you drove towards your apartment, the harder the snow fell, causing you to slow down until you were driving at under 20 miles per hour, to not go off the road get into an accident. Shifting the wheel uneasily and your feet unsteadily on the pedals, you tried you best to not let yourself be overwhelmed by your emotions and the stress you were currently experiencing from being on the road, trying to keep your vision as sharp as possible. You couldn't see anything already because of the snow, no need to make it worse with tears.

Jacob was starting to worry when you didn't come back at the time you told him. Nose pressed against the window with his hands shielding his eyes from the kitchen light, he managed to make out snowflakes falling from the sky, but the street where you lived in was deserted. There wasn't a car headlight, nor a single noise. From the top of the skyscraper you lived in, Jacob had a panoramic view in front of him, offering a magnificent view of the rest of the city. You got it thanks to your income because you were unfairly treated yet well paid, which held you back from resigning. However, your boyfriend noticed that your mental health was deteriorating, and he had to do something so that you wouldn't burn out and lose your job. Your secret dream would be to be your boss's manager to make his life difficult and destroy him, but that meant that you would have to stay longer among the company to gain years of practice, and you couldn't do it anymore. Jacob was also tired of seeing you come home from work in tears and ashamed of being yourself, by the words spat out by your supervisor. Your boyfriend was seeing if Hyunjae's father couldn't help you, and things were moving, praying that the great CEO could help you.

Your boyfriend sighed in relief when he saw your car cautiously approaching the building, making him walk away from the wall and turn off the stove. He hastily pulled on a sweater and sneakers before locking the door, calling the elevator to come to meet you.

Once you got to the underground parking lot, you rested your head on the headrest behind you and sighed, glad you made it home in one piece. You hated driving on snow and icy roads, it was technical and unpredictable, but you didn't care anymore. You were relieved to be just steps away from your safe place. Opening the car door eagerly, you walked around your car to pick up your files and your jacket, removing the beanie before putting it back in the glove compartment.

"Y/N?" A voice in the parking startled you, heart pounding as you heard someone call your name. You sank your head in your car, trying to peek through the various car windows around you to discreetly check who was hanging around. You let out a sigh of relief as you saw your boyfriend walking over to you, his hands in his sweater pockets, his glasses perched on the bridge of his nose.

"Jacob, you scared the shit out of me," you whispered with a smile, relieved that it wasn't some creep who wanted you dead. Your boyfriend knew how much you hated being alone late at night, having him next to you and not just on the phone gave you great reassurance. "Honey," he picked up your files with a smile, and you were close to bursting into tears. You had frequent shitty days, but Jacob was there to make them better or at least make them softer. You closed your car door and locked it before your boyfriend reached out to give you a hug, the smell of his perfume calming your thoughts instantly. He kissed your forehead, and you looked at him with shining eyes, silently thanking him for coming down for you.

"Come on, let's go home," you nodded and walked to the open elevator, greeting the caretaker who was sweeping near the doors. Once we entered the small cabin, Jacob pressed your floor button, and you leaned on him, your head against his collarbone, closing your eyes. His hand stroked the back of your neck and then tightened around your back, leaning against him in a gentle hug. You whispered a little thank you against his sweater and felt him shake his head before resting his chin on the top of your head. "It's okay, Y/N. Come on, I'm going to take a bath for you, what do you say?" You weakly smiled and nodded, letting him unlock the front door before he pushes aside to let you in first. You got rid of your things quickly, Jacob pacing to the living room to put your stuff on the table. Hand on the faucet, you were ready to let the water run, but your boyfriend made you sit on the toilet lid and took care of running you the bath, just the way you liked them.

"You're overdoing it," you hugged his waist from your seat, and he turned around, a small smile on his lips. "I'm only doing it because I love you," he said, looking at you, his arms around your shoulders. Resting your head on his abdomen, you distractedly listened to the gurgling of water falling into the tub, already feeling your body relax. "Do you want to join me?" Jacob grabbed your chin to look at you and smiled. "Do you want it?" You nodded vigorously, and he laughed at your enthusiasm, grabbing the back of his shirt and pulling it over his head, getting shirtless. You imitated him and stepped into the tub first, moaning at the water's temperature. He joined you seconds later and pulled you to him, kissing your temple. Closing his eyes for a few moments, Jacob turned off the faucet and began to splash the patches of skin on your body that were still dry, a gentle shiver running through you as the hot scented water acted like a hug.

Jacob was busy covering you with kisses and hugging you while you sighed, trying to focus on your boyfriend instead of the thousands of thoughts that were running through your head. Sometimes you wish you could take your brain and put it aside for a moment so that you could enjoy the present moment without having to worry about anything.

"I want to find another job, I can't take it anymore, I'm exhausted," you whispered as you felt your throat tighten because of how close you were from crying. Jacob sensed your distress and stroked your head before taking your hand in his, bringing it to his mouth to leave a kiss on your warm skin. "I know, Y/N. I told Hyunjae about it, and his father should be able to do something. He confirmed me he would discuss your situation with other companies because he finds your condition unacceptable," you nodded at his words, a small weight coming off your chest, which was still quite heavy for the young adult that you were. "We'll find a solution, I promise," he whispered in your ear, and you gave him a kiss on the neck as a thank you. He then proceeded to lean over to take the shower head, pressing it against your side of your leg so you can adjust the temperature of the water. After getting your approval, he ran it over your skin, working his way up to your hair. There you gently shifted, and he wet your hair, his hand working on your scalp. You closed your eyes at the massage and handed him the bottle of shampoo when he asked for it, enjoying the head massage that came as a bonus.

Finally, thanks to Jacob, any problem seemed like it could be solved, you just needed time and patience.

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kgraces · 3 years

Text

With a Fearful Trill

@badthingshappenbingo

Bad Things Happen Bingo Prompt: Captivity

For @sassydefendorflower

Read it on Ao3 here!

The clouds overhead threaten rain, and Dick is seriously annoyed with himself for forgetting his umbrella that morning. The streets of Blüdhaven are crowded, as usual, and the cracked pavement under his feet makes for an uneven walk. Dick takes a sip of his cold coffee, mind alight with some sort of nervous energy. He can’t place it, but something feels off as he walks home from work.

Dick stifles a yawn, stepping over a particularly mangled piece of concrete. His shift at work was a tough one; he’s wrapped up in a nasty homicide case as both Officer Grayson and Nightwing, and his brain feels sluggish after hours of wading through evidence. He checks his watch, frowning at the way the numbers seem to blur together. He thinks he’ll have time to get in a quick nap before patrol, at least.

The foot traffic thins as Dick gets closer to his apartment, so it catches Dick off guard when a man pushes past him, hitting his shoulder roughly. Dick stumbles a bit, and before he can recover his footing, electricity arcs through him. Getting tazed hadn’t been a part of his plans for the day, and Dick only has a moment to mourn for his nap before he crumples to the ground. The sole of a boot enters his line of vision before it connects with his temple. He loses consciousness, sinking into the peaceful dark.

When Dick was a kid, he used to try to joke with Bruce about the stupid ‘Boy Hostage’ nickname. Of course, Bruce was never fond of the ‘X days since our last kidnapping incident’ whiteboard, but Dick thought it was hilarious. He mentally resets the counter back to zero when he wakes up tied to a chair.

Years of vigilante experience honed into instinct kick in as soon as he regains awareness. He keeps his eyes closed and his body lax, listening hard to determine whether or not he’s alone in the room. He was kidnapped as a civilian, so he can’t fight his way out, but he can use his skills to help himself however he can.

Still, this is probably going to suck.

Once he figures he’s alone, Dick carefully opens his eyes and takes in his surroundings. A dimly lit basement greets him—underground, if the chill in the room is any indication. A short window close to the ceiling lets in weak sunlight through a heavy layer of grime. He’s mostly uninjured—for now, a voice in the back of his head sings—but restrained at his wrists and ankles. His head aches from getting knocked out, and his muscles feel stiff, but he’s okay. He just needs to tough this out until Bruce can track him down and orchestrate a rescue from Batman...

Dick’s blood runs cold.

Bruce is off-world with the Justice League.

Before he has a chance to really let the panic set in, he hears heavy footsteps and the jingle of a set of keys. The lock turns, light spilling into the room as a burly man steps across the threshold. He smiles, a nasty thing, and shuts the door behind him with a heavy thud. He holds up a cell phone, still smiling, and Dick recognizes his own phone in the man’s hand.

“Mind explaining why your daddy ain’t answering his phone?” The man says, a sneer creeping onto his face and into his tone.

“Call the WE number,” Dick says, voice more tremulous than he feels. Judging by the last vestiges of daylight leaking through the window, it’s still dusk, and if he knows his little brother, he’ll still be at work. Dick can only pray Tim will answer. The man dials the number, leaving them both to wait with bated breath.

“What do you need, Dick?” Tim’s smooth voice comes over the line after a few heartstopping moments. “I’m a little bit swamped right now.”

“I’m afraid Mr. Grayson can’t come to the phone at the moment,” the man says, tone oily. Dick hears Tim’s sharp inhale over the line. “If you want him back in one piece, it’ll cost you.”

“I need proof of life, first,” Tim says coolly. The man sighs, as though he’s exasperated already, but he presses the phone against Dick’s ear, regardless.

“Tim?” Dick says, voice breaking just a little—the perfect image of a frightened civilian. His brother hums softly in acknowledgement. “Don’t worry about me; I’m fine. I’ll be okay.” He starts to ramble a little, but he’s cut off by a sharp blow to his ribs. He exhales a wheeze as the phone is jerked away from him.

“One million dollars and you get him back. Every hour you delay will cost him.” The man hangs up before Tim can reply, but Dick isn’t worried. Tim’s already tracking him, and the cavalry will be here soon enough.

He looks up at the man holding him for ransom, disdain etched on his features as he looks into beady eyes. The man scoffs and shakes his head, turning to exit the room again. Dick wants to make a quip, some sort of stupid pun, but he can’t let himself seem too much like Nightwing, not right now. He bites his tongue and sits silently as the door swings shut again.

His headache worsens as the time passes. The light from the small window fades little by little, but it’s hard to track the time. Dick waits patiently, but his limbs itch for movement. He hates being restrained like this—cut off from grounding himself in motion. Nervous energy builds up in him, and he has to tap his fingers against the wooden chair arm to stop himself from losing it. He hopes Tim hurries up.

The next time the door opens, it isn’t to a vigilante, but rather to Dick’s captor. His smile is meaner, somehow, and he’s holding a hammer in his hands. Dick’s breath catches in his throat. Has it already been an hour? He doesn’t know, but judging from the man’s impatient pacing around the room, Tim is late.

The hammer swings, and Dick’s hand shatters under the force of the impact. He stifles a sob, and bitterness flares to life in his chest at the chuckle he hears at his side. He’s definitely got a few broken bones, but it’s not enough. The weapon hits Dick’s fingers next, and he nearly screams as white-hot agony roars through him. The man steps back, admiring his handiwork, before he snaps a photo with Dick’s phone and presumably sends it to Tim.

Dick glares up at the man, hair matted with sweat as it falls into his eyes. He nearly snarls out a threat, but he has to resign himself to acting as a civilian would—terrified and vulnerable. He hates it, but it’s the role he has to play for now. The man leaves again, and Dick lets out a shaky breath.

What’s taking his brother so long?

Another hour must pass. The sun has gone down, casting the room in shadow, and when the door to the small cell opens again, the light is blinding for a moment. Dick cringes back when he hears heavy footsteps. He can’t go very far with his limited range of motion, though, and his arms strain against the zip ties lashing his wrists to the chair. He hears a heavy sigh, but it isn’t his captor.

No, the sound is mechanized, warbled by vocal modulators.

Jason.

His younger brother is at his side in an instant, using a knife to free him from his restraints. Dick hears him curse lowly at the sight of his mangled hand, so he offers Jason a reassuring smile. It probably comes across more as a grimace, but he tries his best.

“C’mon,” Jason says, helping Dick to his feet and steadying him when he stumbles. “Tim’s going crazy upstairs. Someone needs to stop him before he permanently cripples someone.”

“You left him alone to deal with them?” Dick asks, raising a brow. “That’s just not fair.” He pauses as a thought occurs to him. “Wait, how many guys are up there? I’ve only seen the one.”

“Ah,” Jason says, and Dick can hear the cruel smile in his tone. “That guy. There were five others, but last I saw, Tim was going toe-to-toe with that one. Last man standing and all, you know how it is.”

“He saved him for last on purpose,” Dick says with a sigh. His brothers are ridiculous sometimes. Overprotective over him, even though Dick is the eldest and should be worrying over them, instead.

They make their way up the stairs, with Jason supporting most of his weight, since his legs are still wobbly from being restrained for hours. Dick can hear the sounds of the fight grow louder as they reach the first floor—sounds of shattering glass and wood splintering reaching him, along with the telltale thwack of Red Robin’s bo staff hitting its target. Dick almost winces in sympathy, but the pain in his hand keeps him from feeling bad for the guy.

“Let’s get out of here, Red!” Jason calls, sounding amused. “I got him, and GCPD is already on their way.”

“Fine,” Tim replies, tone lilting on a whine. He emerges from one of the rooms branching off from the hall a moment later, looking perfectly put together, despite the fight. “Want the last word, Hood?”

“Don’t I always?” Hood passes Dick over to Red Robin and draws a firearm, heading toward the room Red had just left. Dick sighs, shaking his head as he hears both Hood and his assailant start shouting. He turns his attention to Tim.

“Thanks for the rescue,” he tells his little brother.

“Like we would just leave you there?” Tim asks, tone sardonic. Dick grins at him. “Let’s get you back home, okay?” Dick nods and lets Tim lead him out into the night. One of the Batmobiles is already waiting at the street corner, and as soon as Tim gets Dick settled in the backseat, Jason joins them, sliding into the driver’s seat and starting the car. Tim pulls down his cowl and sends an unimpressed look toward Dick.

“What?”

“You’re an idiot for letting yourself get injured like that,” he says. “Also, B’s losing his mind.”

“You told Bruce?!” Dick practically yelps.

“Alfie insisted,” Jason says, turning to look at him. Sometime between starting the car and now, he’d tossed his helmet onto the passenger seat, leaving him with just a domino mask obscuring his features. “No one says no to Alfie.”

“Especially once those assholes started hurting you and broke the terms of the deal,” Tim grumbles. “They only waited half an hour.” He glances over at Dick, reaching out to examine the damage done to his hand. “Sorry they had the chance to hurt you, Dick.”

“It’ll heal,” he says easily, brushing off Tim’s concerns. He ruffles his little brother’s hair with his uninjured hand. “Please tell me Bruce didn’t come back to earth over this.”

“Okay then, we won’t tell you,” Tim says, grinning wickedly. Dick groans, letting his forehead rest against Tim’s shoulder. Tim and Jason laugh, but Dick can’t muster up a scowl to send their way. He’s safe, and he’s hurting and exhausted. Tim seems to notice him droop, slumping against his side a little more with each passing moment. “Get some rest, Dick. We’ve got you.”

“Sleep it off, Dickiebird,” Jason says. “You’re in for a hell of a lecture when you wake up.”

“Prolong the inevitable,” Tim agrees, nodding along. “We’re taking bets on whose lecture will be worse: Bruce or Alfred.”

“Nah,” Dick mumbles, smiling a little as Tim carefully wraps an arm around his shoulders. “Dami’s will be the worst of the bunch.” His brothers both snort, and Dick falls asleep to the sound of their laughter.

His brothers have him. He can rest easy.

#my writing #dc #batfam #batman #nightwing #red hood #red robin #tim drake #dick grayson #jason todd #bad things happen bingo #prompt: captivity #batbros

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that-one-girl-behind-you · 4 years

Text

Illicio 18/?

Part 17

CW for: -Canon-typical violence, body horror and gore -Some characters talk about the not so great mental state they were in, including suicide ideation.

"Where are they? Elias, if you-" Jon's rather pathetic attempt at a threat is cut off by Elias' gleeful cackle.

"Calm down, Jon. Gerard's merely a bit... lost in thought. As for Martin, the door is open, if you want him back."

"What door? Elias, what did you do?" Jon snarls, pouring the compulsion thick into the question.

"I cashed in a favor. Or rather, a wager." Elias smiles. "You've grown fairly powerful, haven't you?"

"Elias-"

"You'll find Martin right where you put him." Elias' eyes gleam dangerously, his smile still sharp on his face. "In the Lonely."

XVIII

"Nah. I convinced them I'm not suicidal, mostly because, you know, I'm not? Anyways, they're letting me go this weekend. I'll call you when I'm settled, we'll have a sleepover that doesn't involve eye gouging, how about that?" Melanie smirks in his direction, and Gerry rolls his eyes.

"That's my preferred kind of sleepover."

"You have very low standards," Tim mutters in the background.

"I mean yeah." Melanie shrugs. "He's dating Jon."

"I'll take offense to that," Georgie laughs, closing the door to the room behind her after coming in.

Gerry lets his head fall back against the glass, closing his eyes to feel the rattle of the car as the tube makes its way through London's entrails. Melanie's looking well enough, her injuries healing at a slow, human pace that Gerry can't help but to be hopeful about.

"So you don't feel the need to go back?" Tim asks, leaning against the corner of the room with his arms crossed over his chest. It may be a bit risky to bring an avatar whose powers manifest as fire into a place with so much oxygen and defenseless people, but Tim looks calm for once, no hint of orange in the depths of his dark eyes. "When I left, I started feeling the withdrawal right away. Not like... at first it wasn't pain, I just 'wanted' to come back."

"Nope!" Melanie grins, popping the 'p' with such satisfaction that Gerry can't help but to chuckle along with Georgie. "The only place I want to go to is home."

"Aren't you lucky," Tim says a bit sullenly, but when Gerry looks over he's got the slightest hint of a smile on his face, albeit a sad one.

Tim is sitting two seats away, but Gerry can still feel both the heat -the burns on his skin throbbing in ghost pain- and the conflict emanating from him. Maybe this is why Jon used to feel so comfortable around him, Tim wears his heart on his sleeve and there's no guessing at what he's feeling, regardless of if that feeling holds something good in store for you or not.

"What is it?" Gerry asks after a few more seconds. He doesn't turn to look at Tim, but they both know his words are aimed at him.

Tim's voice, when it comes, holds all the fragility of diamond, hard and sharp and waiting for something to hit at just the right angle to crumble to dust. "Do you- I wonder if this would work on Martin."

Gerry snorts, his tentative good mood wiped away like so much dust under the rain. "Are you asking me?"

"You care," Tim says. It's not a question, and Gerry doesn't bother denying it. Thinking about Martin feels eerily like waiting outside of a locked room, kept barely alive by a voice not done justice by the magnetic tape in a recorder, hoping, praying that the coffin will open, that he will come back, for someone else if not for him.

He keeps hoping the story will end the same, but he knows better than to dare think he'll be lucky twice.

"I don't know that breaking Martin from the Eye is our biggest concern anymore." Gerry sighs. "He told Jon no when he offered."

"...So? Are you just going to leave it like that?" Out the corner of his eye, he sees Tim scowl something fierce. "Jon said the fucking same, are you two just going to sit there and make eyes at each other while he turns?"

"We're trying, alright?! Jon's running himself ragged trying to Know enough that Martin doesn't have to depend on Lukas anymore, and I can keep telling Martin he's more important than the Extinction, but he's too damn stubborn-"

"He said you broke into his flat just to make him talk-"

"Well, you live with him. If you can't bring him back, why-"

"Oh, shut up!" Tim groans, crossing his arms over his chest and throwing his head back to look at the roof "Shut up, for real. You're pissing me off, and we're underground, you're going to make me blow up half the city."

Gerry rolls his eyes, a resigned huff escaping his lips. "Sometimes I wish I'd convinced you to stay behind when we went to get the Dark Sun. I don't know what Lukas did to him, but I doubt he would've done it I'd you'd been here."

"You know what? I do, too." Tim remains focused on the roof of the car, his fingers tapping against his arm in an incessant rhythm that leaves melted indentations on his skin. "I should've stayed where it mattered."

They don't say much after that. What else could they add? He can deny it until he's blue in the face, but they both know Manuela Dominguez burned because Tim still holds Jon dear, whether he likes it or not.

Still, Tim's words weigh heavy in his mind as they climb up the steps to the street and start the short trek to the Institute. It's- he's right. Whatever they promised Martin, this has gone too far. Martin might be ready to sacrifice it out of some misplaced lack of self worth, but nothing is worth his life, not even saving the world. And if he has to break into Martin's office and convince him of it, well... it won't be the first time, at least.

He starts on the stairs up towards the Institute's upper floors, only to stop when he notices Tim is no longer following. When he turns around, Gerry finds him standing at the bottom of the stairs, his face turned towards the door and his eyes overtaken by the bright orange of the Desolation.

"...Are you okay?" Gerry asks, arching an eyebrow.

Tim scowls at whatever it is he's looking at, but lifts a hand to stop him when Gerry makes to walk back down. "You going to see Jon?"

"Martin, actually," Gerry admits. Tim nods.

"Fine. You do that. I'll be down at the Archives." He gestures to the stairs going down instead.

It is a bit odd, but there's something else tugging at his mind right now. Something feels off today crawling under his skin like a many legged being. He wonders for a moment if this is the Spider pulling at him, before he resolves that one way or another it won't do to dwell on it. He feeds the Mother of Puppets either by fearing the manipulation or by fighting against it; the best he can do is be prepared for whatever it is he's being pushed into.

"-ou are. I was starting to fear you'd gotten cold feet." Gerry freezes before turning the corner to enter the corridor that takes to Martin's office. Lukas' voice is light and amused enough that Gerry wants to rearrange his face, mostly because he knows there's only one person in the Institute Lukas really talks to.

"I haven't," Martin says, and he sounds like a gray afternoon given a voice.

"Wonderful! I'd hate for you to give up after so much hard work, when we're already at the finish line. We can go down, then."

Martin doesn't answer, not even when Lukas lets out a satisfied chuckle. Gerry leans around the corner as soon as the familiar static of the Lonely starts ringing in his ears, and he's just in time to see the last of Martin's back disappear into a wall of fog.

The finish line.

Gerry frowns; the Eye won't volunteer any information about what Lukas is talking about, not even when he tries to Look, but if this means that he's done with whatever he was pushing Martin into, then this can't be good. Should he go look for Jon? Would the Eye let him know where they-

"You're looking real unhappy there, dear." Helen's voice doesn't really make him jump as much as merely draws him out of his reverie. "Did you lose something?"

"Someone." Gerry huffs.

"The pessimism... you've been hanging with Jon too much, I'd say."

"If you happen to know where they're going-"

"They're real funny," Helen chuckles. It makes Gerry a bit dizzy, but he merely lays a hand on the wall to steady himself. "They kept saying they needed a map, like there aren't better ways to get to places."

Gerry freezes, the implications of the Distortion's words deafening in his mind.

"Helen?" he asks almost shakily. If he can reach Martin and ask Helen to get the others- "Is it a door that they needed?"

Helen merely stands there before him, her smile curling into itself and her door partly opened behind her.

Gertrude would eat him alive for being so stupid, so selfish, Gerry thinks with a bitter sort of amusement. What gives him the right to stop Martin from saving the world, just because of anything he or Jon may or may not feel?

Probably nothing, but maybe it's high time he tries being self-centered for once, he decides before he walks into the Distortion's corridors.

-----------------------------------

It had taken him a few blocks to place the feeling, but when he finally did Tim found it laughably easy to put a name to it.

At first it feels like a prickle at his nape, the feeling of being watched, and he ignores it because it's far from an uncommon occurrence at the Institute. It's only when he feels the urge to hasten his pace that it clicks in his mind, even when it doesn't feel quite the same as when he first caught sight of Jon ducking behind a corner on his way home.

The Hunt is insidious, playing at your most basic instincts as it chases you to where you'll be easier to strike down. Now that he's recognized it, Tim finds it all too easy to shake it off. Instead the Desolation sparks to life inside his chest, aching for a good fight, for destruction, for the delicious sorrow that lays promised by the bond between the two hunters.

It's a bit funny how they don't notice when he flips the tables, coming back through the Institute's front doors just in time to see the back of the old man disappearing into the alley behind the institute; how very Hunt-like, to underestimate the 'prey'.

They head straight for the door that leads down to the Archives, and Tim feels the burning in his chest grow hotter.

Daisy wasn't lying when she said they were opportunistic, but she failed to mention just how fatally uninformed they were. He still feels the sequels from yesterday, and Jon was trying not to hurt him. Even if they reached him, what chance do they hope to have against the Archivist on his home turf?

He waits until their steps have faded down the stairs, before pushing the door open again and slipping in himself, and he wonders if maybe in another life he wouldn't have shared a patron with them, with how fervently he tracked the Stranger, and how easily he falls into the role of the hunter now.

Jon did kill the thing that took Sasha, and he's not too fond of owing favors.

-----------------------------------

Dying is not so terrible, Daisy thinks. Or maybe it's Basira -as always- that makes it tolerable.

It's cold by the entrance to the tunnel, but the cot itself is warm enough that Daisy doesn't shiver -she doesn't think she has the strength for it- in Basira's arms.

She doesn't smell the scent of tears or despair, and it only hurts a little. She wasn't expecting Basira to cry, or be devastated. In fact, she was counting on it. One of the things she fell in love with was Basira's stability, always a safe port to come home to in the middle of the storm that is Daisy's rage.

She's looking down at her on her lap, lightly brushing Daisy's hair off her face. All the hair was brushed away long ago but still Basira runs her fingers softly over her cheekbones, her forehead, her closed eyelids, and it feels like drifting off to sleep on a sunny windowsill.

It's far too peaceful an end, for all the pain she's caused.

"Basira-" she starts, only to stop a second after, her eyes shooting open at the sound of running feet and hurried breathing, the cloying scent of fear like a shot of adrenaline straight into her expiring heart.

"Jon?" Basira asks, her body tensing under Daisy's in preparation for- for what? "What's going on?"

Daisy chokes back a strained laugh. Of course something else would happen now that Basira has finally run out of excuses to let her die.

"I'm- I- Daisy?" Jon's voice is shaky, and the scent of fear intensifies. It makes her want to howl that she's not only unable to assuage his distress, but that she's a part of it now. "What is- the Hunt-"

"Jon, what do you want?!" Basira snaps.

Jon flinches. "Martin, I- he left me- I don't think he's coming back." There's a tape recorder in his hand, and what makes Daisy sit up on the cot is that he looks like he sounded in the Buried, lost and trapped and all devoid of hope.

"Where's Gerry?" she asks. "He's good at finding Martin. Bringing him back."

"That's- I don't know," Jon says shakily. "I'm- I tried to See him, but- I think he's inside Helen? I don't know- he doesn't feel like he's in danger, but-"

"And can't you See Martin?" Basira arches an eyebrow. "If you can See inside the Distortion-"

"I'm- I can't usually do that." Jon huffs almost angrily. "I can sort of See inside Helen because Gerry's in there, like-"

"Like you're looking through him?" Daisy supplies, when he seems to be out of words. Much to her despair, she feels reenergized already, like the mere idea of a goal is enough to fuel the embers of the Hunt inside her. She can feel Basira's eyes on the side of her face, and she knows she's already plotting, scheming some way to keep her around longer.

"Exactly, yes." Jon nods. "And only barely enough to feel that he doesn't think he's in danger. But when I try to See Martin, it's- it's like- like two mirrors in front of each other. I know it doesn't make any sense, but-"

"Nevermind that." Basira climbs to her feet in a smooth move "We can find him."

Daisy doesn't miss the use of the plural, nor the way her glowing green eyes fix on her with that look she knows all too well. It's a look that beckons her to follow, a siren call she has little to no hope of refusing. She heaves a sigh before she stands from the cot as well, smacking Jon on the shoulder.

"Couldn't wait until I was buried to drag me out again, could you?" she asks.

Jon gives her a small, sad smile. "I'm sorry."

Daisy shrugs. She'll stick around just for a few more hours, just for them.

"Let's find those two."

-----------------------------------

There's a body below the institute.

This is, of course, not the first time this has happened, Martin thinks, and the thought almost feels amusing. The handle of the knife Peter placed in his hand after the whole explanation about the Panopticon feels almost vulgar in its suggestion that violence is the only way to save the world.

"I must admit, he's not at all as surprised as I expected he'd be." says a voice that Martin still hears in his nightmares from time to time. When he turns around, Elias is standing across Peter, the two of them framing the door like guardian statues. He looks immaculate, his suit clean and freshly pressed, his tie perfectly knotted at his throat. Martin arches an eyebrow, wondering if he factored in enough time for grooming when breaking out from jail, and Elias chuckles. "Speaks wonders of your job I suppose."

"A natural, I told you. Now Martin, if you'd move along please?" Peter says without taking his eyes off Elias. The smirk on his face speaks of familiarity, the kind of look you give someone that you know will be incensed by it. "I didn't count on us having an audience, but I guess I should've known."

"Can't a man watch his own death?" Elias' lips curve upwards like the edge of the blade in Martin's hand. "Also, you must admit it's much more.... poetic, this way, Peter."

"I'll concede on that." Peter turns towards Martin again. "What's keeping you?"

"This is you, isn't it?" It's not that big of a leap, the Panopticon, Jonah Magnus, and the Eye's biggest servant. Elias' widening grin is answer enough. "Will the others survive?"

"I'm surprised you care." Peter says, and Martin rolls his eyes.

"I-"

"He doesn't. But he knows he should. Again, impressive." Elias shrugs, and for all that Martin stands over his body with a knife, he couldn't look less bothered. "But in the interest of truth-"

"Oh, you care about that now?" Peter cackles in the background.

"The answer is, I'm not sure." Elias raises his voice a little. "But making an educated guess, most of the ones you used to care about should fare just fine. Tim and Melanie are well out of my reach. Your new allegiance should protect you from the worst of it, like the Hunt should miss Tonner, if she wasn't so keen on starving herself. I'm not sure about the Detective, ever the rogue variant, but thanks to our patron's little present, Jon is powerful enough that he should survive as well-"

"Don't call him that," Martin mutters quietly to himself. He doubts Elias is listening, anyways; he's much too fond of his own voice.

"-egular workers of the Institute will be affected of course, though there is no telling just how grave the damage will be. But I know you don't care about that, and you know that too, don't you Martin?"

He's... really irritating, Martin decides.

"I do." Whether he means he does care or he merely knows he doesn't, Martin isn't too sure himself.

"Always very self-aware, yes." Elias has the gall to nod like a proud mentor, and Martin rolls his eyes. "I would say then that the only variable to factor in is whether or not you want to kill me."

"I really do." And for so many reasons, too.

"Then go ahead, Martin." Peter steps forward, and Martin sees Elias watching him from the back like a snake about to strike. It's actually pretty funny, that they're both so sure they've cornered the other. "Kill him, and help me save the world."

"I don't think I will, actually." Martin shrugs, tossing the knife aside with a careless flick. The delight he feels at Peter's confused frown is muted, but it's definitely there.

"I- what?" Peter stutters. Elias' grin grows even sharper behind him. "Martin, this is not the time for games, the world is at stake here, and-"

"See, that's where you messed up. All those details that didn't add up, the insistence that I was some sort of- of world savior? Far too grand for me." Elias breaks down in cackles, and Martin covers his flinching by crossing his arms over his chest. "It really wasn't that hard to see through all the bull you were trying to serve me."

"Serve- Martin, I never lied to you. The Extinction is coming and-"

"I don't doubt it." He waves the matter away. "But this is not about the Extinction, is it? It's just whatever pases for a game between you two, using people as your betting chips, and I don't want any part in it. I'm out."

"But you said-"

"What you wanted to hear, mostly." Martin shrugs again; the feeling of perverse delight growing more and more alive in his chest. Who knew that pettiness was an emotion just as effective against the Lonely?

"You projected too hard on dear Martin, it seems," Elias says after his laughter has subsided. Peter looks fit to boil, his pale face sporting ugly red blotches as he rounds up on Elias.

"This is your doing," he says. Elias' carefully knotted tie crumples in Peter's clenched fist. "How-"

"It wasn't him." Martin interrupts again, feeling more tangible by the second out of sheer indignation. "It was me, always me. I came to you because Jon was dead and it seemed like the most useful thing I could do for the others was letting you do your thing. I thought it would even be a good way to get killed, but you lost any hold you might've had the moment Jon woke up." It's almost cathartic to let everything out after so much lying. It certainly is rewarding to watch Peter's face lose more and more color with each word. "Suddenly I had a reason again, and it was very easy to pretend I was going along with your schemes, if it meant keeping him safe. You had me for a while when you started dropping hints about the Extinction, but it was just too much, you know? I'm not exactly a- a 'chosen one', or a hero, but it was the best way to figure out what your end game was."

"But- I can feel the Lonely around you, it's-"

"Sure, it's there. Always has been, maybe. But if this is the final test, then- then I guess failed." The silence that blankets over the Panopticon after his words is so dense Martin can almost taste it. He wonders if the other two can hear the frantic beating of his heart.

"You- no." Peter shakes his head. "This- you have no idea what you've done, you've doomed-"

"I did warn you, Peter." Elias speaks, sweet and cloying like festering rot. "Now, sore loser is a terrible look on you, so get on with it."

"Get on with what?" Martin scowls, trying to ignore the shiver that bleeds down his spine when Elias' amused smile turns towards him. "I thought he couldn't use the Panopticon."

"That ship has sailed, I'm afraid." Elias shakes his head, tutting under his breath. "Really, one way or another you shouldn't have anything to fear, Martin. If your allegiance to the Lonely's strong enough, you should be able to walk right back out. If it's not... then you just have to hope Jon's allegiance to you is strong enough."

"I'm- what?" Martin frowns. Why would Elias want Jon to go get him from- oh. Oh, crap, how could he have been so stupid?! He steps back, when a tendril of fog begins to wrap itself around his ankle. "Wait, I-"

"I'll do it." Martin feels his blood freeze in his veins, when he whips around and finds Gerry standing by the entrance to the Panopticon, his hand wrapped around the knife Martin discarded just a few minutes ago.

"What on earth are you doing here?" Peter asks, his hand still extended towards Martin, but the fog momentarily at ease. Martin takes a few more steps back, trying to get his thoughts into some semblance of order because this is not good. Gerry shouldn't be here, he can handle the Lonely, but he can't leave Gerry alone with these two-

"If you want him dead so badly, I'll kill him, and use the damned thing for you." Gerry steps towards the body with knife in hand, and Martin has a split second to appreciate that Elias no longer seems so amused, even getting closer to the body himself. "Let Martin go."

"You don't have any bonds with the Lonely." Peter arches an eyebrow, but he's starting to lower his hand. Fuck, this- this isn't good.

"Does that really matter? I could hardly be more marked by the Eye. I'll use it for you, just let Martin-"

"Are you crazy?" Martin snaps, whipping around to face him again. "Get out of here, I-"

"Peter." Elias hisses in the background, and Peter grunts.

"As much as it'd please me to use the Eye's own gifts against it-" Peter starts, every word sounding like a forced pleasantry. The edges of Martin's vision blur with thick, white fog that pulls at his core almost as much as his mind reels from it. "-I am a man of my word."

"What- wait-" Gerry takes a step towards him, reaching a hand to grab at Martin's shoulder.

"Say, Gerard," Elias' voice cuts in, loud and laced with static as he steps between Gerry and his body. "Have you ever wondered how your father died?"

Gerry's face goes contorts in pain as the memories are forced in, and Martin flinches in sympathy.

"Go away!" Martin snaps, before whipping around to face Elias. "Cut it out, I'll go in-"

"The marks, Martin-" Gerry grunts. "Stay-"

"You were sleeping while she butchered his body. A spirited woman, your mother, but not the finest planner-"

Gerry shakes his head like trying to shake the foreign thoughts loose, a thin stream of ink running down his philtrum, staining his lips black.

"Like you'd fucking know- Martin? Martin, look at me!" He orders, like Martin isn't already doing so, like he isn't actively trying to give in to the pull of the Lonely -if he goes, they'll leave him alone, they have no other reason to keep him-

"She did love him, you know? Or she loved his devotion for her at least. It's quite funny, actually. Good old Eric fought so hard to break free of our patron, and he never once stopped to wonder if he wasn't running into something worse. His end was quite gruesome, even for one of Gertrude's assistants." Elias' eyes gleam with dark amusement when they meet Martin's, and the threat in them is clear. "He thought her steps sounded different that afternoon, but he was only starting to get used to getting by on his remaining senses, and she'd been so gentle and caring to him lately-"

"Stop..." Gerry snarls "I don't care, I never knew him, you can't-"

"Oh, but you could have. If he hadn't been so arrogant, if he hadn't tried to plan so much smarter than he was. You should be careful which of your parents' footsteps you want to follow, though I suppose both trails are marked in blood."

"Elias, stop!" Martin shuts his eyes tight to not see Gerry's pained expression, focusing on the cold, slimy feeling of the fog that resides within his core, but he can't- the Lonely's refusing to come to his call, and Martin wants to scream, because when Gerry warned him so many months ago that he'd ruin his plan, Martin wasn't expecting it to be by making himcare so much for him. "Peter, just- do it already!"

The man's face is veiled in satisfaction, and Martin has no doubt that he too knows Martin won't survive the Lonely like this, and the act is as much a fulfillment of the wager with Elias as it is his revenge for Martin unraveling his plans.

"Martin!" Gerry throws himself forward, and Martin feels his hand pass straight through his front.

The last hint of color he sees before the grey takes it away is that heart-wrenching mix of green and blue.

-----------------------------------

Martin's trail is a soft green against the dirty stone floor of the tunnels. Not as easy to follow as Daisy's, and mingled with a sickly grey one that smells of salt and absence.

"These tunnels don't make sense," she grunts after taking a left turn for the sixth time in a row.

"They change." Jon sniffles behind her, his footsteps light and hurried in contrast with Daisy's heavier, determined ones. "I feel a sort of- a pull, towards the center. I'm guessing that's where Martin is?"

Basira doesn't respond, sure, Jon could've come down here himself, but then Daisy would've given up, would've died in her arms without the interruption, without the goal.

"Do you feel Gerry?" Daisy asks. There's a light growl to her voice that wasn't there before, and it makes Basira stop a little. "Is he alright?"

"He's- I think he found Martin. It's like the two mirrors thing, whenever I try to See any of them." Jon wipes a hand across his brow, letting out a soft, sheepish chuckle. "I'm- I feel blind."

"We're being followed," Daisy says calmly, and Basira spins around on her heel. The Hunt doesn't manifest with light, there is no eerie glow to her warm brown eyes, but Basira sees her fingers curled in the shape of claws, and the stiff line of her back just as clearly, the blood simmering under her skin, not yet boiling but very much threatening to. "Are you going to come out, or will you keep hiding like rats?"

Basira's gun is on her hand in an instant, and she pulls Jon behind her, a rush of adrenaline coursing through her veins at the familiarity of falling into step with Daisy.

"Must admit- I'd been hopin' you'd be dead by now." She doesn't know the old man that comes from behind the corner they just turned, but she can guess who it is just by the distortion to his features, his too-wide grin full of too-sharp teeth, his eyes that reflect the light of their torches in the way no human could. "We wanted to have Jonny boy for ourselves for a bit."

"We got a few statements we'd like to give." And if that's Trevor Herbert, then this must be Julia Montauk, of course.

"You didn't dare go against Daisy and me last time," Jon pipes in from behind Basira, and she contemplates turning around and strangling him herself, because of course Jon will hear danger ask for him by name and be a smartass about it. "Now there's three of us. Doesn't sound too smart."

"But see, we're well out of your dear Archives now, Jon dear." Julia takes a step to the side that Daisy mimics, keeping herself between the groups. "And your guard dog here looks like a famished mutt. I like our chances, actually."

"Brought this on yourself, really." The old hunter cracks his neck, running a red tongue over his teeth. "We'd have let you live, you were going around stopping rituals even, but you just had to go and take that page out."

Basira feels more than she sees Jon's patience dwindling. There's static in the air sure, but there's something in her connection to the Eye that reacts to him getting ready for a fight.

"Easy, Jon," she mutters, her gun trained on the old man's forehead.

"We're wasting time. I need-"

"Go, just follow your call," says Daisy, without moving an inch from where she's facing the other woman down. Basira can See the blood rising hotter and angrier inside her, and Daisy's almost back to looking like herself, the light back in her eyes, the steel in her spine, the slightest hint of a smirk as she stares Julia down. "We'll take care of this."

Jon hesitates for a moment; Basira can see the struggle in his eyes, going from Daisy to the hunters to her-

"Just go!" Basira snaps. "You know what's going on here, go find out what's happening there!"

And well, maybe it is underhanded, to use his worry for those two against him, but if it gets him to leave...

"I'll come back," Jon says hurriedly.

Basira nods. "Or I'll find you. Go!"

He rushes down the tunnel; Basira wonders, daring a look over her shoulder to catch a glimpse of his awkward race around a corner, is this the last she sees of Jonathan Sims?

"That's cute!" Julia snarls, calling her back to attention. The faint orange glow behind her is easy to miss, but Basira recognizes it easily enough. "You're getting very high and mighty there."

"This one is not even a full avatar," Trevor gestures at Basira with a chuckle, and it feels both relieving and insulting. "You can't take the two of us alone, not in your state."

"I don't know. What was it you said a moment ago?" Tim speaks from behind them, causing the two hunters to whip around to face him. His eyes glow like two angry embers; Basira remembers this Tim not from the night before the Unknowing, but from the warehouse up North. "I like our chances."

-----------------------------------

The pull at his chest is not foreign to Jon, though it feels as different as day and night from the one he followed to find Gerry when the hunters came the first time.

It's something built into him from the moment he opened his eyes as the Archivist, something that ties him to the Archives, to whatever it is that lays at the middle of this labyrinth, and Jon despises it.

Still he follows it, heading to whatever fate awaits him willingly, for them.

The chamber he finds himself in is enormous, the walls made up entirely of cells with thick bars covered in rust. At the center, stands a tower made up of blackened stone, the very top domed in clouded glass, and the Beholding drops a word in his mind with all the ceremony of an artist revealing their Magnum Opus.

The Panopticon.

"So good you could join us, Jonathan." Elias's voice hits him like a hammer to the chest, and only then does Jon notice him standing at the base of the turret, his arms crossed behind his back and smiling beatifically in his direction. "Was it hard, finding the place?"

"Not- not too much." Jon steps closer carefully. He still can't See Martin or Gerry, but Elias being here -how did he get out of jail? Was he ever really trapped there?- is not a great signal.

"Because I called you." Elias nods. "I thought you might want to pick up what you lost."

Shit.

"Where are they? Elias, if you-" Jon's rather pathetic attempt at a threat is cut off by Elias' gleeful cackle.

"Calm down, Jon. Gerard's merely a bit... lost in thought. As for Martin, the door is open, if you want him back."

"What door? Elias, what did you do?" Jon snarls, pouring the compulsion thick into the question.

"I cashed in a favor. Or rather, a wager." Elias smiles. "You've grown fairly powerful, haven't you?"

"Elias-"

"You'll find Martin right where you put him." Elias' eyes gleam dangerously, his smile still sharp on his face. "In the Lonely."

"W-"

"As much as I'd enjoy a chat, I'd advise against dallying. He was in a bit of a state when he went in. Not too suited to survive in there, even after all these months." Elias takes a step aside, clearing the way to the stone stairs that curl up around the body of the tower. "Good luck, Jonathan. I'll be seeing-"

Whatever he was going to say next, Jon doesn't care to know. He rushes past him, climbing the stairs as quickly and as carefully as he can, keeping away from the edge because he wouldn't put it past himself to simply trip and snap his neck.

The interior of the turret is mostly empty, but his eyes pick up on three details immediately. The first is the dessicated body sitting at the center of the eye carved on the stone floor. He Knows who he is, and who the man outside isn't, but right at this moment, he couldn't care less.

The second thing he notices is the door to the Lonely, like a tear on dark fabric leaking out a soft silvery light and heavy wisps of fog that drift down to the floor.

Gerry's crumbled next to the body like a puppet whose strings were cut off. His arm stretched out towards the rift, and he's bleeding, a puddle of acrid-smelling ink under his head.

Jon rushes to his side, falling to his knees beside him and turning his head as carefully as he can.

"Gerr- I- can you hear me?" he asks, his heart beating so hard he's worried it'll punch a hole right through his chest. Gerry's eyes are wide and glassy and Beholding green, and his papery white lips move around words Jon cannot hear, but he's alive, and that means they have a shot still.

"I need- Gerry, I- you have to wake up now. I'm-" This is- he's so bad at this. How do you call a person back? I'm sorry but I love you, please don't go? "I need you, please."

-----------------------------------

"Told ya!" The old man smirks, his sharp teeth painted red with the blood flowing from his nose after Tim's headbutt. His claw-like nails sink into the flesh of Basira's neck, and the whirlpool of activity in the tunnel comes to a screeching halt. "This one is not quite done yet. Let's see if she bleeds like a monster or like a human."

If one thinks about it objectively, Tim's cockiness wasn't necessarily unjustified. He merely failed to factor in the part where he technically doesn't want to blow up the entirety of London to get rid of two hunters, or turn Daisy and Basira into a pile of ashes.

"That's enough," Daisy growls, loosening her grip around Julia's neck. The woman slashes at her face as soon as she's free, the knife leaving an angry red gash across her cheekbone and nose.

It makes something hot an angry burn at his chest, that even with all this power, he's still useless to stop this.

"How sweet." Julia shoves her off, climbing to her feet with a slight limp in her step. Tim feels a dark pang of pride at the angry red burn on the side of her face. "You're not the monsters we wanted, but it's okay, we don't discriminate. Let's see that throat, old man."

"Basira?" Daisy calls out. She's still on her knees, still watching her own blood drip down to the dirty floor of the tunnels.

"Yes?" Basira asks, then chokes a little when Trevor presses his nails a bit harder.

"Will you find me?" Daisy's starting to shake, and Tim takes a step back even as the Desolation in him beckons him forward, because the sheer amount of sorrow and rage coming from her is intoxicating.

Another wave of loss, of suffering hits him just as hard. Tim darts a glance at her, but there's nothing in Basira's face that betrays the pain simmering inside her.

"Anywhere."

Daisy's form splits open.

It's like watching a flower blossom in a timelapse video, or a moth emerge from its cocoon. The creature that comes out is long-limbed and sharp-fanged, and its fur shimmers with a faint coat of blood as it leaves behind the useless skin of Daisy Tonner. They watch it in stunned silence as it raises to its full height, its hunched back grazing against the roof of the tunnel, a cavernous growl squeezing out from between jaws where the hide is stretched too thin, pierced here and there by sharp yellowed fangs, its eyes like two pinpricks of light at the end of a cavernous tunnel fixed on the hunters before it.

"...Fuck," Julia mutters. Tim is inclined to agree.

Then the thing that was Daisy takes a step towards her, and the room explodes in activity again. Basira is shoved to the side as Trevor rushes to step between them, and it's all Tim can do to throw himself over her, as two and then three beasts slam each other against the walls of the tunnel, raining down dirt and debris that digs into Tim's waxy flesh.

It feels like hours before the howling fades away, before the tearing of flesh under claws and fangs leaves behind a silence so haunting it very nearly drowns the roar of the Desolation inside him.

"G- get off," Basira orders, pushing a hand against his chest. Tim scrambles to his feet and offers a hand that she ignores, her eyes focused on the soggy skins left behind in crumpled lumps by the beasts. "I- shit."

"Eloquent." She's looking down one of the tunnels, the one that reeks of hatred and pain, and Tim knows very well the sort of debate brewing in her mind. "Are you going after them?"

"Are you?" she snaps, whipping around to face him. Her face is carefully blank, and Tim doesn't point out the red rims of her eyes, or the pain emanating from her in waves. It doesn't take a genius to understand she's pinning her own hesitation on him. He doesn't know much about Basira, but he might understand that it's easier for her to handle weak people than to be weak herself.

Is he going after them?

He could probably find them, following the claw marks and the rage. If they make it far enough from anyone that could get caught in the crossfire-

"Why were you down here?" he asks, though he thinks he might know the answer already. Jon is many things, but he wouldn't abandon them so easily.

"Jon was still holding on to you when they found you, you know?" Sasha -no, not her, not anymore- had said, and Tim had believed her immediately, just as he believes it now.

"Martin and- they're missing. We think they're at the center of this- this mess." Basira's voice is almost frail as she continues to look down the corridor the monsters disappeared in.

"Can you find them?"

"Yes." The word comes immediately, mournful and without hesitation.

"Well- let's- let's get to it. Somehow I doubt Daisy needs us that much right now."

-----------------------------------

"You're making a right mess of me," he says. He's standing next to the table, watching the proceedings with something that almost feels like interest. "I thought you had more experience at this."

"I was feeling experimental." She shrugs. Her arms are covered in blood to the elbow, and her chest and face are also splattered red. "I felt like it had to be special."

"Very romantic," he says dryly. "What's going to happen to Gerry?"

"Gerard will be fine." She enunciates the name clearly and firmly. They never did settle that argument, but she pretty much just won, he guesses. "He's got the potential."

"He's two years old."

"He's my son." She saws angrily, until the bone finally breaks. "You brought this on yourself, you know?What were you thinking, pulling your eyes out?"

"I suppose I did. I thought you'd be happy that I was free." He shrugs again, before extending a translucent hand to push a lock of blood-soaked blonde hair behind her ear. It passes right through. "It's nice to see you again."

She pauses on her work, her eyes -he always did love that perfect mix of green and blue- fixed on the carnage dripping down to the kitchen floor.

"You knew how I was," she says finally. "I never hid that from you."

"You didn't."

That's not an apology. It's not an excuse. It's not enough for this man who sees himself dead on a table and asks about his son first, why do they both look so satisfied with it?!

The saw is heavy in his hand, and slippery with the blood that stinks the whole room of iron. Gerry tries to drop it, tries to step back, this is not him, up to his elbows in the blood of the one he loves-

"Gerry?" Jon's voice washes over him like cool water over a burn; Gerry thinks he might cry, when he blinks away the image of his parents and Jon is there, looking down at him in concern. "I'm- you're- how do you feel?"

"Like shit." Gerry lets out a dry cackle that's just this side of hysterical, before the gravity of the situation catches up to him, and he sits up so abruptly Jon has to throw himself back to avoid getting head-butted. "Fuck. Jon, we- Martin-"

"I know, I- Elias told me." Jon bites at his bottom lip. "I'm- it looks like we're completing the card after all."

"...Looks like it," Gerry says. It leaves a bitter aftertaste in his mouth, but there's no other way to go about it. Jon's not going to leave Martin in the Lonely, and Gerry's not going to ask him to. He climbs to his feet with a groan -he definitely bruised something- and Jon follows suit. "I'm- I don't know how well it'll go, Jon. You were able to use me as an anchor in the Dark, but I don't know if you can just- just pull Martin out. The person has to want to come back, usually."

"Let's find out." Jon takes a deep breath, his gaze fixed on the rift to the Lonely for a moment. He looks over his shoulder at him, and there's an odd intensity to his eyes, not the eerie power of the Archivist, but merely the one befitting a man in love. "Are you ready?"

"I- what?" Gerry blinks a couple times, before his own words come back to him from so long ago, whispered against Jon's lips with more devotion than any prayer he's ever uttered, the threat of an apocalypse looming over their heads and in his heart the firm intention of walking into the Dark for this man. "Oh."

"...I don't mean to force you to-" the little yelp Jon gives when he leans in to kiss him might just be enough to turn him immune to the Lonely, Gerry thinks.

"Let's go get your Martin back, then."

#vit writes #illicio #jongerrymartin #jgm

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fantasmalforces · 3 years

Text

Piper Headcanons: Post-Rook

// Because I had the idea while talking with @maximuses and now I feel the need to elaborate on it-

The main reason Piper took up a job on Rook was because it paid big. When you’re supporting 22 people on basically two salaries one of them has to pay big. Piper needed to make enough money to pay for the place they lived, keep food on the table, cover medical bills, and education for everyone planning on going to college or even public school. She was desperate, which was why she was so willing to compromise her moral compass for the money.

Following the base timeline of Far Cry 3, after Jason fucks everything up and everyone’s dead, Pip ends up leaving and finding mercenary work with one of Hoyt’s other big connections. She stays in the job for five years until basically they have enough saved up in terms of expenses that she can finally go home.

In any verse where the Rook tyrants end up surviving, she just stays there for another 5 years before handing in her resignation and going back home to her family.

At that point, she finds herself suffering with extreme nightmares and PTSD of basically everything she was bottling up on Rook. She wasn’t doing well to begin with before she went and her mental health only worsened as she stayed there to work and went untreated. She ends up opening up to her older brother Gideon about the incident, what she did, everything she saw. He recommends she goes to therapy but Piper is too scared that telling anyone else will get her in serious legal trouble. After all the hell she went through just to see her family again and out of dire straits, she doesn’t want to risk that.

Hearing this, Gideon tells her that she’s sacrificed enough. That it might be time for her to finally go off and claim some feeling of freedom and independence. He acknowledges all that she’s sacrificed and thanks her but that she should feel able to live her life now. Most of the younger kids barely know her anyway and the rest are either grown up or already on their way out the door. He recommends that Piper go out there and start living her life finally.

So for the next three years following that, Piper tries. But the problem is, she has never known anything but living for other people. She doesn’t know how to be her own person anymore. On Rook she built up a persona of toughness and confidence so that the people around her would see her more as a Badger than a Bunny; she was not easy prey, she was not one to be fucked with.

So for three years, Piper is having a crisis over her sense of self and identity. She’s having a crisis over the realization that she’s in her forties and she has nothing- no job, no actual home, nothing to her name, no accomplishments or achievements, no career. Ends up staying in an apartment in Darwin where she has all her breakdowns and trauma-induced panic attacks from nightmares.

She turns to two things to try and gain a sense of feeling in the haze of numbness: fighting rings and breeding parties— both of which are exactly what they sound like.

Piper would sign up for underground fights against others for money, hoping that the pain would wake her up or knock some sense into he’d about what she’s supposed to do. She played into her badger half hoping that she could get some joy out of the thrill but she just felt hollow beating on people and getting beat on all the time.

Breeding parties— basically the mythic equivalent of orgies— were her attempt to appeal to her bunny half. She tried to find some lasting sense of satisfaction or pleasure from sleeping with multiple people. She didn’t feel like she had enough understanding of relationships to actual pursue long-term or short-term commitments beyond having sex with people. But again, it didn’t fill the void and she still felt hollow. The momentary high didn’t follow her out of the bedroom and she’d always just end up back at her apartment crying.

During this time, Piper got really isolated from people. She felt like she was falling apart, had nowhere to go, and had nothing left to live for because she’d wasted her life doing something she was never supposed to do: raising her own siblings because her parents were too shitty to do it themselves. She’d gone off the grid and a lot of people were worried.

Around this part of the timeline is where things can begin to diverge based on things like plotting and verses.

Towards the end of the third year of this, Holly eventually tracked her down and got back in touch. The two of them reconnected and Holly expressed she was really concerned. Piper ended up telling Holly everything and the two met up and decided to try and formulate a plan on how to help Pip work through things.

In the end, they decide that Pip might just need a fresh new start altogether. At this point, Holly feels she needs a break from the life she’s been living too. She hands the reins of her business over to her brother for a while and the two decide to start traveling the world together for a bit.

Between finally getting therapy for their issues and finding comfort and company in each other, the two end up having so much fun and spend the rest of their forties just traveling together and getting a whole new lease on life.

They head back to the States at some point so Pip ends up getting cyborg augments like the stuff Holly has going on. It comes because Holly starts getting concerned at how Pip can’t keep up with her as much as she used to and she doesn’t want her friend to start missing out on life so she casually just... extends that for her.

Eventually down the line, if they don’t end up settling with other people along the way (in plots/verse), Pip and Holly and end up getting together and having a proper, long-term committed relationship. They head back to Australia together and get married surrounded by their family. They end up moving back to the States and have a summer home in Alice Springs, and they take yearly trips around the world to keep things fresh. They don’t end up having kids but they’re alright with that because they end up being the kickass aunts to all their niblings from both sides of the family anyway.

They work in Holly’s shop together and live out eternity comfortably as a kickass cyborg couple.

#// having ocs means you gotta write the whole damn character arc yourself smh #// this is just the canon ending for these two #// obvs is varies by plot and verse and relationships with other muses #// adhering to this timeline is NOT mandatory at all #{ guaranteed to blow your mind : about }#{ keeps their moet et chandon in their pretty cabinet : headcanon }#{ ‘’ never looked back never feared never cried ‘’ | piper }#{ ‘’ friends will be friends ‘’ | holly }

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jlalafics · 4 years

Note

I’m torn between 7 & 13 so if you’re taking prompts still, you decide which you prefer 🥰

Why not both? ;)

______

7. “I almost lost you.”

13. “Kiss me.”

“Where is he?”

Gale stares at Katniss, resignation in his gaze. He knows that with the return of Peeta, his time with her is over. Truthfully, it was all a mistake; those small caresses…the kisses—and he knows it.

More than once, another voice fell from her lips whenever they were together.

“He’s in there with Haymitch,” he tells her.

Katniss can hear her heart beating in her ears as she approaches the closed door. She doesn’t know what to expect despite the numerous times that she watched him during those interviews with Caesar. Her chest aches recalling the last interview—right before the rescue—the pain in those blue eyes.

Blue eyes that she knows so well from long nights during the Victory Tour…eyes that watched over her in a cold cave…that stared at her emaciated form before throwing her burnt bread to save her family’s life.

Taking a deep breath, Katniss turns the knob, pushing the door open.

Haymitch meets her eyes and she can see relief in those usually burdened greys.

Her mentor approaches her, squeezing her shoulder.

“Be gentle with him,” Haymitch advises quietly. “He seems overwhelmed by everything…and he keeps asking about his family.”

The Mellarks perished with a majority of the citizens of District 12. The remaining people were all shuffled in with District 13 in this underground barracks.

Haymitch reaches the doorway and, with a final nod, closes the door.

Peeta is sitting on the exam table and she can see the heaviness in his shoulders, burdened by weeks of torture at the hands of Snow.

Katniss moves over to his front and approaches him carefully. He looks up at her steps and her breath hitches at the weariness of his eyes.

However, there is something else that she can’t quite catch…

“Peeta,” she breathes out.

He meets her stare, his expression calming at the sight of her. The relief at the look is palpable.

Her arms are suddenly around him, her nose pressing into his skinny shoulder and the rest of her trembling. His own arms wrap carefully around her.

“I..I almost lost you.”

Katniss pulls away, looking him over. Peeta is definitely in need of some weight gain and has obviously been roughed up. She can see that several hours…days of sleep would help because he looks like he could drop from exhaustion at any moment.

His hand reaches to brush away the tears that have unexpectedly filmed in her eyes. “Don’t cry.”

She lets out a laugh, happy to see that her kind Peeta is still in there.

“I must love you a lot,” Peeta continues in a whisper.

“You’ve never really said it,” Katniss replies. “I think that you did show it…more than I ever did.”

“I’m sorry,” he suddenly says.

“Why do you need to be sorry?”

Peeta looks to her shamefully.

“Because I don’t remember having such a pretty wife.”

Her whole body goes cold.

“Peeta, do you know my name?”

“No.” He is crestfallen, his arms encircling his thin frame. “I don’t know it. I’m so sorry!”

Katniss reaches for him, pulling him to her and he rests against her chest.

“It’s alright. We’ll figure it out…together.”

++++++

“The doctors are still running tests,” Haymitch tells her. They’re standing outside of Peeta’s room in the hospital sector. “So far, his MRI’s have come back clear, and his blood tests are fine.”

“He doesn’t remember me.” Katniss looks at the man in the hospital bed who is sitting with Prim. Peeta turns to her and gives her a smile. “He thinks we’re married—”

“Did you tell him that you aren’t?” he retorts. The look on her face brings a chuckle to his lips. “Looks like someone wants to believe it’s real.”

“Not funny, Haymitch.”

“I’ve talked to Johanna and Annie,” he continues, ignoring her ire. “They were all in the same place, though they were taken to another room during questioning. Right before our squad got them, Peeta was taken one last time, that’s possibly when they erased you.”

“Erased?” she repeated.

“I’ve talked to him. He remembers everything about District 12—except for you.”

“Why would Snow do this?”

There are several reasons, of course.

The first being that there would be no reason for Peeta to fight. She was really the only reason that he joined the Careers or volunteered for the Quarter Quell in Haymitch’s place.

The second reason is that Snow is trying to throw her off. He knows that taking Peeta’s memories of her will preoccupy her thoughts and deter her from fighting. She won’t want to leave him for missions—and he’s right, she doesn’t.

And the third, Haymitch says as she bites her lip anxiously.

“Because Snow knows that you would do anything to keep Peeta safe—including turning yourself over to him for a cure if it comes to that.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Katniss confirms.

Because she would do it in a heartbeat.

This is the worst time to realize that she might actually love Peeta Mellark.

++++++

“Why did we get married so quickly?”

The doctors advised Katniss to go along with the story, afraid that opposing the one thing that Peeta seems to believe will trigger a breakdown. Dr. Aurelius, District 13’s resident psychologist, has already met with Peeta once and has concluded that, even though he can’t remember her, Peeta trusts her.

The doctor tells her to go along with it until they’re sure that he’s stronger, mentally and physically.

Peeta has already watched snippets of their first time in the arena as well as the Quarter Quell. On screen, they do look like the Star-Crossed Lovers of District 12, but he has no memory of the scenes playing in front of him. He doesn’t remember the weeks before the Quell was announced when he could barely look at her or her suggestion of getting married during the Victory Tour.

Or his unhappy acceptance when Katniss had brought it up. He wanted it to be real.

Now, she wishes it had been.

“Because we didn’t want to wait,” she answers as they walk along the corridors where the resident barracks are. “We were going into the arena and we were scared of what might happen. So, we decided to have a toasting—”

“Was it nice?”

Katniss smiles. “It was.” She lets her mind wander into what might have happened. “Haymitch and your father were our witnesses at the Justice Building. My mother and Prim made us dinner and your brothers made us a wedding cake.” She swallows down her guilt. “You made our toasting bread.”

“It sounds beautiful.” Peeta stops, his hands going to her shoulders, and she is filled with an inexplicable warmth. “I wish I could remember.” He meets her eyes, concern in his stare. “I saw something else…my interview with Caesar before the Quell—”

He looks down at her abdomen.

“I-I lost it.” She’s practically choking on her lies. “With you gone and the stress after the Quell, it was just too much.”

“You would’ve been a good mother,” he assures her.

The question comes out tightly. “How would you know?”

“I watched the part in the Games with Rue...” Peeta moves closer. So close that she starts to notice things. Like the small scar on his cheek or the slight freckling on his nose. He still smells sweet despite not being anywhere near the Mellark Bakery. “You took care of her.”

“She took care of me,” she replies, swiping at her eyes.

“Prim told me about how you volunteered for her,” he persists. “She says you took care of her, even though you were a kid yourself.”

Katniss doesn’t know how it happens, but she finds herself in his arms as her arms wrap around his own waist.

“Do you know that you saved my life…my family’s life when we were kids?” she says, her cheek against his chest. “You threw a loaf of burnt bread to me. We were starving and that fed my mother so that she could give Prim milk. It fed me after everything ran out in our pantry.”

He rasps at her words. “I bet my mom really enjoyed that.”

“Not really. The next time I saw you, you were sporting a bruise on your face.”

“Sounds about right.” Peeta holds her tightly and she calms in his embrace. “I don’t mind if it meant I kept you alive.”

How could he still care so much about her?

‘Because he doesn’t know who you really are’, a voice inside says.

Katniss closes her eyes, afraid that the truth will come seeping out of her.

“You would have been a good father,” she tells him instead.

++++++

“I’m lying to him, Prim.”

Katniss sits on what used to be her bed. Peeta has been moved out of the hospital sector and they are given a residence of their own. Dr. Aurelius insists that she continues to pretend that they are married, that she continues to act like she loves the man lying next to her in bed.

The tests continue to come out clean, no sign of brain trauma. The doctors can only conclude that it is some sort of conditioning that the Capitol put him through.

“It’s for his own good,” Prim replies pragmatically as she folds her newly laundered uniforms. “I’ve read about cases like his. We need to give him time to settle, then slowly bring him to terms with the truth. If you try to tell him too much, he could regress.”

“You’ve read about this? You’re only fourteen, Prim,” Katniss says. “You’re not supposed to be reading psych cases.”

“Then what I am supposed to be doing?” she questions. “There is a rebellion happening. You are the symbol of it. I need to help in any way I can. If that means working on the medical team to help my brother-in-law, then so be it.”

“I feel guilty, Prim,” Katniss admits softly. “And…I care for him.”

Prim stops mid-fold and looks to her, a small grin on her lips. “Just care?”

“I can’t let it go any further than that,” she tells her. “The guilt would kill me. I also think about everything that we went through before that. The Peeta I remember was so angry at me for pretending it was real, yet he still forgave me. He wouldn’t forgive me for this.”

Prim sits down next to her. “May I suggest something?” Katniss nods. “Start clean.”

“What do you mean?”

“You two get a chance to start anew,” her sister says. “Become his friend…maybe more if it works out like that. I think that this might be good for your relationship.”

“What relationship? We don’t know anything about each other,” Katniss scoffs.

Prim looks to her, a slight smile on her lips. “Exactly.”

++++++

Peeta and Katniss sit together in the mess hall at a table away from everyone else.

However, not one to be deterred, Johanna joins them, sitting uncomfortably close to Peeta.

Katniss glares at the woman who cackles at her expression.

“We’re friends, Mrs. Mellark. We had cells near one another in the Capitol.”

Peeta looks to Katniss, reaching underneath the table to take her hand and give it a squeeze. She calms down immediately, taking a deep breath, and stretching her mouth into a semblance of a smile.

“You’re always welcome to sit with us,” she says through clenched teeth.

Johanna smirks. “Thank you.” She puts an arm around Peeta’s shoulder. “So did the wife give you a proper welcome home?”

Katniss could feel the heat on her face. Everyone had been advised to pretend that she and Peeta are married, for the sake of his mental health. Johanna was one of those who opposed to the idea though after a talk with the medical team, she finally agreed to the charade.

It didn’t mean that she would allow Katniss to get away with it so easily.

“Johanna,” Peeta starts calmly. “It’s only been a month since we’ve been rescued, and Katniss is busy with her missions. We’re not…ready.”

“We’re starting with a clean slate,” Katniss adds.

Annie and Finnick join them, trays in their grasp. However, as they sit down, they join hands using each of their free ones to pick at their meals. Katniss can’t help but feel a little envious of their closeness. She’s never thought about how it feels to be so connected to someone and there’s something inside that hungers for it.

‘Him! He could give you what you need!’, that voice inside her screams.

“But you sleep in the same bed, right?” Johanna questions.

She says it just as Gale and Prim join them.

Prim sits next to her sister, while her grey-eyed friend chooses the spot across.

Katniss can’t bring herself to look at Gale; if she did, she would probably see him glaring or pouting—both would be equally annoying.

“Yes,” she chokes out. “What of it?”

“I’m surprised that Coin hasn’t demanded a little Rebellion baby,” she taunts. “Aren’t we all just part of this little plan of hers? We were rescued…and Katniss does those stupid little propos…what better way than to start a new generation of District 13 soldiers for her cause?”

Katniss stands up, slamming her tray on the metal table in anger. “Stop!”

Johanna merely smirks and for a second, Katniss envisions herself stabbing the woman with her fork.

Instead, she turns to Peeta. “I’m going to our room. Take your time.”

He nods, taking her hand to kiss the top of it as he glares at Johanna.

Turning away, Katniss rushes towards the nearest exit corridor. Why did she let Johanna get to her? She can usually take the woman’s biting words—

“Katniss.”

She turns to see Gale slowing down in front of her.

“It was uncalled for—what Johanna was saying. This lie though—you being Peeta’s wife and being in love with him? How is it going to feel when he finally knows the truth?”

“Don’t you think that I worry about that every time I’m with him?”

Katniss steps towards her friend and can see the longing still there in his eyes. However, the depth of her feelings for Gale aren’t even close to what she feels for Peeta.

“It kills me to know that he could just go right back to hating me! Especially since I’m in—”

Gale steps back, pain in his eyes. “Shit Katniss, did you feel anything for me?”

She straightens herself before meeting his stare.

“Not the way you wanted.”

++++++

Katniss and Peeta lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling, unable to look at one another.

When she returned to their room, she took a quick nap before meeting with Coin. The silver-haired woman had quickly checked-in about Peeta before announcing that Katniss would be taking a trip to District 8 to their hospital.

Peeta would stay as he was deemed not ready.

He is there when she returns, apologizing for Johanna’s crassness. Katniss holds him tight, the conversation lingering in her mind.

They haven’t been—she cringes at the word—intimate.

It seemed a lot easier when they were fearing for their lives for them to just kiss.

Now they share a room and a bed, and it feels like they’re a million miles apart.

“I’m going to District 8 tomorrow,” she says suddenly. “Coin wants me to visit their hospital.”

Peeta shifts, looking to her. “Will you promise to be safe?”

She turns to meet his eyes. “Would you believe me if I did?”

He laughs wryly and Katniss shifts to lay her head on his chest.

“Probably not. My wife has a penchant for running into dangerous situations.”

“You had a tendency to follow me,” she retorts.

“Obviously, I’m an idiot,” Peeta tells her. “Why would I follow a beautiful woman into a deathtrap?” He presses a kiss to the top of her head. “Oh, now I remember…”

Katniss turns her head, her chin on his chest. “What do you remember?”

“Nothing really. I just imagine that I would’ve followed the woman I love anywhere.”

She nods, stamping down her disappointment. “Oh.”

“You sound upset,” Peeta says. He sits up, resting back against the wall and she follows. “I know that this is hard on you. I’m not the husband that you had—”

“No!” Biting her lip anxiously, Katniss tries to find her words. “I guess I’m just reeling from Johanna’s words. Somehow, she always knows how to hit you where it hurts.”

“I’ve wanted to kiss you,” he admits. “I just didn’t know if you’d let me.”

“Um…you’re my husband. Why wouldn’t I want you to?”

They inch closer together.

When they look to one another, they’re only a lean-in away from a kiss.

So, Katniss leans in—

Peeta suddenly draws back, his face going white.

Ow, that hurt.

She gives him a shaky smile. “You aren’t ready—”

“No! Something happened to me, like my body instinctively just pulled away!” Peeta is panicked, his blue eyes pleading with her to understand. “There is nothing I want more than to kiss you.”

Katniss nods. “Let me try.”

Her hands reached to his face and, taking a breath, she dips her mouth towards his—

The pain is electric, and she draws back, her fingers going to her lips. “Ow!”

“Are you okay?” Peeta reaches to take her hand away from her mouth. “What happened?”

Katniss frowns. “It hurt.” The sensation still lingers on her lips like a slow spreading flame. “We should go to the medical ward.”

“It’s late,” Peeta replies. “You have a mission tomorrow and you need to rest.”

“Why aren’t you worried about this?” she demands to know.

Her husband chuckles. His blue eyes glowing at the sight of her all agitated.

“Because there are other places that I can kiss you,” he answers.

Peeta brushes his lips against her forehead and there is no instinct to push away.

She, however, feels the kiss all the way to her toes.

“See? We’re in the safe zone.”

He continues down to her cheeks, smacking each one with a loud smack that causes her to laugh. Then, his lips are on her jaw…in the crook of her neck and she moans when he nips her earlobe. She never realized how that one spot could cause her whole body to uncoil.

“Should I keep going?” Peeta asks, his voice husky. “Will you allow it?”

There’s still a little bit of the old him in there; the one that remembers her.

Her hand reaches to the bottom of her shirt, pulling it over her head eagerly. “Yes.”

He kisses his way down until she is crying out his name, his face between her thighs.

Katniss sleeps soundly until her alarm sounds and she must regretfully leave her husband with a kiss to his bare shoulder.

++++++

Katniss finds herself shaking horribly—or is it the hovercraft?

Boggs is sitting next to her, his dark eyes staring at her in concern.

“Katniss, there was nothing you could have done,” he tells her.

“I shouldn’t have gone,” she replies tonelessly. “It was the perfect countermove to get the rest of Panem to hate me.”

“Your message to the citizens counteracts that,” Cressida assures her from her seat, across from Katniss. She had been introduced to the woman during a previous mission along with her assistant Messalla and her two cameramen, Castor and Pollux. “Remember that people out there still believe in you.”

“Those people are dead.” She hangs her head between her legs. “I can still see them in front of me…”

Everyone goes silent as Katniss draws in her breaths, trying to keep her thoughts intact. Her eyes go briefly to Gale, who has not said one word to her.

They aren’t friends anymore. They’re comrades—and she finds that it doesn’t sting like she expected it to.

The hovercraft enters District 13 and she is eager to leave, bouncing in her seat.

They have made a full stop and she jumps from her seat as the ramp lowers—

Peeta is waiting for her, along with Haymitch and a stoic Coin.

However, Katniss sees only him, and she is running down the ramp until she is in his arms, wrapping her legs around his waist.

He presses kisses to the top of her head…her forehead…her cheeks…that one area behind her ear that causes her to come undone—

“Ahem.”

They turn to see Coin watching them, a calculating look on her face. Haymitch smirks seeing Katniss’ very public show of affection while Boggs look on in amusement. Cressida’s team is to the side as she directs them on the best shot of ‘The Star-Crossed Lovers’.

Gale stands back before heading towards the barracks, but not before getting a gentle pat to his shoulder by Coin.

“I’m so sorry about the hospital,” Peeta says, his eyes trained on her. “When Haymitch told me that there was an attack…I thought I lost you.”

“I’m here,” she breathes against his shoulder.

“I’m glad that you’re back safely, Katniss,” Coin suddenly says as she approaches them. “I’m sorry to hear about the losses.” She looks between herself and Peeta. “I’ve talked to the medical team and I feel that Peeta is ready to join you when you go to the Capitol.”

Katniss looks to the woman incredulously. “Are you sure?”

“Snow believes that he holds the cards because of what he’s done to Peeta,” Coin continues. “Seeing you two together will show him and the Capitol that you two have overcome. That, despite him erasing Peeta’s memories, he is still the enemy.”

“Peeta isn’t ready,” she insists.

“Well, it’s not your call,” the women tells her. “You and your husband will be ready in two days to travel to the Capitol.”

Coin turns, exciting the landing area, without even looking back.

“Katniss…” She turns to Peeta at his call. “I don’t want to be here without you. Waiting here after hearing about District 8—it was the worst feeling in the world. Even worse than realizing that Snow erased you from my mind.”

“Also, we’ve talked to the doctors about what happened to you two…last night,” Haymitch suddenly says. “Peeta didn’t want to wait on finding out and it kept him distracted after you left.”

“And what did they say?” Katniss asks eagerly.

“Let’s go to your room and we can talk over their theory,” their mentor suggests, looking around. “Away from the cameras.”

++++++

“I explained what happened to the medical team as well as to Dr. Aurelius,” Peeta starts as soon as they are back in their room. “I told them about my negative body reaction as well as what happened when you attempted to kiss me.”

“I should also tell you that Dr. Aurelius feels it isn’t in your best interest to mention this to Coin,” Haymitch interjects.

It just confirms Katniss’ distrust of the woman; there is something not quite right and instinctually she has had her guard up.

“They believe that your kiss is probably a trigger,” Peeta says with a sigh.

“I don’t understand.”

“It means that, if we were to kiss, it could trigger some sort of psychological reaction,” he tells her, his eyes full of pain. “And no one knows if it will be a positive or negative one.”

She looks to him. “What do they mean by negative reaction?”

“A couple of things they suggested were that I could become violent towards you, even attempt to kill you, or my memory is completely wiped out. Not just of you, but of my whole life. I could possibly become incapacitated, just a shell of a person.”

This can’t be possible, but she pushes forward.

“And, the positive reactions?”

“I could get my full memory back,” Peeta continues. “Or, there is no change, whatsoever.”

“So, we have one good reaction, one neutral, and too many negatives,” Katniss concludes. She shakes her head. “No. We’re not taking that chance.”

“I told you she wouldn’t be happy,” Haymitch says.

She turns to glare at the man. “Can you please give us some privacy?”

“Don’t kill the messenger…or the guy who went with the messenger,” Haymitch mutters. “Keep me posted, you two.” He pats Katniss’ shoulder. “I’m sorry about District 8.”

He leaves them alone to contemplate Peeta’s news.

“I know that this is scary to hear,” Peeta tells her. “The odds aren’t in my favor.”

She glares at him. “But…?”

“I think it’s a chance that I need to take.”

Katniss stands up, turning away from him.

“Please don’t make this harder than it already is.” His arms wrap around her, his chest pressing into her back. “What if it unlocks something important?”

“And, what if it doesn’t?” She turns to him, almost pleading for him to change his mind. “What if you become violent, or you lose all of your memory? What if you become a vegetable?” Her eyes shut, imprisoning the tears threatening to escape. “I couldn’t take it, Peeta! I couldn’t…”

Peeta embraces her, kissing the top of her head.

“If I was any of those things, would you abandon me?”

“Never,” she says into the crook of his neck.

“Then, I will be alright,” he assures her.

“Why do you have to be so stubborn?” Katniss wipes her nose against his shirt. “That’s supposed to be my job.”

“I guess I learned from the best.” Peeta gazes at her tenderly. “We have to go on this mission in two days and I can’t be the weak link. If something were to happen because of me, I couldn’t live with myself. I need to do this…because we lost a lot of people…I lost my whole family because of Snow.”

“You have me!” she persists. “Am I not enough?”

“More than enough!” he replies, his voice raised. “Our children, Katniss! Do you want our children to be born during a war?”

“And, if we never get that chance?” Katniss’ voice breaks and she can’t believe what she’s about to say. “What if something happens to you and our children have no father?”

“Why are we even talking about this right now?” Peeta suddenly asks her. “Do you want to try to get pregnant?” A smirk rises on his lips. “I mean, it’s been how long since—”

She stares at him in confusion—is this man seriously trying to suggest sex in the middle of an argument?

Katniss sighs.

Doctors be damned.

“I need to tell you something,” she tells him. “And it will likely change your mind about children. It will change your mind about me.”

Katniss sits down on their bed, patting the spot next to her.

Peeta joins her, taking her hands in his. “What is it?”

“We aren’t married, Peeta,” she confesses, feeling the weight of truth lift off her shoulders. “In fact, we weren’t even really a couple. You see, in the first Games we were in…”

Katniss goes on to explain how Haymitch told her to capitalize on the whole ‘Star-Crossed Lovers of District 12’ idea and how it would save their lives due to their popularity. How she convinced the world that she was in love with him and that Peeta had loved her back—until he realized the ruse. How he had been angry at her before the Victory Tour and then how they subsequently tried to form a partnership.

She told him how she had suggested that get married because it would convince Snow that their relationship was genuine.

Katniss can’t bring herself to look at him as she continues onto the Quarter Quell. She stammers through explaining the kiss on the beach.

“It was the first time I really ever wanted something…and someone.” Katniss looks up to find his eyes on her, his expression unreadable. “Then we were separated, and you were taken to the Capitol. I was brought here.”

“Why would you lie about being married to me?” he asks gruffly.

“When you saw me, you thought I was your wife,” she replies helplessly. “And I didn’t disagree with you. Then, the medical team and Dr. Aurelius decided that we should keep letting you believe that it was true. We didn’t want to risk you possibly having some sort of breakdown.”

“If we never found out about this trigger, were you going to just keep lying to me?”

“I don’t know.” She swallows the lump in her throat. “I’d like to think that—one day, when this is all over—that I would tell you. Because you deserve nothing but the truth.”

They lapse into a silence, the weight of her words filling the air around them.

Katniss knows that she’s lost him.

However, he was never hers to begin with.

“I have one more question.” She looks to him, waiting for anger. “When all is said and done, do you still love me?”

“I thought we just talked about this. It was all for show—the relationship, the marriage, the baby—"

“Bullshit.” Peeta chuckles wryly. “I watched those snippets when it was just us and you can’t fake emotion like that. I can tell when you’re lying. Even now—” His hand reaches to cup her the back of her head so he can look at her straight on. “I can say for certain that you feel something for me. It’s all there—in your eyes.”

“I do.” It comes out in a gasp. “I think I’ve loved you for a long time and I’ll keep loving you after all of this.”

They fall into each other’s embrace, kissing every inch of exposed skin.

Katniss cries against his shoulder, knowing that there isn’t going to be a discussion on what needs to happen.

Peeta has already made his choice.

His hands cup her cheeks and he presses one last kiss to her forehead, his eyes glistening with love…and fear…and hope…

‘Till death do us part’, she promises to herself.

“Katniss,” he whispers, his mouth inching towards hers. “Kiss me.”

So, she does.

FIN.

*I’m going to run and hide now.

#rosegardeninwinter #Everlark Fanfiction #Everlark #In District 13 Everlark #Mockingjay AU

113 notes · View notes

keelywolfe · 4 years

Text

FIC: Dadster #2 (Rules for Dating My Sons)

Notes: Couldn't resist adding on to it a little for Father's day! Tossing in some spicyhoney for flavor, come on, like I can resist?

Tags: Pre-Spicyhoney, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Found Family

~~~~

Sequel to: Dadster

~~~~

Read it on AO3

Read it here!

~~*~~

"hey, pop, can you hand me the other spanner?"

Gaster looked up from the formula that was currently blurring before his eyes. There was an error in it somewhere and yet, the more he stared at the paper, the more the numbers floated in front of his vision defiantly.

A break was in order and this was a good excuse for one. He stood, pressing both hands into the cramped small of his back with a groan, then made his way to the other side of the lab. There was a hulking dropcloth-covered bulk in the furthest corner and around the backside, a skinny pair of legs poked out from under it. A tray was lying on the floor close by, tools lined up neatly, and Gaster crouched, considering them. A least three of them were spanners.

“Which one?” Gaster asked and when there wasn’t a reply, he sent two of his conjured hands beneath the…ah. The vehicle? He supposed that designation would do for now, deathtrap was likely closer, and he resigned himself to plenty of worries if and when Stretch got it working. He signed his question again beneath the troublesome thing and this time an answer floated out.

“three-eighths—” there was a loud clunking sound. “shit, no, seven-sixteenths.”

“Language,” Gaster said teasingly, even as he put the spanner into the grubby hand that appeared.

That hand vanished immediately, and scrabbling noises followed. “c’mon, pop, don’t you start. blue already has me by the balls, i don’t need you giving ‘em a squeeze.”

“I’ll thank you to spare me that mental imagery,” Gaster said dryly. But he didn’t bother to scold; Stretch was more engineer than scientist and there was a longstanding tradition of a certain amount of verbal vulgarity in that particular trade.

There was another clunking sound followed by an appropriately irritated curse. “sorry, sorry, this fu-friggin thing is stuck good.”

The loud bang of metal hitting metal was also traditional and Gaster shook his head. “Let me get you a lubricant, it may help.”

He ignored his son’s snicker, “sure, let’s lube it up, get it into a slippery situation, might be my saving grease.”

Gaster only shook his head, suppressing his own smile. To hear Stretch making puns and laughing warmed his soul, evaporating his frustrations over that silly equation. It didn’t seem that long ago that Stretch spoke only in biting sarcasm, mocking humor that never reached his eye lights. Little by little that tight shielding flaked away, cautiously revealing the gentle, vulnerable soul hidden beneath it and Gaster might tease, but he would never, ever do anything to take away Stretch’s little amusements.

Time and patience was all Gaster had on his side when it came to these boys, his boys. He should have been their father, wished fiercely that he could have been and spared them all the pain of their pasts. Lacking that, he’d do what he could and if a silly, vulgar pun helped, he’d listen to each and every one.

A light knock on the door halted him before he reached the cupboards. He paused, considering, then decided the lubricant could wait a moment.

"Come in," Gaster called. He already knew who it was, the only one of his boys who would ever knock.

Out of all of them, Edge was the one who resisted his overtures the most. Gaster didn't press, allowing him to find his own way and only hovered in the background, offering what meager encouragement that the thick armor of Edge’s pride would allow.

He stood in the doorway now, not quite passing the threshold. He couldn’t have been home for long, Edge’s sentry shift lasted well into the afternoon, but he’d taken the time to change out of his uniform and into a plain black t-shirt and jeans. Despite the more casual clothing, his speech was always formal, almost stilted, "Gaster, I was hoping to speak with you."

Edge was also the only one of the children who unironically called him by name. It was a step up, in a way. At least Edge stopped calling him 'sir'.

"Of course,” Gaster gestured to the chairs by the desk, settling into his own. “What can I do for you?"

Even sitting, Edge’s spine was ramrod straight and he folded his gloved hands into his lap as he said, bluntly. "It's about Stretch."

The silence from the far corner of the room was telling and Gaster very much hoped he wouldn't regret saying, "What about him?"

"It's just--" To Gaster’s astonishment, Edge faltered, looking down. There was none of his normal arrogant confidence on his twisting face and his hands knotted into his lap as he struggled for words. “He…that is…”

"Yes, I think you should ask him out," Gaster said baldly.

Bright crimson magic flooded Edge's face, settling high on his sharp cheekbones. When they’d first come to this world, Gaster had been privately worried for Edge and Red; their physiology was different than the other brothers and it was not an exaggeration to call their appearance fearsome. Never had he been more grateful for Asgore’s kindness than in those early days of their arrival when he not only agreed to allow Edge to join the guard, but introduced him personally around the Underground, particularly in Snowdin where Edge was stationed. As Gaster understood it, Edge was quite popular with the children there and protective as well.

The pride in his soul as he watched Edge slowly flourish was only diminished by one last concern and today it seemed to be coming to a head.

"I couldn’t,” Edge blurted. He did not fidget, but his crimson eye lights darted around. “I’ve always been grateful for your hospitality and—"

"You could," Gaster interrupted calmly. He left aside the comment about hospitality, pushed aside the faint frustration that came with it, "And I would approve. Stretch is a charming young man and handsome as well.”

One who did not lack for suitors and they both knew it. Stretch never lacked for company, although he’d never gone on more than one date with any of them. He still kept people outside of their family at arm’s length and was always clear about the casual nature of those relationships.

Gaster had his own suspicions on why that was.

"But I couldn’t,” Edge repeated doggedly, “it could ruin things for you, for all of us.” He looked up then, his eye lights imploring, “What if I ask and he turns me down, or if he didn't and things went terribly. It would change everything!”

"It could, that is true,” Gaster slouched back in his chair, lacing his hands over his middle, signing on with his conjured ones. “Life is change. My life changed when you and the others came here. Perhaps it will work out, perhaps it won't, but stagnation destroys growth. If you want to ask him out, then ask him, and if something comes of it, wonderful, and if it doesn’t, we’ll work past it.”

Edge nodded, swallowing hard. “Thank you, I appreciate your assurance. I didn’t want to presume.”

He stood abruptly and left without another word. Gaster idly wondered how much longer they’d all be waiting for him to ask. He hoped Edge at least waited until Sunday; that was his chosen day in the betting pool.

From the far corner of the room came words, no longer muffled by drop clothes and engines, "so do i really need to wait for him to ask or can i do it for him? ‘cause i've been waiting, he took forever to read the dating manual.”

Gaster looked over at his son, at his grease-covered clothes and the spanner in his filthy hand, the unrepentant grin on his dirty, delighted face.

"Stagnation is death, but patience is also a virtue," Gaster said dryly. "Wait for him, there’s time enough. And if you’re finished for today, I’ll thank you to clean up.”

"sir, yes, sir,” Stretch’s grin widened even as he turned back around, calling back slyly, “guess the lubricant will have to wait for another day.”

“Cheeky,” Gaster murmured, chuckling to himself and pulled his work back towards him. This time it took him less than a minute to find the error in the equation and he erased it, penciling in the correct number. Before he could finish, Stretch scooted around behind him and there was a light brush of teeth against the top of his skull.

“thanks, pop.” Soft, sincere words, and Gaster closed his sockets briefly, affection for this boy, for all his boys, swelling in his soul.

“You’re welcome. Now go get washed up for dinner.”

“uh huh, you better be heading up,” Stretch said, “blue’ll come drag you up if you don’t.”

“I’ll be right behind you,” Gaster assured him. He went back to work, absently hearing the door closing behind Stretch. He was almost finished and then he’d head upstairs, to what would surely be an interesting meal if nothing else, depending on who cooked today.

Either way, it would be a perfect dinner. So long as his boys were all there, it always was.

-finis-

#dadster #spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #art rec

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hadesgoddess · 3 years

Text

Ok so I havent even finished the background fic for my Teen Wolf s/i, but that's ok because this is my circus and I'm calling the shots!🤡

Anyway, gonna just dump this short fic here because I can't wait to write the hurt/comfort that will come after this angst!! if anyone knows teen wolf, this takes place in season 3!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lockers and closed doors blurred together as Rose flew down the hall. Even with supernatural speed lending strength to her legs, it still seemed like she was moving through quicksand.

Over the rush of her own breath, she could hear the terrified screams of the trapped teacher downstairs. She could feel the roar of two feral werewolves rattle the ribs in her chest. She could smell the acrid tang of blood dripping onto a cold concrete floor; Derek’s blood.

Dammit, Derek! Don’t tell me you went in there alone!

The force she used to throw the door leading down to the boiler room made it strike the wall so hard it rebounded almost immediately. Rose bore the injury without complaint; there were more important matters at hand. If not for her quick, cat-like reflexes, she knew she would have fallen straight down the stairs and landed in a broken heap at the bottom.

Scott caught her before that could happen and pressed his ear back against the door.

“He didn’t-” She gasped for breath. “Did he??”

Scott nodded, jaw tense with worry and Rose spit out a few choice curse words.

“Did he forget that they’re absolutely feral right now?”

“Of course not,” Scott growled. “I told him that he would kill them or get himself killed, and that’s when he said ‘That’s why I’m going in alone’.”

Rose stared at Scott in horror, unable to believe it. “He wouldn’t say that...” She whispered.

“He did.”

The cement wall was like ice against her hot skin, flushed with adrenaline and the power of the full moon, but she slumped back against it. Disbelief and dismay warred in her heart as it began to sink in.

He really doesn’t think he’s worth anything alive...? He doesn’t care... that he probably won’t come back out in one piece...

Her hands shook with the urge to shove Scott out of the way and wrench the door open, to leap through the door regardless of the danger and help. She stood on unsteady feet, snarling out a warning to the young werewolf.

“Scott-”

“Scott! The sun!” Isaac’s voice came ringing down the stairwell like a herald from heaven. “The sun’s coming up!”

They stared at each other in amazement; it was true, they could already feel the effects of the full moon weaning away. Tripping over each other, they flung the latch open and slipped inside.

“Derek!?” Rose hated how high and thready her voice sounded, like some over dramatic, fainting damsel. But dread twisted her heart like a vise, sending her thoughts into a panic. Every instinct in her cried out to find him.

Finally, in the back of the basement, they found him. Derek was practically haloed in the morning light, streaming underground from the low windows. It threw his every injury into abrupt relief. It was a horror show.

“What-” Rose, Scott, and Isaac, who finally caught up, came screeching to a halt. “What did you do?”

Derek’s eyes stared at them, glazed over and unseeing. He was sitting on his knees with Cora and Boyd on either side, both unconscious. For a horrible second, he didn’t respond, didn’t seem to even recognize them. Then-

“There’s a teacher... I’ll take care of her... Get them out of here...”

“Excuse me?” It only took a second for the heartbreak to turn to wild, hot anger. “You’re kidding right?” She turned to the boys beside her.

“Please, get them to the truck. Someone will be here soon, we need to go, but Derek is in no condition to help. I’ll get him out.” The teens were quick to move out of their way, sensing the change in the air. In seconds, they were alone.

“What... are you doing?” Derek snarled, getting enough energy to try to stand. “If you’re trying to undermine my own authority in my pack-” He cut off, stumbling forward, blood splattering across the floor from still open claw marks. Rose immediately moved forward to catch him, hefting his muscled mass up.

“News flash, Hale, I’m not in your fucking pack and neither is Scott,” She retorted. Moving carefully, she lifted his arm over her shoulder, trying to walk him back to the stairs. “Now just shut up until we get to the car.”

“I’m fine!” Derek shouted, pulling away.

“That’s obviously not true!” Rose yelled back, locking his wrist in a steel grip. “Why is it so hard for you to accept help?” Facing each other, Rose only came up to his chin, but she stared up with fiery determination. Hazel eyes stared back with just as much tenacity, dark brows furrowed low in confusion.

“Because I don’t need it! I don’t want it, ok?” He took a step forward, attempting to get her to move back. Rose stood her ground. The air quivered between them, charged with some unfathomable emotion.

To her utter embarrassment, she felt tears begin to well in her eyes. Her vision was filled with red lines, dripping blood that soaked through the soft forest green shirt Derek wore. It seemed like they were taking much too long to heal. Even when they did, she knew she would still see them on his skin, the invisible scars painted in her memory. She couldn’t stand the thought of him letting himself be hurt, just to punish himself.

“Why are you crying?” Of course, he would say something so bluntly.

“What am I supposed to do when someone I care about is trying to get himself killed?” Her voice was thick. Rose stretched trembling fingers out to trace his wounds, pain and heartbreak choking her at the sight of his torn flesh.

“Wait,” Derek swayed back and forth on his feet, trying to catch up. “I’m not trying to kill myself! I’m doing what’s necessary. I owe blood, Rose... I have so much blood on my hands.” Those same hands, scarred and worn, so warm and gentle despite it all, came up to touch her shoulders, and moved further up, feather-light on the skin of her neck, to cup her face.

“Derek,” Again, she hated how her voice broke! “There was absolutely no reason to come in here alone. Scott could have helped you hold them off until sunrise while Isaac held the door. If he had- if he had, then you wouldn’t be about to collapse out on me!”

Even as she spoke, Derek closed his eyes, struggling to remain standing. Involuntarily, he slumped forward, arms falling back to her shoulders. Cursing, Rose caught him once again. In this position, his forehead came to rest against hers.

She froze. A million thoughts ran through her head. Fear that he’d finally passed out, anxiety that he would push her away, affection for how sleepy and almost adorable he looked at this distance. But, he couldn’t know what he was doing.

He had just let two werewolves tear into him like some kind of sick christmas present. The entire pack had been up all night with the full moon, tracking them down. His mental, physical, and emotional state had taken a dive over a cliff; she would never let herself take advantage of that.

She startled when Derek spoke. “I can practically feel you thinking, del Bosque. I don’t suppose they’re thoughts about me?” All the fight was gone from his voice, leaving resigned defeat.

“Don’t be self-absorbed, Hale-” Rose scoffed, heat rising to her cheeks, but all thought ground to a halt when he looked back up at her.

“I’m not. I know,” he spoke with such certainty, her heart dropped. “I know, Rose.”

She squeezed her eyes shut against his words, praying this was a bad dream, that it would all be gone when she opened them. Instead, those damn hazel eyes still stared at her, the heat of his face was still so close to her own.

“So, you know,” Rose pushed the words out, knowing the only way out was to rip the band-aid off and move on with her life. But understanding it and wanting it were vastly different things. The stabbing pain in her heart switched back to anger, trying to save as much of it as she could. “Good for you. I’m glad you finally got a fucking clue.

He tilted his head, forehead still pressed to hers, a puzzled look in his eyes.

“Rose...” The way he whispered her name made her knees weak, but she had to hold strong!

“Derek... It’s ok... you don’t have to say anything, let’s just get you-” All the words flew away, chased from her mouth by the insistent press of his lips against hers. All brain function stopped, but instinct took over. She kissed back fervently, her dream becoming a reality and she dazedly wondered how much she could steal away with. How much sensation she would carry with her until she died from this moment right here.

Would she remember how his skin was blazingly hot on hers, his fingers dancing up and down her neck, tilting her face in just the perfect way to slot their mouths together?

Or how he kissed her like he never wanted to stop, like a parched man in a desert oasis, drinking up all her gasps and moans like it was an illusion about to slip through his fingers?

When they finally broke to drag in deep, shuddering breaths, Rose’s mind was tossed and tumbled like a spare sock in the dryer. She could hardly tell up from down. Could anyone blame her? Her entire world had just been turned on its head!

“Rose...” Again, he sighed her name against her cheek, seemingly unwilling to be separated from her. She closed her eyes, struggling to process everything and also wanting to remain in the moment forever.

A metallic clang behind them broke her reverie.

Oh shit!

They had to go! Hopefully, there would be time to speak with Derek when they got back to the loft, but they could not be found here.

“Come on,” Rose wrapped his arm around her shoulder once more and moved ahead. “Get a move on, you ridiculous, idiotic, fucking sweet man.” Thankfully, Derek finally seemed too tired to resist.

Together, they climbed the steps up into the light of the dawn.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Getting back to the loft proved much harder than expected.

By the time Rose managed to lug Derek's heavy butt out the school, red and blue lights flashed all around them. Where was Stiles and his blue jeep when they needed him?

Evading the cops involved quite a lot of crouching in the dawn shadows behind dumpsters and brick walls, praying the police would run right past.

Luckily, the teacher who had been in the basement took a lot of their attention. While she gestured and ranted, Rose and Derek finally slunk past the last cop car and stumbled into the safety of the woods. From there, it was a slow journey to the back parking lot where Rose had left their car. Somewhere along the way, Derek finally passed out.

With shaky hands, she deposited Derek's still form into the passenger seat and buckled him in. It took all her control to not speed through downtown and blow every red light on the way there. The last thing she wanted right now was more cops.

Isaac and Scott were waiting in the parking lot when they pulled in. She wasn't ashamed to take Scott's steady arm and hobble inside while Isaac hefted Derek up after them.

Not everyone could take every hit and stay standing like Derek tried to.

It was a long day, waiting for Derek's body to heal and wake up. The boys had to leave for school, but insisted Rose call them if they needed anything. Derek might be holding people at arm's length, but those people refused to do the same. Exhausted, but feeling better with a cup of coffee in her hands, Rose promised they would be the first to hear anything.

Then she was alone. At first, she spent a few hours sitting at Derek's side, unwilling to leave for anything. But basic biological functions demanded she get up and shower and use the restroom. Since Derek hadn't even twitched all morning, she assumed it would be ok, just for a few minutes.

It felt weird using someone else's shower, especially when the owner was comatose just yards away so she washed as fast as possible. Unfortunately, since this whole venture was a tad unexpected, Rose had nothing to change into.

Nose wrinkling over the dirt encrusted jeans and ragged shirt, she had a short internal debate before huffing.

It's just a shirt and a pair of pants, del Bosque! Besides, if he has any complaints, he can tell them to my fist. It's what he gets for scaring the shit out of me last night.

Mind made up, she rifled through Derek's bottom drawer, knowing from years of sleepover experience that he kept his work-out clothes in there. She picked the biggest shirt she could find and felt a tiny hint of satisfaction for nabbing a ridiculously comfortable pair of sweatpants.

Emerging from the bathroom, feeling a tiny bit better, she returned to her station at Derek's bedside. The coffee had turned cold by now, but she didn't refill it. More caffeine would only give her jitters at this point. In fact, she found it difficult to settle down. Her legs itched to pace, to run through the woods like she had in South America when the pressure of her clan got overwhelming. But she couldn't just leave Derek. She wasn't even aware of the passage of time, only the too slow rise and fall of his chest.

At some point, she got the strength to stand up and collect some supplies. It wasn't exactly necessary since a were-creature would heal exponentially faster than a human, but it felt good to do something. Plus, she wanted Derek to be taken care of. Who knew when he had last let someone do that?

Blood was blotted up, gashes were bound, and she even managed to get him coherent enough to drink a few swallows of water. Then it was back to the waiting game. With cloth bandages covering his wounds, Rose couldn't tell how fast he was healing. But if the coolness of his skin was any indicator, she had protected him from any infection and now the heavy lifting was up to Derek.

Late evening light cast through the multitude of windows of his loft when he finally stirred.

"......Where- where am I?" His groan brought Rose back to the present. For the last hour or so, she had been nodding off, the lack of sleep finally catching up. At some point, Rose wasn’t sure when or how exactly, their hands had drifted together and were now entwined.

Derek held their clasped hands up, looking at Rose in confusion. “What happened? How did we get back here?”

“You- what do you remember?” Rose asked.

“We lured them to the school... We were down in the boiler room... there was a teacher trapped down there, right?” As he worked it out, he tried to sit up. He didn’t get very far before falling back against the pillows with a pained moan.

“Yeah, that’s what happens when you try to take 2 feral werewolves by yourself, Hale.” Rose snapped, jumping up to check his wounds. Satisfied none of them had re-opened, she went and got him a fresh cup of water. When he finished it, she sat back down at his side. “Do you remember the rest?”

She knew she should let it go, just let Derek focus on healing. But, she had to be sure that she hadn’t just imagined what Derek said, what Derek did down there. Her lips tingled and she bit down on the lower one hard to put a stop to it.

“I-I don’t think so,” Derek gazed off into the distance, trying to remember. “After the first couple of claws in my chest, I think I just shut down. Just tried to take the pain.”

She couldn’t believe it. “You’re sure? Nothing else?”

His eyes landed on hers, sure and steady.

“...No. Nothing else.”

Well. That was that. It was going to be brushed off as a mistake, fueled by delirious pain and the intoxicating effects of the full moon. Rose put her head in her hands.

“Rose?”

She shook her head, not looking up. Just a minute, she needed just a minute to force back the tears and regain some equilibrium. Luckily, Rose was an expert at boxing up inconvenient emotions and unpacking them later.

“...Are those my clothes?” Rose groaned shortly, regretting her earlier decision.

“Well I didn’t exactly pack a suitcase when we set off the other night!” She couldn’t sit here any longer, pretending everything was perfectly fine. She leapt from her seat like she was on fire and headed back t0 the kitchen.

“Wait-!”

“Don’t worry, I’ll leave them where I found them before I leave.” She didn’t need to look back to know he was staring at her. All she wanted to do was turn right back around and hold Derek close. But now she knew, that wouldn’t be a privilege she would ever earn.

“Rose, it’s fine, but-” Finally, she turned, one hand on the doorknob. From where he laid in bed, he looked strikingly lost. Like a boat lost at sea and she was a distant lighthouse. The thought made her heart drop, but she squashed the feeling down. “Are you mad? Was it something I did? I know we should have been more careful at the school, but we had no idea the teacher would be there.”

“.......It’s always about someone else, isn’t it?” Her statement only confused him more, she could tell. But she didn’t have the strength to finish this conversation. Her heart hurt too much from the emotional roller coaster this man had just taken her on and she needed time to clear her head.

“Just forget it, Derek. You’re great at that apparently.” Rose threw over her shoulder as she left the room, not brave enough to see his face when she said it.

The door clicked shut, two confused and hurt people on either side.

#ship: to build a home #listen my only goal rn is rewriting this season because its fucking ridiculous how badly derek gets treated #i wanna punch that jennifer bitch in the throat #no heads up either just gonna karate chop her head off #self insert fanfiction #s/i #f/o #self insert community #my writing #teen wolf s/i

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fairfowl · 4 years

Text

Hot Chocolate and Liquor (I Need A Drink)

April 2nd 2019, the remaining Hargreeves tie up loose ends (Klaus-centric, no Sparrows)

this fic is also on AO3

They arrived on April 2nd 2019 to an empty tomb of a mansion, echoing and cold. By the staircase Grace had booted up and greeted them warmly, leading them down to the kitchen for a snack as though nothing had ever happened.

There was no sign of Pogo.

No sign of Reginald.

No apocalypse.

After everything that they'd experienced the anticlimactic calm had been surreal. The six of them had followed their mother's measured footsteps down the halls of their childhood home, politely averting their eyes as Diego wiped tears away.

Five had led, with Vanya close to him. Diego and Luther followed side by side, while Klaus trailed after Allison, his fingers ghosting over the sleeve of her dress as though he was afraid of getting lost. Allison bore her brother's clinginess well, eventually grabbing and holding his bony hand in hers as though it was the simplest thing in the world.

Both of them were shaking, but neither said a word.

Mom brewed hot chocolate uncannily quickly, and with more skill than Klaus had seen from professional chefs. Miraculously his flask had survived their battle and time travel, after pouring a hearty dose of the contents into his hot chocolate Klaus generously donated the rest to his siblings. Vanya, Allison, and Five accepted his offer—some more gratefully than others—while Luther and Diego declined.

Instead Diego had turned to the counter and said something completely unprecedented.

"Mom, why don't you come sit down with us?"

Their mother was widely considered to be unflappable. Klaus had seen her wrist deep in her childrens' guts, standing between knife wielding teenagers, and facing her own demise, all with the same demure expression on her face. But now she paused

“Sure” She said finally, smiling, her blank processing expression turning to the familiar bright smile that she wore so often. “If it makes you kids happy.”

It did.

She placed a plate of perfectly arranged cookies at the center of the table before sitting beside Diego, her back straight, prim and proper, while the six of them silently drank their hot chocolate. It felt like a tiny little revolution.

Allison had been the first to stand. Her graceful fingers had ghosted over her wedding ring as she explained.

“I need to talk to Claire.”

Five had nodded immediately, and the others followed suit. Klaus gave his sister a smile and two thumbs up before returning to his drink. He wondered idly if he would be able to summon Raymond, it was possible that he had died in the fifty-six years they’d travelled to be here. If he were alive he would be in his late eighties. Klaus hoped he’d had a good life, for Allison’t sake.

As Allison left he switched the mug in his hands and grasped the hem of Vanya’s oversized shirt, rolling the stitches between his pointer and thumb hello.

Vanya looked at him, at first surprised and then soft, she said nothing but scooted closer. Across from him Diego met his eyes as Luther watched Allison go. Her heels made a quick anxious tap tap tap as she walked away.

“What are we going to do now?” Klaus broke the silence. “Now that it’s all over do we just go back to what we were doing before? Go our separate ways?”

The remaining siblings shifted uncomfortably, glancing at each other.

“I don’t really have anything to go back to.” Luther said, running a large finger over the table’s wooden surface. “The last four years I spent in this time were all wasted on another of Dad’s lies. It’s not like I can just go back up to the moon and do nothing.”

Luthor’s expression was caught between a rueful smile and a grimace. The look on his face was all but alien to the rest of the siblings, who had rarely seen Luthor look anything but neutral, annoyed, or smug. Klaus wondered if the ability to move his face was something that he’d learned on the moon, or if he’d picked it up during his time as an underground boxer who worked for the mafia.

And wasn’t that still surreal.

“I don’t have anywhere to be either.” Five chimed in, staring at his hot chocolate as if it held all the secrets of time and space. He seemed shocked by the prospect. After decades of single minded survival, years of assassinations, and two weeks of mad running to stop the world from ending, it must have been outright bizarre to find himself with nothing else to do.

“You could join me!” Klaus interjected, unwilling to let the mood sour without at least an attempt of a joke. He pointed at Five. “I have a lovely little alley behind Dunkin Donuts that’s just lovely this time of year.”

“Why didn’t you invite me to your alley?” Luthor’s face turned to a more familiar annoyed expression.

“You wouldn’t fit.” As he spoke Klaus jolted slightly as Vanya’s small hand shot out, wrapping around his wrist.

“You were living in an alley?”

“Not really.” He rolled his eyes. “I didn’t really live anywhere Vanya. It’s just a nice alley.”

Vanya looked as though she doubted that.

"I think I'm still first chair." She murmured, there was something heavy in her voice. Klaus wondered if she really even wanted the position. "But I also think I probably still killed Leonard."

There was something matter of fact in her statement, a resignation to accompany the guilt.

"That doesn't matter." Luther frowned. "He was evil."

If only it was that simple.

"Were your fingerprints on any of those knives?" Diego asked, his expression thoughtful.

"No, but there should be some in the house …. And in his car."

“Ours would be too then.” Diego said, drawing one of his knives and fiddling with it thoughtfully. “Allison, Five, and I all went to his house to look around.”

Klaus frowned, glancing about the room before he remembered that the presence that he was looking for wasn’t there. If Ben wasn’t around then he’d have to think for himself. Vanya’s hand was warm on his clammy skin.

“Remember when we were kids, and Dad would send Ben into a room with all the bad guys so he could ‘take care of them’?” He used his free hand to make air quotes. “We kind of committed murder all the time and never faced consequences for it. Why should we now?”

It was a horrible thing to say, arrogant and callous and extremely typical for the Hargreeves family. His siblings nodded uneasily. The room felt colder.

“How did Dad make all of that go away?” Klaus continued.

“He had a lot of connections.” Luther ventured, his mug dwarfed to the comparative size of a shot glass by his giant fingers. “Between him and Pogo they could just sort of make anything go away. I think he had connections with the government somehow.”

“Do you think we could inherit any of those connections?” Vanya raised her head, pushing hair out of her face. She was so pale that her eyes seemed black against the whiteness of her skin, even in the warm light of the kitchen.

“Maybe.” Luther looked at Diego as if he was expecting a challenge, but Diego simply whittled at the edge of the table, his expression conflicted. Klaus doubted that their tentative plan sat well with their brother’s zealous sense of justice, and he was grateful to Diego for the restraint that he had shown so far. After their time in the 1960s, his experiences in the psychiatric hospital, his failed attempt to save Kennedy, and whatever had happened with Lila—Klaus really was confused about what had gone on there—must have exhausted him.

Either that or Mom’s presence had mellowed him out.

Speaking of Mom.

“There’s a form in your father’s office that can be used to deal with casualties. Once filled out it can be submitted electronically to an anonymous government agent who then proceeds to clean up any loose ends.” Her smile was like the ones shown in toothpaste commercials.

“Well fuck.” Five’s time stopping the apocalypse really had done nothing for his manners.

*-*-*-*-*-*

Really they hadn’t known if it would work—they still didn’t know for sure—but it was better than doing nothing. After they had brought her up to speed Allison had put it well.

“It’s a good first step.”

So they crowded together in their deceased father’s office, their voices hushed as though they were still children under Reginald’s watchful eye. Above them the unmarred portrait loomed, unyielding and perpetually disdainful.

“I wonder if he was ever happy.” Vanya murmured, looking up at the painting as Luthor opened the file cabinet. Allison perched against the desk her eyes on Klaus as Klaus in turn watched Vanya.

“I doubt it.” Five responded coming up to stand beside their sister. “Whatever else he was, Reginald Hargreeves was a terminal malcontent.”

It was a grim pronouncement for a man who had ultimately committed suicide, but certainly not untrue. The terminal malcontent and his seven little natural disasters, spinning out of control at every opportunity.

Six.

Klaus wrapped his arms around himself, his right hand resting on his left shoulder Hello. Sky Soldiers. Hello Sky Soldiers.

Luthor made a satisfied noise as he found the folder in question, drawing out the form and placing it on the ostentatious hardwood desk. At the door their mother watched silently, her default serene smile cemented to her face. Five took the paper, scanning it clinically as he held one of Reginald’s fountain pens in his hand.

It looked expensive and Klaus wondered how he’d missed it during his first looting of the office. It had been only days ago technically speaking, but for Klaus nearly four years had passed. The siblings who had once been exactly the same age down to the hour were now staggered across a few years’ worth of experiences.

Physically Klaus was the eldest, but mentally Five had half a decade of trauma over the rest of them. Sometimes Klaus caught his brother’s eyes and those decades seemed especially apparent.

“We had forms very like this at the commission.” Five’s voice was high pitched and childish, but his intonation held the heaviness of his age. “The field agents use them to account for accidental collateral damage, it’s pretty standard paperwork. This one has a CIA stamp but otherwise it’s nearly word for word.”

For a moment the siblings were silent. The fabric of Allison’s dress slipped across her knees as she shifted, Diego leaned forward, peering over Five’s shoulder.

“Creepy.” He pronounced, long hair falling down to brush his cheek. Klaus wondered if he was going to shave it all off again now that they were all back. “Did you have to do that a lot?”

“No. I was never sloppy enough to need it.”

Klaus wanted a cigarette. He hadn’t smoked in three years, nothing, not even pot. After being spat out into 1960 he’d relied too much on Ben’s manifested abilities to get high, and after everything else cigarettes had hardly seemed worth it. Once Keechie had joined their group and started using charisma and psychobabble to push them all towards clean living Klaus had written nicotine off entirely to avoid losing control of the nebulous but extremely enthusiastic spiritual collective that had congregated around him.

But the cult wasn’t there anymore.

Ben wasn’t there anymore.

He settled for biting his lip and mentally going over what he remembered of their father’s alcohol selection. At this point in life his memory was shot, but some things stuck out with obsessive clarity. He knew that there was top shelf vodka and gin behind the bar, scotch in the cabinet, ecstasy in his unicorn plushie, oxy in the infirmary, and a razor blade taped to the inside of the light fixture in the upstairs bathroom.

He’d always had a good memory for escape routes, it was what had made him a good lookout in their childhood exploits.

They filled out the paperwork in short order, and handed it to their mother to deliver. Even Five couldn't figure out who it would go to, but it was integrated into Grace’s programming and they collectively decided to trust her on this.

When they’d finished Allison hopped off the desk in a flurry of crinoline, her heels clicking against the hardwood floor.

“I’m going to get changed.” She said fingering the material of her skirt. “And then I need a drink.”

Klaus smiled

“Way ahead of you.”

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

They congregated by the bar. Klaus had poured for Vanya first before measuring out a shot for Five and himself. Diego and Luther hung back, looking at the bottles of liquor warily. Luther’s experiences with alcohol were limited to the one night days before the apocalypse, and if he’d had any feelings about that night he had yet to share them. Diego on the other hand had enough experience to know that he was better off if he avoided drinking in excess.

And he wasn’t shy about sharing his opinions.

“Really Klaus?” He looked disappointed, judgemental but not angry.

“I already fell off the wagon Di, I might as well.” Klaus took the shot, Five and Vanya followed as Allison entered the room.

Her hair was pulled back and her clothes were much more modern.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you wear a t-shirt in years.” Klaus commented as she sat down. Their sister had changed into light wash jeans and a mustard yellow top. It was a sharp contrast from her extremely fashionable bespoke hollywood wardrobe, and the gorgeous dresses that she’d worn during their time in the past. She looked nice and Klaus wondered if he should follow suit. Wearing black felt right but he was getting chilly.

He took another shot instead.

Diego finally shrugged, sitting beside Klaus at the bar and motioning Luther to follow him. Behind the bar Five rummaged for a moment before popping back up with a satisfied expression and a green bottle. He poured himself a generous amount before sliding the bottle towards Allison and Vanya. Klaus could smell the familiar pine-y scent of gin.

He poured himself another finger of vodka before passing the bottle into Diego’s waiting hand.

“We should make a toast.” He said, mostly to fill the silence. Even surrounded by his siblings he felt alone, bereft of Ben’s familiar presence.

“To what?” Luther asked, looking to Klaus as though he were expecting an order. For a man who had been raised to believe that he was a leader Klaus realized that Luther was absolutely most comfortable when following directions; whether the trait was a result of nature or Reginald’s grooming he couldn’t tell.

“To Ben.” Vanya piped up, firm and confident in a way that she would have never been before. Klaus nodded.

“To Ben.”

#The Umbrella Academy #tua #klaus hargreeves #tua fanfic #original #my fic #look ma I wrote sad garbage

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shotgun--rider · 4 years

Text

Love Your Neighbor - One

A Dean x Reader Series

PART ONE

Y/N just wants her neighbor to find some sense of decency and shut the hell up. Her so-called brilliant plan gets messy, though, when it turns out that Dean Winchester is actually kind of perfect, and maybe taking her friends’ advice wasn’t the best move after all.

Word Count: 2900

Warnings: Allusions to sex, Dean Winchester is a fanboy

Dean Winchester isn’t a bad guy. As far as you can tell, actually, he seems to be a perfectly normal, average, unassuming guy. You’ve shared a few elevators and gotten your mail at the same time, waved politely on your way to take out the trash, and your beater car lives next door to his pristine ‘67 Impala in the underground parking ramp. Considering that the neighbors in your last apartment almost blew up the building making meth, living next to a harmless, pie-eating contractor sounded like heaven when you signed the lease.

There’s just one little problem. And, strictly speaking, it’s none of your business if Dean Winchester also likes banging everything with legs in a twenty mile radius. More power to him, really. It’s just that the walls are cripplingly thin in this building, and while you’re happy your neighbor has a thriving sex life, you’d rather not be forced to listen to it every single night.

Laying flat out on your bed, clad in the least amount of clothing you can pull off while still being decent, you grit your teeth. It’s a scorching night in July and the A/C in your unit has given up the ghost, leaving you to sprawl out sweating, hoping in vain for a cool breeze from the fire escape. And somehow, in spite of the fact that moving two feet has you wanting to pant like a dog with heat stroke, Dean Winchester has found the motivation to work up a whole other kind of sweat on the other side of your wall. Loudly.

The apartment you’re renting is a pretty cheap one, and you knew what you’d signed up for when you signed the lease. It works for your purposes, and it’s not like you have loads of spare cash lying around anyway. The issue with the tiny one-bedroom is that it only accommodates your stuff in one possible layout, and yes, that does in fact mean that your bed is directly on the wall you share with Dean. In fact, you’re pretty sure your apartments are mirror images of one another, which is only an issue when he’s railing Lisa two feet from your head and banging the headboard on your shared wall.

‘Lisa’ has been around for almost a month now, which as far as you’re aware is a new record for Dean, and she moans like a porn star that’s trying too hard. It can’t possibly be natural, you’ve decided, because sure, sex is good, but nobody in real life is having sex that’s that good. And sure, you’ll concede that Dean is an incredibly attractive guy, from what you’ve seen of him, but you’ve learned the hard way many times that that doesn’t automatically make them good in bed. Which means Lisa is just being obnoxiously dramatic.

You thump your head in frustration against your pillow, contemplating pulling it over your ears as a new round of moaning starts up. God, how does anyone have sex for that long, anyway?

“Yes, Dean, harder...right there… oh, fuck, yeah, yes, yes, yes!” She subsides into unintelligible screaming, punctuated with the occasional lower-pitched groan and the shuffle-shuffle-bang of the bed frame against the wall.

“Oh my god, yeah, I’m gonna come, please make me come,”

Cursing under your breath, you sit up, adjusting the spaghetti straps of your tank top as they try to slide down your shoulder. “Nobody says that shit,” you grumble aloud, shuffling in defeat off of your bed and out to sit on the fire escape.

It’s not any cooler out here, and you can still vaguely hear Dean and Lisa getting it on, but at least your bed is no longer vibrating. Leaning forward on the iron railing, you pull out your phone and send a vomiting emoji to your best friend. There’s no context needed; she’s heard you complain enough times to know exactly what’s usually happening between the hours of ten p.m. and midnight in your building.

Kinda impressed with this dude tbh, Meg replies back instantly. I wish I got off that much.

You answer her with an eye roll. The point is I don’t want to hear it

Just tell him to shut the fuck up. Or kill him. You know like a bazillion ways

Once, when you’d only been living there for a handful of weeks, you’d thrown a shoe at the wall between you in a fit of ill-handled rage. You’d followed that up with taking off your other shoe and repeatedly thumping the wall with the heel, just in case they thought the original noise had been an accident.

The resulting blissful silence had only lasted for about a minute, after which it was followed by a bout of laughter, and then more enthusiastic sex. No, Dean Winchester was evidently not the type of person to back down after being told to shut the fuck up, and you’d never quite managed to get the courage to just attack him about his sex life in front of the downstairs mailboxes.

That doesn’t mean, however, that you haven’t been thinking up subtler ways to deal with the issue. And now, because living on the fire escape until October doesn't actually sound like a pleasant experience, you might just have the perfect excuse.

The ‘67 Chevy that lives in the parking space next to yours gets periodically replaced with a slightly rusty old pickup, the words Winchester Contracting emblazoned on the doors. And it’s not like you haven’t seen Dean sporting paint-stained jeans and a bag of tools before. He’s clearly the obvious, convenient choice to ask about the A/C. And if you happen to interrupt his bang-fest while complaining about the heat, well, that’s just two birds with one stone.

You don’t bother with shoes for the short walk down the thinly-carpeted hall, only realizing once you’re standing in front of his door that you’re not really dressed for this. That could only work in your favor, though, right? Maybe a barely-clothed girl showing up would send Lisa into a jealous rage and she would leave on the spot, rendering Dean mercifully single and silent. And maybe you just need to solve this so you can get some god damned sleep, you thought wryly.

Before you can change your mind, you knock sharply on the door of apartment 914, rocking back on your heels as you wait, straining your ears for any noise from within. For a moment, there’s silence, and then a tell-tale, high pitched squeal. Nope, they’re definitely still shamelessly boinking, as your old roommate Donna would have announced cheerfully.

At this point, it’s just getting a little ridiculous. Clenching your jaw in anger, you raise your fist to pound on the door again, harder this time. You have a book deadline in two weeks, no A/C, and you just want some fucking peace and quiet. Clearly, the universe has just chosen to laugh at you instead.

Resisting the urge to hiss aloud in irritation, you pound on the door once more, this time hearing soft voices from inside. There’s shuffling, a muffled yelp, some slightly uneven footsteps, and then the door swings open to reveal Dean Winchester, irritated, half dressed, and making no attempt to hide what he’s been up to.

“What?” he snaps out, all green eyes and sex hair and bare chest, which somehow manages to short-circuit your very angry brain, leaving you stuttering in his doorway. Seriously, though, knowing you have an attractive neighbor and seeing him in nothing but a pair of sweats are two different things.

“Uh,” you mentally shake yourself. You didn’t come here to drool over him, you’re here to solve a problem. “Listen, I’m really sorry to bother you,” you start. You’re not really all that sorry, but you need the time to try to organize your thoughts.

“Oh, are you?” Dean returns grumpily, crossing his arms over his chest and Jesus but that’s a lot of tanned skin and biceps right in front of your face.

“Yeah,” you falter, “I just was wondering if you could maybe help me?” You were laying it on a bit thick now, but who could really blame you? “The A/C quit on me and I know you have that construction business…”

“Dean? Who is it?” That would be Lisa, evidently, coming to the doorway in a bathrobe and, unsurprisingly, looking stunningly beautiful. She blinks at you over his shoulder, pushing dark hair out of her face and giving you an uncertain smile as she looks over your tank top and skimpy sleep shorts.

“Oh I’m sorry,” you somehow manage to keep the sarcasm out of your voice. “I didn’t mean to interrupt anything,”

“You’re not,” Dean says, and, behind him, Lisa raises affronted eyebrows. Maybe there is trouble in paradise. Filing that information away for later, you shift on your feet, pushing some of your still-slightly-sweaty hair off of your forehead. Dean seems to jolt at the motion, glancing back into his apartment and opening the door wider. “Right, yeah,” he runs a hand through his hair, doing nothing to quiet the wild spikes. “You said A/C? Lemme just…”

Dean disappears behind the half open door, one bare foot still holding it in place, and you can hear him moving something around, saying something in a low voice to Lisa, who audibly huffs back like she’s annoyed. When the rest of his body reappears, he’s got a black Metallica shirt most of the way on (a shame, really), and he’s carrying a slim black canvas bag of tools.

“--probably not gonna take long,” he’s saying to Lisa over his shoulder, and it occurs to you suddenly that this plan requires you to bring Dean inside your apartment. Which makes sense, obviously, given that you actually do need the air conditioning fixed, and as long as he’s doing that he’s not banging his girlfriend, but you’re kind of awkward at the best of times and this is probably going to require conversation. Picture everyone naked, Donna would say, but somehow, having seen him shirtless really, really doesn’t help.

Resigned to your fate, you shuffle back to your own apartment with Dean following, and you wince at the blast of hot air greeting you as soon as you swing open the door. Compared to the hallway, it’s like stepping into a particularly miserable sauna, and Dean huffs a surprised noise behind you. “Damn, you weren’t kidding, were you?”

You show him over to the sad little A/C unit wordlessly, hopping up on your kitchen table and crossing your arms as you watch him squint at it. “Thank you,” falls from your lips belatedly, and you have to remember that for all your irritation with him, Dean Winchester is still, fundamentally, the kind of man who apparently lets his neighbors interrupt sex so he can fix their broken appliances in the middle of the night. “I know it’s really late…”

“S’fine,” Dean shrugs, neatly pulling off the cover to the air conditioning and going after something inside with a tool you couldn’t have named if your life depended on it. “This way you won’t have to sleep on the fire escape.” He smiles at you over his shoulder, those green eyes bright, and your retort about sleeping on the fire escape anyway because of him gets lost somewhere in transit. Not for the first time, you wonder if this is really the brightest idea you’ve had.

“Still,” you say instead, “you probably don’t want to come home from work and do more work,”

“It’s really not a big deal, Y/N,” Dean glances back at you. “It’s Y/N, right?”

“Yeah,” you confirm with a little shake of your head. “What’d you do, read my mail?”

“No,” Dean says quickly, followed by a slightly sheepish, “Maybe. Look, the mailroom’s tiny,”

He’s not wrong, and since you initially collected his name from the moans through your bedroom wall, you’re not sure you’re in a position to talk. When you look back at him, Dean’s wearing a slightly hesitant, definitely-not-adorable look on his face, and you laugh softly, watching him break out into a relieved smile in return. And damn it, he wasn’t supposed to be funny. It’s far easier to vilify someone who’s only kindness has been holding the elevator doors a few times, because plenty of colossal douchebags still have surface-level manners.

But now your A/C is humming contentedly, working overtime to compensate for its lapse, and you have your loud-ass neighbor to thank for it. Your funny, smiling, half-dressed-at-midnight neighbor who’s currently giving you a great view of his ass in sweatpants as he bends over to grab his tools. Fuck.

“Thank you,” you get out when your brain gets back online, and you hope it was a brief enough lapse that he didn’t notice. “I might actually make my deadline now that I’m not dying,”

Dean raises an eyebrow at you, shifting to lean back on the wall. “Deadline for what?”

“I’m a writer,” you explain, shaking your head ruefully. “Which is why I live in a crackerbox apartment with shitty air in the first place,”

Dean’s green eyes perk up in interest, and that was hardly the reaction you were expecting. “Oh yeah? What d’you write?”

You uncross your arms and slide off the kitchen table, crossing the living room to pull a black-and-red hardcover out of your hanging bookshelf. “Murder books,” you deadpan, watching for a reaction as you flash him the cover, featuring a man’s limp hand lying in a pool of blood. There’s kind of a small part of you that’s hoping you’ll scare him out of your apartment, because now you’re not really sure how to get rid of him.

Surprising you as usual, Dean’s mouth drops open shamelessly instead. He gapes at you like a very handsome fish for a few moments before his tongue darts out to wet his lip and then he’s tripping over himself, talking almost too rapidly for you to follow. “No freakin’ way! I didn’t...I mean, you’re Y/F/I L/N. You never have a picture on the jacket--” Dean trails off, a flush rising in his cheeks as he collects himself, only serving to make the freckles dashed across his face more obvious. It’s kind of, maybe, just a little bit cute. “I’ve read them all,” he blurts out, stuck somewhere between shy and kind of proud. “They’re...this is awesome,”

You can’t help but laugh a little, surprised but pleased with the reaction. Your books do fairly well, garnering a moderate amount of attention and the occasional creepy fan message, but Dean’s enthusiasm is...pure. He’s standing in your living room with wide eyes and an embarrassed blush creeping its way down under the collar of his t-shirt, and damn it you were supposed to be mad at him.

“I’ll sign copies for you as a thank you for the A/C,” comes out of your traitorous mouth instead. “If you want,”

Dean lights up like a little kid at Christmas, warmth spreading in your chest at his reaction. “That would be awesome. I mean, yeah. Yes, please. Thanks,” He says roughly. Dean swings the compact tool bag awkwardly, rocking back on his heels for a moment, and then he looks hastily back at your little air conditioner. “Well, that’s done, so…”

“Right,” you return quickly, suddenly painfully aware that it’s past midnight as you turn in the direction of the door. “I really do appreciate it, Dean. Bring me whatever you want me to sign sometime, okay?”

He’s still got that terribly endearing, vaguely-stunned expression on his face when you lock the door behind him.

The air’s had a chance to start working while you were talking with Dean, and you end up spread like a starfish on your bed after he leaves, reveling in the cooling air and the blessed silence. It’s the best sleep you’ve had in months.

Of course, because the universe and everything in it hates you with a mad passion, the reprieve only lasts two days. You’re sitting cross legged on your floor, scowling at your laptop and your misbehaving chapter, still cringing at the latest biting deadline reminder from your agent, when a soft whimper catches your attention.

For a moment, you’re prepared to dismiss it, hoping for the first and only time in your life that your apartment has rats. Kinky rats. “Fuck yeah, oh my god, want your cock so bad!”

You flop on your back on the floor helplessly, pressing the heels of your palms into your eyes like that’s somehow going to make a difference. There’s a large part of you that just wants to shout through the wall that nobody in real life says shit like that when they’re having sex, but it probably wouldn’t do any good. “You have got to be kidding me,” you whisper aloud.

Then again, you weren’t sure what you were expecting. Getting Dean to fix your air conditioning hadn’t actually involved addressing his stupidly loud sexcapades. Because, of course, the thought of bringing that up to him made you want to crawl in a hole and die of embarrassment.

Defeated, you grabbed for your phone and pulled up your text conversation with Meg.

I need your help.

#supernatural #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #x reader #reader insert #series #supernatural fanfiction #spn

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