#so i popped a pain pill after work. knocked me on my ass.

[baldursgrape]

i had a taser pulled on me by a cop last year for falling asleep at a bus stop and then refusing his "offer" for a ride home

[59writes]

SEVENTEEN- REACTION: THEIR S/O GETS INJURED (PT. 1)

written for the lovely @honeyylin

again, thank u for being my first request, I will love u eternally (:

I might do the other version still, idk yet!!! but I hope this is satisfactory!!!

(also shout out to my phone for autocorrecting “finally” to “fistula” I hate it here lol)

tw: food, injury

SEUNGCHEOL

• Homeboy would do his damn best to stay focused on whatever task at hand!!!

• he knows you’re a responsible person and you reassured him on the phone that you’re completely fine, but he’s still got the jitters

• but after he zones out for the third time in a row, Jihoon kicks him out of the studio and tells him to go home

• “you’ll do better there, hyung.”

• “But… the songs-“

• “you’re not exactly contributing right now. go home.”

• and so he does, fidgeting the whole way back

• his anxiety is truly at a peak as he reaches the apartment door, practically chewing through his lip as he fumbles with the keys

• he calls your name the second the door swings open

• “y/n?”

• your head pops up from the couch, tired but grinning wildly. “Cheol!”

• the next thing you know he’s wrapping you in a hug, tension finally leaving him

• “I thought you were at the studio.” You frown when he finally moves away.

• “Jihoon made me leave.” He pouts, sitting down on the floor, eyes even with your leg, which is propped up on a chair. “I was too… out of it?”

• “Aw. I’m really okay, Cheol.” You assure again, reaching down to grab his hand, giving it a squeeze.

• “I know, I know. Just… worried.”

• It’s very clear he’s trying not to make a fuss and ask a million questions about the state of your existence, so you pat the couch next to you.

• “C’mon, we’ve got the day off now. Do you wanna finish the show?”

• His face reluctantly breaks into a grin, hopping up to join you on the couch

• and both of you forget about the pains for a little while as you lose yourself in the screen

• it’s peaceful and warm, and finally, you both get a chance to slow down

• maybe you should get injured more often (/j)

JEONGHAN

• he trusts that you’re completely fine, but he does not trust that you won’t somehow hurt yourself again

• he will babyproof the house for the next few days

• “nope, you’re not allowed to chop vegetables. give me the celery.”

• “hey! let me get that, idiot, you’re hurt.”

• “I don’t care. If you want the cat then text me and I’ll get her for you.”

• just generally being a nuisance, you know how it is

• but still, in his babyproofing he does make sure you take your pain meds on time, setting a little alarm on his phone so he can wake you up with a glass of water and your pills

• he also doordashes you your favorite food without announcing like he just says “Steve is on his way with food” and you have to just ponder who Steve is until some guy knocks on your door

• “he paid me extra to say that you’re the love of his life, so…”

• “let’s not and say we did.”

• he always makes sure to order something sweet too (:

• but yeah he’s doing work around the house and forcing you to stay in bed

• tbh it’s like having a very bossy butler lol

• but hey, at least he’s actually doing his own laundry for once!

JOSHUA

• oh my god he drops everything when he gets your text

• it’s literally just “hey josh can I get some help? I hurt myself moving some furniture” and this man goes feral

• you know how someone is so anxious that their brain shuts off and they’re scarily calm??? Joshua.

• he’s at your house in like, five minutes

• and tbh you just wanted him to finish moving the bookshelf so you didn’t have to

• but now he’s gently scolding you while wiping dirt and blood from your leg

• it’s not even that big of a cut but he’s treating it like open heart surgery

• like his hands are so gentle…

• of course he moves the bookshelf after a little more scolding before like,,, making soup like this man would definitely make soup

• like it’s just an annoying cut that’s gonna leave a bruise and this man is making some chicken noodle in the next room over like you’re dying of pneumonia

• it’s some good ass soup tho (:

JUN

• he would not know what to do tbh but he would be excellent company while you waited to heal

• he’d definitely be very panicky but would hide it as best he could!! cuz you’re the top priority!!!

• he’d lurk and when you get up he’d be like “do you need anything? aspirin? food?” and you’re just like “Jun I’m good I just need to go to the bathroom”

• he definitely knows exactly what you like, and does his best to do things like keep your favorite show on, or make you tea.

• (even when you assure him that you’re fine)

• his help is very random and antsy but still excellent lol

• and the fact that he’s constantly here to help really proves how much he cares about you and your health (:

HOSHI

• oh god, this man

• he’d be all over the place

• overreacting and then scolding and then just zoning out and then he falls asleep smh.

• this man would get out a chainsaw and ask which door you stubbed your toe on so he can destroy it lol

• but alas, no chainsaw is around (thank goodness)

• and so Soonyoung just gets to blame everything else while you’re replacing bandages or whatever

• like, he’s going on about how “just because they have safety stickers on ladders doesn’t mean they’re safe!!” and you’ll hold out your hand for gauze and he’d instinctively just grab it and put it in your hand even though he’s on a bit of a rampage

• he also most definitely is the kind to get a stuffed animal for when you’re hurt lol like every time you get sick or injured badly he gets you a bear that says “get well soon” on its stomach or on the heart it holds in its hands and eventually you just have a pile of creatures encouraging you to be healthy

WONWOO

• this man is just. excellent

• he’s caring without being demeaning, and is just so so so helpful

• he comes home and sees your arm bandaged up and just asks what happened

• and you tell him the story and he tries to hide his smile when he hears about your dumb mistake

• but still he’s patient and willing to help!!

• it’s like he could read your mind on what you needed and would just materialize behind you with a drink or an aspirin or something

• and he’d stay in the room with you whenever he could, reading or texting silently

• it was nice having such a caring presence next to you, even if he didn’t chat much

• I mean, the quiet helped you nap more easily too

• and somehow whenever you woke up, he was still there, keeping an eye on you

• if he had to leave for whatever reason he’d gently wake you up to let you know he was headed out and to call him if you need anything

• he makes the healing process peaceful (:

WOOZI

• when he hears the news he’s just. suddenly very very quiet

• like this man is out of it.

• he brushes off the others when they ask what happened, and makes it through the day fairly uneventfully

• when he gets home you almost don’t hear him, only noticing when he shuts the door

• “Jihoon?”

• He beelines straight to you before wrapping you in a huge hug. big tight hug.

• definitely swaying back and forth a little <3

• but you’re just like “woah ok bud what’s up with you”

• and one look at his face says everything

• it’s just been so much: the stress of a comeback, dealing with the managers and the other boys, and then his s/o gets hurt on top of that?

• maybe he needs a break too

• and so you both take one

• I hope you like sleeping lol

• basically you guys take the next few days to recover, just ordering food up and watching shows in silence before falling asleep together on the couch or even the floor once (hey the rug is soft!!!)

• and one day you wake up to find your injury no longer aching

• and the bed is empty next to you

• so you get up and peer down the hallway

• and Jihoon is in the kitchen, playing soft classical music while cutting vegetables

• he notices as you approach, silently offering you a carrot stick

• “I see you’re feeling better too?”

• he nods.

• you both spend the rest of the morning waking up again, cleaning the house and making food, Jihoon’s energy and personality slowly coming back too

• maybe your break wasn’t as much of him taking care of you, but you taking care of each other

• almost as if you’re tied together somehow, your ups and downs mutual

• either way, after that you’re both a lot more aware of the balance and way of recovery you two have

• and you can predict things in advance for next time!

[seanfalco]

The Great Death Defying Nathan Young | Nathan Young x Reader

Word Count: 3.9k Warning(s): Suggestive language, Blood, Character Death (but it’s Nathan, so he’s okay)

Summary: Becoming a Vegas magician’s personal assistant, you get more than you bargained for when you find out the hard way that the magic is actually real, and so are your feelings.

a/n: Dedicated to @midnightseance / @imagine-you for our one year friendaversary!  You were the one to inspire this fic with your ideas after all lol.  Thank you Mel for being such an amazing friend and writing partner.  I love you to bits!  (To bits, I say!)

“This your first day?” the woman with the clipboard and headset next to you asked, startling you. Tearing your eyes from the stage, you nodded.

“I’m [y/n],” you introduced, shaking the woman’s hand as she checked her clipboard.

“I’m Deb. Ah, yes, here you are,” she said, looking back up at you. “You’ll be shadowing me today,” she explained. “Apparently Mr. Young needs more than one personal assistant,” she added under her breath.

“What’s he like?” you asked as you fell into step with the woman.

“A giant pain in my ass,” she grumbled with a twist of her lips. “Everyday its something else: ‘I’m hungry, fetch me some more cornettos’, ‘get Marnie a new pair of lingerie, you know th’kind I like’, ‘I need more condoms’,” she exclaimed in a poor imitation of an Irish accent.

“Oh,” you exclaimed, your brows rising in surprise. You were starting to get a better picture of what this Nathan Young you were going to be working for was like and he seemed like a bit of a prick.

——

——

“Mr. Young,” Deb called through the door to his dressing room after knocking several times with no answer. “Mr. Young!” she tried again, louder this time.

“What? Jay-sus, come on in!”

Deb rolled her eyes as she opened the door and you got your first look at ‘The Great Nathan Young’. Sprawled back in a rather grandiose throne-like chair, one long leg thrown over the arm rest, he wore naught but a half open silk robe tied loosely at the waist and a long silver chair round his neck that glittered against his bare chest.

Sporting a dashing goatee and dark wavy locks that framed his face, his dark limned emerald eyes unabashedly looked you up and down, openly checking you out with a small quirk to his lips.

“And who’re you?” he asked, his lilting accent taking you by surprise. It was nothing like how Deb had impersonated.

“This is [y/n], she’s your new assistant,” Deb introduced, sounding bored as she looked disdainfully around his messy dressing room.

“New assistant? I thought I was your assistant!” the dark haired girl you’d seen on stage earlier exclaimed, her voice a rather grating whine.

“What? No, sweetheart,” Nathan soothed, pulling her into his lap. “She’s my new personal assistant, you’re my magical assistant,” he explained and the girl ‘ohhhh’d’ in understanding, letting out a high pitched giggle.

“Well, that’s a relief,” she exclaimed. “I thought you were gettin’ rid of me for a moment there.”

You noticed Deb roll her eyes again and fought the urge yourself.

“Alright, well, if you don’t need anything—” Before she could finish, Marnie spoke up, cutting her off.

“Actually, I’d like a coffee!”

“Oooh, and I’ll have a soda, and a sandwich,” Nathan added.

Ushering you out of the room before the two could asked for anything else, Deb grumbled under her breath, showing you where the food cart was and how to make Marnie’s coffee the way she like it, with extra sugar.

——

You’d only been on the job a handful of days, but you had to admit it was kind of exciting, despite Nathan’s constant demanding whims. Standing off to the side to watch that night’s rehearsal, you couldn’t help but marvel at how real it all looked.

“Marnie! Stop stop stop!” Nathan cried, frustration lacing his voice as he stopped the production to chastise his partner for about the third time.

“What now?” Marnie exclaimed with a huff, crossing her arms petulantly over her chest.

“You’re not hitting your mark!” Nathan groaned, gesturing to the taped off X on the middle of the stage. “How am I s’posed t’make yeh disappear if y’don’t hit your mark?”

“I don’t know! Does it really matter that much?”

This wasn’t the first time they’d ended up in a shouting match either. It seemed over the past few days, since you’d started, there’d been trouble in paradise, the two constantly picking at one another.

“I need a break, I’m gettin’ a fuckin’ headache,” Nathan groaned, walking off the stage and you hurried after him.

“Can I get you anything?” you asked and Nathan pulled his hand from his face to look up at you.

“An aspirin?” he asked, a pathetic note to his voice before covering his eyes again as he slumped back in his chair. Shaking your head ruefully, you went to go grab a bottled water and some aspirin, holding them out to him.

“Here y’go, drink up,” you prompted, watching him pop the pills in his mouth and down them with a swig of water.

“Thanks,” he muttered, eyeing you askance and you smiled— it was probably the first time he’d actually thanked you for anything.

“No problem,” you murmured. “Can I ask you something?” you wondered after a moment, your curiosity getting the better of you. You knew he was probably going to tell you “a magician never reveals his secrets” or some other bullshit line, but you had to ask anyway.

“Hmm?” Nathan prompted, his eyes still closed.

“How do you make it all look so real?” you asked, a hint of awe in your voice and Nathan’s eyes opened as he straightened, fixing you with a smirk.

“That’s because it is all real,” he exclaimed grandly.

Snorting, you rolled your eyes. “Alright, keep your secrets then.”

“I’m serious!” Nathan insisted. He looked like he was gunna say more until the production manager called him back to the stage and he let out a heavy sigh, pushing out of his chair. “I’d love t’stay and chat, but duty calls,” he muttered, spreading his hands apologetically.

“Oh, but first… this is for you,” he said, stopping suddenly to turn, and with a flourish he held out a single red rose to you. “I didn’t know what your favourite flower was… or really how t’make anythin’ that isn’t a rose so…” he trailed off with a shrug and you took the flower, watching him walk to the stage in awe.

Turning, you found Deb watching you, rolling her eyes at the grin you quickly wiped off your face. However, once she left, you smiled to yourself, tucking the flower behind your ear.

Busying yourself with rearranging Nathan’s wardrobe rack, you lost track of what was happening on stage until an angry shriek filled your ears and you jumped, your head snapping up. Before you knew what had happened, Marnie was pushing past you, nearly knocking you over in her haste, Nathan hot on her heels.

“No, I’m done!” she exclaimed, stomping her foot in consternation.

“But Marnie, baby, c’mon!” Nathan pleaded, rushing past to follow her to his dressing room.

“You better go after them,” Deb groaned, running her hand down her face.

Not exactly wanting to eavesdrop, it was kind of unavoidable, however, as you stood outside the open door. Marnie was throwing her clothes into a suitcase in a huff.

“I can’t do this anymore! You said it was gunna be a cakewalk, but you lied!” she cried hysterically, her already nasally voice raising an octave.

“What am I s’posed t’do without you?” Nathan countered, trying to get her to stop.

“I dunno, get another assistant! How about her?” Marnie pointed at you, having caught sight of you standing by the door. “I’ve seen you flirtin’ with her!”

Nathan grimaced as he caught your eye, the rose he’d given you still tucked in your hair and you flashed him an apologetic look. “Marnie—” he tried again, but she brushed past him, her bags in hand.

“No, Nathan, we’re through. Don’t follow me!”

“You’ll be sorry!” he yelled after her before sweeping dramatically back into his dressing room. “Well, y’comin’ in or not?” he called when you hesitated.

“What, uhm, what was all that about?” you asked, stepping into the room and shutting the door behind you. Nathan already had a bottle in his hand and when he turned to face you, plopping down in his chair your brows rose in surprise.

Instead of the long hair you’d come to recognize on him he sported a mess of dark springy curls piled atop his head, and his facial hair was nowhere to be found, making him look nearly ten years younger.

“Oh, who knows? She’s always been fickle, but who needs her, right?” Nathan replied with bravado, waving his hand as he brought the bottle back to his lips.

“You-your face… you look—” you floundered and Nathan snorted.

“Different?” he scoffed, snorting. “Yeah, well, it’s fake.”

“But you said…”

Giving you a patient look as he sat up, he seemed to find your shock amusing. “Th’magic is real, but my appearance ain’t,” he explained. “I mean, clearly, I’m gorgeous, but d’yeh think anyone would pay t’see ‘The Great Nathan Young’ if I looked like this?” he asked, gesturing to his face.

“I dunno, probably. I think y’look better this way,” you added with a shrug, your words taking him aback and he gaped at you. “So, what’re you gunna do now?” you asked, quickly changing the subject, your face starting to warm at your admission.

Groaning, Nathan deflated in his chair. “I’ll have t’find another assistant t’take Marnie’s place, and fast, opening night is tomorrow and if we have to postpone… it’ll be a disaster.”

“It can’t be that bad, can it?” you asked, trying to lift his spirits, but he merely gave you a flat stare before burying his face in his hands.

“I’ve got a lot riding on this show, if it flops... As a kid, all I ever wanted was t’be a magician and this show is my big break. I guess I could always go back t’do card tricks in casinos...” he sighed, the sadness in his voice tugging at your heart.

Trying to think of something to say, you awkwardly patted his shoulder, jumping when he suddenly sat up, his gaze lifting to you and you didn’t like the appraising way he looked at you.

“What…?” you asked hesitantly, although you could already guess what he was thinking.

“You could be my new assistant!” he exclaimed, jumping to his feet. “You’re already familiar with the show and—”

“Oh, no no no,” you quickly protested, holding your hands up.

“Oh c’mon! You’d look stunning, and you’d be savin’ th’show,” Nathan argued. “D’you want me t’beg?” he asked, promptly dropping to his knees at your feet, only making your face flare hotter.

“That’s not—”

Before you could finish, he’d taken your hands in his as he gazed up at you entreatingly, his gorgeous green eyes getting the better of you.

“Alright, fine, but Deb’s gunna be pissed,” you groaned.

Instantly Nathan’s demeanor brightened, a grin stretching his face. “Leave that crusty old bat t’me,” he exclaimed, waving the thought away as he leapt to his feet, pressing a kiss to your cheek before you’d even realized it. “C’mon, we better get you into costume, we have a rehearsal t’finish!

——

As you’d feared, Deb was not happy about this new development, leaving her once again to Nathan’s whims as his main personal assistant, and grumbling under her breath, she led you to wardrobe.

“Let’s see how long you last!” she exclaimed as she left you to change. Holding up your costume, you eyed the scanty sequined outfit with reluctance. Sighing, you pulled the costume on and inspected yourself in the mirror. Though you weren’t usually very comfortable wearing something so revealing, you found yourself looking forward to Nathan’s reaction, touching your cheek where he’d kissed you.

“Wow!” he breathed, left stunned for a moment as his mouth fell open, his gaze taking you in. It wasn’t long, however, for his cocky demeanor to return, and he let out a low whistle before flashing you a cheeky smirk.

“See, told yeh you’d look amazin’,” he exclaimed, back in his wig and goatee, and you rolled your eyes; you really did like him better without that ridiculous get up.

Climbing up on stage with him, he walked you through each act and you were thankful you had at least some knowledge of what you were supposed to do after watching Marnie so many times. Up close and part of the action, the magic tricks seemed even more real and though you tried, you couldn’t quite figure out how he did it.

“Well, I think that went as well as can be hoped for,” the production manager exclaimed, a haggard look on his face. He, like Nathan, needed the show to go off without a hitch.

“Hey, you were great up there!” Nathan called, catching up to you as you headed back to the spare dressing room — yours, now — to change.

“Really?” you asked, kinda surprised; you’d felt like you’d just been fumbling your way through it.

“Yeah, you’re a natural,” he insisted, leaning against the wall next to your door and you rolled your eyes, fighting a pleased grin.

“So…” Nathan murmured, his gaze dropping as he leaned in closer, trailing his fingers up your arm, leaving goosebumps in their wake. “Wanna come round t’mine tonight? I’ll help keep your mind off the pre-show jitters,” he offered.

For a moment you merely stared at him incredulously.

“We’ll get drunk, have a little fun—”

“I can’t believe you!” you exclaimed in disgust.

“What?” he asked, a confused frown pulling at his lips. “I’ve seen th’way you look at me when y’think on one’s watching. You want me,” he argued.

“So you think just because I took Marnie’s place that I’ll sleep with you too?”

“Yeah, why not? Y’know you want to,” Nathan countered.

Growling, you pushed past him into your dressing room. “And here I was starting to think you might not be a total prick!” You caught the surprised look on Nathan’s face before slamming the door in his face, and that at least made you feel a little better.

——

It was the night of the performance, opening night, and you felt like you were gunna be sick. You’d never done anything like this before. What if you fucked it up and ruined the show? Looking at your reflection in the mirror, you groaned, wishing you could relax when a knock at your door made you jump.

“C-come in!” he called, your voice wavering.

When Nathan’s head appeared around the door you directed him a flat stare. “What, you here to ask me for a quick shag before the show?” you sneered, trying not to think about how handsome he looked in his suit.

“No!” he exclaimed hastily, though he looked slightly guilty. “No, actually I just came t’check on you. I figured you might be a little nervous.”

“A little…” you admitted, your glare softening somewhat and Nathan offered you a smile.

“Just… don’t think about the audience. Focus on me,” he murmured. “You’re gunna do great,” he assured you before his eyes trailed downward and quickly back up. “You look stunning by the way,” he exclaimed, quickly ducking out the door before you could chuck something at him, leaving you flushed and slightly flustered.

“Prick,” you muttered under your breath, but the word held no heat.

Waiting in the wings, you felt stage fright wash over you afresh as you caught sight of how many people were in the audience. Your heart pounding in your ears, your breath sped up as your whole body felt rooted in place. How were you supposed to do this?

You have no speaking lines, you reminded yourself, taking a deep breath, then another. All you have to do is bring Nathan his props and look pretty. All you have to do is focus on him…

Suddenly the house lights dimmed and went dark, a hush going over the house.

“You ready?” Nathan’s voice in your ear sent a shiver through you, and you yelped softly as he pinched your ass. Before you could turn to smack him he disappeared with a flourish of the cloak he wore, appearing in the middle of the stage in a cloud of smoke for his grand entrance to a crescendo of music and applause.

For a moment you stared at where he’d been in surprise. You’d never been that close before when he did that, you always just assumed it was some sort of trick with a trap door, but now you weren’t so sure.

“Allow me to introduce t’you my very lovely assistant, [y/n]!”

Nathan’s lilting voice calling your name snapped you out of your thoughts and you nearly missed your cue, hurrying on stage to stand next to him, bowing low to the audience before hanging off his arm.

“Took your sweet time,” he whispered, his brows furrowing slightly. “Thought you got cold feet…”

“How’d you do that?” you hissed, still trying to wrap your head around it.

“I told you, it’s magic,” he replied with a smirk, turning back to address the audience. “For my first trick—”

After your first near miss, the rest of the show went off without a hitch and you were actually starting to enjoy yourself, thankful for the brightness of the lights overhead which kept you from really being able to see the audience that clearly.

“You ready for the big finale, sweetheart?” Nathan whispered, slipping his arm around you.

“I have a name, you know,” you reminded him, but there was no snap to your voice and he merely raised his eyebrows at you.

“Are y’ready for the big finale, [y/n]?” he amended, bringing a grin to your face though you tried to hide it.

“Yeah, I think so. Are you?” you asked. Even though you’d seen him perform this trick several times it still made you nervous.

“You know it,” he answered, a genuine smile splitting his face. “Y’know, if I didn’t know any better I’d say you were enjoying yourself,” he pointed out, nudging your arm.

“I am,” you admitted, hurrying back on stage before he could react.

——

“And now for my final performance of the night, I will be recreating a feat first done by Harry Houdini himself!” Nathan exclaimed grandly to the audience, throwing his arms wide. “Let’s see if I survive!”

“Please don’t say that,” you muttered, helping him shed his cape and fitting the straitjacket on him, securing his arms in place while dramatic music played.

“What, y’worried? I can do this in my sleep,” Nathan murmured, flexing his arms, testing his restraints.

“I’m not… worried,” you argued, stepping back to gesture toward Nathan with a flourish for the audience.

“You are, you’re worried bout me,” Nathan insisted, a smug grin on his lips. “I always knew you cared.”

Scoffing quietly, you didn’t contradict him as the hook descended from above.

“Now that I’m fully restrained, my lovely assistant is going to attach me to this hook where I will be suspended upside down over the stage while I attempt to free myself from my confines!”

The audience gasped.

“Good luck,” you murmured as you helped Nathan lay down on stage, attaching the hook to a rope tied round his ankles.

“I don’t need luck, I have magic, remember,” he countered, grinning coyly at you.

“Nathan—“ you sighed.

“Can I get a kiss for luck, if y’think I need it so badly?”

Rolling your eyes skyward, you bit your lip, bending over him to press your lips to his before pulling back.

“There, now I feel better,” he teased. “When I get back down will y’give me a proper kiss?” he asked as you gave the signal for him to be lifted.

“We’ll see,” you muttered, watching him as he slowly ascended into the air til he stopped, the spotlights training on him.

Holding your breath, you watching him struggle, squirming in the straitjacket, til just like the other times he’d practiced it, he finally freed one arm and then the other, wriggling out of the straitjacket and letting it fall with a thud to the stage below as the audience gasped.

It was when he fought to free himself from the ropes tying his feet together that it happened; he was reaching for the hook to hold onto when the last of the rope fell away too quickly.

You watched in horror as Nathan fell, his name on your lips, the scene unfolding as if in slow motion.

This was not how this was supposed to happen, but the audience didn’t seem to realize it wasn’t part of the show. As soon as he hit the ground at your feet with a sickening crunch, you fell to your knees at his side, a sob catching in your throat, time snapping back to normal even as the world around you felt muted, your pulse the only thing filling your ears.

The quickly spreading pool of blood beneath him had reached your knees now, but you didn’t care, pulling his lifeless body into your arms, stroking his curls away from his forehead, the glamour having faded away.

He’d been telling you the truth this whole time— it was all real...but so was this. How was he supposed to come back from this?

“Nathan, you idiot,” you sobbed, stroking his cheek. “Why’d you have to do something so foolishly dangerous? You should’ve been wearing a wire, just in case…”

You felt your tears fall hotly down your face, blurring your vision. “What am I supposed to do now? I was just starting to like you, you ass—”

“You were?”

At Nathan’s raspy voice, your eyes snapped open and your jaw fell as you found him watching you, a small grin playing at his pink lips which just moments ago had been alarmingly pale.

“Nathan, you’re—! How?” you gasped, quickly wiping at your eyes, blinking back your tears.

“Am I in heaven? Cause you must be th’hottest angel I’ve ever seen,” he joked, his lips twitching as his grin widened.

“Nathan!” you huffed, unamused, your lips quivering. “You fucking asshole, that wasn’t funny! You scared me half t’death!”

“Were you cryin’ over me?” he asked, tilting his head as he reached up to wipe at your damp cheeks. “Don’t cry, [y/n]. I’m alright,” he assured you, his gaze softening, touched at how much you cared.

“How-how did you do that?” you asked, thoughts of anything but the young man in your arms far away.

“Well, I’m immortal, so…” he shrugged as he sat up, wincing slightly.

“That’s ridiculous,” you scoffed, met with Nathan’s raised eyebrows.

“Is it? After everything else you’ve seen me do?”

“I guess not…” you conceded. “You’re still an ass though,” you exclaimed, helping him up to face the audience who applauded and cheered deafeningly.

“Yeah, but you still like me,” Nathan pointed out cheekily.

Opening your mouth to argue, you decided against it, too relieved that he was alive, that you had more time. Yanking him toward you, your mouths collided and he reacted instantly, his arms snaking around you as he dipped you low, kissing you back with a fervor that stole your breath, leaving you panting in his arms as he righted you.

“You wanna come back t’mine after the show?” he asked, watching you expectantly.

“Do you always go to these lengths to get laid?” you teased, even though you already knew your answer.

“Nope, you’re th’first I’ve died for,” he answered with a smirk that made you grin back. “Besides, I’m hopin’ it might be a little more than that,” he admitted as the curtain fell.

Searching his face for a moment you kissed him again. “I’d like that.”

———————

Tag list: @magic-multicolored-miracle @messengeronthemoon @the-freckled-luba @firstpersonnarrator @xenteaart @gurlimtired @phoenixhits @super-unpredictable98 @nightingale-rose @salvador-daley @duck-noises @forenschik @simsiddy @a-ghoulish-tale @love-is-dirty-baby @captainsheeballs

[morgansmoreid]

Do You Still Love Me • Derek Morgan • Chapter Nine

Chapter Name: " Reasonable"

Fic Masterlist

Italic writing stands for flashbacks.

Content/Trigger Warnings: Parental Abuse, Drugs Mention, Homophobia

Bold Writing stands for what happened at the station while Y/n was not present

---

One step.

Two steps.

Three steps.

Four.

Y/n's feet clacked against the concrete floor.

Rubbing the palm of her hand against the outline of the pills, Y/n moved along the cars as she slowly walked to the station, this time her mind as empty as an open field.

The station was in her view quicker than anticipated. She pulled open the front door, the bell above it causing everyone who was in ear's views to turn their heads. Scanning each face carefully, relief swayed through Y/n as no face was anyone she dreaded to talk to.

Her relief was cut short as Aaron walked down the hall to her left with the team, her father, and James.

"That was all we needed to know," She heard him say as Aaron shook her father's hand.

James was the first to see her, alerting the rest of the people surrounding him by clearing his throat. Y/n made eye contact with James, her breaking first as her eyes fell to her feet. Thoughts of turning around and sprinting on her heels again popped in Y/n's head, but she ignored them and just looked to the floor.

"Y/n Y/L/N-Fields, please come with us." Emily moved from the center of the group and to Y/n, reaching out her hand to lead Y/n the way of the interrogation room. Y/n took it, keeping her head down as they walked past the group, eyes burning through her back as the pills in her pocket scream her name.

Emily opens the door and lets Y/n take a seat before heading outside again. Everyone is looking at the young female through the one-sided window, their eyes still leaving the same burning gaping hole.

Aaron and David come in, both faces stoic and tense. In hand, Aaron has a yellow pad and a pee cup while David has a blood test. Y/n's eyes grow wide at the objects placed in front of her before she sits up straight and lays her hands on the table.

"You aren't drug testing me." She says, her tone assertive but calm.

"But we are," David replies, looking over to Aaron.

"You understand that this is a federal investigation now? If you comply, these samples will not go on record but will be used for further inference. If you don't, they will go on your job record and you will be on leave effective immediately." Aaron threatened, leaving Y/n no choice.

"I'm clean." She mumbled as she rolled her sleeve for the blood test. Even if she wasn't, it wouldn't show for another 2 days, so it would be negative anyway.

Aaron said nothing as he opened the blood kit and wiped Y/n's inner arm with a sanitary wipe. Y/n winced at the needle entering her arm, the pain lasting as blood filled four tubes. Placing a bandaid on her arm, Aaron disposed of the needle in a different bag before opening the door and handing it to a hand outside.

Y/n may have not seen the person who took the bag, but she saw Derek. He was leaning against the wall across from the door, arms crossed. They made eye contact, this time neither one breaking it, just before the door closed.

"Do you need water?" David's voice pulled Y/n out of her thoughts.

Yes. Her throat was dry and scratchy.

Yes. Water would go well with the pills in her pocket.

"No thank you," Y/n looks up to David. He gives her the look of pity and sorrow and she feels herself hanging on by a thread.

"Come with me then," David holds the look as he turns around, cup in hand, and opens the door for Y/n.

Walking out, Y/n and David turn to the right from the small room while the team and others are on the left. David stands outside of the unisex bathroom as Y/n pees in the given cup. Washing her hands, Y/n stares at herself in the mirror.

Her eyes are red and her arm is now in pain. She feels like she's in one of those bad teenage romcoms, where the main character fucks up her life and in the end, it gets better. She's just waiting for her cue.

The silence lasts in the bathroom as Y/n bags her cup and places it on the small window ledge. She could run right now if she wanted to, but it wouldn't be worth it. Y/n turns on the bathroom faucet again and pulls out the baggie of pills from her pocket. 7 white tablets look at her as she takes one into her hand and shoves the rest back into hiding.

Just before she could bring her hand to her mouth and consume the evil, little miraculous wonder, David knocked on the door causing her to drop the pill in fright. Right into a puddle of "water," the pill went as Y/n hissed at the closed brown door.

"Fuck!" Her words echoed in the small room.

"Y/n? Is everything ok in there?" David's voice is muffled on the other side.

Instead of answering him, Y/n grabs the cup and pushes open the door, slamming the cup into the elder's hand and walking back into the integration room. She passes everyone, this time not bothering to even acknowledge Derek's presence, or his attempt to talk to her.

She slacks down in her seat and waits for the next person to walk through the door. It's Aaron again, with Penelope's laptop and a tape recorder in hand as he carries a file in his armpit.

"Before we start, shall I address you as Fields or Y/L/N?" Aaron precautions.

"Y/L/N, and only Y/L/N," Y/n says, voice cold as ice.

"Ok then, for the record, can you please state your full name, your age, and the year?" The first question leaves Aaron's lips.

"My name is Y/n Y/L/N, I am 29, and it's the year 2008."

Hotch scribbles Y/n's words down and opens the laptop. When he turns it to her, it's already open to a cheer photo from Y/n's sophomore year of high school.

"Please state who you recognize in this photo." Aaron opens the file that was once under his arm.

Eyes read the screen multiple times as the memories resurface in Y/n's head and the names leave her mouth.

"Sabrina Chains, Joanna McCarter, Daisy Miller, Rose Henry, Arianna Anderson, Megan Smith, Daniela Choi, Christina Middleton, and Catarina Paredes."

It's not in order, Sabrina is actually next to Daisy and Joanna is standing next to Daniela, but when Y/n recognized the face, she said the name.

"And who is this?" Aaron hits the right arrow key to move to the next slide. Y/n is horrified by what she sees. It's not another group picture or even a single picture of one of the women, it's a crime scene photo.

It's Arianna's crime scene photo, the only crime Y/n wasn't surrounded by the group for. The hotel room is way messier than others, the behavior completely changed from the last 3. Blood is everywhere, money and jewelry are splattered across the floor and there are no numbers on top of the body or anywhere for that matter. If the other kills weren't personal, this was. Arianna was killed by someone in rage and mixed emotion.

Just how Y/n left the team.

She can only look at the gruesome crime scene for so long until she reaches for the hood of the laptop to shut it off. Aaron is quicker and pulls it out of her sight as he switches to another picture of the crime scene, this time the bathroom.

Two looks and Y/n is ready to throw up. She trained for this, she worked her ass off for the last 5 years on how to keep her composure, yet, she's failing to keep herself together. The bathroom is a mess, clothes are ripped and makeup is smeared on walls, this unsub lost control or this is a new killer. Either way, it's not Y/n and there is no way that the team can possibly deem her that low.

"Please turn it off." Her voice is tense and demanding.

Aaron does shut the laptop and turns it to him. He takes a minute to write down his observations and proceeds with the integration further.

"When you left the Police Station, you were gone for 2 hours and 13 minutes, where did you go?" He asks, writing down the question as he says it.

"James, where is she?" David asks, handing Spencer a miniature Newton's cradle to calm him down.

Everyone looks at James for an answer. After Y/F/N was questioned, he and James were separated for the sake of the case. James was working on a different case file, wrapping it up on the end of the conference table while the team focused on Y/n.

"I'm not positively sure," James lied, rubbing the back of his neck as his handwriting started to get sloppy against the manila folder and its contents inside.

"Well, where do you think?" Derek spoke, his tone snappy and agitated.

After Y/F/N gave up his truth about Y/n's past and her drug problems, Derek was also questioned, not officially, just about how much he knew and what he wasn't letting on. Derek was honest with Hotch and the team, telling them he had no idea about Y/n's problem. Yes, it was true sometimes it intrigued him when they had date night and she never drank anything besides sparkling water, but when she blamed it on "past issues," he assumed it ran in the family.

He assumed because he trusted her.

And she broke that.

"Michael? The guy that Chief Fields couldn't stand? He lived right over here." James gets up and points to the computer screen. Y/n's last coordinates were still up so he dragged his pen across the screen, measuring out the distance for the team as he landed on the only colorful house in satellite view.

"I thought Michael was who introduced her into the drugs in the first place?" Aaron walks over to James.

"It's not really his fault, I've always told Y/n that she could've said no," James responds, becoming silent from everyone's glare at him.

"Saying no isn't easy," Derek mumbles, so low, no one heard him.

No one could say anything as another policeman came into the room frantically about a new body.

Y/n had only been gone 34 minutes at most. There was no way it could be her so quickly, but that didn't stop everyone's thoughts from going to the deep end.

As the team flies into the SUVs, Aaron orders Penelope to keep watch on Y/n's coordinates and dig very thoroughly of the lives of the 9 women, 5 now potential victims.

"Someone has it out for these women, and I wouldn't put it past that Y/n is the glue." He said, tightening his holster.

"I just walked around, took time to clear my head." Y/n lied.

Everyone knew where she was, but Aaron didn't call her out on her false truth and asked the next question.

"When was the last time you purchased any narcotics of the sort, Opioids, Cannabinoids, Hallucinogens, and or Stimulants?" Aaron asked, unsure he wanted to hear the answer himself.

"Last time I was in town, 5 years ago." Y/n lies again.

This time, half of the team is unsure if it's true. James knows deep down it's a lie, but the rest of them don't want to believe it.

So Aaron doesn't push.

"And the last time you consumed any of the narcotics listed before?"

This question, everyone wants the truth, everyone is determined to figure out if they let another team member sink into their addiction before their eyes or if Y/n truly did put her life here behind her.

"As I said, last time I was in town, 5 years ago," Y/n says, her tone changing. It speaks of truth, which tells everyone, even her father that she lied about the last time she bought drugs and where she was, but they don't care about that at this moment.

All they care about is her sobriety, they were still her family after all.

Aaron smiles internally as he writes Y/n's answer on the yellow pad, then ripping the sheet off and sliding it underneath the cardboard. When he does this, the next yellow sheet visible is not blank, it's all of Y/F/N's previous questions. The horrible lights make it hard to see all of them but it still shines bright on the first one.

"What was discipline like as Y/n grew up?" Aaron asks his first question.

The question throws Y/F/N off guard. That had nothing to do with the investigation, what did the FBI want to know about his parenting?

"I believe you were asked a question," David says beside Aaron, arms crossed.

"This has to do what with the investigation?" Y/F/N asked, finally understanding the concept of what he was being asked.

"Agent Hotchner, are you implying that I abused my daughter?" He accused, now not feeling so compliant.

"I didn't say anything to imply, did I, Agent Rossi?" Aaron says loud and clear, bringing the tape recorder to him.

"Not at all, but I think you should repeat it, someone seems confused," Rossi taunted.

"Y/F/N Fields, what was discipline like as Y/n, your daughter grew up?" Aaron demanded an answer.

"Reasonable," Y/F/N said.

"Reasonable how?" Rossi pressed.

"If needed, I taught my daughter wrong from right," Y/F/N replied confidently.

"Did you at any given point in time, use your power as a parent to hit Y/n as a punishment?" Aaron asked bluntly. He hated abusers, it was something about finding pain and taking it out on others that he just could never understand.

"I did. But like I said when it was reasonable." His mouth forms into an undeniable smirk.

Y/F/N's hand went across Y/n's face.

"I said I was sorry!" The girl cried, she was only trying to show her dad an A+ she got.

"You're always sorry, there was no reason for you to knock that down." The angry male pointed to the empty cup on the floor.

Out of excitement, Y/n's elbow hit the plastic cup and knocked it down, but she was backed into the wall before she could pick it up, dropping her graded test midway.

"Reasonable," Y/F/N mumbled to himself.

Anger filled Y/n as her eyes went over the word reasonable.

Never once was Y/F/N reasonable.

Never.

Clenching her fists, Y/n sits up straight and zones back into her conversation with Aaron.

"Can you ask it again?" She says, making straight eye contact.

"Your relations to Daniela Choi?" Aaron asks.

Y/n doesn't know how to reply, she knows Derek is watching so she has to careful with her answer.

"I was-," She gathers her thoughts. "We were pretty close."

It's not a lie. They were close, extremely.

"Who would you say Y/n was closest to?" Aaron asks James.

The team started the investigation from the very beginning, so now everyone was a suspect.

"I've got a funny feeling about that dude, Hotch," Derek says, but his judgment is clouded, he's angry and hurt so to make him feel better, Aaron took James in for questioning.

"Daniela." James's answer is short.

"Why?"

"They dated, for a long time, blew up our whole group," James explains.

"What group?" Aaron flies through the files that he brought in.

Instead of answering, James takes out a picture.

"He's prepared." JJ points out.

The picture is a cheer team, James is nowhere to be found but the first person to catch Aaron's eye is the babyface of Y/n, she in middle, engulfed in a hug by a female with curly mixed hair- Arianna he later finds out. He wants to question why James has this but James continues to talk.

"Not everyone was supportive."

"What?" Rose asked.

"I'm dating Y/n," Daniela said slowly, it was time the two told their friends, the thought of banishment slipping their minds.

"You and Y/n? But your both girls!" Rose exclaimed, as the pastor's daughter, she was raised to what she thought was right.

"So? My mom said it doesn't matter and we both know Y/F/N won't bat an eye." Daniela spoke for both her and Y/n.

"Guys! Help me out here, tell them it's wrong." Rose looked around the booth, empty cups filled the large table as her high pitch voice filled the empty diner.

"How is it wrong?" Caterina scoffed, she could never have the courage to do what Danny and Y/n are doing but she'll stand by them no matter what.

"The bible-" Rose protests.

"For the last time, not all of us live by the damn bible!" James slammed his hand on the teal table before them.

Everyone loved each other, no one cared for anyone's flaws, like Rose's, who always ignored everyone when they try to tell her they don't want to hear bible quotes, or Y/n who always inserts herself into drama.

They were each other's little family and until now nothing has torn them apart.

"I refuse to be around them and their sins," Rose shoved her finger into Y/n's, finally the young girl to stand up.

"And we refuse to be around you." Y/n's tone is cold and tense.

"We all do." Arianna stood up.

"Christina?" Rose looked at the oldest for help.

"You heard them, you can't hate one without hating all of us." She said.

Christina's word was final. If she said someone was out, they were out, no discussion. She just had to say the words.

"Rose, are you staying or leaving?" She asked.

"I'm leaving, my dignity lasts." Rose proudly held her head high.

"Bye then. You longer are allowed to hang out with us." Christina said with much more pride.

The 10 at the table watched the first walk away.

"Not everyone agreed." James rephrased his sentence, fists clenching in anger.

As James told Aaron how the day that Rose left the group went, his fingers dug deeper into his hand, and when he finally let go, crescent marks left their place.

"When you say close, what do you mean?" Aaron wants to hear from Y/n, James is not trustworthy enough right now.

"I had a relationship with Daniela," Y/n admits.

Hearing the words makes Derek turn on his heels and leave the group in the hall. He needs air, he needs to be away from Y/n right now. He told her he was sorry about her friend and she just went with it, in his eyes, she lied to him.

She did the one thing that he always asked not to.

"Derek?" Spencer's voice called from behind him.

"Not now," Derek says, but it's more of a plead. He doesn't want to take his anger out on someone who doesn't deserve it, he wants to take his anger out on Y/n.

Spencer leaves him alone and Derek takes a few minutes to himself. When he heads back to the station, he refuses to join back with the group, he heads back to the table in the conference room and starts working, the way his handwriting fills each paper and picture easing his mind.

As the minutes feel like hours, Y/n's interview is finally done and she feels bare. She hates how much she revealed, she hates how much has been stripped, how her walls came down and she had no say.

She hates most of her answers were lies that found their way into her truth.

But she won't tell them that, they don't need to know.

They don't get to know.

Aaron lets Y/n head to the hotel first, but when she steps outside, it's dark. Her phone is dead and her body is tired, yet her feet take her to the hotel doors, they let her step into the elevator and into her room. Her hands ache but they plug her phone in and they pull her shirt off. Her hands ache but they turn the knobs of the shower and unbutton her pants. Her legs hurt but they step out of the jeans and help her feet kick them to the side. Her body is a temple of pain but as she removes her bra and underwear, as she steps in the shower, as her fingers run over her body and squeeze the soap out of her cloth out, letting it slide down her figure, she finds her self sitting in the middle of her bed, the air silent where she finally lets her self cry.

So many years of bottling up feeling, so many years of trauma, and it took 34 questions to strip her of who she was. Every single question she counted, every single time she felt betrayed, she counted, her life was out there to know, memories she hid taunt her.

A knock on her door pulls her out of her thoughts.

When she gets up, she takes notice of the black shirt she was wearing 24 hours ago. The feeling of Derek's hand run up and down her body in chills as she walks closer to the door.

24 hours ago everything was peaceful.

Now it's a shithole.

Cracking open the door, Y/n is surprised, to say the least. Both people are silent as she opens the door more and lets the person step in.

"Derek-" She tries.

"No. You don't get to talk. It's your turn to listen." He says, meaning every fucking word.

[theyscreamjade]

Love at First Sight

I really wanted to get my mind of the election and clear my head of the pending negativity that I’m already fearing about. So, this was on my mind for minute. This is a few scenarios of how’d you’d meet the big three Pro-Hero’s. I might the others in the future and a part two as well.

PLEASE! Go easy on me! This is my first time writing on here and I’m already nervous enough!

PSA: EVERYONE HERE IS 18+

Izuku Midoriya

Your feet dragged while the weight of your breifcase felt ten-times heavier. Your back was arched in the midst of your exhaustion. Your brain so fried and foggy while you walked towards your apartment. The urge to finally engulf in yourself into a pair of pajamas, cook a wonderful meal and lastly sleep was consistently on your mind. You could see the corner where you’d turn to before finding yourself home. Your body ached in exhaustion before suddenly you heard a yell.

“What the?” You spoke softly before everything happened quickly.

“Come on Damnit! I want to see why you’re the number one hero!” Ground Zero yelled, blasting down the street. He blasted past you before your body was suddenly smacked into one another. All you saw was the green from a lock of hair before crashing onto the ground.

Your things scattered all around you two while you held your head in pain. The feeling of a small knot forming on your head before you opened your eyes, looking up at the casually dressed number one hero. His hair blew softly in the wind before he gasped softly, rushing towards you as he pulled you to your feet. “I-I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to run into you! I wasn’t paying attention!” He apologized quickly before you two scattered to collect the fallen items.

“I’m usually not this careless! Here you..go.” He spoke, his words trailing off as he stared at you. If it wasn’t the way the wind blew against your hair softly or the way the setting sun glowed behind the orange blue sky behind you. He couldn’t break that stare from you while you smiled. His heart fluttered when you did.

“Thank you again, Deku! I hope I see you again.” You spoke, walking away while he watched you dumbfounded. His heart raced, watching you walk away before he saw you walk into your complex.

He started on his run before stopping midstep. He spotted a paper in the fountain that was beside you two. He quickly snatched it and dashed behind you, stopping you before you could close the door.

Your eyes widened, wearing your All Might house shoes as you walked to him. His eyes nearly popped out of his head. “ARE THOSE THE LIMITED EDITION ALL MIGHT PLUS ULTRA HOUSE SHOES!?” He asked, excitedly.

You laughed softly in embarrassment while nodding a bit. “Y-Yeah, they are. I’m a bit of a...fan girl.” You confessed in embarrassment as he smiled.

“Not to seem rude but...Can I help you Deku?” You asked, curious once again as to why the number one hero was at your door.

“Oh! Here!” He said, holding the wet paper to you, smiling.

“Here’s your paperback, Y/N.”

=====================================

Shoto Todoroki

You were so young at the time, five years old to be exact. You remembered hearing your mother’s phone ringing within the night, disturbing both of your sleep. You only wore your favorite pajamas with a simple jacket over it.

Your mother had an amazing quirk, surprisingly usual for her job occupation. She could produce medical supplies, from gauzes to scringes. With her being a private doctor, she always got plenty of house calls and services to work within dangerous places with you by her side all the time. You was the emotional support, who wouldn’t love seeing a cute child hold their hand while distracting them from pain.

When you two arrived at the home, it was early. You could remember the sun still attempting to rise as you two walked into the home. Water covered the ground when you two walked in before you two saw a little boy leaning against the wall.

Your mother quickly produced a gauze and cream before placing her things aside. In no time, she was done with the small child.

“Stay right here and I’ll be back okay?” She said to you before kissing your head as she walked away to speak with the large man.

You spotted the red and white-haired child, standing against the wall. He seemed sad which made you feel sad for him, having a big heart was one of your fallbacks. You reached into your pocket and held out a small plastic heart, a small charm you won in your favorite cereal a few days ago.

“I know it hurts now..but it’ll get better.” You said, hopefully. His grey eye looked at you before facing away, surrounded by confusion, hurt, and pain by the circumstances you weren’t aware of. You soon sat the plastic charm on a nearby table as your mother returned. You two would leave that night..but fate seemed to be set on you two.

Years would pass when you two would see each other again. Your mother smiled, blowing out the candles on her cake. Her hair now grey with a few strands of her former hair color was in a beautiful bun. You were happy she FINALLY decided to retire from her occupation and relax a bit.

Presents were everywhere from patients and others who came to pay their respects for her services. Men who nearly gave you chills to others who you occasionally spotted on tv. You eased away from the conversation that your mother was having to grab another drink. You poured yourself another cup full of punch before you spotted something.

The plastic heart from your childhood. Your eyes widen when you scooped it up and examined it. You couldn’t believe it, it meant one thing.

“Y/N! Come meet Shoto!” Your mother said, standing next to the red and white-haired man. Her hand ushered you to her while you walked to them. He smiled softly and pointed at the small charm in your hands.

“It’s nice to see you again.”

=======================================

Katsuki Bakugo

You sat with obvious annoyance inside a club. Being the supporting friend while they drank their sorrows away after a breakup. You’d rather be home, away from the close partygoers.

While their hips swayed and danced in the large circle of dancers, you now sat in the bar. You swirled your glass of liquor before taking a small sip. You were now the designated driver since your friend was, most likely going to be too drunk to even walk. It was a miracle they were dancing.

Within the V.I.P of the club, red eyes watched you quietly with a sense of interest in them. He spotted you a while back, noticing how similar you and his scenarios were at the moment due to Mina wanted to drink her heartbreak away. Bakugo scoffed softly while his heart pounded a bit, it felt like it wanted to leap out when he saw your face.

He didn't even know your name and you made him feel such things. He stiffened a bit when a man sat beside you at the bar before looking back at the dancing pink alien queen.

You were minding your own business before someone touched your hand and leaned close to your ear, whispering.

“You looking for some fun?” He asked, making your body tensed a bit. You sat your glass down and looked towards the male, smirking softly.

“No thanks.” You kindly responded before picking up your glass again. He didn't seem to get the picture though.

“Come on babe, Live a little. I’d love to have that ass in my bed tonight.” He said, trying to sound enticing in your ear.

“Ah, Too bad. Not everyone get what they want honey.” You responded again, showing a bit a attitude before looking to see your friend again. He leaned forward and plopped a pill in your drink.

“I see, worried about your friend huh? They can join us if yo-“ You snapped your head towards him and scoffed.

“You must be seriously lonely bud, I don’t think neither they’d sleep with you. Now, do me a favor and fuck off.” You snapped, now fully facing him before grabbing the glass.

“And next time, don’t let the pill drop so loud.” You added, splashing him in the face with it. He gasped before growling softly, grabbing you with a forceful pull as everyone began to surround you two. The sound of people gasping caught everyone’s attention even Bakugo’s.

He snapped his eyes down at you before you kneed his groin, making him bend over before swinging a hard right hook at his face. He went down fast and was knocked out on impact.

“Did you see that?! That was so manly!” Kirishima said, pointing at you as Denki looked flabbergasted as well.

Bakugo smirked before fixing his face, scoffing a bit. He rolled his eyes and walked away, sitting on the hard leather couch. You were now on his mind and he didn’t even know your name.

“They just had a lucky punch.”

[pappydaddy]

Heather Part Two (j.m.)

A/N: Okay, so I have decided to start saying as little as possible in my A/Ns just to see if it brings in more interaction, if you guys want me to continue my ramblings, just shoot me a DM or something and I won’t stop them. This is a repost bc nobody saw this the first time?? Pls interact with this (preferably reblogging, but likes are good too!) 

 Anywho, this is the second part of Heather (my JJ imagine based on Heather by Conan Gray) and this is told from JJ’s perspective, I got this idea when I found this kinda parody/cover of the original song which will be linked below. I put some different scenes in this one too so it’s not just a retelling of my first part. Anyway, enjoy!!

Show/Movie: Outer Banks

Pairing: JJ Maybank x Reader

Warnings: Sad, angst, longing, negative thoughts about oneself (appearance, personality, etc), comparing to other people, jealousy, unspoken feelings

Might do a part three? I’ll probably do a part three.

Heather Cover by Zachary Tay

Part One | Part Two - You’re here!

masterlist | taglist | wips | navigation

- not my gif -

  He didn’t technically see her when she arrived at the beach, but he still knew she was there before she wandered down the dunes. He couldn’t help but glance over his shoulder, trying to get a peek of her. There she was, her shoes swinging by her side, her hair blowing in the wind as she walked. She didn’t look towards the group of her friends, instead, she scanned the beach and JJ found himself missing her gorgeous eyes. He watched her, her eyes slowly drifting towards the fire JJ sat at. In a spilt second, their eyes connected and JJ wished he could stay in her gaze forever, but her eyes were ripped from his as she breezed past the group.

 The girl under his arm laughed loudly, making him draw his eyes away from Y/N. He looked at the black-haired girl (Heather) donned in his sweater, clinging to him as she laughed at something John B had said. “What’s so funny,” JJ asked, trying to play off his absence. He didn’t really listen to John B’s recount. “Oh, must have had to heard it in the moment, I guess.” He mumbled, his eyes following Y/N as Jack, her co-worker from The Wreck ran towards her, a large smile on his face. He took in Y/N’s appearance, the sweater she wore was too big for her, it certainly wasn’t hers. It dawned on him like a lighting strike; it was Jack’s sweater. He felt a pang in his heart, remembering how she looked in his own sweater, the very sweater Heather wore right in that moment.

 He remembered how good Y/N looked in his sweater and how often she wore it after he had given it to her. On Heather, it was just a piece of polyester fabric, but on Y/N, it was much more than just a sweater. The day she gave his sweater back to him was the day he concluded that she didn’t like him. He couldn’t imagine how he even thought she would like him, he’s not even good enough for his father and he could barely stand himself. How the hell would Y/N want him if he didn’t even want himself? He didn’t even understand how Heather liked him.

 His eyes followed Jack as he ran off once again, obviously apologizing profusely to Y/N. Jack was everything JJ wasn’t: sweet, smart, hard-working, career driven, and loved. JJ wanted to hate Jack, but he couldn’t, he was too good of a person. He could see that Y/N and Jack would make a good couple, he could see why Y/N would have her gaze set on him. His dark hair, his tall stature, his boy-next-door smile - he was the complete package.

 Setting his eyes on Y/N yet again, he saw her sit down on a piece of driftwood, staring out at the ocean as the waves lapped up towards her barefeet. He let himself imagine that the sweater she was wrapped up in was his. He often replayed the December night he gave his sweater to her in his head, imagining that he had actually done what he wanted - kissing her. He liked to live in that alternate story at night, laying in his bed. He sighed, glad he didn’t kiss her in the long-run, for he didn’t know who he liked more: Y/N or Heather. “JJ, you should tell Heather about that one time when John B was high off his ass when CPS came knocking on his door.” Kie laughed, capturing JJ’s attention from the girl sitting on the driftwood.

 “Oh, uh, yeah, sure.” JJ laughed, remembering that day as he launched into his story. Though his eyes weren’t on her, Y/N still plagued his mind, having been there that day as well, skipping school to smoke with JJ and John B. He laughed as he retold the story, poking fun at John B, but leaving Y/n out of the story, not wanting to pull her into his fling with Heather, knowing there will be drama if he did.

 Though he was immersed in the story he was telling, he still noticed Y/N standing and walking along the beach, leaving the party before it even started. The bleeding colours in the sky made her skin glow with pink and orange, making her look like the figure of beauty. As she walked away, JJ could have cried. He didn’t understand how he, the boy who wanted nothing to do with the messiness of love, ended up in this situation.

____

  The words Kie had told him earlier rattled in his brain like a single pill in a bottle. His mind played that moment back like a movie reel continuously playing. Once it ended, it restarted again. Like a painful torture device used to drive him to the brink of insanity.

 “I don’t get why Y/N keeps avoiding us! We never see her anymore, not since Heather started hanging out with us,” JJ groaned, plunking himself down on the couch dramatically. He had asked Y/N earlier at school (after cornering her at her locker) if she wanted to have a movie night just like old times, but she had told him she was going to study for a big biology test she had. “Why does she even need to study anyway? She’s at the top of her biology class, only second to Pope, of course.” JJ threw in the last comment, pleasing his friend who sat beside him on the couch, a freshly popped bowl of popcorn in his lap.

 “You guys do know why, right?” Kie asked, looking over her shoulder at them as she shifted through the DVD collection, the group deciding to go old school for the night. JJ shook his head while John B and Pope both nodded, making noises of understanding. JJ looked around, confusion clearly painted on his face.

 “Y/N still likes JJ.” Pope commented, tossing a handful of popcorn into his mouth, chewing it as if what he had just said was common knowledge.

 “What?” JJ asked, panicked, glad that Heather was hanging out with some of her other friends tonight instead of being with them. If she had been here, he would have never be given this piece of information.

 “You didn’t know?” John B asked, bewildered that JJ hadn’t picked up on anything.

 “Obviously not-” JJ cried, his eyes wide.

 “It was obvious, we all thought you had known by at least December third when you gave her your sweater, we thought that was you making your move on her finally.” Kie explained, shrugging.

 JJ still couldn’t believe that. If only he had seen how much she liked him, maybe he wouldn’t be praying for his eyes to catch her’s every time she walked by him. Maybe he wouldn’t want to cry every time they broke eye contact. Maybe he wouldn’t have assumed she likes Jack. He groaned, flopping around in the spare bed at John B’s, staring up at the dark ceiling as moonlight casted the window’s shadow onto the white surface.

 If he had known how much Y/N liked him that night, he wouldn’t be questioning who he liked more still. Maybe he didn’t like Heather at all. Now that he knew that Y/N likes him, he started to realize that maybe he didn’t truly like Heather, instead, only liking the idea of the distraction from the one he really liked. Though he realized this, he couldn’t do anything about it anytime soon. He had plans to eat lunch tomorrow with Heather and the group, he couldn’t break up with Heather at The Wreck.

_____

 Y/N was working today. That was the whole reason they were eating at The Wreck, to see her. John B and Pope missed her, Kie was able to see her during the shifts they shared or during shift changes, but the boys hadn’t seen her. JJ and Heather stood on the deck, leaning against the railing and JJ was giving the performance of his life. He couldn’t have Heather thinking that something was going on with him (he still had no idea who he liked more) so he was trying to act as normal as possible around her despite the fact that a war raged in his mind.

 He tried to keep his eyes on Heather as she talked adamantly. JJ nodded along, not really listening. Heather was beautiful and kind, but JJ grew bored easily. They had nothing in common. He was a surfer, she was from the city filled with concrete buildings and shopping malls. She just didn’t understand the joy in the little things. When JJ wanted to stargaze, she’d rather gaze at a TV screen. When JJ wanted to just sit on the beach and listen to the waves, she wanted to take pictures. When JJ just wanted to sit on his surfboard and let the waves roll under him, she didn’t want to ruin her make-up.

 Her hand squeezed his as she asked him about the stores he shopped at. He, not wanting to ignore her, joined her one-sided conversation and explained his mode of gaining clothes. She listened for the most part, but listening wasn’t really Heather’s strong suit. She loved to talk, not that JJ minded, but he would also like to have a conversation without being interrupted with a completely different story. He shot a glance in through the door, seeing Y/N at a table, talking with the costumers. She nodded, a shining smile on her face. JJ loved talking with Y/N. She’d listen, she’d talk. He’d listen, he’d talk. It was a perfectly balanced conversation with Y/N.

 He looked back down at Heather when she had asked him yet another question, but JJ wasn’t listening. “I’m sorry, what?” He asked, blinking. Heather giggled, thinking JJ was just a spacey type person who stared off in the distance, zoning out easily.

 “I asked about your shark tooth necklace, I’ve always wanted one.” She told him, the hand, that wasn’t in his, reaching up to fiddle with the shark tooth. JJ looked down at it, smiling fondly.

 “My friend made it for me with the shark tooth I found, I’ve never taken it off since they gave it to me.” He left out that it was Y/N who made it for him while she was going through her necklace making phase in middle school. She had made it too big originally, but it was okay since JJ grew since then.

 “Oh, well, maybe I could wear it sometime,” Heather asked flirtatiously. JJ gulped, not knowing what to say. He didn’t want to give it to her, but he didn’t want to start a fight before they ate a meal with his friends in public. Instead of answering, he pressed his lips to her’s in a lingering, long kiss. Heather smiled, giggling against his lips. Pulling away from the kiss, JJ glanced at the parking lot to see if John B and Pope were there yet, but his eyes came up with nothing. Heather shivered as a strong wind blew by them. “I’m a little cold.”

 JJ looked down at her, seeing that she didn’t have his sweater on. It was different, when Y/N had his sweater, she always wore it, or at least brought it, just in case she got cold. Heather didn’t bring it anywhere unless JJ asked about it. Wordlessly, JJ unlaced their fingers, dropping his arm around her shoulders, pulling her towards him. “I wonder if Y/N is cold? She doesn’t have a sweater on, only a t-shirt.” He thought, watching the parking lot out of the corner of his eye. He sighed, trying to clear his mind.

 “Yo! Let’s get some grub! I’m starving,”John B cheered, piling out of the van with Pope who cheered in agreement. JJ pulled away a bit too quick to play it off as normal while John B and Pope jogged up the stairs, their sneakers slapping the wooden deck. They walked right into the restaurant, leaving Heather and JJ to follow them. The bell above the door dinged, making Y/N and Jack look up from what they were doing. JJ looked up, seeing Jack leaning across Y/N, his shoulder touching her torso ever so lightly as he cleaned up spilt water. “Hi, Y/N! Where is your section?” John B asked.

 “Sorry, John B, I’ll have to take your table so she can get cleaned up, next time.” Jack told him, getting another dry towel to try and help her dry her clothes so she wasn’t dripping everywhere. JJ could sense John B’s disappointment, and he had to admit he was a little bit disappointed that he wouldn’t be able to hear Y/N’s sweet voice that he missed so much.

 “Thanks, Jack,” John B nodded his chin in Jack’s direction. “Maybe we’ll talk before we leave, Y/N.” Y/N looked back up from her shirt at the mention of her name, nodding. Their eyes connected as Kie and Heather jumped into a conversation. Every time their eyes connected, it was such a relief to JJ it truly was a sight for sore eyes. Much to his disappointment, their eye contact was gone as fast as it came when Jack interrupted.

 “That should be good, Y/N,” She looked from JJ’s eyes to meet Jack’s. The sight of her eyes connecting with Jack’s made JJ want to cry, missing that tiny connection that seemed to be the extent of their friendship these days. “You should go get changed, I’ll take these to the table for you, table four, right?” The group started to move, but JJ wanted to stay there, see if their eye would meet again before she disappeared to change, but he had to go with them. He was just out of earshot when she replied to Jack who carried the tray of drinks towards table four effortlessly.

____

 He knew he shouldn’t have done this at school. He was kicking himself as Heather weeped, her face in her hands. “I’m sorry, Heather,” He whispered, nervously looking at the crowd watching them. They were stood next to the side of the building, the crowd gathering in the parking lot. He had tried to do it privately, but he also wanted a clean cut. When he saw his sweater in Heather’s hand, he had known that today was the day. “It’s just not working out.” He tried to console her, his fist gripping the sweater he held now.

 The group watching whispered, making JJ roll his eyes. Now he was going to be painted the villain, the heartless asshole who broke up with the girl in front of the whole school even though they just see her weeping and gasping, not the part where JJ was actually considerate for once. Normally, it was a harsh slap to his cheek and a few tears slipping past their eyes as they walked away, not full on sobs. Especially since they were only going out for three weeks - tops.

 Heather looked up from her hands, letting her arms swing at her sides as she glared at JJ. Black streaks of makeup cascading down her cheeks. With a final, harsh glare at JJ, she ran off, the group of people parting to let her through. JJ watched her run, his shoulders deflating at his ruined chance of keeping the break-up private. His eyes landed on one of the pairs of people Heather parted in her haste to escape: Y/N and Jack. They stood side by side, Jack holding both their books in his hands, both their bookbag straps on his shoulders.

 The group quickly dispersed, giving JJ a perfect view of them. He could see Jack say something to Y/N before she said something back, their eyes catching each other, once again making eye contact. JJ was so absorbed in her eyes that he didn’t notice the sympathetic smile she sent his way. It felt like forever as he stared into her eyes, her just staring back. He wanted her to stay, he wanted to stay, but he couldn’t just break-up with Heather and then turn around, rush towards Y/N, sweep her off her feet and profess his love for her - then he would be an asshole.

 “Come on, Y/N, let’s go. We can’t be late for our shift.” JJ heard Jack tell her, forcing her to break away from JJ’s eyes. He felt tears prick his eyes at the loss of their moment. His eyes never left her, once again hoping for their eyes to connect again, even though he had to watch her eyes connect with Jack’s which caused his heart to throb painfully. Watching her turn and walk towards Jack’s pick-up truck was the sight that made him want to die, then the pain in his heart would stop - right? The picture of her sitting in his passanger seat didn’t sit right with JJ. The thump of Jack tossing their books and bags in the bed of his truck made JJ flinch, but he still never took his eyes off Y/N, not even when Jack slipped onto the bench seat beside her, starting his truck and slamming his door.

 His pleas were answered when Y/N turned to gaze out the window, their eyes connecting once again in a fleeting moment before Jack slowly pulled out of the spot, exiting the nearly empty parking lot. JJ watched the truck as it drove down the road, waiting until it was out of his sight before he moved. He found out who he liked more. It was Y/N. It was always Y/N.

[noladyme]

Chess. Chapter 7

Y/N never hurt anyone who didn’t deserve it. She only took what she needed, or what she felt others needed. She’d stayed out of sight for a long time, avoiding anything that could get her in to too much trouble. But for some reason Rick Flag shows up in her life, and in an instant, everything changes.

TW: Language, sexual themes, injuries. Rated M for sMut. You knew we’d get here at some point.

(This story is obviously non-canon, i.e. Diablo and GQ, but I hope you’ll enjoy it either way. Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list.)

---

I felt the blast before I heard it. It pushed me into the air, hot and forcefully.

The sound made my ears pop as I flew.

This is it. I’m dying in a second.

I hit the ground. Blackness.

An eternity went by.

“She’s under that car!”.

“Get a crowbar or something!”.

Metallic screeches. The air smelled like smoke; and I coughed.

“Chess? Kid? Are you in there?”.

“Mami, say something!”.

“I’m here”, I croaked. I tried to crawl towards the voices, but my foot wouldn’t move.

It was dark around me. Feeling my way with my hands, I felt something like a handle, recognizing it as belonging to a car door.

“Y/N”, I head Flag yell.

I pushed at the door, making a crack to let in some light.

“Croc!”, Flag yelled, and the door was ripped away from over me. I looked up at the squads worried faces. Flag grabbed my arms, trying to get me up.

“I’m stuck”, I wimpered.

Croc, Floyd and Diablo put their backs against the car that pinned my ankle down. Digger and Flag each took one of my arms.

In the background I saw Harley yelling at the soldiers to help.

“1... 2… 3!”, Floyd counted, and the three men pushed at the car, lifting it slightly, allowing the other two to pull me free.

I scrambled forward, ending up in Flags arms.

“Chopper inbound”, Edwards called, and Flag picked me up, carrying me in the direction of rotor sounds.

“Beta Team are clearing out any stragglers. We’re good to liftoff”, Edwards said, as we moved to the chopper.

Setting me down in one of the seats, strapping me in; Flag pulled out a bowie knife, and started cutting open the bottom of my pantleg, and then took of my boot.

“Don’t joke about me ripping your clothes off”, he grumbled; as I tried to hide a smile.

Determining that my ankle was most likely not broken, Flag went to his own seat, and strapped in for the ride back to Belle Reve.

---

Celebrating a job semi well done, we were granted a case of beer; outdated a few months earlier.

I’d had the chance to wash up, and put on my prisoner clothes, before Flag arrived at my cell, strapping me back up in the harness. I put my flannel over it.

“You don’t want to miss the party”, he’d said, and had a group of guards transport me in a wheelchair to the gym.

I hadn’t seen a doctor for my ankle; which I wasn’t surprised about; but the alcohol, and a couple of little pink “friends” – as Digger had called them, after he pushed them into my hand – made the pain bearable.

Harley had helped me out with a bandage; so sitting there in the wheelchair, drinking the stale beer, leg raised by a folding chair, I was content.

The guards had also “blessed” us with a small karaoke machine, and I was chuckling my way through Diggers strangely erotic rendition of Waltzing Mathilda.

“And he sang as he sat, and waited while his billy boiled: You’ll come a waltzing Mathilda with meeee”; he moaned; one hand pointing into the air, hips thrusting to what I guessed he thought was the beat of the song.

“You did good, kid”, Floyd said from next to me. “Made a choice probably none of us would”. He took a sip of his own beer.

“I guess so”, I answered.

“Now don’t get me wrong, doll”, he continued. “Good doesn’t necessarily mean smart”.

He smirked at me.

“You know you could have died back there”.

“That probably wouldn’t have been good for team morale”, I laughed, and he nodded with a smile.

Harley took over the mic, Digger having fallen from the chair he’d been standing on. Taking a deep breath, she led us into a heavy metal version of Stand By Your Man.

Diablo and Croc were arm-wrestling; actually having a pretty even fight, as the tattooed man would let his hand light on fire every time Croc almost had him defeated.

Once Harley started bawling her way through the second chorus, I decided it was time to turn in.

Wishing Floyd a good night, I wheeled my way towards the metal door.

Edwards was standing outside it.

“Boss wants to see you”, he mumbled, cuffed me to the chair, and wheeled me off, out of the building towards some barracks next to the cellblock.

“What does he want?”, I asked.

“Don’t know, don’t care”, was the answer; as he drove me into the building, and down a hallway.

We stopped outside a door. Edwards banged on it.

“Colonel!”.

Flag opened the door. He’d cleaned up too; and was drying his hair with a towel.

“Uncuff her”, he said shortly.

“Sir?”, Edwards said.

“Do it. I’ll bring her back to her cell when we’re done”.

Edwards looked at him questioningly; but began to uncuff me from the chair.

“I’ll radio if I need you”, Flag said, and Edwards left us.

“Come in”; Flag said to me, and moved out of the way, so I could stand, and limp my way into the room.

A bed, a desk, a couple of chairs, and a minifridge were placed up against the walls of his quarters.

It was surprisingly messy. Not dirty in any way, but both chairs had become makeshift closets, and papers were spread across the desk and bed; telling me that Flag literally took his work to bed with him. I chuckled to myself, thinking it must have been a while since anyone had been in here with him.

He cleared one of the chairs and pulled it out for me to sit on.

“I don’t have bitters or ice, so you’ll have to drink it neat”, he said, handing me a glass of amber liquid I instantly recognized as whiskey.

“How’s the ankle?”, he asked, taking a sip from his own glass, and sitting down on the edge of the desk.

“It’s ok. Digger had some fun little pills in his stash, that took the edge of the pain”, I smirked, and took a sip from my glass.

“I’m sure he did”, Flag retorted, almost looking defeated. “It’s like dealing with a kindergarten. And that?”. He nodded at the bandage placed on my foot and ankle, to decrease the swelling. The thing was covered in stickers, and held together by a couple of glitter hairpins.

“Harley”, we said simultaneously, and laughed, our eyes meeting for the first time. For a second all air went out of the room; but then Flag looked down at the floor.

“They didn’t want you in the hospital wing”, he said, still not looking at me.

“I scare them, don’t I?”, I asked, finishing my drink, and putting the glass on top of a stack of files on the desk.

“They’re worried, yeah”. He finished his own drink, and took both glasses away, putting them down next to a bottle on top of the minifridge. “You’re able to disappear at will; and they don’t know you won’t sneak up on them, and slit their throats”.

“Even with this?”, I asked, gesturing towards the belts and wires strapped to my body.

“Yeah. They ain’t exactly geniuses in this joint”, he scoffed.

He went to sit on the other chair, facing me. He wrung his hands; seeming indecisive about something.

“Hey”, I said, biting my lip. “Thanks for not letting me die”. I looked at him, and smiled, trying to ease the tension in the room.

“You’re Wallers newest toy. She would have had my ass if I did”, he answered shortly.

I raised my eyebrows. “Ok. Good talk”. I went to stand, finding it difficult to put weight on my busted ankle.

Limping towards the door, I was about to knock it, hoping a nearby guard would take me back to my cell. At this point, anywhere was better than here.

“You know, I thought were smarter than that, Y/N”, Flag suddenly said, startling me. “Why would you do something so stupid? Putting yourself at risk like that?”.

“What do you mean?”, I wondered.

He chewed at his bottom lip, looking at me angrily. “You threw yourself headfirst into that situation; almost got yourself killed!” He stood up, and paced the floor, staring me down; as I stood there, mouth agape, not knowing what to say.

“I told you before, I can’t always be around to protect you. You need to be smarter than that”.

“Locking me in a dark room, treating me like and animal? Strapping me up with this bullshit chastity belt contraption? Is that what you call protecting me?”.

I was on a roll. Who does this asshole think he is?, I thought.

“Did you forget that I’m a scumbag, and that the world would be better if I just disappeared?”. I pointed an angry finger at his chest and looked him square in the face. “I was doing my job. The job you hunted me down, trapped me, and tortured me to get me to do”.

He stepped back.

“That wasn’t my call”, he said, and went to pour another glass for himself.

“Waller?”, I asked, voice low.

“She seemed to think that letting the guards here work on you a bit before we returned, would make you more compliant”. He wouldn’t meet my eyes.

I scoffed. “Why do you work for her?”.

He lowered his glass, having just been about to take a sip.

“I guess I’m a bad guy too”, he said, and drank the whole content of the glass in one swig.

I took a step forward; having forgotten all about my hurt ankle. The pain from stepping down on it, made me stumble and fall.

Flag ran over to catch me, but I hit the floor with my knees, cursing.

“Shit”, I yelped, and tried to stand again.

Flag grasped my elbow, and put his arm around my waist, supporting my weight. I pushed at his chest.

“Let go; I can take care of myself”, I said, struggling against his grasp. He held on to me, forcing me to lean against him; chest to chest.

“Would you just let me help you?”, he growled at me, putting his other arm under my knees; lifting me into the air.

Kicking my legs, I grabbed a fistful of his hair, yanking his head back, my other hand scratching at his arms.

“Get. Off. Me!”, I roared, and smacked him across the face.

Having been walking towards a chair, Flag changed direction.

“Fine!”, he barked; and let me go.

---

I landed with a bump on the bed. Shocked, all I did was stare up at him; standing over me, breathing heavily. Grasping my face with both hands, he leant over me; and planted his lips on mine.

I think I blacked out for a second – everything was Flag and his lips, tugging at mine.

His hands moved to my shoulders, gently pushing me backwards; until I was lying down underneath him; his one knee between mine.

I opened my mouth slightly, letting his soft tongue find its way to mine.

Grinding his hips against me, his groin meeting my core; it felt like I was on fire. I threw my head back and moaned.

Flags lips moved towards my neck, his hot breath sending tingles through my body. He kissed and nibbled at the sensitive skin below my ear, and moved down; reaching the spot where he’d used the strange gun to place the nano-bomb.

He suddenly groaned and pulled back; getting of the bed.

“Shit, we can’t do this”, he cursed, running his fingers through his hair, and pacing the floor again. “I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry. This is wrong. I should take you back to your cell”. His eyes met mine, almost pleading.

The pain in my ankle completely forgotten, I stood up. I stormed across the floor, pushed him against the wall, and grabbed the back of his neck; pulling him in to another kiss.

“I don’t give a shit if this is wrong”, I said pointedly. “You finish what you started, Flag!”.

His eyes were instantly on fire. He grabbed my bottom, and lifted me up so quickly, it was almost dizzying.

“Rick”, he breathed.

“Rick”, I smirked; and pushed my lips to his, our tongues colliding, and fighting for dominance. He tasted like whiskey and chewing gum.

As I straddled his waist, he spun us around; pushing me against the wall – his hips grinding against my core once more. He grabbed at my collar, pulling it down; and nibbled and licked my exposed neck and shoulder.

The sensation almost sent me over the edge, as I felt his hardening member through his cargo pants, rubbing against my most sensitive spot.

I’m about to have sex with a guy who wears cargo pants, I chuckled to myself.

“What”, Rick asked, out of breath.

“Nothing”, I answered. “Just keep going”.

He carried me to the bed, and laid me down; my legs still in a tight grip around his body. His weight on me put even more pressure on my core, and I gasped loudly.

“Eager kitten, aren’t you?”, he chuckled into my ear, and tugged at my lobe with his teeth. My eyes rolled back, and I let out a mewl, as his fingertips travelled down my side, ending up at my waistband.

He ran one finger along the band, once again kissing me, this time softly; exploring the curves of my lips with his own.

He sat up on his knees suddenly, making my butt move up his thighs; as I was still holding on to him something fierce, with my own.

He looked down at me, soft eyes exploring my own, then travelling down my body.

“You sure you want this?”, he asked. Biting my lip, I nodded.

Rick pulled of his t-shirt, and as it travelled up his body, I swallowed hard. His muscles flexed, revealing the reason he was so strong.

Colonel Flag worked out! He was fit; slender, but not skinny. His muscles were defined, and his skin smooth and tanned. I ran a hand up his torso, and scratched at his chest; feeling the small amount of hair there, soft against my fingertips.

Throwing his t-shirt on the floor, he smiled smugly, and chuckled at me. Putting his hand around my back, he pulled me up into a seated position on his lap; our faces inches from each other.

I felt his breath again, warm; and he grabbed my bottom lip between his teeth, nibling slightly, before exhaling and looking me into the eyes again.

My body was frozen in place. What the hell are you doing to me, colonel?, I thought.

“Let’s get this of you”, Rick smiled, and pulled at my flannel shirt. Taking it of me, he threw it behind his back; and it landed on the desk, knocking over one of his piles, making us both laugh.

I ran my fingertips down his spine, as he leaned in for another kiss. I teased him; pulling my mouth away at the last second, tilting my head, and biting my bottom lip.

He tried again, and as I did the same thing; his eyes on fire, he growled, and grabbed both my hips.

He lifted me from his lap effortlessly, and threw me backwards, making me land on the middle of the bed, on top of the papers strewn there.

With one hand, he took a firm grip around my wrists, holding them over my head.

I giggled and struggled against his grip, as he straddled my legs with his own, and grabbed the bottom of my face; kissing my lips passionately.

“Who’s the eager one now?”, I smirked at him, as he pulled back. His answer was to kiss me again, grab my hip with one hand, and flip me over; still holding on to my wrists. Grabbing and squeezing my buttcheek, he leant over, and whispered in my ear from behind me.

“I can stop any time you ask”, he breathed, and chuckled when I mewled in response to his fingers close vicinity to my core.

He smacked my butt, and flipped me over again; this time letting go of my wrists, and sitting back up.

I threw myself at him – our lips once again meeting – one hand in his hair, the other scratching his back from top to bottom, ending up at his waistband; slipping my fingers underneath it, to stroke the top of his ass. It was firm; and I was eager to find out how it looked.

Smiling giddily, I started undoing his belt; as he sat back, hands behind him, looking at me intently.

Opening his pants fly, I noticed the fabric of his boxers struggling to keep the little colonel in place. Rick inhaled quickly, as I let my finger softly stroke his length through the fabric.

Biting my lip, I looked up at him. One eyebrow raised, he smirked at me. You’re a smug sonofabitch, I thought – but I had to admit to myself that he did have plenty to be smug about.

Rick leaned back towards me, and as his tongue restarted its exploration of my mouth, he started tugging at the hem of my tank top, trying to get it over my head – something that turned out to be an impossible task, due to the harness I was still wearing.

“Shit “, Rick said.

I sat back on the bed and sighed. I knew this had been too good to be true.

Rick caught my eyes, as if searching for something. He shook his head.

“Fuck it”, he said. He got up, walked to his desk, and opened the top drawer. He took out his key to the disc on my chest.

Once he got back to the bed, he unlocked the harness; and I lifted my butt slightly, letting him pull it off me.

He quickly threw it on the floor, and looked down at me, as I sat there – eyelevel with his stomach.

I ran my hand up his toned torso, and he grabbed my wrists again, lifting my arms into the air. Then – as eagerly as he had with the harness – he pulled my tank top over my head, leaving me in my bra and shorts.

He ran a finger across the uncovered top part of my breast, giving me goosebumps, and making me tingle in all the right places.

I looked up at him, once again biting my lip.

“You’ve got to stop doing that, kitten”, Rick breathed. “You don’t know what it does to me”.

Placing my palm over his covered member, gently squeezing it; feeling it’s warmth through the fabric.

“I can tell exactly what it does to you”, I smirked, licked my lips, and kissed his stomach just above the waistband of his boxers.

I started tugging at his cargo pants, and he stepped out of them, kicking them away.

Still seated, I put my hands on each of his butt cheeks, and pulled him closer to my face.

Looking up at him, I opened my mouth and put my lips on his length. His eyes widened, as he gave a small gasp.

“Y/N”, he breathed.

I moaned, and tugged gently at the fabric of his boxers with my teeth. Hearing him hiss, I laughed quietly; and hooked my fingers in the waistband, starting to pull down his boxers.

Behind my back, I could feel him unhooking my bra. Removing it myself; he meanwhile shucked his boxers.

Hi there, my eyes lit up. Standing at attention, Ricks member was right in front of my face; and I couldn’t help myself.

I placed one hand on his butt cheek, and the other closed around my new friend. Gently kissing the tip, I tasted the salty pre-ejaculate waiting there.

I opened my mouth; and meeting his eyes above me I took him in to my mouth, stroking his length with my hand.

I moaned, moving my head back and forth – tasting his warm skin, and feeling his veins ripple against my lips as I moved.

Ricks hands suddenly pulled at my hair, making me let go of his manhood.

Mouth still agape, I looked up at him, panting. He looked about to explode with lust.

He pushed me back in the bed, and pulled down my pants with shaking hands. Slinging them who knows where; he crawled over my body, grasping my right breast with a firm hand.

His other hand travelling upwards from my knee on the inside of my leg; he put his lips around my nipple, and sucked greedily.

I gasped loudly, as his fingers reached my covered folds. He continued to assault my right nipple for a couple of seconds more, before smirking up at me; then quickly pulled my panties to the side, and slid his finger between my wet labia.

He gave my left nipple a quick kiss, and moved his face to meet mine, grasping my lips with his own.

Continually kissing me, my hands in his hair; he stroked his finger from my entrance up to my sweet spot. Finding it engorged, he rubbed it gently between his thumb and index finger; driving me crazy with his circular motions.

My panties were discarded by joint effort.

He slid his free hand behind my torso, grasped my waist, holding on to me firmly. His member poking at my thigh, he held me down; one leg intertwining with mine.

He returned to my clit, stroking it softly.

His pleasuring hand pulled me closer and closer to the edge, when suddenly he slid his ring and middle finger inside me; and moved them in a come hither motion, rubbing his palm against my nub.

I pulled my mouth from his; gasping and moaning. A fiery tingle started spreading from my core, all the way through my arms and legs, fingers and toes.

I grasped the sheet, and threw my head back. Rick kissed and sucked at my neck, letting his warm breath there intensify the sensation on the rest of my body.

His hand continually moved – pressing upwards inside me, and downwards outside.

“I…”, I gasped.

“I know, kitten”, he breathed heavily. He kissed me again. “Let go”.

A hot wave, intense and earthmoving, washed over my body, from my core and outwards.

I didn’t scream. I didn’t breathe. My whole body tensed up, and I swear I floated into the air for a second; before dropping back down on the bed.

---

All the while, Rick had been staring at my face.

My body continued to climax, even after he had removed his hand from my warmth. He was now stroking my face, examining every inch of it with inquisitive eyes, as my muscles relaxed more and more; allowing me to breathe in a steadier pace.

“That’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen”, he said, voice low; his index finger travelling from my forehead, over my nose, and finally stroking the edges of my lips.

I sputtered with laughter.

“I mean it!”, he said. I slapped his shoulder lightly.

“My cumface is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen?”, I laughed at him.

“Yeah!”, he laughed.

“You can’t be serious”, I smiled.

“Well I did see an original WWII Lanchester submachine gun once, that got me pretty hard”, he smirked.

I laughed out loud again, making him chuckle.

“Speaking of hard…”, he said, and moved to lie between my legs. “… I’m not done with you”.

His eyes bore into mine; and he positioned himself at my entrance.

I gasped; and Rick slid into me slowly, letting me feel every delicious ripple of him as he did. Everything was this moment, and we started to move together.

Tag list:

@gloriousgam3r​

@hyp-oh-critical​

[kookicat]

The Price of Peace pt2

So I wrote a second part to this fic- 

Full thing is here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28907364/chapters/71064504

The Morning After

 He wakes slowly, swimming up from sleep like he’s climbing through slowly setting cement. It clings to him, and if he wasn’t in dire need of a piss and a drink, he’d give in, let it pull him back under because he hurts all over. He bites back a groan and focuses on his breathing, falling into the old exercises easily, until some of the pain eases. His face is the worst, the hairline fracture in his cheek throbbing like a bad tooth. In fact, it’s making the entire side of his face hurt and he lifts a shaky hand, feeling the heat and swelling and realises belatedly he should have iced it before he passed out. They have instant ice packs, somewhere, but he doesn’t feel up to hunting though three rooms to find them. 

He drops the footrest on the recliner and sets his feet on the floor, bracing his ribs with his bad arm as he levers himself upright. Moving lights up his ribs and shoulder like he’s dropped a match in a box of fireworks; all bright flashes and pain burning along his nerves. The room spins violently and he closes his eyes, hanging onto the chair with all the strength he has left, because he’d rather shoot himself in the head than pass out and have one of the team find him.  Probably in a puddle of piss too, he thinks sourly and lets out the unsteady breath he’s been holding. 

The dizzy spell passes and he shuffles towards the bathroom, feeling three times his age. His knees ache with every step. He pees and moves over to the sink, washing his hands before turning on the little light and examining his battered face critically in the mirror. He’s looked worse, he’s sure, but he damn well can’t remember when. The skin over his cheekbone is black with bruising, puffy from the swelling that covers his whole eye socket. What isn’t bruised is pale and faintly clammy until he soaks a washcloth and wipes his face. He opens his mouth, carefully, feeling the click deep inside of his jaw he didn’t have before the fight, and runs a finger over his teeth. 

Nothing seems to be wrong, but he knows he’s probably going to have to visit his dentist when he gets back home. It’s all part and parcel of the life, but sometimes- especially deep in the AM, when he’s hurting and exhausted and sleep is eluding him, he wishes he had a different job. Something that doesn’t leave him littered with bruises and other people’s blood. Something  clean,  but he knows he left any chance of that behind him a long time ago and there’s no use pining for things you can’t reclaim.

Someone has left a fresh hoodie and pair of sweatpants on the vanity and while he’s desperate for a shower, he knows he’s not quite steady enough to risk it for now.  The thought of falling on his ass in the shower makes him wince for multiple reasons; he’d probably never live it down, for a start. The small gesture touches him though, brings a fleeting smile to his lips before he turns the light off and eases the door open. 

Sophie is curled into a ball in the middle of the bed, eye mask firmly in place, blankets wrapped around her like a cocoon. She stirs as he passes the bed, shoving at the mask with one hand so she can squint at him. “Eliot?” she asks, sounding sleepy, confused, then sits up as the events come back to her, smoothing her hands over her hair to bring it to some kind of order. “How are you doing? Why are you up?”

He blinks at the rapid fire questions. “Yes, fine and needed to use the facilities,” he says dryly and hopes like hell it’s too dark for her to get a good look at him, because once she does, that lie is going to sink faster than a lead balloon. 

She reaches for the lamp and switches it on, and he knows he’s blown. He curls his injured arm around his ribs as she runs her gaze over him, frowning. “You call this fine?” she asks, but there’s no anger in her words, just a tired sort of resignation that’s somehow almost worse. “Sit back down, I'll get you an ice pack and the pills the Doc gave you. "

He retreats to the recliner, grabbing a spare pillow off the bed and taking it with him. It hurts to lower himself back down and he bites the inside of his lip, holding a heartfelt groan inside. He folds the pillow and rests his bad arm on it, taking some of the strain off his shoulder which helps, then hits the button to raise the footrest and braces himself, twisting so he’s curled on his good side. The movement whites out the room for a long couple of seconds and when he blinks back to awareness, Sophie is standing next to him, hands full of supplies, eyes full of worry.

“I’m-” - fine,  he starts to say, then closes his mouth because he’s pretty sure they both know it’s not even vaguely true. Spit pools in his mouth as the nausea from earlier comes back and he gulps, taking small breaths to settle his stomach, but it’s no good. 

Sophie gets the trash can under his chin just in time as he retches, bringing up what little he has in his stomach. It fills him with agony; jolting his ribs, his shoulder, making his head throb so badly he wishes it would just fall off and put him out of his misery. If he had the breath, he’s pretty sure he’d be groaning right now. The worst of it passes and he flops back against the seat, utterly drained. 

“Sorry,” he says hoarsely, swiping an unsteady hand over his mouth, probing his lip which is bleeding again. He presses the side of his thumb against it and lets his breathing settle. 

“You did the same for me,” she says, and takes the trash can into the bathroom, returning with a damp washcloth. “It’s about time I got to return the favour.” 

He intercepts her hand as she tries to wipe his face, taking the cloth gently, because the thought of anyone touching him right now makes his stomach clench in a knot. “The bad clams,” he says faintly and wipes his mouth. 

“You did try to warn me.” She shakes her head, holding back a laugh. “What do you need, Eliot?”

It’s stupid, after everything they’ve been through, but he feels awkward  asking for stuff. “Can you grab my bag?” he asks, because he keeps a kit in there for just this situation. 

“Of course.” She presses a bottle of Gatorade into his hands, along with the bottle of pills the doc gave him. He glances at the label; it’s a combined muscle relaxant and painkiller that he’s taken before. The full dose knocks him out, and that sounds like a blessing right about now. 

His stomach rolls at the thought of drinking anything, but he knows that he needs the fluids and cracks the top on the bottle, swallowing a single mouthful to see if it’ll stay down. It makes him feel a little queasy, but there’s no sign it’s going to come back up, so he swallows another mouthful, then closes the cap, resting his head against the chair, knowing he needs food before he can take any pills. 

“Here.” Sophie leans his bag on the arm of the chair, then reaches down to pick up the discarded blanket, shaking it out over his legs. Neither of them had bothered to change the room’s air con setting, and it’s chilly. 

“Thanks,” he murmurs, and digs into the bag, pulling out a pack of plain crackers and a box of Zofran. He lets the bag slide to the floor and jams the bottle between his hip and the chair so he can open the box of Zofran, popping out a tablet. He swallows it with a sip of Gatorade, licking his lips. He needs food and sleep and the painkillers in equal measure so he tears open the wrapper around the crackers, pulling one out.

Chewing hurts, and he spends a fleeting second wishing he was home, with access to his freezer and the homemade soups he keeps stocked there. There’s a lemon chicken broth that would hit the spot right now, but he pushes the thought away and takes another bite of cracker, convincing himself it’s just as good. Once he’s swallowed the full thing, he fumbles open the box of painkillers and pops one out, washing it down with a mouthful of Gatorade that tastes more like chemicals than the fruit punch it claims to be. 

Sophie is dozing on the sofa, hair in her face, body curled into a ball. It makes him smile, because it’s rare to see her with her guard down. They’re alike in that way, though she hides behind masks, slipping through personas with an ease that unnerves him occasionally. He hides his true self behind a carefully curated image, letting people see what they want, the hitter, the easy mark, letting them underrate him so he can get in close for the sucker punch. He’s let a lot of that go, since joining the team, but it’s so ingrained now it’s a conscious effort most of the time.

He yawns, putting an end to his mental rambling, and shifts, already feeling the drugs getting to work. There’s still a good couple of hours before morning, when he has to pick himself up, drive the mask back into place and be the Eliot they all need him to be; unflappable, untouchable. It’s a heavy mask to wear sometimes but it’s a weight that he’s well used to carrying now, and it’s one that gets lighter for every month he spends with the team. They can carry each other, fill the gaps. Together they’re whole, and that’s a damn comforting thought. It brings a smile to his lips as he closes his eyes and lets himself rest.

[jayankles]

Your Turn

Pairing: No pairing; general Dean fic

Word Count: 2016

Summary: Dean and his wife are woken up by their baby, his wife encourages him that it’s his turn to take care of her.

Written for: @spngenrebingo​ / @goodthingshappenbingo​ / @spndeanbingo​ / @spnaubingo​

Squares Filled: playing pretend / pillow forts / Bobby Singer / single parent au

Also for @sdavid09​ ’s bingo challenge. The square filled is below to avoid spoilers.

A crying baby is what woke them. She snuck her hand around Dean’s waist and pressed a kiss to the back of his neck. “It’s your turn, baby.”

“I know. I got her. Go back to sleep.” He rubbed her hand before bringing it up for a kiss. “Alright, baby girl, daddy’s coming.”

Dean sat up, the palms of his hand digging into his eyeballs, rubbing the sleep from them. He got up, his feet stepping into his comfortable slippers. Grabbing his robe, he tied the belt loosely around his waist, he was ready for action to get his daughter to sleep.

“Come on, Lilah.” Dean leaned over with a small smile on his face, even though Delilah was sobbing her heart out, it didn’t matter. All he saw was a healthy happy baby that just wanted cuddles from her daddy. “You wanna cuddle with Daddy? Before you wake Scarlett because the two of you in the morning is a nightmare. You don’t know how outnumbered I am with you girls.”

Lilah continued to cry but as soon as Dean picked her up from the crib she calmed a little, her cries settling a little after she nestled into his chest. She loved her father so much but Dean loved Delilah a little more, she had him completely wrapped around her tiny little fingers. All she had to do was smile and he was gone.He was all hers. Any of his girls could have him at the blink of an eye, a snap of their fingers, or something as simple as a smile.

When she started to fuss again, Dean started with a hum, he couldn’t figure out which song to sing, about three of them roaming around in his mind. After a few minutes of humming ‘Hey Jude,’ he finally decided on ‘Baby Mine’ from the Disney movie Dumbo. It was the only song that worked with Scarlett when she was younger and it was his wife’s favourite song to sing her too; as he sung the words Dean rocked too and fro. Delilah’s little hands balled into Dean’s shirt but he soon noticed that they had loosened and her breathing had evened out.

After he was sure that Delilah had conked out for a few more hours, he laid her back in her crib, draping the light blanket back over her, softly rubbing her stomach. “Goodnight, Lilah. See you in a few hours, Sweetheart.”

Walking down the hallway, Dean checked on Scarlett. She was adorable, of course, snuggling her stuffed octopus. She was rocking the bedhead vibe as always, something that he would have to fix in the morning. He wouldn’t tell her but he loved brushing Scarlett’s hair and secretly watching the hair tutorials to see which style he could help Scarlett pull off for school.

“Goodnight, Princess.” He whispered, closing the door behind him and heading back to bed. He would need all the sleep he could get.

Sneaking under the covers, he whispered once more. “I love you, mama, goodnight.”

*

“Yay! Grandpa Bobby is here!” Dean said, his eyes finding Scarlett’s before her face lit up like a Christmas tree. It had been a while since the girls had seen their Grandpa. Their favourite one at that.... Or their only Grandpa, but it was nice to be loved.

“Grandpa!” Scarlett dropped her toys and quickly made her way over into Bobby’s arms. “Can we goto the park today? Get some secret ice cream?”

She was a terrible whisperer, he would have to teach her a few tricks of the trade so her father wouldn;t be able to hear her the next time she spoke of any innocent secret. 

“You know I can hear you, right? And if you go for secret ice cream without me , there will be no My Little Pony.” Dean got up from his extra small seat, taking Delilah with him. “I don’t say this enough but thank you for being retired, Bobby Singer.”

“Are you just using me for a free babysitting service, boy?” There was a stern look on his face as usual but it melted away as soon as Scarlett spoke.

“I can pay you with hugs and kisses.”

“Did you put her up to that?”

“Absolutely not. I would never put your own granddaughter against you.” Dean smiled, a devious one like this was a plan that he had concocted but in all honesty, he had nothing to do with it. “I will see you later.”

He waits for Scarlett to jump down before giving Delilah over to Bobby. He plans a soft kiss to the baby’s head. He moves on to his first born, crouching down to the floor and adjusting the toggle on her hoodie that she wears so often. 

“I’ll make you a deal. You be good for Grandpa, he can get you some ice cream as long as you get me some and stick it in the freezer. If you do that, we’ll have a movie night at the weekend.”

“I wanna do that, yes. Lots of sweets and chocolate and popcorn.” She almost dies at the fact that she’s going to have a movie night. Dean has something else planned first and it was something that he had hoped that they would love even more than just a movie.

*

As much as Dean hates it, he has to go, has to leave them and go to work. He had already taken a long break but he knew he had to go back. It was time. Dean couldn’t bear to part with his girls, not even for a minute but he had to. 

His coworkers welcome him back with open arms. It had been a rough few months but he was hanging in there. His best friend, Benny, held him so tight that he was afraid he would lose him; Benny may have also broken a few of Dean’s ribs but he loved it more than he would care to admit.

“Good to see you, brother.” Benny gave him one more squeeze before releasing him.

Dean just nodded, his words caught, he couldn’t say anything with his heart in his throat. He gave Benny a slap on the back before he took a step back and coughed, masking his pain.

By the time lunch rolled around, Dean was a lot more tired than he thought he would be, the long nights that he had with the girl had really taken its toll on him. Maybe he shouldn’t have rushed back to his job.

Reaching into his bag, he pulled out his lunch box and his small bottle of pills. Dean had got accustomed to taking the meds ever since Lilah was born, it was one of the many things that he remembered to do each and every day. Dean knocked down the two daily pills, swallowing them with a drink of water.

Dean had taken a bite of the second slice of his sandwich before he put it back down in the box, his fingers running through his slightly longer hair. Inhaling, he tried to keep calm and keep himself from crying, he had done well so far, and had only thought about the situation twice today. But it still didn’t stop the pain that he was feeling, he just wanted to get back to his family back home. The pills would kick in and bring him back down to the dark reality that he was living.

Benny came in not too long after Dean did, neither man said anything, not for a long time and it was beginning to get awkward. The pair hadn’t seen each other since just before Lilah was born a few months ago, there had been texts and calls, keeping up with each other seeing how Dean was holding up and asking whether or not he needed any help around the house. Dean kindly refused Benny’s help, thanking him for his offer and telling him that he was welcome to come over to the house and see Lilah and Scarlett whenever he wanted, when he returned to work. He just needed that time with the kids before he shared them with anyone else. Benny completely understood, any other time, he would have chewed his ass about spending all his time with his babies but Benny knew that he needed to spend this time with them.

“Sorry, I dipped.” Dean muttered, popping an orange slice into his mouth, Scarlett had helped him make his lunch before he put her to bed last night. The thought alone made him smile a little bit. “I shouldn’t have done that to you, you deserved better.”

Benny gave a lopsided smile, “it’s all good, I know your struggles.”

“It’s still no excuse, man.” “Listen, if you’re still beating yourself up about it... how ‘bout you and your girls come over to my place and we’ll have a barbecue. Andrea can take a load off and help with the kids and you can cook your famous burgers that you know we love and I’ll do my steaks. We got you, brother.” 

Dean was left speechless, he truly couldn’t believe the kindness of his best friend, even though Dean felt as if he had treated Benny like shit, Benny still had his back.

*

Turning the key in the door, Dean stepped into his house, and the house that he had made a home. The house was somewhat quiet and he wasn’t sure whether to take that as a good sign or a bad sign. He threw his bag and coat into the closet, strolling through the house and going in search of his girls. Dean then got to the living room, his heart soaring as he watched Bobby and Scarlett interact. The two of them sing to Delilah, trying to stop her from crying, so far it was working and they got little smiles out of her.

“How are my favourite people in the whole wide world?” 

“Daddy!” “Dada!” Scarlett and Delilah screamed when they saw Dean leaning on the door frame with a soft smile on his face. 

“Now, how about a pillow fort and a movie, yeah?”

Dean quickly got changed into his nightwear, whilst Bobby helped Scarlett into hers. Dean had taken the time to start creating the best pillow fort that he had in awhile. It was difficult at first, Lilah crying when she didn’t get enough of Dean’s attention but he finally strapped her into his chest in one of the carrier contraptions that he so hated to put together, his wife was always better at that stuff, especially the car seat straps.

The couches cushions were first to join the comforter on the floor. Broomsticks and chairs and furniture were moved around so Dean could create a canopy over the television. It would be the perfect, comfortable, little getaway for them. Dean was ready for Scarlett to put in the finishing touches and pick the movie. He couldn’t wait to spend the night with his babies watching Scarlett’s favourite Disney movie for the thousandth time since it came out. It was a surprise when Bobby decided to stay and bring in all the snacks; the popcorn, the gummy bears and the juice boxes even for Dean and himself.

Not even halfway through the movie the four of them had conked out for the night, they all had a busy day and they needed their sleep so that they could do it all over again the next day.

Dean’s wife smiled as she stepped into the living room, watching as her husband and their two baby girls slept. She tucked them all in, even the man she considered a father figure, she wished she could do more but there was only so much that a ghost could do, but she would return to Dean in the morning like she always did. She would do so until Dean got over her but in the end she would be waiting for them. It was always going to be Dean’s turn to be at Delilah’s beck and call.

This fills the ‘character death’ square for Shanna’s bingo.

Forevers: @super100012​ @lupine-princess​ @plaid-lover-bay25​ @atc74​ @growningupgeek​ @sophiebobzz​ @docharleythegeekqueen​ @poukothenerd​ @grace-for-sale​ @mrswhozeewhatsis​ @jesspfly​ @supernaturallymarvellous​ @sammysgirl1997​ @roxyspearing​ @mogaruke​ @be-amaziing​ @deanandsamsbitch​ @frankiea1998​ @hennessy0274-blog​ @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester​ @iwantthedean​ @capsheadquaters​ @emoryhemsworth​ @notmoose45​ @essie1876​ @cassieraider​ @brewsthespirit-blog​ @its-my-perky-nipples​ @riversong-sam​ @jotink78​ @captainradicalpassion​ @jadalecki-jackles​ @spnbaby-67​ @holyfuckloueh​ @gh0stgurl​ @alyssa6marie​ @esoltis280​ @bumber-car-s @alexwinchester23​ @x-waywardaf-x​ @thisismysecrethappyplace​ @randomparanoid​ @kellianz​

Dean: @kenmen02​ @ain-t-bovvered​ @deans-baby-momma​  @ericaprice2008​ @shamelesslydean​ @thing-you-do-with-that-thing​ @wingedcatninja​ @mayasmedberg​ @kurosaki224-new-blog @valerieshubin @milo-winchester-4ever​ @sandlee44​ @ruprecht0420​ @akshi8278​ @smoothdogsgirl​ @dslocum89​ @plaidstiel-wormstache​ @ria132love​ @welldonebeca​ @iamabeautifulperson18​ @starry-chaos @deans-treasure @larajadeschmidt13​ @nyxveracity​ @dean-winchesters-bacon​ @adoptdontshoppets​

[bigskydreaming]

Hey friendly reminder that I honestly do not want anyone to follow me unless they actually WANT to which means they are free to unfollow, refollow, leave and come back and leave again or WHATEVER as many times as they want, for any reason whatsoever. Including if my posting styles of the moment get to be too much for them or are not to their liking, etc?

BUT I have been seeing a surge in comments in notes and stuff on various posts of mine about the length of my posts or the rambling of my posts and like....I know? This is not new information to me? But I post the way I post at any given time based on the resources I have at any given time and the fact that its often a matter of I can post a long rambling post or I can make no post at all.

Like, I really truly do not like going into specifics about my situation more than necessary or when not necessary, because like, my situation is boring to me, I don’t particularly care to dwell on it any more than I have to. But the fact of the matter is its still a thing that exists so here goes: yes I have physical issues like near constant migraines and pain and also vertigo, and yes I have neurodivergencies like C-PTSD and ADHD and yes I have circumstances that include near constant stress from eternally being in the negatives, financially, as well as being almost constantly hungry from a lack of money and limited options for eating due to the physical constraints of my jaw as well as being consistently sleep deprived because there’s only so much sleep you can get when there’s no such thing as a physically comfortable sleeping arrangement for you currently, all while existing in a constant limbo of I literally have NO idea when any of this will change for me because haha fun fact WE LIVE IN A PANDEMIC.

My point is like......all of these are things I’m not shy about, but they don’t exist as bullet points in a checklist of identity or circumstantial traits, they all exist at all times as points of fact that influence and inform and interact with each other.

So my financial situation and limbo of not being able to move forward with my surgery because of the chaos of the health care industry during a pandemic directly informs both the way stress impacts my mental health issues, but also my ability to treat my mental health issues by way of medication, nutrition, rest.....ie, almost every cent I make via work, etc, goes right back out the door to keeping up my insurance premiums of $850 a month, because even though my surgery is paid for, there’s still elements like hospital stay fees, anesthesia, etc, that won’t be paid until the day of surgery itself, and which I will not be able to pay without my insurance remaining current and active. Which means that I had to prioritize an insurance package that would net me THOSE benefits, which means I had to sacrifice parts of insurance that are no longer in that package, but which previously made things like my medications, refill appointments and therapy more affordable for me. 

Which means that I have to prioritize my medication and therapy etc and maintain my therapy and PTSD, depression and anxiety meds as the most important to upkeep, while my ADHD meds are pretty much priced out of accessibility for me at the moment. Like, the specifics of my metabolism and various trial and error with different meds over the years and the way my body rapidly adapts to various meds and plateaus to a point where they cease to have any real impact on me means the only ADHD medication that’s consistently effective for me is Vyvanse, which there isn’t a viable generic form of that I can take, meaning a monthly refill of it is $350 without insurance, which I flat out can not ever afford anymore, which means its been roughly two months since I last popped an ADHD pill.

So yeah, that directly impacts things like my ability to self-edit, make a point briefly, or refrain from circling back to the same point several times over and over because I literally forget that I made it.

Now of course ADHD medication is not the be-all and end-all and its not like there aren’t various other life-hacks and coping strategies for working around ADHD even without it, after all, I didn’t even get diagnosed until I was 26. But these various other adaptations rely on things like good nutrition (which I can not regularly afford, or even consume....most leafy green vegetables for example, or fruits other than berries, are literally nonstarters for me because I don’t have enough leverage with my one-sided jaw to CHEW them in the first place, and the ingredients for making smoothies regularly are again, expensive). So nutrition as a hack for ADHD management is pretty much out - I’m too busy prioritizing eating anything I can, whenever I can afford to. Other adaptations involve getting lots of rest: something that again, physically isn’t all that viable for me these days, even leaving aside the effects of constant stress on attempts at getting meaningful rest, along with the constant stress and constraints of trying to work as much as humanly possible in my circumstances, in order to keep bringing in income to go to insurance, rent, and food and meds. Then there’s also the stabilizing effects exercise and physical activity can have on the brain and various neurodivergencies like mine, but the migraines and vertigo make most forms of exercise a nonstarter for me, with most of the rest invalidated by the fact that I’m pretty much always hungry, tired, and in chronic pain.

Now let’s examine work and the viability of obtaining more sources of income to help with all this. Well, my options are limited there too due to the ecosystem of factors in play. I’ve been trying for awhile to find even a part time job in my area I can do, but the problems are even though I can make myself mobile and active through my pain issues and migraines, and am even good at gritting and bearing it and acting like I’m smiling and laughing and happy even while in excruciating pain (yay, perks of childhood abuse making a career in retail viable even while practically dead on my feet, lololol)......there’s the simple physiological limitation that I just can’t stay upright RELIABLY for more than a couple hours at a time. Eventually, dizziness knocks me on my ass. Downside of a jaw that’s constantly hanging with all its weight from one side of your face, fucking with your ability to even stand up straight, not to mention causing inner ear and equilibrium problems at random whenever you open or close your mouth in the wrong way (or mere approximation of ANY kind of way).

So, standing upright at any kind of customer service or retail job is one issue. Stocking stuff, that sort of thing.....not really an option when you’re likely to drop all of it at any given moment. But then there’s bracing myself at cash registers, something like a job at Starbucks or hell there’s a Jamba Juice nearby, that’d also get me an employee discount for smoothies I can drink regularly. Course, there’s the whirring of blenders and such, which pair great with constant migraines. Etc. Etc.

BUT. I’m a well-rounded person with lots of skills....which lead to things like my freelance graphic design business as a book cover designer, as well as various writing endeavors, etc. And all of these are things that I DO do, currently. They’re how I make my income as is. There’s absolutely more jobs out there, but the fact is as a freelancer, FINDING additional jobs is a time consuming and spoon consuming process, that is additionally impacted by factors like ADHD, so not only does looking for work require time that’s not already being spent working, it also requires the management and expenditure of mental resources that I have to prioritize FIRST towards applying them to what work I already DO have, given the absence of ADHD medication and minimal coping or regulatory habits allowing for me to be all that productive WITHOUT said meds.

Not to mention the strain sitting in front of a computer all day for work in venues like graphic design, etc, puts on migraines, so there’s only so many hours I can devote daily or in one sitting to doing things like cover work. Much of my writing time is spent not actually writing, but me just dictating into notes on my phone and then copying and pasting all that into the appropriate formats for fiction, nonfiction and just random posts. Of course here then I have to prioritize applying my mental resources to first making sure the stuff I write to make money gets edited or properly pared down to size and isn’t repeating the same shit over and over and over, then doing the same to stuff I write fic wise as one of my few escapes from Real Life BS so I can at least point to having SOME kind of life (as this has been my daily existence for years, and uh.....people having things they like or like to do, as much as is humanly feasible, only becomes MORE of a necessity the more stress involved in their day to day life, not less). 

Meaning by the time I even get to posting, like.....as much as it may look like I do a lot of it, the speed at which I write when I have any kinds of spoons to apply to posting or composing thoughts at ALL means I actually pour out a lot in a little span of time.....BUT that’s not like, a Skill so much as its a Fact. Its just the way I am and it comes with its downsides as well as its upsides....Im good at banging out a lot in a short amount of time, but ONLY when I just....let it go, versus try and regulate it all or squeeze it out bit by bit. I’m a sprint poster these days rather than a marathoner, even if the length of my thoughts makes it LOOK like the latter.....the reality is for me it tends to be all or nothing, its whatever I can get on the page BEFORE I lose my breath or train of thought. So that’s why it looks the way it does, because that was the only form it was coming out at the specific time and space when I had the energy and brainpower TO get it out, and going back in hindsight and editing it for clarity or brevity AFTER I gasp it all out requires energy and breath I do not have PAST that point, so it becomes a simple equation of well do I want a post to exist here at all or not at all.....and I err on the side of posting. This isn’t a defense because there’s nothing to defend, mind you, I’m simply explaining my way through my thought process, approach to things, and realities of my day to day existence for you to do with whatever you want. Its just a perspective you may not have had before. Whatever. 

Of course, even this doesn’t exist in a void. Something that’s always a factor in my awareness when posting is like......I’m lucky enough to have a large enough following that cares enough about what I have to say for whatever reasons or puts enough value in what I have to say or the things I write and create, that I’ve been able to supplement my financial needs when absolutely necessary at times, by way of donation posts. I try not to lean on them more than necessary because I am keenly aware that they are a gift from people, many of whom I do not know and will likely never meet, and as such, not something I have any form of expectation for. I make donation posts when and where I do not in the anticipation of getting them met, but simply for a lack of any other options whatsoever. I’m limited in the work I can do, and the time and energy I can devote to finding more of that same work. There’s not a ton of other career paths I can pursue even from behind a computer due to my lack of a college degree, and the fact that even when I’m qualified skill or knowledge wise, I lack the specific credentials for verifying that I possess those skills or knowledge in a way employers are inclined to recognize and/or validate. Going BACK to school to get said credentials is an expenditure of time, finances, and other resources I do not have to spare at the moment or any time soon, especially not in the name of shoring up a lack of all that in the present term. 

I dropped out of college freshman year after my gaybashing and rape. I never went back to it for a variety of reasons that were only half about resources and half about intent. My family is not a presence in my life and hasn’t really been in any significant way since I was eighteen, so college in the first place was something I had to be entirely self-sufficient about....I was only able to afford to go the year that I did go by way of academic scholarships that were dependent on grades I couldn’t keep up in the wake of what happened to me, and that I couldn’t exactly ever get back without a foundation to build upon, like high school and my initial academic career. Then in the half that was about intent, I eventually moved into pursuing my actual interests like writing, graphic design and acting. One of the things I’ve always loved about those is that output and portfolio nets you more than credentials most of the time....they ARE your credentials. I was actually pretty damn successful as an actor for years, not in the way that leads to being someone that people would recognize, but in the way that leads to being able to support yourself doing what you love. All the skillsets that I have but could not back up with things like a diploma were still useful to me as an actor in a way that they’re not in terms of getting things like tutoring or teaching jobs.....I speak multiple languages but I’m self taught, I have a black belt in karate, I’m a classically trained pianist, I know a whole lot of shit about random shit that I just learned because I wanted to, and all of that got me the kind of work that I was looking for and meant I COULD work and make a living off those things for years throughout my twenty....work that I would not have been able to get if I had been back sitting in a classroom instead. The primary currency of my years as an actor were life experiences and I had those in spades, and I was very good at what I did, if I do say so myself, and the reasons I never advanced further career wise tended to have less to do with whether or not I booked the roles I auditioned for and whether I got the auditions at all......

I’m getting a bit off topic here but I’m just saying there’s definitely a convo to be had at some point, about the roles and opportunities I turned down because I wasn’t willing to sleep with someone or put up with their advancements in order to do so. Something that’s a dime a dozen in Hollywood and the thing is.....I was a sex worker, for years, before I moved to Hollywood and started working as an actor. But there’s a distinct difference between the way people talk about, interact with and perceive someone who’s gotten roles because of sex, advanced up a corporate ladder because of sex...versus, gotten paid because of sex. I didn’t turn down offers of roles for sex because of my hang-ups about sex but rather other peoples’......I had a problem with various parts of the industry that would have thought nothing about me getting a role because a producer wanted to sleep with me, but would have turned up their nose at me because I slept with someone to get money for groceries before. Basically I’m just saying the specific bullshit Hollywood has not just about sex but predatory behavior got in the way of my career advancement because there were some games I just wasn’t willing to play....which hails from the very life experiences that oftentimes made me so good as an actor in the first place.

Which brings me back again to my main point......none of this exists in a vaccuum. Being the sum of our life experiences and variables means being the SUM of that, at ALL times, both in large and small ways. We are never just a LIST of identity traits or experiences. They all constantly loop back around and feed into each other and inform where we are at every second of every day and where we GO in each second, what we DO with our days and the choices we make.

Which is where so much of my discontent with fandoms, on social media in general, with PEOPLE in my day to day life comes from: this desire people have to compartmentalize, to ZERO IN on specific factors or variables or instances and act like it even CAN be divorced from all other influences. Its not that you can’t FOCUS on one thing at a time, its just even when you do that, that doesn’t like....snap all existing connections that thing has to everything outside of your area of focus.

As an example, my attitudes on being a survivor and various kinds of fiction get me a ton of pushback from various corners, and its all geared around the same premise: don’t like, don’t read. Put a wall up between you and it. Focus on just what you’re doing and forget what everyone else is doing.

But it doesn’t work like that. It CAN’T work like that. And this commitment people have to pretending it does just because that pretense has been working for them, THAT, I’d argue, is the true wedge in fandom spaces.

Everything about me is connected to something else. I’m a childhood abuse and incest csa survivor. When my therapist asks me to picture a moment from my childhood when I felt safe or protected, I got nothing. I don’t have that resource. I don’t know what that feeling is meant to feel like, because I never felt it. And that connects directly into the fact that when I was gaybashed in college, after they dumped me in a fucking park, bleeding and covered in writing, I didn’t even think about going to the hospital, the police, let alone calling anyone like my parents, I just picked myself up and walked back to my dorm, cleaned myself off as best I could, and went to class next Monday morning. That’s fucked up, I shouldn’t have had to, but its what I did, and there’s no divorcing that from any of the contexts of WHY that’s what I did, and why I didn’t think there was any other logical recourse or option for me then. Just like all of that also links back to growing up in the closet and entering high school the same month Matthew Shepherd was attacked, and then when he ultimately died two months later, and watching everybody’s reactions to that informed the fact that I did not remotely feel safe in the aftermath of my attack, disclosing what happened to people around me, or just like I didn’t take it on face value that even if they said appropriately sensitive things to me to my face didn’t mean that like when I was a freshman in high school and everyone was reacting to that, they wouldn’t revert to callous jokes about fags the second they felt a little less out of the spotlight or in the right company for those jokes. 

And all of that directly links into my feelings not just when people write rape and gaybashing scenes that make no attempt at any kind of catharsis but rather only appear to exist for the fetishization, the glamorization, the VALIDATION of the idea that in the right context, those kinds of scenes can be hot to the right audience rather than demoralizing to the figure who’s pain and humaniliation is required for everyone else’s entertainment....but it also additionally plays into the reactions and attitudes I have when people look at me going “wow, really don’t like the lens you’re using here or the environment you’re creating around an experience that is never anything BUT painful and traumatic for someone who lived it, like I did” and choose to respond to that by saying things that amount to “well you’re basically just like conservative southern assholes who hate free speech when you say stuff like this,” cuz y’know.....that’s describing my literal oppressors. That’s lumping me in with the actual literal kind of people who are the SOURCE of my trauma there, all because you felt butthurt and defensive about how I said I wasn’t comfortable with the kinds of jokes and output you were making about scenes that aren’t that far divorced from my own personal reality, and that I shouldn’t HAVE to divorce from my own experiences just to exist within certain fandom spaces.

And just like the fact that being an incest survivor is directly relevant to the fact that my stepmother always made an effort to keep me at a distance because not wanting to admit to what happened to me and how it played into our family entanglements was directly linked back to the fact that she and my aunt were both incest survivors who never got the opportunities to deal with what happened to them, which in turn directly plays into the fact that ultimately my aunt ended up taking her own life a few years ago, which also very much informs my attitude towards people interacting with incest ships as something cutesy and uwu, as my aunt was literally the only person in my family I ever WAS close to or comfortable with. And there’s no divorcing any of that into nice neat little compartments that make it easier for anyone on the outside looking in to just peek through ONE window to see what they might see, and try and act like it doesn’t matter what’s in any of those other boxes because it has nothing to do with the only one they want to concern themselves with.

And my lack of resources and emotional state post gay-bashing led directly into my sex work for various reasons, which led in various ways to better things for me in some respects, while compounding certain traumas of mine in other respects, and there’s no divorcing any of that from the rest either. There’s no ‘my time as a sex worker was good’ even though some of it was and there’s no ‘my time as a sex worker was bad’ even though some of it really was. And a lot of the attitudes of some of the rich assholes who paid me for sex and viewed me as a plaything they could do anything to directly informs my resistance to letting powerful assholes in Hollywood hold roles over my head in exchange for sex, even though the latter could have advanced my career in huge ways and led to me being a lot more financially stable and self-sufficient by the time my physical issues emerged due to the jaw joint on one side of my head eroding through and snapping completely just like that in turn was a long-building repercussion of not just my gaybashing, but my decision to never go to the hospital and get checked out after it.

None of this can be cut away from the rest and trimmed into neat little pieces that don’t color outside the lines or impact anything else. Just like my gaybashing itself can’t be divorced from my white privilege, and the fact that it played into the fact that I survived that night in the first place. Something I say not in some weird white guilt kinda way like people try and project onto others for even acknowledging white privilege, like no its not like I fucking wish I died to prove some kind of weird point, what I’m talking about is just the simple basic AWARENESS that multiple and even contradictory factors exist in even the most extreme of situations. And its never anything BUT self-serving to pretend that you can frame it as otherwise.

And so when I talk about being a survivor, just like with all the rest of this, I’m not talking about some arbitrary status of survivorhood that exists in a specific point in time and is only relevant to some singular event I survived, its applicable to everything about my life big and small. I’m a survivor every single day I’ve survived, every day I wake up and keep moving forward despite the pain and stress and lingering trauma of what was done to me one night sixteen years ago, I’m surviving what they did every bit as much as I survived it that night and in the morning after as I dragged myself back to my room. Just like my status as an abuse survivor stemming from childhood directly informs everything about not just my coping mechanisms but my entire freaking worldview as someone who grew up throughout childhood learning to view the world through a lens in which he was simultaneously not safe due to the presence of victimizers in his own home, while at the same time still having certain protections that others don’t have in life in general due to not just again my white privilege but my male privilege, my cis privilege.

And that’s what makes it so laughable and so offensive when people act like I’m defining myself by being a survivor as some kind of singular identity trait whenever I raise it as something of relevance in fandom discussions that have EVERYTHING to do with stances of abuse apologism and homophobic ideas that directly play into why I was so unsafe in certain parts and times of my life, because who the fuck is anyone else to tell me how my experiences as a survivor and how they shaped me are or are not relevant to ideas pertaining to those very things, when brought front and center and face to face with me in various fandoms due to the insistence of fandoms at large on KEEPING these things front and center in almost ALL fandom discussions? Like, the hilarious irony of people who have so wholly centered certain types of ship and content in terms of their own personal fandom identities that they can’t help but feel personally attacked when someone so much as says “I don’t like the ideas you’re broadcasting alongside your choice to amplify and signal boost this kind of content because you’re not JUST signalboosting the content itself, but these specific perceptions of it and ideas in support of and in apology for it.”....like, turning around and saying IM too defined by my views stemming from my existence as a survivor. The call is coming from inside the house, lolol.

Again, none of this can be divorced from the rest. It can be focused on one piece at a time, but its connections to everything else that informs it in various RELEVANT ways, can not be made IRRELEVANT just because you don’t like the picture that forms when you’re forced to look at the WHOLE picture instead of just willfully condensing the frame to just the part you like or want to talk about.

And to bring it all home, looping back up to what I opened with:

Do you know how often I hear people say shit about the length of my posts or the rambling nature or in various ways act INCONVENIENCED by various things about how they have to interact with my posts when that interaction itself is still completely voluntary?

Taking in everything I said in this post, the way it all interconnects and informs other things, I’d like to ask anyone who has ever objected to some post somewhere or derided one because of something as ultimately nonconsequential as the length of it, something where its literally just like....scroll a few more seconds......do you apply the same energy and scrutiny to posts that cross your dash that are filled with various things like racism, transphobia, rape or pedophilia fetishization or abuse apologism, or do you let that slide by without acknowledgment before looking at a post that makes you sigh because of how fucking LONG it was and think...this, THIS is what I’m gonna choose to speak up about?

Because that’s ultimately what this is all about. Here’s the kicker with everything I said....my life could be better, I want it to be better, from the biggest aspects of it and pain issues to stuff just like.....the fandom communities I immerse myself in for my own attempts at having something to counterbalance real life stress. But at the end of the day, there’s no my life sucks or my life rocks....its still just...my life. And it has its good as well as its bad, and that ultimately hails from my choices, and the fact that like....even while there are choices I literally CAN’T make, I can be comfortable with the ones I DO make.

And so like......would my life be easier in some respects now if I’d gone back to school and gotten a diploma and had more job opportunities available to me? Yeah, for sure. But that awareness doesn’t mean I regret my choice NOT to go back to school when I DID have more opportunities for that, because the acting career I had at those times instead was the choice I made, with intent, and its one I’m still glad for making. Those experiences still matter, still meant something and still mean something to me. 

And do I wish that I’d coped with what happened to me in college in different, healthier ways that would have given me more tools for how I interact with my trauma and who I became after that, rather than how I did? Yeah, sometimes, for sure. But not without losing my awareness that the choices I did make at the time were not made in a vacuum, and can not be edited in hindsight....there were reasons I made them, reasons that were informed by everything that had happened to me previously and stemmed from a lot of things I still didn’t have control over and as such always placed a cap on the range of choices that were available to me back then, because there’s a difference between choices that exist in theory versus choices that exist as something that might viably be chosen at a particular place and time.

The world is big and complicated. Life is big and complicated. WE are big and complicated. And nothing about understanding any of that is IMO benefited by putting most of our effort into SHRINKING our worldviews, constructing artificial frames that don’t just focus us in on specific aspects of it for finite periods but attempt to then treat that as its own individual thing utterly disconnected from anything else that might be going on OUTSIDE that picture frame.

So if you’ve read this far and you’ve taken anything away from this big long rambling post that could be a lot shorter, could be a lot less rambling, but could also just not have been posted at all and I’d rather have it exist in this form than let everything in it go unsaid.....

My request would be that your takeaway be this: to look at your choices in regards to some specific finite interaction in even just one of your fandoms, and see what happens when you open the frame back up. If you widen the scope. If you let other things into the picture. Are you still comfortable with the choices you make or don’t make in light of THAT image, are they any different from the ones you made or would have made when keeping things as small and contained in your awareness as possible, just because that was easier for you to conceptualize, easier to navigate around, just....less COMPLICATED?

Because things aren’t made less complicated just by the mere fact of WANTING them to be.

And if your choices are more born of what you’d say or do IF the world were as finite or as limited as its sometimes easier to pretend it is......is that really the approach you want to go with and the reasoning you want to stand by?

And similarly, if there are choices you make and that in ORDER for you to feel comfortable making them, you feel a need to tighten your focus or shrink your worldview around one specific element or area and leave out all the rest and only then are you truly comfortable with doing or saying something, like......

Its important to remember that this isn’t the only option you have for making yourself more comfortable with things you say or do or think, or even just have in the past.

The other perfectly viable option exists: you can simply....make different choices.

[thejolexgroupchat]

Would love to see a fic of prompt #57 !!! (“So stick that in your juice box and suck it.” ) I have no idea what it would be like but it just sounds fun ahaha

We absolutely LOVE the prompts you all sent us. This fic was written by Nina @doc-pickles and Leya @iamtrebleclefstories

Enjoy the first of many collaborative fics from The Group Chat!

the one with the juice box

It was an unusually hot May day in Seattle, meaning the ER was filled with heat stroke patients that kept everyone busy. Alex had been running back and forth from the peds floor to the ER all day, checking in on new patients while still maintaining his normal routine. To be honest, he was exhausted and all he wanted was to settle in for lunch with his wife. He hadn’t seen her since they’d walked in together almost four hours ago, which wasn’t unusual, but she usually popped by to see him at least once or twice. 

Clocking off for his lunch, Alex wandered down towards the main surgical floor in search of his wife. She’d seemed okay when they were getting ready for the day, extreme morning sickness turned to only an occasional swell of nausea now that she was in her second trimester. Still, Alex couldn’t help the worry for his wife that wound itself through his body. He knew that the pregnancy was taking a toll on her, both physically and emotionally, so, although he was sure she was going to be fine, he couldn't help but worry. 

After searching and finally asking a few nurses he’d passed, he found Jo laying on an empty gurney in one of the quieter hallways. She wasn’t asleep, just laying on her back and glaring at the ceiling with the most adorable angry pout Alex had ever seen. He smiled because the position she was lying in allowed him to see the tiniest curve of her stomach, so small and barely there that he was probably the only one who noticed.

He came up behind her and pressed a tender kiss on her forehead, “Hi.”

“Shut up,” Jo scowled.

“What?” Alex asked, a puzzled look on his face. “All I did was say hi. You can’t be mad at me for that.”

“I’m not mad because you said hi,” Jo rolled her eyes. “I’m mad at you because you did this to me. You knocked me up and now I can barely stand without feeling like I’m going to fall over.”

Alex wanted to laugh, honestly. But he knew if he did, he’d end up in the doghouse. Jo’s hormones had been a whirlwind lately. Most days, he teetered on the edge of saying something equally snarky back or just taking it in stride. Today, he decided to contain himself, “You’re not dizzy because you’re pregnant. Well, it’s not the only reason you’re dizzy. You’re dizzy because you’ve barely eaten anything all day. This morning when I made breakfast, you almost bit my head off for placing eggs in front of you, and proceeded to tell me how you couldn’t stand the smell and didn’t want to eat anything. I had to practically shove that piece of toast down your throat.”

“It’s still kind of your fault. Because if I weren’t pregnant, then I wouldn’t have weird food aversions that keep me from eating.” Jo pointed out. 

“As far as I remember, you’re the one who got us into this situation. You stopped taking your pills, and I told you that I didn’t have a condom but you said and I quote, ‘I don’t care. I’m naked and horny, stop stalling and just stick it in me.’ So really, you did this to yourself,” Alex shrugged.

“Whatever,” Jo glared at her husband. “What do you want?”

“I was wondering if you wanted to come eat lunch with me,” Alex asked sweetly, knowing if he won Jo over with his charm she might not realize he was just trying to get food into her over exerted body. 

“I honestly don’t know if I can even get up from this gurney,” Jo admitted, eyes moving up to meet Alex’s. He could see just from looking at her how much of a toll everything was taking on her. “I think I’m just gonna spend the next few months here, then I don’t have to move when I give birth.”

“I’ll carry you over there if I have to,” Alex offered, holding his hand out towards Jo. “Come on, I’ll help you up and hold your hand if you get dizzy.”

“Fine,” Jo huffed and held on to Alex as she let him help her off the gurney. 

They got to the cafeteria and Jo wrinkled her nose at the available options. Nothing looked appetizing, prompting her to grab an apple and banana and sit down at a table. Alex joined her a moment later, tray loaded with a burger, a sandwich, two bags of chips, and a fruit cup. He grabbed the burger and bit into it before fixing Jo with a pointed stare.

“Please for the love of god, force yourself to eat something besides an apple,” Alex pushed the tray towards Jo who glared at him. “If you don’t eat any of that, I’m putting you on my service so I can watch you all day and make sure you don’t pass out.”

“I’m not a resident anymore, you can force me on your service,” Jo pointed out, eyeing him warily.

“Dammit. That’s right. You’re a fellow,” Alex wrinkled his nose. “Well, good news is that I’m the chief, so technically I can have you follow me around all day.” 

Jo stared him down for a moment, Alex unfazed by his wife’s glare as he bit into his burger. Finally relenting, Jo grabbed a bag of chips and began to slowly eat them between bites of fruit. 

“You know I really hate you sometimes,” Jo mumbled as she took a final bite of the apple, a low groan escaping her as she did so. “Bailey would never abuse her power like this.”

“You didn’t know her when I was a resident,” Alex took another bite of his burger. “Are you sure you don’t want anything else? You can have some of my burger.”

“I’m sure,” Jo shook her head, a disgusted look crossing her face as she settled one hand onto her stomach. “Watching you eat is making me feel nauseous.”

Alex sighed, looking to Jo with a serious expression “This isn’t okay Jo. I can’t have you walking around the hospital alone without having eaten anything. You’re with me today, okay?”

“I don’t need to be babysat Alex, I can take care of myself,” Jo whined, crossing her arms across her chest like an angry toddler. “You don’t need to watch me 24/7.”

“You fell asleep on our bathroom floor yesterday after puking for 30 minutes. How about this,” Alex leaned in towards his wife with a small grin. “Shepherd and I have a Peds case together, you can come and help us so it doesn’t feel like I’m just dragging you around to make sure you don’t pass out in a storage closet.”

Jo eyed Alex warily, he was almost certain she was going to fight him on it, but he wore his ‘I’m the Chief don't test me right now’ expression well enough that she finally conceded. 

“Ugh… fine,” Jo groaned, standing and reaching for Alex’s hand. “Bailey’s out today anyway, so it’s not like I have anything better to do. But this is a one time thing!”

Alex joined Jo, one arm wrapped tightly around her shoulder as they headed towards the elevators. 

“That’s the spirit, your enthusiasm is appreciated,” Alex chuckled as they made their way to the Peds ward. “If you keep eating and stop feeling like shit, maybe I’ll let you do more things on your own.”

Alex led Jo into a patient room, Helm and Shepherd already speaking with a young girl and her mom. Amelia was explaining the procedure to them, so Alex and Jo hung back by the door until they’d finished. 

“I brought you something,” Alex whispered, handing a box of apple juice to Jo. “Figured you can keep your electrolytes up.”

Jo rolled her eyes as she snatched the juice box from Alex, sticking it in the pocket of her lab coat. "You're a pain in the ass. Stop hovering."

“Geez, Jo. Why are you so grumpy? I'm supposed to be the grumpy one,” Alex tried joking in hopes of lightening the mood. "You're the nice one in this relationship. "

“Did you forget that I'm literally carrying your genes right now?" Jo stared her husband down. "I am part Alex Karev at this moment and will continue to be for the next five and a half months, so you better get used to this.” 

Alex narrowed his eyes at her and reached for the juice box in her pocket. He removed the straw from the plastic and handed both items back to his wife, "Whatever. You can be mean and grumpy all you want, but you're carrying our kid and they need nutrients. So, stick that in your juice box and suck it."

Jo glared at Alex as she stuck the straw in the juice box. She was about to open her mouth in response when her smart remark was interrupted by Amelia calling Alex over to speak to the mom.

“Gracie and Delilah, this is Doctor Karev. He’s the best pediatric surgeon we have and he’s going to help me fix you up Gracie,” Amelia turned from Gracie to her mom. “Seriously this guy is a miracle worker, you’re lucky I convinced him to come consult.”

Alex pulled Delilah aside, explaining in more detail exactly what Gracie’s treatment plan would look like. He could tell she was worried, but hoped that he and Amelia could keep her nerves at bay. 

“Any other questions before we start doing labs?”

“Well just one,” Delilah blushed, eyelashes batting against her cheeks as she looked up to Alex. “Would it be inappropriate for me to ask for your number?”

Now, it’s not like Alex had never been hit on at work before. He had been, plenty of times, especially being a peds surgeon that dealt with scared moms daily. But since he’d been preoccupied with his Chief duties, lately he hadn’t spent enough time alone with moms to have them hit on him. Not to mention it was the first time Alex had experienced this since he’d gotten married. He also didn’t expect for his wife to be standing on the opposite side of the room when it happened.

So for that very reason, Alex blurted out the first thing that came to his mind, “I’m sleeping with her.”

Delilah looked stunned and a bit confused, scrunching her face as she looked to the doctors behind them, “Which one?”

Alex looked around the room and saw Jo standing with Amelia and Helm talking to Gracie. Jo clinked her juice box against Gracie’s and took a giant slurp. Alex turned back around to Delilah and motioned to Jo, “The one with the juice box.”

“Oh,” Delilah nodded, a strange expression on her face.

“Yeah,” Alex laughed awkwardly, his hand coming up to rub against his neck. “That’s my wife. My pregnant wife, sharing a juice box with your kid. Who I’m about to operate on.”

Alex and Delilah stood in an awkward silence that was only broken by Amelia announcing that Helm was going to run labs for Gracie before they prepped her for surgery. Alex quickly said his goodbyes to Gracie and Delilah, grabbing Jo’s arm pulling her out of the hospital room. 

“Geez you’re eager to get out of there,” Jo joked, sipping off her juice box as they walked down the hall. “What’s up with you?”

“She hit on me,” Alex blurted out, turning to Jo with a shocked expression. “Gracie’s mom hit on me.”

There was a beat of silence between the two before Jo burst into laughter, holding a hand to her chest as she tried to contain the giggles coming from her mouth. Jo wiped a few tears from her eyes, "What did you say? Please tell me you froze like an idiot."

Alex ran a hand over his face in hopes of disguising his embarrassment, "I told her I was sleeping with the one drinking the juice box." 

"Oh God… Alex," Jo's laughter started up again. She laughed in between her words. "Out of everything... that's what you said? Did you at least say that we're married. I don't need patients thinking I'm servicing the Chief." 

"Of course. I'm not that much of an idiot," Alex sighed. "I don't need patients thinking that the Chief of Surgery is a man-whore."

"He used to be," Jo muttered under her breath, nudging Alex with a smirk.

"Shut up," Alex stuck his tongue out, deciding to mess with Jo a bit. "I haven't been like that in years. You know that you're the only person I've slept with in the past six years? You can't exactly say the same."

"Hey!" Jo gasped and slapped Alex on the shoulder. "I thought we agreed to forget about that. Me sleeping with Schmidt was a momentary lapse in judgement. And I only did it because I was trying to get over you."

"Well, would you look at how that worked out," Alex poked her small bump lightly. "You ended up with me anyway."

"I know," Jo groaned. "And now I have to put up with you for the rest of my life."

"You love me," Alex bent down and gave Jo a quick peck on the lips. "Come on, we've got like forty-five minutes before we've got to meet Shepherd in the OR and I'm going to try to force a granola bar or something down your throat."

"We've got forty-five minutes free and all you want to do is make sure I eat something?" Jo shook her head in disappointment. "Gosh, being Chief has really mellowed you out. Who are you and what have you done with Alex Karev?"

"Huh?" Alex looked at her in confusion. "What did you want to do with your free time?"

"Alex, come on. You can't be that clueless," Jo looked at him expectantly. Seeing that he wasn't going to catch on anytime soon, she decided to spell it out for him. "Dude. I'm fifteen weeks pregnant and my hormones are raging right now,"

A look of realization finally crossed Alex's face, "Oh… Oh! You wanna?"

"Yup," Jo nodded and looked at him with an expression that could only be described as hungrily. 

"I could be into that," Alex whispered. "Let's get out of here before someone sees me and decides that they need the Chief."

[johnwalrusiii]

The Detective

     John sighed, massaging his aching head. The longer he stared at the papers in front of him, the longer each second seemed to take to tick by. After a moment, he leaned back in his chair as it creaked in protest. Why didn't he have someone else do this? He chuckled quietly. "Because I'm broke as hell, that's why," he muttered.

    He breathed in deeply, then gathered what energy he had left to stand, shuffling across the room slowly. A small box sat on one of the cleaner desks in the tattered office, ever so worn and dented. John popped the flimsy lock open and took a few pain-killers, hoping to ease his pounding head. As he threw them back, a knock echoed from the front door.

    "Come in," he called around the pills. "It's unlocked."

    The door creaked open and footsteps made their way toward John. Heavy footfalls, likely wearing boots. He turned to the small doorway in time to see a rather large man step through into the office. He was lightly tan, wearing a thick coat and heavy trousers, the boots he wore leaving a lightly muddy trail.

    John looked the man up and down. "You here to kill me?"

    Visibly startled, the man shook his head. "I- No, uh, sir." He cleared his throat. "I was looking for Johnson Whitewell?"

    "Well, y'found him." John stepped slowly back to his desk. "What can I do for ya, mister...?"

    "Oh, uh, Ivan. Ivan, sir."

    "Hell of a name. What can I do for ya, Ivan?" John gestured for the man to have a seat.

    Ivan nodded and obliged, sitting carefully, visibly nervous, his eyes, darting. "Well, I'm... that is..." He shook his head. "I've noticed that someone has been following me for a while now."

    "How long would you say?"

    "I didn't suspect until, say, about this time last month. That said, I think they've been following me for longer. I can think back a few months and there are weird coincidences that I can't get over."

    John scratched his cheek. "What tipped you off?"

    "I got lucky, if we're being honest. I glanced out the window one night after I heard a little sound - not sure why, just kind of reacted I suppose - and caught a glance at someone jumping out of sight. I'd have called it paranoid, but I started noticing similar little things like that as the days went by, always just out of the corner of my vision."

    John’s eyes narrowed. "Interesting. And you said that you noticed about a month ago? Why only come here now?"

    Ivan shifted, uncomfortable. "I, uh..." He glanced sideways to the walls, as though someone could be watching. "After the first incident, I noticed that... accidents... started occurring to some of the people I talked with. I get a coffee everyday at the same cafe, and the same lady is behind the counter most days, so we chat sometimes. I think I mentioned the window at some point and the very next day she was out. A broken arm, they said. She was in shock and wouldn't talk to anybody. That's not just a broken arm, I thought. Then..." He took a deep breath, clenching his hands into fists. "My friend, Sam... I was talking to him... mentioned how strange things seemed to be happening to me. He said it was probably nothing and I agreed. I shrugged it off and we both laughed about it. They found his car in a ditch that night. He's still in the hospital."

    Ivan turned his gaze sideways and rubbed his hand over his eyes. "Sorry."

    "It's ok, you've had a rough time lately from the sound of it. Take your time."

    He breathed in deep for a moment before turning back to John. "The last straw was a few days ago." A quick cough to clear his throat. "I was having dinner with my girlfriend- eh, fiancé." He managed a smile. "Still so surreal. But we were eating, when I got lucky and saw something shining in her hair. I thought it was a new hairpin or something, but it wasn't moving with her hair. I think instinct took over, 'cause the only thing I remember after that is lying on top of her on the ground. After a moment, when nothing happened, I thought I was just a paranoid asshole. But then I lift my head and look around, and there was a hole in the far wall and the window near her seat had shattered."

    He shook his head. "I couldn't stand that someone would try to take my love from me as we were sitting together. I started screaming and cursing names at them." Ivan leaned back, seeming to feel more ease as he told his story. "After that, we drove out to a secluded hotel. I dropped her off and barely stopped. I wanted to go to the police, but I was worried it wouldn't be enough. But then you came up under the names of P.I.s and seemed very highly… recommended. And, well... here I am."

    John tapped his desk, thinking. "Alright, interesting." He nodded, thinking the situation out. "I think I know what you're dealing with here. Consider yourself lucky; most people don't get away with as much as you have with these guys. And in that case," he continued as he checked his watch, "I think it's time you left."

    Ivan's face contorted from rage to fear to something in between. John smiled lightly. "Don't worry, I'm not doing it to decline you, I'm trying to save your ass. If this is who I think it is, you have about a minute before they come through that door with guns blazing. I can handle myself, but I can't guarantee your safety if you stay. Come back in half an hour. Go. Now." He gestured to the door as he stood, his stance one of confidence and determination.

    "Of course! Thank you!" Ivan almost jumped from the chair, sprinting out the door.

    John flexed his shoulders and cracked his neck. He heard a car start and screech away as another rolled up not moments later. "Alright, boys," he muttered. "You wanna play?" A door slammed open and footsteps began marching upstairs from the lobby. A hellish grin split John's face. "I’m game."

    "Red, take point."

    "Copy."

    The team stepped forward to the top of the stairs. Red hit the wall, checking first away then towards the target apartment. "Hall is clear. All doors shut, three away from the target with one towards it on the left side."

    "Copy. I'll move with you. Pocket, Dice, watch the hall." Rook stepped in line with Red as they moved forward into the hall, approaching the apartment with caution. Their footfalls echoed as the team hustled towards the target.

    As they formed on the door, Pocket reached up to his earpiece, listening for a moment before nodding. "Copy, the Package is on the move. We'll clean up here and continue pursuit." He nodded to Dice, who pulled a small charge from her vest.

    As she set the charge, Rook addressed his team. "Remember, the Package has become a rogue target; anyone who has come into contact is considered a priority target. We can't risk anymore potential threats."

    Dice gave a thumbs up. Red held a detonator at the ready, waiting for the OK. Before Rook could give it, Pocket put his hand on his shoulder. "Whoa, why the heavy firepower?"

    "The target in this apartment is considered a Class A threat. We can't risk going in light." He turned and nodded to Red.

    With a push of a button and an explosion of smoke, the door flew inwards of its hinges, smashing into the far wall. The group stepped in, clearing each corner with surgical precision.

    "Clear!"

    "Clear!"

    Rook stepped up to the office doorway, Pocket close behind. As he stepped through the doorway, he swept his sight over the room as Pocket came up to cover him. Suddenly, he felt a chill run over him. Something was wrong. "Back, back, get back!" Pocket dove back through the door with Rook just as the entire office exploded in a fiery plume.

    "You ok?"

    "I think so, sir."

    "Aw, that's a shame. Usually works, that one."

    The team swiveled instantly, guns leveling at the man standing casually amid them. "Hold fire! He's up to something!"

    A grin slithered across the man's face. "Very good! Most of the jackasses I deal with aren't even half as organized as you four." A fiery cloak dispersed from around him, previously unseen. "I like it. Gives me a challenge. Let's put you to the test, shall we?"

    The lights flickered and he was gone. For a moment, the group blinked in disbelief before Dice quickly snapped back to attention and aimed behind Pocket. "Behind you!" Three shots rang out. "He's gone!"

    "Move to the center! Watch every corner!" The group dove to the center, taking up careful positions to cover the whole room. "Red! How many shots can he take?"

    "At least three kill shots, sir. The hard part is landing your shots; make 'em count."

    The lights flickered again and Pocket let out a yelp. Two gunshots. Rook flicked towards him, finding a bloody but breathing Pocket. "How you holding up there, soldier?"

    "I've had worse!" he said between his pained breathing. "Think I got him with one of those shots!"

    Just before Rook turned back, he felt a stabbing pain in his back. He spun back, his gun staring the 'man' down, blood dripping down its injured cheek around its hellish grin. He fired off a volley of bullets, he wasn't sure how many. He saw one of the shots clip its shoulder and another its neck before it vanished. "Two more hits, three total confirmed!"

    A shout followed by intense swearing. "He got me good, boss!" Dice shouted. "Flying half blind here!"

    "I copy! Maintain defensive position, focus on defensive shots only!"

    Two shots rang out. Silence. "What happened, give me a sign off!"

    "Pocket, I copy!"

    "Dice, I copy."

    A blood-filled cough. "Copy," Red managed weakly.

    Rook dragged his vision across the room. If this kept up, they were going to be in bad shape, even likely to lose the fight. "Adjust position! Move to the far wall, Red's side!"

    A collection of affirmatives rang out as they shuffled towards the wall. Three shots. "No hits!"

    Rook glanced sideways to see his team's status. Bloody, but still functional, though Red was looking rough. He snapped back forward to find a nightmare smile waiting for him. In an instant he was flying through the air and slammed against the opposite wall. A concussive ringing filled his ears, dull gunshots piercing it periodically.

    He forced his eyes open, trying to see the battle. The monster was moving at an impossible pace, but the team was just keeping up with their combined efforts. But then it caught a single flaw; Pocket shifted his stance ever so slightly, so little that Rook barely saw it. With a cackle, it descended on Pocket, some tail catching the stance shift and tripping him enough to grip him by the throat. Blood exploded along the wall.

    Red and Dice managed to maintain posture, unleashing a hail of bullets on the beast. It went for Dice's blind spot but Red caught it in the stomach before it could do anything. Rook tried to reach for his sidearm, wincing as he moved his arm. He found his grip and pulled free just in time to get off a shot as it went for Red. It took a moment longer to look at him, as if impressed he wasn't dead. Red took the chance for a shot, but his blood loss was catching up to his reaction time.

    The creature switched back to Dice but she was ready. Four shots rang out when the beast grabbed her arm and snapped it, prompting a crack like a tree branch and a bloodcurdling scream. As if on cue, Red found the strength to tackle the creature, a tactic no one expected, least of all the one being tackled. It gripped his chest and flung him to the ground. His body contorted from the impact and then lied still.

    The creature turned back toward Dice, no longer flicking about but rather stalking forward. Rook got a good look at the true form of the beast: two heads taller than any of the group and barely humanoid, it had talons and blood-red spikes from head to toe, with a tail like a spine. Its head was something out of an alien conspiracy theory from hell, with a smile dripping with blood and malice.

    As it lifted Dice from the ground, Rook saw something stuck to the monster's shoulder. Realization hit him and he mustered all the strength he had to heave himself forward to Red's crumpled body. As the beast went to deliver the killing blow, Rook smacked the detonator, rocketing the monster into the wall with devastating force as it lost its grip on Dice. Before it could recover, Rook grabbed Red's gun and took aim, watching it stare him dead in the eyes and snear. Rook unloaded everything in the clip. The scream it emitted was hellish and inhuman. It was done.

    Rook collapsed, coughing and gasping, the rush of adrenaline fading. Dice slowly stood, favoring her arm, and made her way toward him. She nearly fell onto the floor as she tried to sit down beside him.

    "We did it, sir."

    Rook just smiled and let out a sigh of relief, reaching to his belt. "Yeah. We did it."

    A single shot rang out. Dice crumpled to the ground; a clean kill. 'Rook' grunted and stood, tossing the sidearm away. He hated switching; it felt like cheating.

    As he stripped the heavy body armor away, he winced. Everything hurt all over, which wasn’t a surprise. He limped back into the office to grab some more painkillers from the small box. It was smoky and dented from the blast, but it was meant to last. The pills went down. His upper body was now mostly bare from the removed armor. He stood and stretched for a minute, adjusting to the new muscles and flesh.

    Some time after, there were footsteps behind him. A familiar voice came from the doorway.

    "Um... Mr... Whitewell?"

    John turned to Ivan, a devilish smile curling on his new face. "In the flesh."

[cake-writes]

Low

Pairing: Steve x Reader

Warnings: Angst, Drug and Alcohol Abuse, Mental Illness (Bipolar & Depression), Violence, 18+

Word Count: 3.5k

Requested by @josiewinters1999​: I was wondering if you could write a Steve x Reader where Steve helps Reader (his girlfriend) get over a drug addiction?

This request really hits close to home. To write this, I relied heavily on my own experiences with bipolar and drug addiction. If you - any of you - ever you need someone to talk to, my ask box and messages are always open!

Steve had always known you were big into gym supplements. You didn’t have serum or anything else enhanced running through your veins, just plain human blood, so you were always on the lookout for safe, healthy ways to boost your abilities. Even before the two of you got together, you introduced him to protein shakes, amino acids, creatine, the works – and you were very rarely ever found without a shaker bottle in hand, fresh from the gym.  

It certainly helped you quite a lot to supplement your exercise. You could bench press and deadlift a lot of weight for your small stature, and your squats were in a league of their own. You were strong. Not as strong as him, of course, but for a regular person, you could definitely pack a wallop.

Even though your body was strong, your mind wasn’t. He knew that too, and he didn’t pry. Steve certainly wasn’t without his demons, and he reminded you every now and then that he’d be happy to talk if you ever wanted to. You’d been together for a little over a year, now, and he’d opened up quite a bit about his own past – but you hadn’t. Not about the things that plagued you. Not yet. It would take time, and he knew that. He understood.  

He probably should have paid more mind than he did to the pills you started to take. Over the last few months, your bedside drawer slowly became full of them. Some were for medical reasons, and the rest were vitamins or supplements – or so you claimed.

In some regards, he knew a fair bit about your meds. The little white pill was your birth control. The little blue one was an antidepressant. The capsule was lithium. All for medical reasons.

The others weren’t.

The bigger white pill was oxycodone. The yellow one was valium.

Those weren’t vitamins at all. You lied to him about them, and he was oblivious. He certainly didn’t think to research them, because he trusted you. Vitamins and supplements were nothing out of the ordinary.

What Steve didn’t know was that you were spiralling.

You’d been prescribed the oxy a few weeks back to alleviate the pain from a couple of broken bones in your wrist. You’d mostly healed up by now, but due to your line of work, the doctor had given you a backup supply along with a warning not to abuse them – just in case the pain very likely flared up in your wrist.

And it did.

And you did.

You abused them. Not only did they make you feel good, like everything would be alright, but they also gave you extra energy and made you chatty and sociable. You liked to pop one or two before missions where a lot of teamwork would be involved. Sometimes you’d take them before Tony’s insufferable parties, too, and combine them with alcohol for extra effect. That was always fun.

The valium, on the other hand, was originally meant to manage your anxiety, carefully prescribed by a psychiatrist who monitored your condition. Flare-ups didn’t happen often, mostly just when you made a stupid mistake on a mission, and afterwards you’d stew over it for hours like a broken record, over and over and over. You’d ruminate. The valium took the edge off and distracted you from your thoughts. It, too, made you feel good.

Needless to say, as of late you weren’t in a very good headspace. The fact that you were manic depressive was bad enough. It was manageable, but that kind of diagnosis didn’t just go away, even if you usually did handle it well enough with a delicate combination of medication and therapy.

Work stress was what triggered your downward spiral. The longer you were an Avenger, the more it took its toll on you and, eventually, your mood started to plummet despite your medication. You went low.

Truth be told, you’d been low for weeks. The fact that you’d started to pop pills was a good indication, but you refused to acknowledge that something was wrong.

Steve always made sure you knew that you could talk to him if you ever needed to, but you didn’t about the more serious stuff. For basic things, you did – how your wrist was healing up, how you were feeling today, if you’d achieved one of your top three things for the day like he gently encouraged you to do. They were little questions that showed he cared, and it meant the world to you that he asked them – just as much as when he told you I love you outright.

You knew how much it would hurt him to know that you were feeling depressed, so you didn’t share that with him. He already had so much on his shoulders, and you didn’t want to be a burden. He knew all about your highs and your lows and he did what he could to help you through them – but there wasn’t much he could do and it only made you feel guilty. You knew how helpless he felt on the days you couldn’t even get yourself out of bed, and you didn’t want him to think anything was wrong.

So, instead, you popped pills – pills that made the world seem bright again, if only for a few short hours.

One small dose of valium slowly turned to three as your tolerance increased. It made you feel so incredibly relaxed that you stared into space sometimes, mind blissfully blank. Sometimes it knocked you out, too; made you sleep like the dead. Steve had never known you to be a heavy sleeper, but as of late, you had been. He figured you’d just been having a rough couple of weeks because your body was still healing. He was oblivious.

In the Quinjet before a particularly bothersome mission, you needed the extra energy and ego boost. This mission would require a fair amount of teamwork and you were in no mood for it. Sam sat to your left while the two of you prepped your gear, and Steve was across the aisle from you, his shield in the vacant seat beside him. Clint was piloting. The rest of the team was already on site, ready to raid.

After your gear was all ready and adjusted, Sam just happened to glance over and catch you pull a little orange pill bottle from your pocket. At first, he assumed it was another vitamin or supplement or some stupid new thing you were into, until he caught a glimpse of the label – oxycodone.

You popped two of the tablets into your mouth, and dry swallowed them with ease.

Well, that wasn’t normal.

As you shoved the bottle back into your duffel bag, you caught him eyeing you and asked blankly, “What?”

“Those your, uh,” he chose his words carefully to test the waters, “new supps?”

You beamed at him. “Aw, Sammy, you know me so well.”

Sam had been a counsellor at the VA for a number of years. He knew what drug addiction looked like. Of course he was the first person to catch on to yours. The fact that you’d blatantly lied about it was the first sign – lied and deflected. And then, later on during the mission, when your words slurred just a little over comms, that was the second one.

He was going to have a very difficult conversation with you, and he wasn’t looking forward to it. What’s worse was that he needed to keep it from Steve out of respect for you. Sam was never one for secrets, but for now, he’d keep yours. If the conversation went south like he highly suspected it would, then he’d would have no choice but to tell him. Hopefully that wouldn’t happen and you’d come to your senses, but he already knew you wouldn’t.

In the morning, Sam made you breakfast. That wasn’t too unusual, because he made everyone breakfast every now and then. He liked to cook, and his pancakes were to die for. Knowing he was making them this morning put a tiny bit of light into your otherwise bleak outlook on life as of late.

It was just the two of you in the kitchen so early in the morning. Steve had accidentally woken you up as he was getting ready for his morning jog, and you hadn’t been able to get back to sleep. Sam had strangely chosen to forego his, but he did that every now and then so you didn’t think anything of it.

As expected, the conversation went poorly.

“Those weren’t vitamins yesterday,” Sam commented casually, “were they?”

You’d just started bringing your loaded fork up to your mouth, but you stilled. The pause was extremely brief, just long enough to make it obvious that he wasn’t wrong. Then you rolled your eyes and shoved the bite of pancakes into your mouth.

“Sure they were,” you told him, muffled by pancakes. “Gotta get my B-12’s, you know.”

You lied about it so easily, like you’d done it a hundred times before. Sam knew what oxycodone looked like, and he could only imagine what other things you were on if you were popping pills so easily before a mission – and two of them, no less.

Sam said your name firmly, almost in reprimand and immediately, your temper flared.  You purposely dropped your fork down onto the plate with a loud clink and shot him a nasty glare.

“It’s oxy,” he responded. “You shouldn’t be taking it on a mission. You know that.”

“It’s a vitamin,” you hissed. “Ask Steve. He knows.”

Sam crossed his arms over his chest. “You lie to him too?”

At that, you loudly shoved your chair back from the kitchen counter and got to your feet. “I’m not gonna put up with your bullshit, Wilson. You wanna counsel someone, go back to the VA.”

“This isn’t about me.” His voice was patient and kind, not accusatory. “You’ve got a problem.”

“No, you’re the one with the problem,” you spat at him. “Get off my ass.”

Projection. He’d expected as much.

“I can get you in contact with someone. She’s really good—”

You interrupted him angrily, “Go to hell, Sam.”  

And then, when you stormed out of the room, he let you go. He knew it was a hard pill to swallow – literally – to be told something like this, and he’d dealt with it hundreds of times by this point. Everyone reacted differently. Some people came to terms with it and tried to do better, while others sank even further into addiction. He hoped you’d be the former, not the latter.

Just in case, though, he sent Steve a quick text.

Keep an eye on her for the next couple of days, yeah? She’s low.

When you got back upstairs to your shared room with Steve, you popped another couple pills – valium this time – and cried into your pillow.

After he received Sam’s text, Steve returned from his jog sooner than he’d planned. He found you bundled up in the sheets, staring into space with streaks of tears and mascara drying on your cheeks. You didn’t even notice he was there, or if you did, you didn’t acknowledge him. You just kept staring blankly at the wall.

His heart broke at the sight.

“Oh, sweetheart—”

Steve gathered you into his arms so easily and held you close, bringing your head against his chest as the two of you lay in bed together. Your messy makeup stained his white t-shirt, but he didn’t care and neither did you. It was a small comfort, the way he threaded his fingers through your hair as he whispered sweet things to you, reassurances he always told you when you were low. “It’s okay. It’ll be okay. I love you.”

You didn’t respond, or maybe you couldn’t. You loved him, but in this moment you were numb. You fell asleep to the sound of his voice, surrounded by the warmth and love that only Steve – your sweet, caring Steve – could provide.

You were low. Almost at rock bottom, as a matter of fact, but not quite.

Rock bottom hit during your next mission, two days later.

You took a couple shots of alcohol before the mission to settle the pre-mission jitters, and then you popped three oxy on the Quinjet, not because you needed them but as an act of rebellion. Sam wasn’t there this time to get on your case, and for that, you were thankful. Instead, you were paired up with Bucky and Natasha. You didn’t need the drugs for this mission because you got along with the two of them, but you took them anyway as a nice fuck you.

That fuck you almost got you and your teammates killed.

It was meant to be a covert mission – pop in and out unseen, grab some intel, but you were, to put it bluntly, entirely too fucked up to be in the field. You couldn’t sneak around when you were so clumsy and uncoordinated. While you’d combined alcohol with oxy before, you’d never done it with three and you didn’t realize to what extent it would fuck you up.

Needless to say, your presence was quickly detected.

The three of you were outnumbered.

“What the hell’s wrong with you?” Natasha bit out, shoving you behind the wall right before a flood of bullets ricocheted off of it. You just slid down it and fell on your ass, high as hell, not to mention the fact that your vision was blurry and you were seeing double. You didn’t care that you’d nearly been shot.

Maybe it would have been a blessing.

You didn’t even realize that you already had been shot until Bucky was suddenly there, crouching down in front of you, his lips pressed together in a thin line. You weren’t even sure where he came from, but he started applying firm pressure to your shoulder with one hand, patting your cheek with the other. It was the only way he could capture your attention long enough to assess you – and what he found was that you were in a stupor.

He knew it wasn’t shock settling in, because he could smell the alcohol on your breath for one, and for two, all you did was smile up at him like an idiot. You didn’t feel a thing. You probably didn’t even know where the hell you were.

He wasn’t wrong.

Blood seeped through his fingers as he tore open a pack of gauze with his teeth, and then he swore under his breath, packing the wound with practiced finesse. He was no medic, nor was he perfect at it, but he knew enough.

Your blood streamed freely down the back of his hand, the bright colour a stark contrast to his pale skin and the only thought on your mind was that it was a very pretty red.

Then Bucky and Natasha were saying things to each other, but you couldn’t really focus on it with the blood loss and the noise from the gunshots – particularly Natasha’s when she returned fire as Bucky hoisted you up onto his back.

How the three of you made it out, you couldn’t be sure. You didn’t pass out, but you weren’t entirely awake for it, either.

That was the shock settling in.

You didn’t stay conscious for long.

It was all a blur until the next day, when you finally woke to Steve sitting at your bedside with a book. He hadn’t managed to get very far into it. One of his large, warm hands lay atop yours, but the only thing you could focus on was the sharp, awful pain in your shoulder. That was when the memories – what little of them remained – came flooding back.

You’d been shot.

“I thought I was supposed to get morphine,” you joked, wincing from both the pain and at how raspy your voice sounded.

Steve’s eyes snapped up from his novel to your face, and on it you saw mostly relief – but it was coupled with an emotion you couldn’t quite grasp. Not yet.

“They couldn’t give you any,” he told you, squeezing your hand gently but it did nothing to soften the blow of his next words. “You had too much… stuff in your system.”

Oh.

Oh.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, hesitant and awkward and it only put you on the defensive because, in that moment, you realized that he knew.

“What do you think?” you snapped at him, pulling your hand from his grasp. That was a mistake, because it was on the same side as your wound and searing pain rushed through you at the action, so much that you were forced to bite down on your lower lip to keep from screaming. Every single muscle in your body was tense, ready to fight or to run, to flee from the conversation you knew you were going to have.

You refused to look at him again. You were ashamed. You’d fucked up.

You’d fucked up bad.

“Bucky and Nat are fine,” he reassured you. “They want to see you.”

Hot tears pricked at the corners of your eyes and you chewed at your lower lip, slowly shaking your head. “No. I don’t want them to see me like this.”

Like a junkie. That was what you’d become.

He knew what you meant. They’d seen you in a hospital bed before, as had Steve.

“Bucky was really worried, you know?” Steve’s attempt to lighten the mood fell flat. “Said he’d never seen so much blood coming from such a small—”

“Can we just get this over with?” you interrupted, finally meeting his eyes again. The tears hadn’t yet spilled over, but when you saw the look on his face, you knew they were close. “Rip off the band-aid, Steve. Come on.”  

Steve slowly exhaled, running a hand through his hair. He wasn’t planning on discussing this right now with you, because you’d literally just woken up, you were in pain, upset and the last thing he wanted to do was upset you further. It wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have right now, and truth be told, it made him nervous.

Even still, he ripped off the band-aid just like you asked him to.

“They ran a tox screen,” he told you, point-blank. “Sam’s suggestion. He said the two of you had a conversation the other day, and the mission reports…”

You grimaced. “What did they say?”

“You know what they said.”

Natasha might have covered for you before, for other, smaller things, but for this she wouldn’t – and Bucky wouldn’t, either. They couldn’t rely on you to have their backs, not like this. If you were in no condition to be in the field, then they would have had no choice but to report it. You’d nearly gotten them killed as it was, and you were lucky that it was only you who’d been shot.

You supposed you deserved it. That thought made you look down at your lap in shame, and you fidgeted anxiously with the thin, scratchy blanket on your uninjured side.

“It’s okay,” Steve told you in his familiar way, gently wrapping his fingers around your small hand again. You didn’t pull away this time, but you didn’t look up at him, either, because the dam finally broke. Tears streamed down your face for what felt like the umpteenth time in the last few weeks.

Steve was always too kind, never judgmental, but right now all you wanted was for him to yell at you. You didn’t want his kindness, not right now. You’d nearly gotten your teammates killed and here he was he was telling you that it was okay.

“It’s not, Steve.” Your voice was weak and pathetic, and it broke when you spoke again, “I’m not.”

That was when the bed dipped, and then Steve gathered you in his arms so easily, just like he always did – except this time, he was a lot more careful with you. He was too gentle, like you were going to shatter to pieces if he wasn’t.

“I know,” he whispered. “I love you.”

He said those three little words so often to you – a couple times a day, at least – but even now you never really understood how he could love someone like you. You were broken, and at your core you had far too many troubles for him to handle, but he tried. He always tried.

Even if he didn’t know what to do to help you, and even if there was nothing he could do, he still tried.

Maybe you’d try, too. Maybe you’d finally talk to him about your troubles.

“I’m sorry,” you managed in between sobs, burying your face into his chest. The words just kept coming, spilling out of your mouth like verbal vomit and it only made you hate yourself more. “I’m sorry. I love you so much, Steve, please don’t leave me—”

“I won’t,” he reassured you, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. “We’re in this together. It’ll be okay.”

He’d told you that so many times over the past year that you’d been with him, but this was the first time you ever believed him.

It would be okay.

(If you like my work, please consider donating to my Patreon or my Ko-Fi!)

[leahxx129]

The Last Descendant (Sam Winchester x Reader) pt.2

Summary for pt.2: You wake up in an entirely unfamiliar place but soon run into a familiar face. As the days pass, you grow closer to each other but every good thing has to come to an end, right?

Warnings: cursing, careless medication use

Word count: 2.850-ish

Read Part 1 HERE.

You wake up with a headache and an unusually dry throat, but these are minor inconveniences comparing to the fact that the room you’re in strikes you completely unfamiliar. You have no idea where you are. You throw off the covers and try to get up, but a painful throb in your left leg slows you down a bit. You examine the aching limb just to discover an apple-sized deep purple spot on it.

„What the hell happened?” you mutter under your breath. Eventually, you bring yourself to get up and limp over to the bathroom. 

„Well, you look like crap, princess!” you compliment your reflection and decide to wash your face, which, you conclude, doesn’t help at all. 

You find some painkillers in the nightstand drawer and pop a few pills, not caring to read the instructions regarding the dosage first. You find your stuff on a chair in the corner but decide against putting the skintight jeans on. Your leg definitely isn’t in the condiotion to be sexy, so you just slip into your ankle boots that go surprisingly well with the oversized male plaid shirt you’re wearing. Walking gives you a great deal of trouble, but being the stubborn ass person you are, you choose to ignore it and leave the room anyway. The corridor is way too lit and it gives off a hospital vibe, but you can tell this place isn’t one. There is a strange symbol on each door which seems remarkably familiar, but you can’t quite put your finger on it just yet. You wander aimlessly through the corridors that follow each other until you hear a noise coming from a room. When you limp closer and peek in you can see a man standing in what appears to be a kitchen, back turned to you.

„Best defense is a good offense, so here goes nothing…” you think to yourself as you creep up behind him as quietly as possible. You grab a frying pan from a hanger and just as you are about to give it a swing, the man turns around and grabs your wrist.

„Whoa..hey..Y/N!”

You stand there speechless for a second but regain your composure considerably fast.

„Abercrombie?! What are you doing here??”

He rolls his eyes.

„I thought we’ve established it’s Sam and I live here.”

„Then what am I doing here?!”

„Y/N, just calm down, okay? I’ll explain everything-”

„Well, I’m listening!” you cut in nervously.

„Give me the frying pan first, before you hurt anyone!” he commands, and you hand him the kitchen utensil despite your unwillingness. „Great. Now take a seat, I doubt your leg is already as good as new.” he comments, his eyes lingering on the purple spot. „Want some coffee?”

„Sure.” you sit down on the chair closest to you „I drink it with two loads of sugar, sprinkled with a little bit of an explanation.”

He gives you the most authentic bitchface you’ve ever seen in your life as he sits down across to you and hands you your coffe.

„It’s kind of a long story.”

„I’m listening.”

„Well…in a nutshell, you forgot something in the hotel room and when you came back for it, I invited you to have a few drinks as a sign of my gratitude for saving my ass. Then after a few too many we caught up on that kinky wild sex you had joked about before.”

You stare at him doumbfounded, which he finds very entertaining.

„We drank absinthe, didn’t we?” you finally manage to say while running both  hands through your hair „I mean I love that shit, but it can fuck me up real bad.”

Your comment seems to break him, and he starts chuckling.

„What? What’s so funny, Winchester?” it takes a couple of second before it dawns upon you „This didn’t happen, did it?” you ask through gritted teeth.

„Nope. But you should’ve seen your face.” he shoots you a content smile.

„Quit messing with me because bad leg or not, I can still kick your 6”2’ ass.”

„Is that really the way you’d treat someone who saved your life?”

„What do you mean? And I want the truth this time.”

He sighes and his expression turns grim just in a matter of seconds.

„Remember the blonde chick with the vampire you killed?” you nod „Turns out she wan’t a victim you saved from becoming monster snack. She was his mate.”

„Oh, okay. And?”

„And… you could say that she was kind of pissed off that you decapitated her one true love. So, when you took off on your bike and turned on the interstate road, she hit you right in the side with a truck. It’s basically a miracle that you got off with nothing more than a fractured leg bone.”

You gulp your coffee slowly.

„Based on that look on your face, this is not the end of the story, is it?” 

„No.” his voice is barely above a whisper „She then took you to a nearby abandoned warehouse and… and she wanted to turn you. That’s when I arrived. You see, the part of you forgetting something in the hotel room wasn’t entirely a lie. You left your machete there. I went after you immediately, assuming you left the way you did as that’s the only way out of that town. I saw your bike in the bushes and the signs lead to the warehouse…. I was just on time.”

You can feel tear drops forming in the corners of your eyes, so you wipe them off before they have the chance to surfice. The fact that he cared enough to save you stirs up so many unwanted feelings, feelings you thought died a long time ago.

„Thanks.”

„No problem. You did the same for me.”

A long silence falls on the kitchen.

„Y/N?”

„Hmm?”

„When I fought with the vampire, something weird happened.”

„Yeah?”

„Yeah. When I cut her on the arm with your blade, she just… froze. Like… almost as if something was already killing her from the inside.”

You hesitate a little. Should you tell him? After all, he saved you. He deserves to know. Certain parts, at least.

„It was forged with dead man’s blood. Incapacitates those fuckers just long enough for hunters to cut their heads off. Real piece of work, might I add.”

He nods as if he’s confirming a theory.

„One more question… where’d you get it?”

„Every girl’s gotta have her secrets, Sam.” you smirk at him mysteriously.

You steal quick glances at Sam whenever he’s not looking. And when he’s researching, he rarely looks at anything but the lore book. What is it about this man? What is it that makes you sit here and help him instead of running? What happened to staying out of everyone’s business? A few hours ago he told you everything… he’d been drunk the night you met, because his brother’s in trouble and he has no idea how to save him and he just lost it. But the worst part came when he mentioned the Men of Letters and that you’re currently at a safe house of theirs. This only should’ve made you grab your stuff and get gone, but the part involving angels and Michael above all is kind of the main reason for leaving and never looking back. And yet here you are, helping him, convincing yourself it’s because he saved you and your leg still needs time to heal… You shut the book you’ve been reading a little too fast, drawing his attention to yourself.

„If I have to read one more sentence, I swear my eyeballs are gonna start spinning around in their sockets and I’ll see my brain.” you say quickly in your defense, looking as innocent as possible. The right corner of his lips curls into a barely visible smile.

„Go get some shut-eye. You’ve been very helpful, Y/N, thanks.”

„Yeah, I’ve been helpful at finding nothing….” you murmur in response.

„Hey, you went through an entire book in just a span of a few hours! I call that help, even if there is no relevant information in it. Sleep well.”

„Will do.” you force a smile knowing exactly how big of a lie your reply is.

You limp back to the room you woke up in and read the manual on the painkilling drugs.

„Shit!” it’s not strong enough to knock you out for the entire night. „Well then, Sam might crap his pants later this night when the show starts…” you whisper to yourself and take a couple of pills.

The fatigue and the warmth of your blanket soon sends you to sleep. You don’t know how long you usually go without dreams, but at one point they always appear. First, they start off nice, mostly memories of your family. You, your father, mother and brother having a barbecue in the backyard, or just watching TV in the living room, anything basic you enjoyed doing with them. Then there’s a turning point when everything goes to hell. They appear and slaughter your whole family in front of you, one by one. Your father is the last one. He sees you hiding and tries to mouth something to you, but he’s choking on his own blood and you can’t make out anything, at least not until it’s too late. Every scream, every death rattle stops once and for all and that’s when you realize what he was saying. And you do it, regardless that it’s almost no use. You always wake up exactly when this happens, sweaty and screaming, but this time it’s different. There is someone calling your name.

„Y/N, wake up…Jesus, Y/N, wake UP!!” you hear a deep manly voice. Still in the haze of your recurring nightmare, you’re not able to identify who and you do what any person in this line of job would – try to incapacitate the intruder. In a blink of an eye you pull the person onto yourself, then shift so you would be on top and point the gun you got from under your pillow in their face. You’re seeing stars from the pain that shoots through your leg as a result of your swift movements, but you do your best to ignore them and supress the urge of crying out. The only thing disturbing the heavy silence is your panting.

„Sam?!” you finally recognize him.

„Uh, yeah!” his hands are in the air, his gaze is shifting between the gun and your eyes. „I heard this awful screaming coming from your room and I thought something happened…”

You let the gun down and avert your eyes.

„Yeah, not so much. I mean, when people witness this, they freak out, but it’s just another typical night of fucked up sleep for me.”

„You were tossing and flailing and… it honestly sort of looked like you could hurt yourself.” he adds in a low tone.

„Sometimes I do. Sometimes I don’t. It’s fifty-fifty.” you admit, which quite frankly surprises you. You don’t really open up to anyone.

„I see…” his eyes then slowly travel all the way down your body from your face to your thighs as you are still stradling him.

Feeling your cheeks heat up, you slide off him to his right side.

„Sorry about that. And, well, for the whole thing.”

„Oh, don’t be, it was nothing at all. I’ve seen a lot worse actually.” ha pauses for a second, but can’t keep himself from asking „Hey Y/N…Was this…was this about the reason you got into the life?”

„Make a guess.” you respond sarcastically, and he draws his brows together in confusion, awakening some guilt in you. Sam is just trying to be there for you to which your reaction is pushing him away.

„I’m sorry.” you sigh „Yeah. It was about the reason, damn straight. You know how everybody gets into the life by losing someone?” he nods „Well, try losing your whole family at fourteen. Now that can mess your head up real bad. Even though it’s been more than a decade now, my subconscious makes sure I never forget what happened.”

„You know, if you’d like to share-„ he starts but you jump in.

„I appreciate it, Sam, I really do, but I don’t think I can do it.” 

„Of course, it’s fine. „ he gets off the bed and starts towards the door but stops halfway and sits down in a chair. You look at him perplexed.

„Uhm, Sam? What are you doing?”

„Nothing. Just making sure that if you fall asleep, you won’t hurt yourself.”

„By sitting there and watching me sleep like a weird-ass creep?”

„Now that you say it out loud, yes, I admit it sounds way worse than it actually is-”

„Sam, I don’t need a sleeping nanny. I’m a big girl, I can handle a few bruises every now and then.”

„Y/N, please. I’m pretty sure that seeing my naked butt added to your trauma, so please let me do this for you. Let me help you. Or at least let me try.” he pleads. You suddenly realize the weight of his words. He really wants to do this for you and for himself. He couldn’t help his brother, and this chance strikes him as a step on the path of redemption.

„Okay. I hope you don’t snort.”

He smiles at you gratefully. You replicate his expression and turn to the other side and try to fall asleep again. You have no idea how much time has passed but you can’t take it anymore. You sit up abruptly.

„Okay, this isn’t working. I can’t fall asleep knowing that you’re sitting there and staring at me.”

„What? I’m not staring, don’t be ridiculous.” he scoffs.

„You know what? Come here.”

„Beg your pardon?”

„Sit here beside me. Or lay down. Or whatever. This way the whole thing won’t have that creepy stalking vibe.”

„You sure about that?” maybe you’re imagining it, but his voice sounds a bit higher than usual.

„Yup. Although I might kick you a few times, which I apologize for in advance.”

„O-Okay.” 

A couple of second pass when you feel the bed sink in a little bit on your left side.

„We can share my blanket if you’d like.”

„Thanks.” he whispers, and you feel him tug on the fabric.

„Good night, Sam.”

„Good night, Y/N.”

When Sam lays beside you, he makes sure to keep a certain distance between the two of you. But during the night when you wake up, you find yourself a little too close to him. Your head is on his chest, your right arm is around his torso. One of his arms is around you, his lips brush against your forhead. You can feel his hot breath fanning your face. Your very first intinct is to jump out of the bed as far away from him as possible, but somehow you don’t follow it. What the hell’s wrong with you now? Or was something wrong with you earlier when you thought cutting everyone out was the only way? You have no idea. And the fact that Sam’s hold around you tightens does not aid you in finding an answer.

The next morning you prepare breakfast by the time he wakes up. None of you mention the proximity you’ve experienced the previous night. The day goes by with researching. You try to crack a joke occasionally and it appears effective – he rewards them with a smile, even with a laughter once. 

Later on, your attempt at a peaceful slumber is again ruined by your restless subconscious. Sam bursts through the door. This time you don’t pull a gun at him – your shaking hands and tear-blurred eyes wouldn’t even let you - but sternly express your desire for him to leave. Being a Winchester, he does the exact opposite, this time not bothering to keep a distance.  Somehow your figure and his fit perfectly. This goes on for a few days, but you decide to leave. The research isn’t going anywhere, but Sam’s Mom and a friend named Bobby supposedly have a lead on his brother. Plus, you have your own business to run, you can’t keep on playing vacation and miss out on everything.

As a surprise, Sam’s fixed your bike that got trashed in the accident.

„I’m nowhere near my brother, but I did learn from the best.” he says shyly, scratching the back of his ear.

„No, Sam, it’s perfect. Couldn’t have done a better job myself.” you say as you stand on your toes to press a kiss on his cheek. Your lips may linger a little longer than they should. „Thanks. For everything.” you add, your voice scarcely a whisper. He smiles down at you, not saying anything.

You walk to your bike, but before you put your helmet on, the words basically just fall out of your mouth. 

„Hey, don’t be a stranger, Winchester. You should call sometimes.”

[chickensarentcheap]

Best Part of Me -Chapter 9

Warnings: none

Tagging: @innerpaperexpertcloud​, @c-a-v-a-l-r-y​, @alievans007​, @thunderintheshadows​

They don’t speak on the drive into town; the tension that hovers over them thick and suffocating. Tyler can’t remember the last time he’s felt this agitated with Ovi.  If he’s ever felt this way. Where every little movement the kid makes or even the slightest clearing of the throat or a small cough is enough to sever that last shred of sanity. And when out of the corner of his eye he sees Ovi’s fingers begin to tap against his knees, he snaps at him to ‘knock it the fuck off’.  It’s never bothered him that badly; even in Dhaka it had only been a minor annoyance. But Ovi hasn’t done it in years; stopping almost immediately after that’d taken him to Colorado. Where his life had been simpler and less stressful, and he wasn’t looking over his shoulder ninety nine percent of the time and his nerves were no longer as raw and fragile. And it’s more irritating that he’s slipping back into old habits than the actual habit itself.

“It just annoys me,” he explains, his tone softer. Apologetic. And he knows he isn’t on edge just because of the fallout from the night before. It’s been three days since he’s taken the Valium, always cutting them out when he feels as if he’s doing better and no longer needs them. Then having to suffer the consequences not only when he’s off the med, but when he starts back up and has to deal with the brutal side effects all over again. “What are you so nervous about anyway?” he asks.

“You,” Ovi readily admits.

“What do you think I’m going to do to you?”

He shrugs.

“If I was going to lose my shit on you, I would have done it while we were still in the driveway.”

“I know you’ll still pissed,” Ovi says. “I can tell.”

“Yeah? How?”

“You’ve been doing twenty over the speed limit since we left the house. Your knuckles keep cracking because you’re holding the steer wheel so tight. Just like your jaw keeps popping because you’ve got it clenched so hard. And have you ever looked in the mirror when you’re mad? At your eyes?”

“Not exactly.”

“You don’t even have to say anything. It’s all on your face. It’s all in your eyes.”

He’s been told that before. Many times. That he doesn’t even have to utter a word; that one look is enough to let someone know to either tread lightly or just avoid him altogether.  It isn’t something he’s exactly proud of.  It may have come in handy while on the job, but in his personal life it’s been pure and utter hell. His own wife having to often walk on eggshells because she can just tell when it’s been a bad day, or those demons are getting ready to surface.  Of all the people who shouldn’t have to feel that way, it’s her.  The person who’s been by his side through the lowest of all the goddamn lowest and has seen him at the darkest points in his life.   Who’d put her own ass on the line back on that bridge in Dhaka, sticking by him and keeping him alive even though there was a very real chance that both of them could end up dead.  

“I get it. You’re mad,” Ovi sighs. “And you’ve got every right to be. I shouldn’t have caused problems last night. After dinner. With Esme.”

“You think that’s what I’m most pissed about?” Tyler scoffs. “The fact that you upset her?”

“I know how protective you are. I know you don’t like people overstepping when it comes to her. That you don’t like to see her upset.”

“I don’t. I fucking hate seeing her upset. Especially when she cries. But we worked through all that last night and put it behind us. She’s dealing with some stuff. Stuff her and I are going to work on together and make sure she gets through. Trust me, it wasn’t just Chloe opening her big goddamn mouth that caused issues.”

“That isn’t the way I wanted it come out,” Ovi sighs. “I wanted to tell her myself. I didn’t want her to find out like that.”

“I didn’t want her to find out at all. There was no reason for her to find out about it.  Once I told you that I wasn’t interested, that should have been it. And you should have told Chloe to keep her mouth shut. Now Esme’s ready to throat punch her and I don’t think that’s the hill Chloe wants to die on. You know how Esme gets.”

Ovi’s eyes widen as he nods. It takes a lot to get Esme to the point of losing it, but he’s been there when it’s happened, and it isn’t a pretty sight.  How a little thing like her can have that much rage and vengeance inside of her is both impressive and terrifying.

They find an empty parking spot across the street from Ovi’s restaurant of choice; a newly opened sports bar that features traditional pub fare and twenty different domestic and foreign beers in tap.  Tyler can smell it the second they step through the door, the powerful mixture of various types of alcohol.  And it makes him nauseous and triggers the craving. It’s been intense the last four days, and Ovi’s announcement of wanting to try his hand at the job had kicked things into high gear; he can practically taste it on his lips.   But it’s more than Ovi and the job. So much more.  The cutting of the Valium cold turkey, the rapid approach of Millie’s six birthday and the dreams he’s been having of her and Austin, the pain that never seem to cease despite taking those meds religiously.  

They’re offered a seat at the bar that Tyler declines and suggests the sparsely populated outdoor patio. There are two reasons: he can avoid breathing in the scent of booze and seeing people enjoying their drinks, and his back won’t be to the door. He can’t break himself of the habit. For years...decades even...he’s had to sit facing any entrance or exit. It’s safer that way; no one can speak up on you and try to put a bullet in your head or slit your throat.  It’s happened to a few mercenaries that have stepped on the wrong toes: letting their guard down and meeting an untimely and gruesome end.  He wonders if he’ll ever get over it. The need to always have his guard up. If one day he’ll get up in the morning and the hyper-vigilance won’t exist anymore.  If he’ll sleep through the night without even the lightest of noises immediately wake him. If he won’t constantly be on the lookout for even the slightest hint of danger or find something suspicious in even the smallest of action. If he’ll stop viewing everything he sees...everyone he comes across....as a potential threat.  

The waitress seems disappointed when they both opt for ice water as opposed to beer. Booze makes the bill higher, which in turn makes her for a bigger tip.  

“Yeah, well my sobriety is a little more important than helping you out,” he informs her, and she gives him a sympathetic, understanding smile and has the gall to lay her hand on the top of his bicep and actually give it a slight squeeze.  And he frowns as he watches her head back into the restaurant, shaking his head when she gives him a long glance over her shoulder before disappearing inside.    

“Everywhere we go,” Ovi laments. “Everywhere."

“You think you have it bad. I’ve got strangers trying to feel me up all the time.”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t look like that,” Ovi suggests.  

“Or maybe you should step up and take one for the team and get your game on.  I’ve got a wife to keep happy. She likes the way I look. You’ve just got Chloe and anything’s a step up from that. So....”

Ovi ignores the cheap shot and flips open the menu in front of him.  “So what’s going on?” he asks. “With Esme? Is she okay?”

“Not really,” Tyler admits. “But she will be.”

“Is she sick or...”

“Look mate, I know you’re worried. I know how close the two of you are. How much you love her. But I love her more. And I respect her. Which means I can’t tell you. It’s personal. And we’re dealing with it.”

“But she’ll be okay, right? Like she’s not going to die or anything like that?”

“It’s nothing like that. I promise. It’s just personal and she’s struggling and it’s something we need to deal with. That I have to help her with. She’ll be okay. I won’t let anything happen to her.”

Ovi sighs and begins drumming his fingers against the tabletop. Stopping and giving an apologetic smile when Tyler glares at him. “Sorry,” he moves his hand to his thigh. Out of sight, out of mind.  “I just worry,” he says. “I don’t want anything bad happening to her. She didn’t give birth to me, but she’s still my mom. She’s the only mom I remember having. I don’t want to lose that.”

“She’s going to be fine,” Tyler assures him.  “You just have to trust me. That I’ll help her through things.”

“I do,” Ovi says.  “Trust you.”

“Yeah?” he sips his water. “So why didn’t you trust me enough to come to me sooner. About the job. That’s why we’re here, right? You want to talk about it in a public place because you know I won’t lose my shit on you.”

“Maybe,” Ovi sheepishly admits.

“I don’t know what more you want me to say. You know how I feel about it. You think it’s a terrible idea. That I think you’re way too good for that life. That you deserve a lot better than that.”

“So did you,” Ovi points out. “You deserved a lot better than that. But you still went into it.”

“I deserved shit. I was a fucking mess. Addicted to booze, addicted to pills, I’d abandoned my own kid when he was dying. I was a horrible fucking person and I deserved everything fucked up that the job entailed. I didn’t give a shit if I lived or died. I just didn’t have the balls to pull the trigger myself. Figured if someone did it for me, it was an easy way out. And if I did survive, I’d get paid for doing it. Win win, don’t you think?”

“I think that’s the most fucked up thing I’ve ever heard,” Ovi says. “You made some mistakes. You were in a bad place. Especially when your son was sick. Doesn’t mean you had to pay for those decisions with your life.  That’s just...I don’t know...wrong."

“It’s where I was at the time. It’s what I felt I deserved. And if I’d died in Dhaka...” he shrugs. “...I died.”

“That’s messed up. You’ve paid for your mistakes. For your bad decisions. When you got me across the bridge. One good thing erases all the bad. You didn’t have to do it, but you did. You could have just left me in the street. When you knew there was no money.  But you didn’t. You still put yourself on the line to get me out of there. A bad person doesn’t do something like that. And you can’t convince me otherwise.”

He’d been looking for an absolution. Redemption, even. To wipe his slate clean.  Some days he feels as if he’s found it. That he’d been given a second chance to be a good person; blessed with a wife and five amazing kids and a peaceful, comfortable life. Other days he feels as if he’s still stuck in the same nightmare. Guilt that plagues him, dreams that haunt his sleep, a brain that won’t let him truly rest.  

“I just want to try it,” Ovi says. “The job. Just to see if it’s my thing.”

“It isn’t something you just ‘try’. You either go in balls to wall or you don’t go in it all. You want to try something? You want excitement? You want to test your adrenaline? Go bungee jumping or cliff diving or sky diving or shit like that. Don’t go into the job. Because it isn’t excitement you’re going to find. It’s death. And lots of it.”

“I like the idea of the risk. The danger.”

“All of a sudden you get off on having a gun held to your head? Or having to fight off a group of guys in a dark alley? Or constantly wondering if there’s a sniper getting ready to put a bullet in your brain? Fuck that. You’re smarter than this. Way too smart to think any of this is a good idea. And if it’s Chloe putting this bullshit in your head...”

“It’s not Chloe,” Ovi interjects. “It’s not. It’s me.”

“Bullshit. Because you’ve never once talked about any of this since she came along. Tell her if she has a death wish, she can go out and do the job. Get her to commit. Don’t let her throw you to the wolves, mate. Don’t let her make you think you’ve got something to prove or that this is the only thing that will ‘make you a man’. Because that’s shit and we both know it. That’s not what makes a man a man. Killing people. And it doesn’t matter if they deserve it or not.”

“You don’t think I can handle it, do you.”

“I know you can’t. And that’s not a slight on you. Some people are made to do the job, and some people aren’t. Some people are made for bigger and better things. And you’re one of these people.  You’re made for bigger and better things. Why would you want to settle for anything less?”

Ovi shrugs. “I want to do some good. After what you did for me in Dhaka....”

“I did what I had to do, mate. What I wanted to do. You don’t have to prove anything to me. I don’t expect thanks. And I don’t expect you to spend the rest of your life showing how grateful you are. I just want you to happy and live a good life. A good, long life. And that won’t happen if you get into the job.  There’s rarely a good ending, trust me.”

“You’ve been given a good ending,” Ovi points out.

“And I’ve probably used up all of the good luck that can come to one family. So about we not test it, yeah? How about you just forget about all of this and find something else to do with your life. Go back to school. Get an education. Get into a real career. I’ll pay for it. No hesitation. Just don’t do the job. That’s all I’m asking. That you do not get into that life.”

Ovi nods slowly as he considers Tyler’s words; eyes riveted on his menu, chewing nervously on his bottom lip.  “I have a confession to make,” he speaks after several minutes.

“I don’t think I like the sounds of this.”

“I’ve been talking to someone. About all of this. For a while now. Someone that’s still in the business and could answer all my questions and lead me in the right direction. Someone that wouldn’t freak out and threaten to beat my ass.”

“Someone who would encourage you to do stupid shit you mean,” Tyler concludes.  

“I needed to talk about it. With someone who wouldn’t get upset about it.  Who doesn’t have the history like you do. So...” his voice trails off.

Tyler’s eyes narrow.  “What the hell did you do?”

That's when he feels it; a presence lingering off to his right. A familiar scent. A firm hand that falls on his shoulder.  And he doesn’t even need to look back. He just knows.

“Hey Nik.”

****

“You look good,” she says in way of greeting, her hands massaging his shoulders.  “The retired life suits you.”  He’s considerably bigger now; wider, stronger, a brick wall of muscle.  The time he’s both devoted to the gym and living cleaner makes him feel healthier. And happier.

He smirks. “I’d say it’s good to see you, but...”

“I wasn’t expecting a warm welcome. At least not from you. But it’s good to see you, Tyler I’m glad life has been treating you well.  Of all the people who want a happy ending, you're the one who actually deserved it.”

“What are you doing here, Nik? I know it’s not just to stroke my ego.”

“Ovi invited me,” she gives his shoulders a final squeeze before sliding around to the other side of the table, waving down the waitress before slipping into the empty seat alongside of the younger man. “So we could talk.  We haven’t seen or talked to each other in six months. I was starting to worry about you.”

“You mean you were starting to get nosy,” Tyler retorts. “Wanted to see if my life had fallen apart. If maybe my wife had taken off with my kids yet. Kyle doesn’t keep you up to date on this stuff? I am married to his sister.”

“Kyle’s been very adamant about keeping his loyalties to his sister. The last time Esme and I spoke, things didn’t end very well.  She was stressed, you were on your way home, and she was worried about how to help you. Things were a little...harsh...between us.”

“For a reason,” Tyler points out. “I know exactly what you talked about and what she said to you. We don’t keep secrets. So cut the bullshit, Nik. What are you doing here?”

“Would you believe me if I said I missed you?”

“I’d believe you if you told me you missed the things I can do for you. And I’m not talking behind closed doors, either. So don’t get your hopes up.”

Ovi shifts uncomfortably in his seat; thankful when the waitress comes to take Nik’s drink order. It lifts the tension and the hostility, at least temporarily.

“Last time we talked, things didn’t go so well,” she address Tyler.  “You told me to never contact you. Never to just show up out of the blue, never to text you, never email you.”

“Yet here you are so for some reason. Tracking me down where I live. Which I’m pretty sure I told Kyle to never mention to you. So you couldn’t just show up.”

A smirk tugs at the corner of her mouth. “You of all should know if I have ways of finding things out. You’re harder than most, I have to admit. You know how to cover your tracks. You barely leave a footprint.  Still holding onto certain things, I see. Trying to exist but seem like a ghost at the same time. Old habits die hard, don’t they, Tyler.”

“You have no right being here, Nik. I asked you to stay away from me. No. I told you to stay away from me. I finally have a life. Somewhere quiet and peaceful where I don’t have to constantly look over my shoulder and I know my kids are safe.  And you...” he stares pointedly at Ovi.  “...what the fuck, mate? You knew I’d cut ties with her. With everyone involved in the job. Yet you go and do this?”

“Ovi thought it was a good idea that you and I talk,” Nik speaks for him.   “We haven’t touched base in a long time. It’s a good idea, don’t you think? If we get used to one another again? I am marrying your brother in law.”

They’d gotten the invitation a month ago; thick ivory card stock with gold leafing on the inside of the envelope and the invitation itself covered in dried, pressed flowers and ornate calligraphy done in rich cooper colored ink. It hadn’t been much of a surprise; Kyle had already created an entire Facebook page just to document their journey as an engaged couple.   And while they’d tried to be happy for Kyle’s sake, there was a lingering bitterness towards Nik that neither of them could let go of. She’d worked too long and too hard trying to destroy their marriage, why would they want to have anything to do with hers?  So the invitation sat on the top of the fridge collecting dust and they never spoke of it again.

“And you’ll be living in Colorado or wherever the hell you’ll drag his ass too and I won’t have to do have anything to do with either of you.  I don’t care if you’re marrying him or not. As long as you stay away from me, stay away from my wife, and stay away from my kids.”

“That’s not the way to treat a relative is it,” she coyly remarks, then gives a nod of appreciation to the waitress as she returns with her martini.   “The baby’s beautiful by the way. Congratulations.  Kyle’s shown me the pictures. She looks just like Esme. I’m looking forward to meeting my niece.”

“You’re not going to get close enough to meet her face to face, so...”

“Can’t you two just stop?” Ovi pleads. “Enough. Enough with this going back and forth. That’s not what we’re here for.”

“What are we here for?” Tyler asks, as he leans back in his chair and places his clasped hands on his stomach. “And don’t give me some bullshit, Nik. Just say what you want and get out of here.”

“Ovi asked me to come and talk some sense into you.”

“More like he wanted me to just cave in and agree with what he wants to do. Not going to happen. So if that’s what you’re going to try and do, you’re wasting your time and you should just get on the next flight out of here and...”

“I’ve been recruiting him,” she says. “I’ve been recruiting him for about a month now. After he contacted me wanting information about the job.”

Tyler’s eyes narrow. “What the hell are you doing, Nik? And why are you doing it? We both know that he’s not job material. That he wouldn’t last a day out there.”

“He’s tenacious, has a lot of energy, he’s smart.”

“Too smart to get involved with this. There are a million and one better things he could be doing with his life.  And being tenacious and having a lot of energy doesn’t mean shit when you’re out there.  When you’ve got to make the quick decisions in order to keep yourself alive. He doesn’t have what it takes.  He doesn’t have it in him to hurt people. He killed Gaspar and that fucked him up for years.”

“He was a kid then,” she reminds him.  “And if I remember correctly, I’m the one that said calling Gaspar wasn’t a good idea. I tried to talk you out of it, but you were so determined that he’d help you out because you’d saved his life. How did that go for you, Tyler? Trusting him? It didn’t take long for his loyalty to you to disappear, did it. As soon as there was ten million put on the table. Ten million for him and Esme, right? That was the deal.  Most men would have taken it.”

“What can I say, Nik?” he smirks. “I’m not most men.”

“He would have killed you to get to them. He wouldn’t have stopped until you were dead. And if Ovi hadn’t have picked up that gun...”

“He was fourteen years old and it fucked him up,” Tyler angrily interrupts. “It doesn’t mean if has what it takes to go out there and kill people. You’re smarter than this. Both of you are. So I don’t know who is brainwashing who, but...”

“You made me a promise, Tyler,” she says. “We made a deal. That I’d start a second branch and you’d run things.”

“That’s before things ended the way they did. Once I walked away from New Zealand, that was it. Fuck our deal. It meant shit after that.”

“I’ve offered Ovi a job.  A position with my team. As a mercenary.”

“You’re out of your fucking mind, Nik. You’re both out of your minds. This is a bad goddamn idea and you know it.  I gotta get out of here before I say or do something I really regret. I’ve got places I’d rather be than sitting here listening to this bullshit ”

Ovi throws his hands up in a mix of disappointment and exasperation and Nik instructs him to stay where he is as she hurries after Tyler, who easily escapes the patio just by swinging one leg over the makeshift fence, then the other.  She has to leave through the restaurant itself, and he’s already across the street and using the keyless remote to unlock his truck.

“You owe me this,” Nik growls, and lays a hand on the driver’s side window, forcing the door closed when Tyler tries to open it.

“I owe you shit. I’ve given you enough. I almost gave you my fucking life. Isn’t that good enough for you? You were perfectly fine with leaving me on that bridge to die.”

“That’s not what happened, and you know it.”

“It took you twenty minutes to come back. And you only did it because Yaz said he was going with or without you. You weren’t just going to leave me there; you were going to leave Esme there. Do you know what would have happened? Once Asif sent more people down there and saw that she was alive? Do you know what they would have done to her? I wouldn’t have been as quick and painless as a bullet in the head. They would have made her suffer and you knew it and you still left her there.”

“It all worked out in the end, didn’t it? The two of you. Marriage, five kids. You got your happy ending, didn’t you?”

“Because that’s what makes it all okay, yeah? That things didn’t get worse. We were expendable. Once you got Ovi, you didn’t give a shit about either of us.  You could keep whatever money you got. Two less people to have to share it with. Or were you that pissed about what went down? Those five days in the hotel. You knew what was going on. Did it piss you off that bad? That you’d just leave us there to die? Did we need to be punished, Nik? You needed to get even because it wasn’t you I was fucking.”

“Fuck you, Tyler!” she snaps, and he catches her by the wrist before the slap can even connect with his face. His fingers biting straight through the flesh and pressing painful against the bone.

“What do you want?” he hisses. “Why are you here? You won’t be happy until you completely fuck up my life? Until my wife leaves me and takes my kids?”

“That’s not it. At all.”

“Then what is it?” he snarls. “Quit wasting my fucking time and tell me.”

“I want your help,” she struggles against his grasp “With Ovi.”

“I’m not giving you shit.”

“I want you to just listen to me....and ow!” she lays her forearm against his chest and tries to shove him away. It’s as successful as trying to move a brick wall with your bare hands. “You’re hurting me!”

“Try to hit me again and I won’t hesitate putting you on your ass, understand me?”

She nods, then takes two steps back once he releases. “I just want you to listen to me. Five minutes. That’s all I’m asking for.  I don’t to bring you back into the job. I just want you to help me with Ovi. I’ve given him a spot but on condition.  He needs training. Lots of it. I can’t send him into a situation without him knowing how to handle different weapons, hand to hand to combat, how to assess situations and problems before they arise.”

“I’m about five seconds away from washing my hands of this. Of you, of him, of this goddamn bullshit mess.  This is a mistake. A huge mistake. And I’m not going to just sit back and watch you fuck his life up. He doesn’t have it, Nik. And I know you see that. I know you see what I do. Why the hell push it? Why encourage when you could be helping him make his life better, not worse.”

She places her hands on her hips, regarding him with her head cocked to the side. “Why are you so against him doing this?”

“You’re actually asking me that? After everything he’s been through. After everything he saw in Dhaka. After living with us for five years and seeing my marriage nearly fucking destroyed because of the job. You have the nerve to ask me that? He’s better than this. And he deserves better and I’m not going just sit here and watch you screw up his entire life.”

“You can’t stop him, Tyler. He’s a grown man. He can make is own decisions.”

“He can’t even talk for himself and you think he can go into a place like Dhaka and handle shit? Enough with the bullshit, Nik. This ends. Right here. Right now.  This is a mistake and you know it. And the fact you would even prey on him like this...”

“I didn’t prey on him,” she interjects. “He contacted me.”

“And you could have told him that you weren’t interested and to never call you again.”

“And then what? Him find someone else? Someone that doesn’t have nearly the same experience? That would have ended badly, and you know it.”

“This is going to end badly!” Tyler snarls.  “Because he doesn’t have it and you know it and I know it. For fuck sakes, Nik. Enough.”

She remains steadfast. “You can train him.”

“Like hell I can!”

“You’re the best mercenary I’ve ever had. There’s no one that can train him the way you can. I know you think you’re probably rusty and you...”

“That’s not what I think. That has nothing to do with it. I’m not saying I can’t do it. I’m saying I won’t do it. I’m not getting involved with this. I’m done.”

“You don’t actually have to go on a job,” she informs him. “It can all be done right here. There are gyms, there’s firing ranges, there’s an entire beach at your disposal you can use to your advantage. I’m not trying to bring you back. I just want you to help.”

“I’m not helping you, Nik. I was done helping you six months ago. And I love the kid like he’s my own, but I wouldn’t let any of my boys get into the job so I'm sure as fuck not going to let him.  What the hell is wrong with you? That you’d even have the nerve to come to me with this?”

“He’s your son, Tyler. Maybe not by blood. But...”

“Yeah. He is. Which is why I’m not helping you. I told his old man I’d take care of him. Not throw him to the fucking wolves!”

“So you’d rather I just send him out there with no training?” she challenges.

“I’d rather you give your head a fucking shake and realize what a huge mistake you’re making.”

“This is what he wants, Tyler. He wants a chance to prove himself.”

“To who? You? To his girlfriend? Who is just as delusional as you, by the way. The two of you should meet. You’d make a great pair.”

“You ever stop to think he’s trying to prove something to you?”

“What the hell does that mean? What does he have to prove to me? When have I ever made him think he has to?”

“You may not have made him feel that way, but he does. He thinks he has to fill your shoes. Take up where you left off.”

“That’s bullshit. I’ve never made him feel that way. And I never would.”

“It’s how he feels. He feels he needs to live up to something. That he needs to prove to you that he’s good enough. That he’s worthy of being your son.”

“Jesus Christ, Nik,” Tyler laughs. “That is really reaching. Are you just making this shit up as you go along?”

“I can send you the text messages. The emails. That he sent me when I asked him why he wanted to do this.  That way you can see for yourself that what I’m saying is the truth.  He feels he owes you something. For saving them. And for nearly dying while doing it.”

“He doesn’t owe me anything. It was my job.”

“It was more than that you and you know it, Tyler. It stopped being about the job the second Mahajan screwed us over. It was all about Ovi from that point on. Because somehow saving him meant you were saving yourself. That you’d find forgiveness for the mistakes you’d made. He saw what you went through. Not just during Dhaka, but after it. And he feels guilty for that. He wants to make it up to you.”

“He has nothing to make up for. I did what I had to do. Nothing more, nothing less. We both know that he can’t hack it. The job. There’s no way.”

“He deserves a chance.”

“A chance for what? Getting shot in the fucking head?”

“He’s going to do this whether you like it or not, Tyler. Don’t you think he deserves a chance to make a real go of it? To survive his first day.”

He sighs. “Of course, I do.”

“If you train him...”

“I can’t. I can’t encourage him to do this. I told Esme I’d do everything I had to to stop him, not help him.”

She smirks. “That’s what it comes down to right? His safety and his life isn’t worth more than her trying to control you? She hasn’t done that enough? When she made you walk away?”

“We’re done, Nik,” he yanks the driver’s side door open.  

“We’re done when I say we’re done,” she shuts the door once again. “You’re going to let her call the shots? Still? It wasn’t enough for you to just walk away? She has to control everything else too?”

“I made the decision. I’m the one who left. She was the one who told me go back to New Zealand and when I got there, I realized I couldn’t do it anymore. I left willingly. Because my wife and my kids are the most important things in my life, and it was time I showed that to them.”

“And Ovi isn’t important to you? He's not important enough to save his life?”

“I’ve already done that once. And I wouldn’t have to do it a second time if you weren’t encouraging him to do this shit.”

“And if you weren’t encouraging him to prove to you that he’s worthy of your love. Of being one of your kids.”

He shakes his head and gives a dry laugh. “I’m going home, Nik. To my wife.  I’m done. I’m not letting you drag me back into this. You find someone else. I’ve shed enough blood for you.”

She relents, holding her hands up in surrender as she backs away from the truck. “You’ll regret this Tyler.”

“Yeah?” he tosses the door open and climbs into the truck. “Add it the list”

[sunflowerhazzavol6]

Veto- Chapter One

To Genevieve, morning always seemed to be the cruelest part of the day.

Nighttime was easy. Any and all responsibility was just beyond her apartment door, the only thing left up to her at that point being what she was going to feed herself and what kind of alcoholic beverage she was in the mood for. Typically it was something mixed with vodka and some sort of take-out, or food brought home from work. She could just settle down into her worn couch, lint pebbling on its almost too-comfortable surface, and tune into the blue light that was her TV. The perfect evening to shut out a usually less than perfect day. If that wasn’t exactly the speed she was going for, she would let that responsibility tap it's probably clubbed foot on the outside of a club entrance, Genevieve dancing on top of a table with her best friends while they took turns taking shots. This of course added to the pain of mornings, her hangover rearing its head as soon as she opened her eyes. That was what made this one in particular so gruesome. 

She blinked her eyes open, immediately squinting at the light drifting in through her window. She had blackout curtains for this reason exactly, but last night in her drunken haze she had forgotten to close the blinds in order to protect herself from this exact occasion. She knew she was paying for it now, burying her nose back into her pillow and letting out a strong exhale. Outside she could hear the construction crew that was already bang-bang-banging on the complex that was being built next door. While the noise bothered her to no end in the beginning of her lease, she had grown used to it and knew that it was the reason her rent was so cheap in the first place. Even the catcalling had become white noise, but she still held up a middle finger most days when she walked by to do her laundry. This morning the jackhammering reminded her of the pile overflowing from the basket, and she let out an audible groan before pushing herself up and out from under the covers.

Six months ago she had dropped out of school, packed up all her shit, and moved to a place just outside of Malibu. Cecilia, her best friend from high school, had moved there immediately after graduating with her boyfriend at the time. While they ultimately ended up breaking things off, she stayed there to work and enjoy the sun and freedom that came along with the California heat. When Genevieve had called her for probably the thirtieth time, having an anxiety attack about not being happy or knowing the true direction of her life, Cece had suggested that she move down to the West Coast to figure things out. Within a week she had officially unenrolled from the business school at NYU, dyed her brown hair blonde in a Tesco bathroom, and packed her tan colored 2007 Subaru Forester to trek across the country. She camped in her car along the way, grateful for the couple before her who had tinted the windows. She didn’t tell her mom what she had done until she was pulling onto the Pacific Coast Highway, receiving an earful that ultimately ended as soon as her back tire popped and she had to pull over. She didn’t see why it mattered anyways, leaning against the dirty vehicle while she waited for the AAA guy to pull up and save her ass. Her mom couldn’t afford to help her with school, and so really the only money at stake was her own. That was a whole other tier of stress on her shoulders; the student loan debt that she still had to pay off despite her lack of degree. She was relieved to get her own place after staying with Cece for two weeks, but even after she pushed open the door to her new apartment, the discontentment that she had felt in New York lingered in her head like a fog. It was bearable now, though, and so she took that as a sign that she was taking the right step.

She stands on the cool linoleum flooring designed to look like hardwood, stretching her hands into the air and hearing her spine pop. The rush of blood circulating through her body makes her head throb, causing her to release a pathetic whine and hold her hand to her forehead. She grabs her glasses from her nightstand, putting them on and pulling open the drawer to find god’s gift to the earth. The bottle of Tylenol rolls to the edge of the drawer, it’s only occupant besides an Altoids tin with condoms in it. She grabs the bottle and pops it open, shaking out two pills before throwing her head back to toss them in. She pops her head under the sink in her bathroom to swallow them down, wiping the bit of water that escapes with the back of her hand. Genevieve then gets ready for the day, peeing and brushing the fuzzy feeling and stale alcohol from her teeth. After getting dressed in a somewhat-clean Led Zeppelin t-shirt and shorts she grabs her laundry basket, her keys, and heads out of her studio onto the walkway outside. 

Hidden Hills apartment complex was an old motel that had been converted into a low-income housing space, which had then just been converted into the complex that it was today. It was really nice for the price point and the area, and Gene was incredibly grateful that she had found it while it was still available. When she had moved in the owners had just finished remodeling and had begun work on the buildings that were going up now. Apparently they had knocked down the walls in between two motel rooms to create each space, making it a decent size for one person or a couple. The more expensive suites had become two bedroom apartments across the parking lot, so there were a few small families that lived there too. For the most part, though, it was people just like her who were calling it a rest stop on their way to something better. 

When she walks into the small laundry building attached to the main complex, she’s greeted by an older man in his early sixties hanging up colorful speedos to air dry in the corner. Victor was two doors down from her, and had lived here for at least the last two owners as far as she knew. He never really disclosed how long he had been there, though, which was very purposeful on his part. It wasn’t because he was ashamed by his living situation, being the oldest in the complex by at least thirty-five years. Victor absolutely romanticized the mystery he had created, introducing himself as a flaming homosexual from the south who had participated in the Stonewall Riots of 1969. When he found out that she had moved from New York City herself, he immediately took her under his wing and became the strange gay uncle she never had. Other than his horrible habit of sunbathing in the nude on his balcony, she really liked him and valued his insights and advice on life in general.

“Well would you look at who the cat dragged in! You look something horrible, Genevieve.” He says when he sees her, crossing his arms over his wife beater and kimono. He had on bright yellow swimming shorts too, which were inappropriately small for anyone other than him. She winces at his voice, wrinkling her nose while she puts her basket on top of a dryer.

“Don’t talk so loud. I just woke up.”

“My lord Jesus almighty, honey, it's past noon.” He turns back to his pile of wet clothing, pushing them into a dryer. He starts it and watches it spin for a second before leaning against the white metal, turning to look at her. “Have a good night?” 

“I’m not sure. Can’t exactly remember all of it.” Gene rubs her temples, putting in her laundry soap and starting the load.

“Those are the best kind.” He smiles at her. “You know, Genevieve, I’m very glad that you’re not a prude introvert who just stays in all the time. Have fun while you can, enjoy that hot, young body of yours to the fullest!” He shimmies his shoulders at her while she rolls her eyes. Despite being a very progressive LGBTQ+ man, he was old fashioned in that he didn’t call her by anything other than her full name. He was firm in his belief that a name was important and said a lot about a person, that it was their identity and was a part of them. Whether the name was given or not, he always called everyone by their name even if they introduced themselves with a preferred nickname. There was a guy that had moved out a few months ago, whose name was actually just Nick, but Victor called him Nicholas anyways. He felt it suited him better, and was more classy. He claimed he would get further in life as a Nicholas over just a Nick, but never really got the chance to find out. Which was just as well.

“Being a prude introvert is not a bad thing.” Gene points out, raising her eyebrows at him. “Isn’t the whole point of personality and sexuality that it’s your own?”

“Aha, my child, you’ve learned so well. I’m giving myself teacher points for that. I’m just merely pointing out that I saw a very good looking young man leaving your apartment at the asscrack of dawn two weeks ago-”

“A month ago.”

He ignores her. “-and I’m very proud of you for embracing this youth that you’ve been blessed with! Not everyone is so intelligent, Genevieve.”

“I hardly think sex is a factor to intelligence.” She laughs, hopping up onto the washer to sit.

“Perhaps not, but it's exercise, and a healthy body is a healthy mind.” He taps his hairline to emphasize his point.

“So are you keeping a healthy body for your healthy mind?” She teases, kicking her legs back and forth.

“Oh pish. Don’t trouble yourself with an old man’s sex life. That’s the last thing you want to hear about.”

“Then stop meddling in mine!” She laughs, reaching her foot out to tap his side affectionately. This draws out a smile, a chuckle escaping his lips wrinkled from thousands of Kent cigarettes.

“You don’t have to do what I say, sugar, but listen just to humor me, alright?” Gene can tell by his tone that this would be something she would want to hear, so she shuts her mouth and does as she’s told. “I’m very glad that you’re so confident in yourself. Even if you don’t think so, you’re more secure in your body and in your looks than the kids your age I’ve met. Definitely more so than I was. But maybe that's because you’re straight.” She cracks a smile at that, and he puts his hand on her knee. “That being said, honey, I don’t want you to shy away from love when it lands at your feet. Take it from an old man who has made many-a-mistake in his lifetime. When something falls in your lap, take it, run with it, and don’t let it go. Don’t chalk it up to a random hook-up just because that’s what you’re used to.”

She recognizes his seldom solemn face, nodding her head. He returns it with a tight-lipped smile, squeezing his hand. “I’m not saying don’t have casual sex, because that would make me a hypocrite. Just… when something comes along, and you can’t quite put your finger on what about it makes it so special… don’t let go, alright? Even if it scares you. Promise me.”

“I promise, Victor.” She puts her hand over his, smiling at him genuinely.

He seems to accept her sentiment, shaking his head with a small smile and moving to grab his laundry basket. “You know sweetheart, I’m going to be very sad when you become too good for this old shack.”

“Please. Even when I do manage to get out of here, I’m comin’ back to visit you and drink all your wine.”

“That’s a girl. Next time let me know when you’ve got back home safe, okay? I worry about you when your car’s gone, honey, it’s not safe for pretty young girls in the dark of the night. You know that.”

“I will. If you don’t sunbathe naked anymore.”

“Unfortunately, Genevieve my dear, you cannot ask an old man to make promises when he’s already set in his ways.”