#well that was when i woke up with my body paralysed and my still half-asleep brain hallucinated the entity in my actual room

[fingertipsmp3]

Had another sleep paralysis incident last night

[hercleverboy]

butterflies

spencer reid x reader

summary ↠ the reader is wrongly accused of murder. spencer doesn’t believe she’s innocent.

category ↠ angst

warnings/includes ↠ wrongful conviction, imprisonment.

word count ↠ 4.3k

“But he, that dares not grasp the thorn, should never crave the rose.” — Anne Brontë

Have you ever heard of the butterfly effect?

They say that a tiny butterfly flapping its wings today can result in a devastating hurricane weeks from now. Every decision we make leads us to an array of new paths that we wouldn’t have had we chosen the other option. Every choice we make opens a hundred new doors up for you, but closes a hundred doors behind you.

Y/N liked to think that her meeting Spencer Reid was meant to be.

How else could she explain that her making the last minute decision to stop for coffee on the way to work led to her meeting the most important person in her life? If she’d decided to head straight to work like she was meant to, she may never have met the pretty genius with eyes like honey. 

Y/N wasn’t a big believer. Not in miracles, not in a higher power. But she did believe in the universe, that she was meant to meet Spencer and they were meant to be in one another’s lives.

They were the best of friends. Of course, as every love story goes, Y/N always craved more. She wanted to wake up to Spencer on Sunday mornings, she wanted to have cute dinner dates and autumn walks through the park hand in hand. She would stay up late wondering if their relationship would work, with him being gone a lot of the time. While the two had very different jobs, Y/N being the head of a publishing company, she was always understanding of his schedule. In all honesty, her love wasn’t unrequited. Spencer had wanted the same thing, but he too feared rejection from his best friend. 

As humans, we tend not to admit our feelings to those we like through fear of rejection. Its pure human instinct, to protect ourselves from harm. For that reason, Y/N never told Spencer how she felt. She figured that it confessing her feelings wasn’t worth the risk of losing him from her life altogether, so she said nothing. 

That would prove to be her first mistake. 

Loud banging on her front door awoke her from her sleep with a jolt. She squinted her eyes open, letting them adjust to the darkness as she woke. Her ears picked up on the sound of voices coming from behind her front door, the loud calls rattling through her tiny apartment. She strained her ears to hear what they were saying, still half asleep. 

“Y/N Y/L/N? This is the FBI, open up.” 

At first she thought it was some kind of joke. She knew Spencer worked for the BAU, and figured this was likely some sort of prank. Not that Spencer was ever one for practical jokes, but he always managed to surprise her. She pulled herself up from the bed with a groan, grabbing the cardigan she’d tossed on the floor to cover herself, as she was only in the top and shorts she wore to bed. Just as she had begun to walk towards the front door, in bust down in front of her, a loud yelp leaving her in response. The first two faces she sees she recognises. Derek Morgan and David Rossi, Spencer’s co-workers. She’d met them once or twice before and got along with them all well. 

She was about to ask what was going on when she noticed that the two men had guns pointed at her. She locked eyes with Derek, as the fear and realisation that this definitely wasn’t a prank set in. She felt frozen to the spot, her breathing picking up and tears welling in her eyes.

“What- What’s happening?” She mumbled out. She couldn’t comprehend what was happening. The FBI had stormed her apartment, and now they pointing weapons at her - as if she was dangerous. 

Derek and Rossi shared a look, before Derek put his gun back in the holster. “Are you going to come willingly? Or do we have to do this the hard way?” He asked, and Y/N noticed how he spoke so calmly. It made her feel sick. Why was he speaking to her like she was an unsub, a criminal, like she would hurt them given the chance. 

When Y/N didn’t speak or move, paralysed by confusion and fear, he moved toward her, and she could hear the clinking of metal as he reached for her hands, pinning them behind her back and cuffing her tightly. “Y/N Y/L/N. We’re arresting you under suspicion of murder. You do not have to say anything-” 

It was as if up until that point things had been moving in slow motion for Y/N, and then all of a sudden everything went back to full speed. She attempted to turn to face Derek as he led her out of the building. She was shaking her head profusely. “I didn’t- I didn’t do anything just please-”. Her thoughts were so jumbled that she struggled to string together a coherent sentence. 

Derek didn’t speak, remaining stoic with his expression as they walked through the doors of the apartment building. Outside were numerous police cars, the blue and red lights flashing. The dirty looks that officers were giving her as she was pulled towards the police car made her feel incredibly nauseous. She wanted to scream, to beg and plead. 

‘Please! Please, I’m not a criminal- I’m not capable of murder, please. It wasn’t me!’

Everything was happening so quickly. 

Derek opened up the car door, pushing her to sit in the seat. she looked at him with pleading eyes as her breathing picked up, panic setting in. “Derek, Derek please. I didn’t do anything. Get Spencer, he’ll- he’ll tell you it wasn’t me.” 

Derek looked almost torn as he looked back at the begging girl, who seemed so genuine and kind that he almost couldn’t believe she was guilty. They’d met a few times when Spencer had invited Y/N along to the BAU’s nights out, and he was actually quite fond of her.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. But Reid’s the one who told us to bring you in.” He sighed, before slamming shut the door. The look of defeat on Y/N’s face was heartbreaking. She felt her chest start to restrict as sobs began to rip through her, her whole body shaking as she cried. 

*

She’d been sat in the interrogation room for what felt like hours but she knew in reality it had likely only been a matter of minutes. They’d sent Derek in to interrogate her first, but he hadn’t been able to get much from her. She insisted she was home on the days the murders happened, but had no one that could prove her alibi. She stared dead ahead at the wall before her, her face drained of colour and hands shaking from where they were now cuffed in front of her. She still couldn’t think, couldn’t wrap her brain around everything. She felt so numb, the words Derek had said swimming around in her head like a mantra. 

“Reid’s the one who told us to bring you in.”

Her eyes drifted to the two way mirror on the wall, where she knew that the team - Spencer - were watching her. 

On the opposite side of the mirror, Derek, JJ and Spencer stood. Spencer was watching her behaviour intently, profiling her. 

“Do you think she did it?” JJ asked quietly.

“Well she fits the profile to a T. Reid said she was asking about the investigation, and we profiled that the unsub would try to inject themselves into the investigation. It fits. Not to mention that she doesn’t have a solid alibi for the three nights the murders took place on.” 

“Yes but that’s all pretty circumstantial. Its either that hair we found at the scene comes back from the lab as a match or we get a confession out of her.” 

Spencer just stared ahead, looking at the woman who sat, looking so small on the uncomfortable metal chair.

He hadn’t wanted to believe it at first. 

But Derek was right, Y/N fit the profile perfectly. She didn’t have anyone that could prove that she’d been at home like she claimed she was on the nights of the murders, and she had asked about the investigation, more so than she usually would, more than a friend just asking if he was okay.

He still couldn’t believe it, though. As he watched his best friend he felt a horrible ache move through his chest. Was she really capable of such things? No, she couldn’t be- but the profile wasn’t wrong, and all the evidence they had so far pointed to her.

It made him angry. Was their friendship just a ploy? Did she use him so she could get away with murder?

His thoughts were interrupted by the comforting hand JJ put on his shoulder, “Spence, one of us can do this instead. You don’t have to do this.”

He shook his head. “Yes I do. She trusts me, she’ll co-operate with me. I can get a confession.” He mumbled, shoving JJ’s hand from his shoulder as he opened the door, stepping into the interrogation room. 

Y/N’s dull and defeated eyes brightened as Spencer walked in, a small amount of relief filling her.

“Spencer! Oh thank god, please can you get me out of these.” She whimpered, struggling against the restraints that made her wrists ache. 

He ignored her request, moving towards the table before her. He slammed the case file down on the table with much more force than necessary, a small yelp leaving her lips. He opened up the case file and Y/N frowned. 

“What are you doing?” She whispered as he began to lay out photos before her on the table. She dared to look at the photos before her, a gasp leaving her lips. They were horrific shots of the crime scenes, blood splattered on walls and the bodies of three different men laid in a pool of their blood, numerous stab wounds covering their abdomens. She looked away, not wanting to see the horror anymore.

“What, you don’t want to look at your masterpiece anymore?” Spencer mused, and she met his eyes, her mouth dropping open in shock.

“You don’t- you don’t seriously think I did this?” She whispered, but Spencer’s act didn’t waver. He clenched his jaw- He was angry.

“I know you did. That is why you were so interested in all the details of the case, isn’t it?” His tone was so cold, it broke Y/N’s heart.

“No. I asked you about the case because you’re my best friend, because I care about you. You wanted to get something of your chest so I asked you to confide in me, that was all. You’re wrong.” Y/N’s tone was pleading, and perhaps If Spencer wasn’t so angry he would’ve seen the truth in her words.

“Is that why we became friends in the first place? Was that the plan all along, Y/N? To plant yourself in my life, become one of the only people I cared about, only to use me for my job? So you could kill in cold blood and wouldn’t get caught? What, did you think I’d protect you?” He spat, breaking his earlier promise to Hotch that he would keep a cool head if they let him interrogate her. 

“Protect me? Spencer I didn’t do this! Look at me! Please tell me you don’t honestly believe I did this. That I am capable of such horrific things. Please-“ She begged, tears falling from her eyes as her voice cracked with her pleading. She was sure she sounded pathetic, but what was she meant to say? He seemed so sure, so adamant that it was her, what could she possibly say to prove her innocence. 

“It all comes down to your father, right? I know how badly he mistreated you growing up. You just wanted to get your revenge, you believe you’re owed justice for what he did to you. But since you couldn’t get to him, you killed substitutes instead. It’s okay, understand.” His voice was still venomous, but he’d over laced the poison in his words with a sickeningly sweet tone, that which he used when he was negotiating unsubs.

That hurt her. She’d confided in Spencer about her awful childhood and how she suffered abuse at the hands of her father before she left home as a teenager. She hadn’t seen him in years, and she didn’t want to. “Why are you bringing up my father? I confided in you about him, you’re the only one who knows about my childhood but that doesn’t mean I did these things. Please.” She whimpered, and her shoulders sagged, crying. Spencer just shook his head.

“Tears won’t get you anywhere.” He scoffed, and Y/N couldn’t believe the ferocity behind his words. 

He truly believed she was capable of this?

The door opened before Y/N could respond and JJ came in, leaning down and whispering in Spencer’s ear before leaving again. His gaze turned back to Y/N.

“They found a strand of hair at the crime scene. The ran it through the lab and got a match.”

“Great. Now you know I’m innocent can you let me out of these?” She asked, holding up her cuffed hands to him. When he made no move towards her she frowned. 

“Y/N the DNA from the hair strand matches you. That’s enough evidence to charge you with the murders of Charles Woods, Tyler Burner and Adam Wright.”

Y/N felt like the world was collapsing around her. She choked on a sob, her hands trembling. “What? No, Spencer please, please I didn’t- oh my god, I didn’t do this-“ She continued to cry, her head dropping down onto the cold metal table as she sobbed, disbelief filling her. Spencer watched, feeling tears prick his own eyes. In the back of his head the thought came. 

If she’d done this, why would she be reacting this way? 

He tried not to, but ended up profiling her body language. It wasn’t the actions of someone who’s committed three brutal murders, that was for sure. Another thought came along that diminished the previous one.

She’s manipulative, Spencer. She’s putting on a show.

An officer came into the room, pulling Y/N up roughly from her seat and escorting her out. She didn’t make any attempt to fight back, the defeated feeling filling her as silent tears cascaded down her cheeks. She didn’t sob anymore. She felt so emotionally drained that all she could do was stare blankly ahead as the tears fells. 

*

Spencer didn’t come to her trial. She’d looked for him in the court, hoping that perhaps he’d at least come to support her, to tell her that he was wrong, that he’d fight to get her out of this mess. 

But he never showed. As if her heart wasn’t shattered already, in broke even more. 

She was given life imprisonment, which was twenty-five years without the possibility of parole. She would spend her life in prison for crimes she didn’t commit. 

She was sent to a Woman’s Correctional Facility, and was placed in the Category A section, as she was seen as a ‘high-risk’ inmate. She spent a lot of her days in her cell, only being allowed out for a few hours a day. When she first arrived, it was hell. She was threatened and hurt within the hallowing walls of the prison, and she finally understood even a fragment of what Spencer had gone through when he was convicted for a crime he didn’t commit. 

Huh, ironic. 

Except Spencer had a team working day and night to prove his innocence. 

No one was coming to save Y/N. 

She never had any visitors. Her mother was too ashamed that herdaughter was a convicted serial killer to come and visit, she didn’t hear from her father at all, and Spencer was the only real friend she ever had. 

 After her first month of imprisonment, she’d reached acceptance. Acceptance in the fact that she’d likely never see anything outside the prison courtyard again, that she’d never marry and have children or achieve her dream job. Some days she felt at peace, others she was filled with an unimaginable anger. She was angry at the world. She’d believed in the divine universe, but how was it fair that she wasted away in a cell whilst the real offender got away with it? How was that justice? 

She was angry with the world. But she was livid with Spencer. 

Her supposed best friend, someone she would’ve died for, the man she loved. He’d left her alone, he’d abandoned her, at a time where she’d never needed him more he turned his head away. 

Two months into her sentence, she got her first visitor. She’d been surprised when the guard had come to collect her from her cell,  telling her she had someone waiting for her in one of the private rooms, where inmates usually met with their lawyers to discuss appeals etc. The door buzzed as it unlocked, the guard opening up the door in front of her. Much to her surprise, the guard then reached down to uncuff her hands. She was told to wait, and so she took a seat on one of the chairs, her hands tracing the red marks the cuffs had left on her wrists. 

The door opened minutes later, and Y/N could hear male voices mumbling to one another before someone entered the room, swiftly closing the door behind them. 

Hotch. 

He took a seat opposite her, as she stared at him wide-eyed. “Agent Hotchner? What are you- Why are you here?” She asked quietly, her voice croaky and low. She didn’t speak much these days, as she had such little interaction with others that there was no need to. 

“Miss Y/L/N-“ He began but Y/N stopped him by speaking.

“Could you call me Y/N? Everyone here calls me by my last name, its kind of dehumanizing. I would like to feel like a human for once, please.” 

Hotch gave her a sad look before nodding. “Alright. Y/N. I’m here to apologise on behalf of the Bureau and my team. Two months ago we were assigned the case, to which we came to the conclusion that you were our unsub.” He pulled out a folder from his briefcase, placing it down on the table before her. “We were wrong.”

Y/N stared at the folder before her as Hotch reached out to open it. From it he pulled an evidence bag containing a single piece of paper. He cleared his throat as he slid the bag across the table so she could read the note for herself. 

“Two weeks ago we were sent this letter. It came directly to the BAU, addressed to Agent Reid.”

 “Agent Reid.

You’ve got the wrong woman.

But how funny it was to watch you turn so easily on the woman you love.

Until next time.”

“Since receiving this letter, the Bureau launched an investigation into where it came from and who sent it. We had to be sure of its authenticity before we made any other moves. Our investigation led us to a woman named Felicity Brooks.” Hotch placed another file before her. It was Felicity Brooks’ file, with information about her life and a picture of her attached. 

“I don’t recognise her.” Y/N murmured, and Hotch sighed. 

“I didn’t suppose you would. You met her once a few years ago when your publishing company rejected the draft of her book. It sent her into a frenzy of sorts, and this was the only way she could gain retribution.” Hotch explained.  “She confessed to all three murders, and admitted to planting the strand of your hair at the crime scene. We’re so incredibly sorry for our part in your conviction. You will receive compensation for the trouble. You’re now a free woman, Y/N.” Hotch gave something that almost resembled a smile, before standing up and grabbing the files, putting them back in his briefcase. “I’ve arranged for a car to take you home, it’ll be waiting outside.” Then he turned swiftly, but she called his name, causing him to stop and turn to face her. 

“Thank you.” She whispered, just loud enough for him to hear, with a genuine smile that she hadn’t worn in months. He just nodded at her before leaving. A guard came into the room, whisking Y/N away to begin the process of leaving the hell that she’d called home for two months. 

*

She’d been home for three days. 

Turned out that her mother had just cared enough to keep up with Y/N’s rent payments so she’d have somewhere to live when she got out. She’d tried reaching out to her to apologise for not supporting her, once her mother found out she was innocent but Y/N wasn’t interested in her apologies. 

She’d used the compensation to replace the door they’d broken down, and she’d heard separately from all of the BAU members, who all apologised profusely for their part in her conviction. All of them apart from Spencer. 

She’d thanked the team for apologising, but ultimately had forgiven them. They had every reason to believe it was her. While part of her was still angry, she knew they were just doing their jobs. 

After all, it was Spencer who had hurt her, who she needed to believe her. He was her best friend, he shoud’ve known that no matter the evidence, Y/N was not capable of murder. He should’ve seen what was going on, considering the same thing had happened to him not a year earlier. 

Three loud knocks sounded through her apartment, and she frowned. She wasn’t expecting company. When she opened the door, the last person she expected to see one the other side was Spencer. 

He was looking down at the floor, but when she opened up the door his eyes lifted up meet hers. His eyes seemed to fill with relief that she’d actually answered the door. 

“Hi, um, how are you?” He stammered, and Y/N just raised her eyebrows as if to say really?

It was a stupid question. Spencer had been in prison, he knew how horrible it was and he knew what it was like to be wrongfully accused but he’d subjected her to the same and he’d never felt so guilty before in his life.

“I’m fine. Did you need something?” She asked, crossing her arms expectantly. 

“Y/N I am so sorry.” He whispered, his lip quivering. 

She sighed, shaking her head. “I appreciate you saying that. Are we done?” She moved to shut the door but he stopped it with his foot.  

She groaned, pulling back the door again. “Spence-”

“Please just- let me in. We need to talk, please?” His voice was pleading, and Y/N saw the tears pooling in his eyes and relented, stepping away to let him into her apartment. 

He thanked her and closed the door behind them, following her into her living room. She sat on the sofa and waited for him to speak as he stood before her, shuffling nervously on his feet. 

“You don’t know how guilty I feel about what happened. You know I went to prison, it wasn’t long before we met. And it fucked me up, Y/N. I barely made it out alive. And now I subjected you to the same hell because I trusted a profile with circumstantial evidence more than I trusted you and I am so sorry.” He was on the verge of tears, and Y/N sighed, tears collecting in her own eyes.

“I just needed you to believe me. I was your best friend. I trusted you more than anything else in the world and you- you thought I was capable of murder?” She cried, standing up from the sofa to exaggerate her point. 

“I don’t know what I was thinking Y/N please-“ He tried but she cut him off. 

“No, Spencer! You meant everything to me, do you understand that? The once time I needed you the most, you turned your back on me!”

“It wasn’t like that-”

“Then what was it like, huh?” 

Silence fell on the two. They both stared at one another, hoping the other would say something that could fix everything. That they’d somehow string together a sentence that would make everything okay again. Y/N visibly slumped, her shoulder dropping from the defensive stance as she turned away from him, not able to look at his red teary eyes anymore. 

“I loved you, you know.” She sniffed, and it made his breath hitch.

Silence. And then-

“You what?”

“I was in love with you. I had been for months at that point. You broke my heart, Spencer.” She murmured, still turned away from him. 

I was in love with you. 

Past tense. 

“Was?” Spencer whimpered out, and by the defeated tone in his voice Y/N turned around, meeting his eyes again. 

“I’m not the same person you knew two months ago, Spencer.” She whispered, and he recognised the fear she held in her eyes. She was afraid of herself, of the person prison had made her. He recognised it as the seem look he’d held in his own eyes for months after he was released. 

“That’s okay. I love you, Y/N. I will grow to love the person you are now even more. Just please, forgive me-” He stepped towards her, a reassuring tone in his voice. 

Y/N screwed her eyes shut. “It’s going to take time- I can’t just forget what happened I-” Her voice cracked and he nodded. 

“I’d wait forever for you.” 

She gave a sad smile, and he gave one back. 

She wondered if in some alternate universe she’d never met Spencer Reid. She wondered if her life was better there, more fulfilled. 

But she liked to think that even in all the infinite universes and alternate realities, she got to live a life with Spencer Reid in every one. That they were just so incredibly meant to be that no amount of different choices could stop them from meeting, from falling in love. 

She supposed that made them soulmates, or something of the like. 

The thought made her smile. 

[sexydreamgirl]

Is there such thing as half asleep paralysis?

Last night I had a dream that my mom was strangling me and it felt so real that when I woke up I tried to scream but couldn't my whole body was completely frozen but my eyes were open. The night before I was trying to escape a room I was drowning in and again, I was awake but it felt like my body was still in the water and by the time I realised I wasn't in the dream anymore I could open my eyes but the rest of my body was frozen and the second I thought about the void and the whole sleep paralysis thing (like an image of Angels post flashed in my mind) , I could move again so it was to late to affirm for anything. I've had sleep paralysis previously but this was before I learned about LOAssumption and it mostly happened with my eyes closed.

I mean I know I can manifest without the void/sleep paralysis etc but I feel like when it happens I may as well take advantage of it but

1) I don't know if it's works if my eyes are open and it can be difficult to close them again because some part of my brain takes a while to realise I'm not IN the dream anymore

2)As soon as I'm aware that I'm awake and not dreaming it goes away whereas before I would be completely awake but my body was paralysed, my eyes were closed and it would take a while to go away so I'd have to just lay there for ages and try not to freak out too much.

So, basically I'm asking if I'm still in the void even though my eyes are open?

No bff

[massivedrickhead]

I was wondering if you’d do a bechloe prompt where one of them has a miscarriage? Lots of angst please!

I hope it’s angsty enough for you... 

I also think this might work for today’s prompt for bechloe week - Hospital - so I’m gonna tag it. If you disagree let me know and I’ll remove it.

Read on AO3

Trigger warning: miscarriage 

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

When they returned home from the hospital, the silence was deafening.

And that sounds cliché to say, but it’s the only way to describe it. 

For a house that was usually so full of noise, so full of life, the silence was colossal. It was dominating. Devastating.

“Is this real?” Beca asked, a tone of bewilderment in her voice. Because surely this couldn’t be happening. It couldn’t be real. Not after they’d waited for so long. Not after they’d gotten so close.

Chloe didn’t reply, and they didn’t speak again for the rest of the night.

Beca managed to shower before she crawled into bed. Washing away the blood and the smell of the hospital. Her hand kept gravitating towards her stomach. Desperate to feel something. A kick. A shove. A wriggle. Because maybe they’d made a mistake. Maybe they’d gotten it wrong. But no. Every time her hand touched her stomach, she knew. 

When Chloe finally made it to bed, Beca had already cried herself to sleep. 

Chloe faced the wall, their backs only a few inches apart, but there might as well have been an ocean between them. Chloe knew she should comfort her wife. Turn over and pull her close. Whisper reassurances. But she couldn’t. For the first time in her life, Chloe didn’t know what to say. There was nothing she could say to make this easier on either of them. And she didn’t want to rest her hand on that spot on Beca’s stomach, the place she had so often found herself drawn to these days , because she knew it would make it seem real. Acknowledging what they’d lost would make it real, and Chloe needed to pretend for a little bit longer.

When Beca woke the next morning, she had roughly twenty seconds of contentment. Sun was peaking through the curtains, warming their bedroom. She could hear birds outside, and the neighbour’s dog barking. 

And then she remembered, and she was pinned to the bed by wave after wave of grief. With each breath she took, the pain got worse. Wordlessly, she reached out to where Chloe should be, but the space beside her was empty. She could hear movement in the house. The constant opening and closing of doors, the banging of cabinets, but nothing else. No music, no singing. The silence was still alien to her, but she’d get used to it. 

While Beca remained paralysed in bed, Chloe began gathering up the things they’d bought in the last few weeks. Diapers, clothes, soft toys, bottles - all of it went into the nursery. Still half-painted. Forever half-painted. They never did decide on a colour and now they wouldn’t need to. 

When Chloe was finished, their house looked the same as it had done almost five months ago, with one exception. Chloe hadn’t been able to bring herself to remove the photograph of the scan from their refrigerator. She closed the door of the nursery and vowed not to open it again.

She could not go through this again.

Over the next few days, Beca and Chloe existed like ghosts in their home. Not speaking, not touching, just drifting from place to place.

Beca stayed in bed mostly. The aftermath of what had happened had left her physically drained and made moving difficult and painful, and she didn’t have the emotional energy to fight through it.

Chloe found she couldn’t keep still. She would go for a run on a morning, out of the house before Beca had woken up, and would spend the rest of her day cleaning, tidying, answering work emails.

When they happened to pass each other in the hall, in the kitchen, leaving the bathroom, they left enough room between them so they didn’t touch. Neither knew if the other was doing this deliberately.

Neither even really noticed it was happening.

Any fear about what would happen to them and their marriage was buried beneath layers and layers of unrestrained grief.

When they spoke it was for purely practical reasons.

“Can you pass the milk?”

“Do you need anything from the store?”

“Is that your phone or mine?”

They were both used to the silence by now, and wouldn’t have noticed if it changed.

When Beca heard Chloe speaking on the phone to Aubrey or her mom, Beca couldn’t make out the words she was saying. 

She couldn’t focus on anything but this loss. 

Somewhere deep down, she wanted Chloe. She needed her. There were moments at night, when Chloe would be lying beside her, both turned away, both feigning sleep, when Beca would get the urge to turn over. To seek some comfort. To reach out and touch her the way she used to. 

But she was always too scared to make the first move. She didn’t know if Chloe blamed her for what had happened, and she was too afraid to find out. 

The doctor had assured them this was no one’s fault. Sometimes, these things just happen. But Beca couldn’t help but shoulder the blame. 

Sometimes she clung to that feeling, the way focusing on a paper cut might distract you from a stubbed toe, but it would never last long. A paper cut might distract you from a stubbed toe, but it couldn’t distract you from shotgun wound in the stomach.

For what it’s worth, Chloe didn’t blame Beca. Not for a second. Not once.

But Chloe knew she hadn’t made any effort to comfort Beca since that night at the hospital, and that had brought about her own guilt. She’d held her hand as the doctor explained what had happened, but somewhere along the way, she’d let it slip away, and hadn’t reached out to take it again.

She was scared of reaching out now, in case Beca rejected her. Telling her it was too little, too late. She couldn’t cope with that pain as well.

So they carried on existing this way for over a week.

Beca kept refusing to answer her phone and Chloe kept telling everyone who offered help that it wasn’t a good time. 

They were two ghosts drifting around their home, lost in their own grief.

Until Beca’s body gave out on her. 

She had been sitting on the sofa, ten days after the loss of their baby girl, staring into space. She had been sore for days, her back, legs and stomach aching and cramping. It made it difficult for her to sit in one spot for too long, and soon found the pain building again. She tried to push herself up from the sofa, but couldn’t manage it. Her body wasn’t cooperating, and the soft cushions of the sofa were offering no resistance. Her fists just sank deeper into them as she tried to push herself up harder.

“Chloe?” She called, the name feeling strange on her tongue. When had she last said it? 

She heard the sound of fast approaching footsteps. The sound of Beca saying her name had broken through whatever thoughts she had been lost in.

“Beca? Did… Did you need something?”

“I can’t get up,” Beca said, jaw clenched against the pain. Chloe could see her arms shaking at the effort. “Can you help me?”

“Yeah,” Chloe said. Beca allowed herself to relax and fell back into the sofa. “Grab my arms,” she said, her hands holding Beca’s forearms. Beca nodded, and did, her chest suddenly feeling tight at the feeling of her wife’s hands holding her. “Ready?” Beca nodded again and Chloe pulled her up, supporting her when it looked like her legs wouldn’t. “Okay?”

“Thanks,” Beca said, not wanting to let go. “Can… Can you help me get to the bathroom?”

“Of course,” Chloe said. “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” Beca said. “I’ve been aching really bad since… But it’s never been like this before.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you’ve been in pain?”

Beca left the question unanswered. Chloe wasn’t really expecting one.

“Give me a shout if you need any help?” Chloe said, closing the door behind her, giving Beca some privacy. 

She hadn’t thought much about it, but now she realised now how much she’d missed hearing Beca’s voice. How much she missed the feeling of her. How much she missed her. 

She heard the flush of the toilet and the sound of running water, and then Beca came hobbling out of the room.

“Were you listening to me pee, creep?” The lightness in her voice took them both by surprise.

“Just trying to make sure you could get off the toilet with those old arthritic knees of yours,” Chloe replied.

For the first time in ten days, they became truly aware of each other’s presence.

Tear filled eyes met, and they saw their own pain reflected back at them. 

“Come lie down with me?” Beca asked, her voice a fraction of what it had been a moment ago. 

Chloe nodded, and followed Beca into their bedroom. 

They lay side-by-side, staring up at the ceiling, their hands millimetres apart, but still not touching.

“Do you blame me?” Beca asked.

“No,” Chloe replied, honestly. “I’m sorry I haven’t-”

“Don’t,” Beca said, cutting her off. “Don’t be sorry. I haven’t either.”

Beca took a deep breath, and reached out to take Chloe’s hand. The contact almost made her cry.

“I miss you,” Chloe said, threading their fingers together.

“I miss you too,” Beca replied, blinking back tears.

“And I miss her,” Chloe said, swallowing hard as they both continued to stare up at the ceiling.

“Me too,” Beca said, her voice breaking now. “I miss her so much. I miss feeling her move inside me. I miss her little kicks. I even missed the way she liked to lie on my bladder.”

Chloe let out a teary laugh. “What do we do?” She asked after a small silence.

“I don’t know,” Beca replied. “But I don’t want to do it alone anymore.”

“Me neither.”

And then Beca turned over, arms reaching out, searching for the comfort only Chloe could give. Chloe pulled her in close, arms wrapping around her, lips pressed against her hairline. 

And they cried until they fell asleep, wrapped in each other’s arms for the first time in ten days.

The next morning they woke up and they continued to grieve, and morn. They continued to shut the world out. To eat less than they should. To avoid talking about it. To cry. They continued to struggle to cope with their loss.

Only now they did it together, and it made all the difference.

[writethehousedown]

New sensations, sweet temptations: chapter 6 (crygi, jan/rock) - Winter

a/n: this do be kinda late but i got it out here, sad to be the second to last chapter but this challenge has been really fun to do and i’m super proud of this fic, enjoy the crygi date and general stupidity (this was for the watermelon prompt and low key barely made it work but technically i did idk)

ao3 link

The morning after Jan’s sleepover was a strange one. It had been a fun night, but things were beginning to change in the group. Relationships were evolving and not going to be the same for much longer. Crystal noticed this and decided to find all her confidence and ask Gigi on a proper date later in the day. 

  Everyone started to wake up around 10 am, although voices stayed hushed for the next hour to avoid waking up whoever was still sleeping. Everyone woke up around the same time, leaving Gigi, Rock, and Jan the last ones asleep.

  Crystal, looking at the sleeping Gigi next to her as everyone started moving around, couldn’t hold back the soft smile that tugged at her lips. She would have continued admiring the red-haired beauty but Nicky cleared her throat, sending Crystal an amused look that made her want to curl up in a ball and roll away. 

  —

  In the room next to where most of the girls had slept, Rock was intertwined with a half-asleep Jan. The blonde stirred, noticing someone hugging her before turning her head around to see a fast asleep Rock, hugging her close to her chest.

  Jan felt her heart almost leap out of her chest at first, before remembering the events of the night before and settling back down. The fear turned into something soft and warm. Rock felt the same way, she had nothing to worry about anymore. It was all okay.

  There was the rest of the world other than Rock to worry about but Jan shook it off. She’d take it slowly, just glad she could stop worrying so much about her feelings for her close friend. She didn’t know where they would go from here but it couldn’t get much worse than the paralysing gay panic she was tormented by.

  She realised she would need to move from the pink-haired girl’s embrace at some point soon before someone (probably Nicky) would barge into her room and not let her live it down. That was made difficult by how they were laid. Rock had one arm over Jan, the other laying limply by her side. Their legs were snaked together, Jan’s arms were a part of the mess, one hanging onto Rock’s and one over the sleeping girl. Pulling herself out of this would be difficult but she didn’t fear waking Rock up, knowing that her friend could sleep through anything. 

  That was until a loud thud came from one of the rooms and Jan felt her heart drop to the bottom of her chest. Rock stirred beside her, letting out a confused noise before flopping down back into the bed. She stayed there for a moment before rolling over to be face to face with Jan. 

  “The fuck?” Her tired, half-asleep mumble made Jan’s heart weak. Tired Rock was always cute, but curled in her bed half fused with her was another story. Jan didn’t know if she could cope with this for much longer, but the warmth in the chest at one look at Rock made it all worth it. 

  “Good morning to you too!” Jan’s enthusiasm was ever-present, even after having just woke up. Rock regarded her with a strange look, shaking her head and muttering something about too much energy. She glanced at the door then back at Jan before speaking again.

  “As much as I hate suggesting it, should we go check out what that was?” Rock, although suggesting the get up, pouted when Jan removed her arm from over her body. Jan’s heart malfunctioned at the sight. How was she going to survive with a girl this adorable?

  “You’re right, come on let’s get up.” 

  Rock grumbled as Jan left the warmth of the bed and her embrace but soon got up to stand beside her and wrapped her arms around the smaller girl, nuzzling her head into her shoulder.

  “Just ‘cause we’re up now doesn’t mean you’ll get away with this, you owe me more time to cuddle.” Rock’s half-asleep voice, trying to sound somewhat threatening was the single funniest and cutest thing Jan had heard in her life. She felt a sudden urge to pat Rock on the head, following through before trying not to laugh at the strange, happy sound that came from Rock as she did so. 

  —

  The pair made their way into the lounge where the other girls were. The source of the noise was found out to be Gigi, having rolled off the air mattress onto the floor. Everyone stared, not wanting to be the first person to speak but also wanting to laugh at the poor girl’s misfortunate awakening. Crystal was the first one to make a move, tapping the redhead on the shoulder.

  “What?” 

  At the sound of Gigi’s confused grumble, Crystal giggled. Gigi herself whipped around to give whoever laughed an icy glare but felt it melt the minute she saw Crystal’s adorable amused face. She glanced around the room, noting everyone looks at her with either a smirk or straight confusion. 

  “Well, at least everyone’s awake now! How did everyone sleep!” Jan felt the eyes turn to her, cutting through the awkward silence that was building. Everyone seemed to answer that they slept well, with Rock mumbling something about barely being awake. 

  The group flowed into normal conversation after that, everyone discussing what their plans for the rest of the day were and eating leftover snacks to double as breakfast. 

  Crystal saw her chance, tapping Gigi on the shoulder and sitting next to her on the sofa. 

  “Hey Geeg, you said you weren’t busy today and I was wondering if maybe you wanted to go somewhere with me?”

  Gigi froze, did Crystal just ask her out? Seriously? Was she still dreaming?

  Gigi nodded, afraid if she spoke not much would come out. 

  “Cool! I saw this cool looking arcade that opened up recently. Would you want to go there? Maybe?” 

  Gigi couldn’t help but smile at the nervous tone Crystal almost always possessed, she acted so shy and yet stood out so much with her huge makeup, curly green hair, and loveable attitude. 

  “Sounds like fun, Crys. I’d love to. It’s a date!” 

  It was Crystal’s turn to freeze up now. Gigi said yes. Oh god, how was she going to deal with this? But her plan had worked. She was going on a date with Gigi Goode!

  —-

  The giddy feeling in Crystal had yet to fade as she and Gigi neared the arcade. If anything it only grew stronger with every passing minute. Gigi noticed the air of pure excitement Crystal was giving off, hiding her smile at the cuteness of it.

  The moment they stepped inside, Crystal grabbed Gigi’s hand and dragged her date to the nearest claw machine. 

  “Geeg look! It looks like you!” Crystal gestured to a ginger cat plush, grinning proudly. Gigi questioned it though, she wasn’t a cat. How did she look like one?

  “It’s ginger and it looks elegant, but also super cute. You two are practically the same.!” The giggle Crystal let out made warmth radiate through Gigi. She was really out here, on a date with Crystal. The thought made a giddy smile, much like her date’s, tug at her lips. She let it stay, the smile widening into a grin when she saw Crystal with the same dopey look. 

  Turning her sights on the claw machine, she put some money in, turning to the green-haired girl and winking. Crystal watched over her shoulder as Gigi expertly maneuvered the claw onto the cat that had caught her eye. It got picked up and dropped into the prize shoot, Gigi looked at it with a proud expression that made Crystal melt a little inside. 

  When Gigi handed her the plush she wanted to scream, instead, she went for a move so strangely confident for her it was baffling with hindsight. She happily took the cat, proudly proclaiming it to be baby Geeg, before gesturing to Gigi with the same dopey smile that she had held for most of the day. 

  “She may be baby Geeg, but you’re my favourite Geeg.” Crystal kissed the redheads cheeks, inwardly smirking when she saw Gigi fail to compute what was happening. It took her a good few seconds to react, limply bringing a hand to the spot Crystal had kissed and staring at her with big eyes mixed with too many emotions to decipher. Gigi quickly responded to the action, pressing a light kiss to Crystal’s forehead and grinning when she looked flustered by the affection. 

They continued, attached at the hip, playing games together. Or rather, Crystal would pull Gigi to any game she took particular interest in and Gigi would play it with her. The euphoria of seeing how excited Crystal got when they did well was the best thing Gigi had ever felt in her life and she would do anything to keep feeling it. 

  “You know, since we have green and red hair, does that make us a watermelon?”

  “Crystal….what?” Exchanges of pure stupidity that warmed Gigi’s heart continues as the played the games, how was Crystal this stupid and yet this perfect?

  Crystal was determined to return the gift of a cute plush from one of the many claw machines, when Gigi gestured to a small clown plush, claiming it to be just like Crystal, she saw her chance. She paused at the machine, staring at it for a good 20 seconds before putting some money in. She failed the first time, the clown falling out of the claw just before it hit the prize shoot and making Crystal want to scream in the process. She put more money in, successfully getting it the second time. 

  “Hey, since I’ve got baby Geeg I guess you need a little clown to remind you of me huh?” Crystal was proud of getting the small clown to Gigi, who seemed to like it a lot.

  “Well, her name is Cryssie. She reminds me of this really cute girl I know actually.”

  Playing dumb, Crystal nodded, wondering aloud who this girl could be. Gigi picked up on it, only proceeding to complement the girl more.

  “She sounds like a real catch.”

  “Oh she is, you know something?”

  Crystal gave her a perplexed look.

  “I really want to kiss her.” With that, Crystal froze. Despite all the flirting, she didn’t expect Gigi to be so forward. 

“I have a feeling she’d like that a lot.”

  Gigi took that as the confirmation she needed, gently putting a hand on Crystal’s face and guiding it into a kiss. It was short, nervous, and probably somewhat awkward but it felt right and made both girls smile like idiots. 

  Crystal knew then and there that this wouldn’t be the last date they went on and she swore to herself that would be the first kiss of many between them. 

[ssa25]

Miss You - NaruHina

Rating: T

Inspired by Ed Sheeran's 'I don't need your money'. 

It was just a call. 

And now he was here. 

At a small rest stop, more than halfway to Konoha from Suna. His beanie pulled over his ears to keep out the cold, as he sipped on a cup of latte. He wasn't fond of caffeine in general, but he needed it right now. To wake all his senses after the short nap he took inside his car. And to prepare him for the awfully monotonous ride to his hometown.

It was almost the end of December, and he had put on his thick down jacket and fleece gloves to keep warm. A small backpack carrying a spare t-shirt and one pair of undergarments lay in the passenger seat. He had planned to clean his laundry that weekend. But then he made a sudden change of plan less than 12 hours back. After that last call with his girlfriend. His beautiful and adorable Hinata.

As soon as he felt recharged, he dropped the paper cup into the recycle bin and headed for his car. He still had 6 hours worth of distance to cover. 

When he turned on the radio, it was playing a depressing love song. It made him frown and he switched the station abruptly. 

--

"F*ck!!" 

When he felt all eyes on him, inside the crowded elevator, he realised he had said it out loud. He just muttered a half hearted apology, and continued looking at his phone.

18 missed calls, 2 voicemails and 1 message. 

He opened the message first. It was from Hinata. 

'I have been trying to talk to you all week. I know you're busy. But I wish you would atleast call me back. Even if for just a little bit.' 

He quickly opened the call log to see that Hinata had tried to call him 16 times in the past 8 or so hours. And left him a voicemail.

As soon as he reached his floor, he quickly dashed out to get some signal on his phone and check her voice message first. 

'Naruto, it's me… Hinata… Umm… Call me when you get this message.. Bye.'

She sounded a little off. After being in a relationship for almost an year, he knew her well enough.

It had been three months since he had to temporarily move base to Suna. His former tennis coach had recommended him to the famous multiple Grand slam winner of the yesteryears, by the name of Hatake Kakashi, who cherry picked his pupils and lived in the bustling city of Suna. And now he was training his ass off to make his debut at the first pro-tournament of next year. 

He was well on his way to achieve his goals, but his personal life seemed to involuntarily suffer. 

It was already dark outside, he looked at the time. Hinata was probably already asleep, she wasn't much of a night owl. Especially considering how early she woke up in the mornings. But he had to try. 

So he quickly got to his car, and turned on the heating, before dialing her number. 

She picked up on the fourth ring. 

"Naruto?", her voice sounded a little nasally and tired. Did she cry? 

"Hey Hinata… Uh, were you sleeping?" 

"Not really.", he knew she probably said it to not make him feel guilty about waking her up. "How are you?" 

He pushed his head back into the seat and felt like a prick for missing her calls. Anyone else would be shouting and screaming at him right now, but no, not her. That sweet girlfriend of his was still worried about him. 

"I'm fine Hinata. I just… I'm so so sorry for not talking to you these past few days. My schedule's been crazy. That lunatic Kakashi is having me run from home to the gym to the court without a break." 

"Hmm…. I.. I guess you are too busy.." 

She sounded a little melancholic and he had to ask. 

"Baby, are you alright?... What's the matter?" 

There line was silent for a few seconds, before he heard her sniff. 

"I just… I just missed you." 

"I know babe. I miss you too. So much, I can't even begin to tell you. But we agreed to do this, right? You pushed me to take up this opportunity and told me that we can weather the long distance.", he reminded her gently.

"I know… But…", she had started weeping softly. "Sometimes, its just a little hard. Sometimes, when my day goes a little wrong, I just miss your presence." 

"What happened? What went wrong?", now he was worried. 

"Nothing serious… There was a surprise assessment today and I just didn't do very well on it…. Then, at the canteen, I saw Shikamaru and Sai with Temari and Ino… They were inviting me to go to a karaoke place with them… But I just didn't want to… Last time, I hung out with them, I just felt so awkward and silly by myself…. And then, on my way back home today, Hidan was-"

Naruto was livid hearing the jerk's name. "What? What did that asshole do?" 

"........ Just his usual lewd comments. ", she replied hesitantly. 

He sighed heavily and brushed his hand through his hair. "I told you to get someone to walk back home with you. Why didn't you listen? Shall I call Kiba and ask him-" 

"No.", she said firmly. "Kiba already has his hands full with Tamaki and helping out his parents' at the store. And anyway, I had the situation under control. My pepper spray is always in my bag." 

"Hinata… Pepper spray is not enough. If Kiba is busy, maybe Shino could do it." 

"You're being unreasonable."

"I'm being unreasonable?", he was not having it. Hidan was a nuisance even when he was around in Konoha. But now, without him there, he had every reason to be worried. "Is it unreasonable for me to worry about my girlfriend?"

"No, but asking other people to fill in for your absence is also not right."

Okay, she probably didn't say it to make him feel bad. But he still did. 

"My absence was a mutual decision Hinata… Why are you making it seem as if I'm the bad guy?" 

She gasped at his insinuation. "I-.. I never said you were the bad guy. I just said that I missed you. Isn't that normal for me to feel, when we haven't spoken in almost a week??" 

"I know that we haven't… But atleast I text you as often as I can… You have to understand that I'm almost half dead at the end of each day… And by the time I make it back home, I know you would be sleeping… And anyway, I am doing all of this for us Hinata… For both of us…. I need to be financially secure before I can ask you to marry me…"

"You know I don't care about money." 

"You don't. But your father does. And he is not wrong. It never hurts to live comfortably. I just need your support for the next few months, and then we will be together, I promise."

"Ofcourse, I will always support your dreams.", she replied solemnly. "I should sleep now. Take care Naruto."

And the line went dead. 

--

He wanted to hit his head somewhere whenever he recollected her let down voice. He knew she supported his passion for tennis and his goal of becoming a Grand slam champion. But the distance was just too hard for both of them. Her father was too strict and did not allow her to travel further than a 10 mile radius from home by herself. And he wasn't exactly swimming in cash to take frequent trips to Konoha. His godfather Jiraiya, who had adopted him after his parents' early demise, only made enough to get by, as an erotic novelist. 

It wasn't the best case scenario for them, but he knew they had to make it work. He could not lose her, even the thought of it was paralysing. She was an angel, a literal angel, who blessed him with her affections. When he told her apologetically, a month back, that he might not be able to make it to Konoha for Christmas or her birthday or the new year, she did not get angry or sulky. Especially, since it would be her first birthday since they got together. Instead, she forgave him and later, agreed to his lewd request for phone sex. And he was beyond grateful for that. 

He could see the sun rising on the horizon of  the green winding hills as he drove. He had to make it to her before she went out that day. It was her birthday. He had to beg his coach to let him off for that weekend. And he was going to make it up to her. 

When he finally turned the corner to her father's more than modest four bedroom house, it was just past 7 am. He parked his car outside and got off while dialing Hinata from his phone. It took her a while to pick up. 

"Hello?... Naruto?"

She had definitely slept in for longer than usual.

"Hey sleepyhead… Happy birthday!" 

She hummed lazily, and he could imagine her smiling. "Thank you Naruto."

He shivered at the way she said his name, so soft yet sensual, in her sleepy tired voice. Soon, soon enough, he will have her in his arms. 

"I love you babe." 

"I love you too…. Naruto, I'm sorry I was being whiny yesterday…" 

"Don't say that Hinata… I'm sorry for missing your calls… And for being a jackass… I'm really really sorry." 

She laughed and replied. "Apology accepted… Oh, it's 7.20… How are you not at the gym?" 

"Hey Hina…", he decided to break the surprise to her. 

"Hmm?" 

"There should be something for you at your door. Can you get to the window and check on it?"

He kept his eyes fixed on the large glass window to the left. 

"For me?", she asked. "Naruto, you shouldn't have… You know-" 

She came in view, and gasped in surprise upon seeing him leaning casually on his car and smiling up at her. Hands over her mouth and tears in her eyes, she dropped the phone and sprinted down. 

Seconds later, the front door opened, and she ran and leapt up into his open arms, her legs crisscrossing behind his back. Their lips and tongues met in feverish rush, that conveyed their longing without the need for any words. His hands tightened around her waist to stick her chest close to his and just feel her curves through her satiny pajamas. She moaned in response and continued to accept his hungry onslaught while grazing her fingers through his overgrown hair above the neck.

He desperately wished to feel more of her. So, without further thoughts, his right hand moved down to cup and squeeze her fleshy ass. 

"Ahem!!"

They both broke off their very public display of affection to turn to the grim figure at the door. Hiashi Hyuuga glared daggers at Naruto, as Hinata slipped down his body to gain her footing on the pavement. She even noticed some of the morning joggers rooted in their place nearby with their mouth agape, and the ever nosy neighbour Mrs. Terumi peeping through her window. Feelings of mortification at their uninhibited show, sank in making her turned-on blush become even more intense. 

"I see you are finally back. Did you give up your sport?", Hiashi bit the passive-aggresive comment at him. 

"Never Sir.", Naruto gave him a triumphant smile while he wound his arm around Hinata's waist pulling her at his side. "Just here for the weekend. For Hinata's birthday." 

He saw from his side of his eyes, Hinata looking up at him with a mixture of awe and adoration. Then she turned to his car and asked him worriedly. 

"Did you drive all the way Naruto?"

"Yep. For you baby.", he said winking at her. 

"Get inside both of you.", Hiashi ordered them. "People have already got an eyeful. No need to give them an earful."

Naruto grinned shamelessly at the old man, before heeding his advice and following his girlfriend inside. He had not made any particular plans, but he was sure they would have a wonderful reunion and birthday celebration. Maybe, after breakfast, over at his godfather's apartment. Who was conveniently out of town for the whole week. He looked down at their clasped hands and then at the gorgeous long hair swishing just above the equally gorgeous backside of his girlfriend, and sighed contently. It felt good to be back home. 

-----x-----

[tara-l-blackmore]

The MWS Unit (or Iso)

Here's the thing about it.

I spent months upon months petrified of this experience. I would find myself suddenly scream-crying in my shower, so certain this would be one of the very last times I'll ever shower in my own house. I would look at Milo and just grab him and hug him, soak him in my tears and make him squirm away and wonder why I had suddenly lost my mind, because I was certain he would die before I could be freed.

I would log on to social media and stare paralysed at a screen of emails and messages, asking me how I was, and all I could think of was that if I never replied again, what would happen? If I lost them, if I could never get out, would they understand, would they not hate me for it? Or would they think I’d abandoned them, and hate me forever for it? And I could never ask, because I was too afraid of the answer, despite knowing how kind those few people are.

The worst was the fear over Terry.

He did nothing to stir it, to worsen it. He did everything in his power to steer my fragile mind away from that horror. But it didn't matter. It just didn't matter.

I stayed awake at night, staring at the ceiling, holding him and listening to his stupid obnoxious snoring and cry silently, wondering if I would regret hating that annoying nasally sound. I would watch the door close every morning, and dread that I would lose him on the other side of it, while I was trapped and not even able to escape to help him, to save him, to… to at least…

I was certain everyone would forget about me, that the time limit I was given was a lie to keep me calm, and that I would never, ever be released from that place, again. I had built up this place like it would be the insane asylum of all of my literary heroes, and I was just following them – and all without the being an author part. I would have a room of my own – forever.

So you could imagine my surprise when, the moment I walked into a room that had likely seen countless deaths, suicides, code blues, etc., and I sensed… none of it. I walked into that small room and felt absolutely nothing.

Let me back track a bit more.

While preparing for the time to get there, I realised something that had never happened before: I couldn't visualise or see it. Whenever I’m bound for some sort of adventure of some kind, good or bad, I can always picture it in advance. The majority of times, I’m wrong, but I can still see something.

But for iso, I saw absolutely nothing. And it terrified me, to the point of being certain that it meant I either wouldn't live to see it – or would die while there.

My fears grew. I became distant. I knew I could only depend on perhaps two or three people, and yet I still tried not to. I yearned to depend on others, only to be greeted with silence and apathy. My mentality worsened, I was certain this meant the end, and I started crying, every day, no matter what. I tried to do it alone, but usually failed – especially if Terry was there beside me.

But he wouldn't be – no one would be – and I was terrified. No one was allowed to visit, to even drop things off for me, and I was terrified of being abandoned there, whether it be left there forever, or come out of there with nothing and no one left.

I was so certain that this blind spot meant that it was the end, and nothing mattered, anymore.

But instead of saying any of it, all I did was just… pretend I was fine.

We woke up at 6, and I started shaking right away. I thought it was just because I was starting withdrawal, or I was overtired, but I actually did manage to sleep rather well the night before – Terry appropriately wore me out – but the second I got into the shower, I knew better: it was fear.

Was this the last time I’d ever see this place? That was my only thought, with everything I did.

Until, finally, it was time to go.

I'd been fully packed for two weeks, as they warned us to be ready for a 24-hour notice. And we got it. So it was easy to drag my stuff down to the garage.

I cried the entire time, trying to stop, trying to be strong for Terry, but I failed, and he was strong for me. The drive was quiet, full of silent tears and sips of cold coffee, but we got there early.

We spent the early half-hour in each other's arms. Now that we were there, it felt real, it felt true, and I was paralysed with fear. Again, Terry was the strong one – until finally, they sent someone down, and it was time to go.

We hugged, I cried, I think he might have teared up a little, and then we kissed and said goodbye – and see you next week.

Then, I was led away, and the doors closed.

The lady was kind, carrying the things I could not and welcoming me here. I was warned, however, that there was a fire drill going on, so there would be an hour delay in my check-in. This was bad news, as I was already feeling absolutely terrible.

Or so I thought.

But I smiled and nodded and let her lead me into the kitchen/common room, to wait for it to be over.

That's where I met J. He greeted me and was friendly, asked if I wanted food, and asked how long I was going to stay. I was shaking the whole time – he was a tall white man, and they sometimes make me nervous – but he did nothing to send my alarm bells off – not even when he mentioned being in jail.

“What're you here for? Alcohol?” he asked me.

“No; pain and opiate control,” I confessed.

i made a small joke, then, and to my surprise, it made him guffaw.

“Well, Tara, I hope you like it here,” he concluded. “It's really good.”

“I can see that,” I agreed, and he left.

I waited a bit more, bored and feeling gross, until I was found again and taken to the doctor.

I was weighed, measured, and photographed, given a keycard necklace to wear at all times, and then they took both blood and urine. I then spoke to the doctor – Dr F – about what I hoped to achieve while there.

“I'm not expecting a miracle,” I muttered, starting to feel sick. “I just want to be a housewife. I want to go see my niece and not want to die from pain after.” I met his gaze. “I want to see her at least graduate elementary school.”

He took me seriously, and no doctor had ever done that, before. He named my condition “suffering”, and for the first time, I realised that this was true. And I cried, shocked that someone I just met had more compassion than people I’d known for decades.

“Most of all,” I choked out, “I just want to make my husband happy.”

“I’m sure he wants the same for you,” Dr F agreed, “and part of that is to ease your suffering.”

Needless to say, it was a very emotional interview.

I was then led to my room – and surrendered my suitcase. I came prepared for it, aware that a lot would be taken away, and I was right. They took three freezer bags of stuff I was not allowed to be alone with – including my perfume! – but whatever.

After, I spent a brief moment of quiet putting things away, feeling the bad feelings increase but still having hope that I would spend the worst moments distracted at the desk they offered or curled up at the chair with books.

I was so wrong.

The rest of the day was a blur, because it got repetitive. I had to repeat everything at least four times, and by the end, I was exhausted.

But by then, I was ready to start.

At first, it was okay. I felt gross, but assured that the meds now inside me would ease that gross, and I would feel better in mere hours.

Instead, it initiated a five-day long stupor of pain, vomit, sobbing, and repeat, followed by exhausted or sedated sleeps and sobbing into pillow cases, my body too weak to even sit at the chair to do anything. I had to drag myself with my walker simply to see. Everything hurt.

But I kept breathing.

It was hard to do just that.

Withdrawal makes you think you are dying. It robs your muscles of blood, of air, and it makes your stomach curdle and turn on itself. It makes food taste like ash, pieces no bigger than pencil erasers creating constant choking hazards, and it makes your dreams turn to nightmares of that so-certain impending death.

Every night, I sobbed myself to sleep. Every morning, my body woke me with trembled and heaves and cold sweats and crying, crying, crying…

I fasted. I needed phosphates. I slept through all the activities I’d hoped to go to.

My only defence was sleep or tears. I tried to watch shows or answer emails or even talk on Discord, but nothing came out. Nothing could come out.

Because while everything felt horrible and awful physically, mentally I was… fine. I did have bad dreams, but they vanished the second I awoke bathed in sweat to heave. I didn't hallucinate. I didn't have flashbacks. I didn't even faint.

I was just very sick and ill, and reluctant to share it with anyone, even the people I knew I could trust.

Until my fifth day, I was trapped in this endless cycle of illness. Nothing mattered. Nothing existed. I realised way too late that one of the other chicks stuck with me was flirting with me, crying too hard to realise it (probably a good thing). All I could do was push myself with my walker from room to nursing station, crying, then back, again.

The night of the fourth day was the first time I wondered if I should try to shower. I even asked, and even though I was advised not to, I wanted to, anyway. But when I tried, I didn't make it. My soap did – I threw it across the room – but I did not.

The fifth day, however, was one that woke with heaving, as usual – but there was a finite quality to it, a strange kind of calm that followed it, and I wondered. The whole day, I watched myself, and I found myself sitting at that desk, writing one of the prompts in a prompt book I wrote. Then I laid back down and fell asleep.

The new meds had finally begun to work.

Because when I woke next, I was able to eat a little. And then after, I managed a sit-down shower. I cried the entire time, and after, so proud of myself, and I felt like a human, again. It was the first time I wanted to pick up my phone, but sadly, when I tried to speak, I again choked up and hid away.

Days six and seven were much the same: I awoke sick, was given meds, and when I was calm, I snacked on vegetable cheese crackers that I brought with me, finally able to stomach small amounts of solid – if very masticated – food. I spent the days watching Netflix or reading a book my mom bought for me – or sleeping.

Every day, I saw Dr F, who was dismayed by my lack of improvement until day six. When he saw me then, he was surprised by the change, and realised that maybe there is more to my suffering than wanting drugs. He even asked me how it felt.

“It doesn't make me high – I know what that feels like – but it makes me feel better,” I replied.

“Then it's working as it should,” he revealed.

And of course, I started to cry, and I was given my release date. I sobbed all the way to my room.

The last day – day seven – I was well enough to shower in the morning (though I did have to lie down for a while after, exhausted), as well as attempt to eat the food (fail). I then spent the day between packing up, going on a grounds walk and pet therapy (more on those in a second), and I even managed to listen to a small singing group (whose song made me cry and I had to run away).

First, the grounds walk. I missed all of the other ones, despite promising my mother that no matter what, I would get outside. But the one day I was up to it, it was raining. I was the only one who went, so it was a short jaunt, but so worth it to me. The air was cold and fresh, and the rain was like kissed on my hot, feverish face. I cried yet again, adding to it in my own way, and collected leaves, because I’m a witch.

Then, the pet therapy. I waited all week for this, and it was worth it. A woman came in with a rescued fawn greyhound, and I melted for her. She had past scars, but was so well-behaved and loving that you'd never know she was abused for sport. But near the end, I got too emotional, missing Nim, and I again ran away. I spent the rest of the night sneaking snacks around the entire place, because I didn't want to take them home.

The last morning finally arrived, and for a while, I didn't really believe it. I expected them to tell me I needed to stay longer. I distracted myself with an early shower; they said be out by 8 am, so I showered at 6 and was done by 7. This time, I laughed and cried.

After it was confirmed that I was going home, it again becomes a blur. They did repeat blood-work, sent my new prescription to my pharmacy (or tried to, but because the place is basically run by defective robots, there were issues), and was sent back downstairs.

Then… Terry was there. Holding me. Squeezing me. And crying, almost as hard as me.

He'd missed me. He said he did, hated being alone, but until then, I never believed it.

It changed something in me. It made me start to calm down about us, about how strong we are, together. I feel… well, it's hard to explain. But in any case, it's amazing.

We drove home, I posted some tweets, and I ate real food for the first time in 8 days – a poutine. We fought the pharmacy and won, then we just… hung out. Talked about it. Held each other into the night.

And in the morning, when Terry laid across my legs as usual, I knew my heart was home, and I wept. I knew I was safe, I was not alone. I knew I had to make hard decisions, now, things I never knew I had to do, but once I did, I was freer.

Once I stood on my balcony, the wind in my hair and the chill up my robes, I knew: my new life has finally begun.

I fought with all I could.

And for the first time, when I needed to the most, I won.

I won.

[tempestaurora]

WHUMPVEMBER #6: BETRAYED

me: it’s probably all going to be fluff all month

me: this is not fluff at all what happened

AO3

Peter was nine when the Strange Things happened. When his dad, Tony Stark, disappeared for three months straight and no one would tell Peter where he was. During that time, Peter bounced around a lot from person to person, no one fully sure who should be looking after Tony Stark’s son while the man himself was lost, somewhere out in Afghanistan.

Some days, he would be left in Pepper Potts’ care. She was his dad’s personal assistant and Tony had once whispered to him that she did all his work, really, and that he could trust her with anything, even his secrets. And so the days he stayed with Pepper Potts, following her through Stark Industries buildings and sitting on the floor of his dad’s office while she tried to get his left over work in order were good days, because he liked her. And the nights he spent in her guest room at her fancy apartment  - Tony pays me too much to live in a shoebox, sweetie – were good nights, because if he woke up afraid and calling out for his dad, she’d always come running, and if he was crying she’d always offer ice cream and stay with him until he fell asleep.

And some days he’d be with Happy Hogan, the second of four people Tony promised Peter he could always trust. Days with Happy were spent running around after him – he was a fast walker – and sitting in the passenger seat of fancy cars while Happy drove Pepper and Stane and other important people around. He never stayed at Happy’s place overnight, though, because Happy said his apartment wasn’t kid friendly and while Peter was apartment friendly apparently the two wouldn’t go together.

He spent only two days with Rhodey, while his father was missing, because Rhodey was searching for his dad and couldn’t be distracted. But on those days, Rhodey would take Peter around the airbase and show him the planes and Peter would ask a thousand questions and Rhodey would take care to answer them all.

The rest of the days, maybe the bulk of the days in fact, were spent with Obadiah Stane. Peter knew he was partners with his dad – they ran the company together and Stane had practically raised Tony Stark, after Peter’s grandparents died, long before Peter was even alive. On those days, he sat on the sofa in Obie’s office and played with Lego or drew on a pad of paper during his meetings, making sure to stay quiet and unassuming in the background. Everyone knew Peter was a prodigy like his father and everyone knew Peter would run the company one day – Obie told him a lot about it, in fact.

You’re going to be the next Tony, one day, he’d say with the kind of smile that made Peter nervous. But Obie was one of the four people who Peter could trust with anything, so Peter always told him when he was scared he wouldn’t see his dad again, and Peter always let him know when he was building something new.

And then his dad came back, beaten and bloody and holding Peter so tight that Peter wasn’t sure he would ever breathe again, but he didn’t mind because at least his family had come back to him.

So when Obie started getting annoyed or had a look akin to thunder on his face, Peter didn’t tell his dad, because his dad had only just got back and besides, there were other people he could tell.

“Obie looks mad,” Peter told Pepper. Tony was down in the lab and Pepper was still running around trying to save the company after Peter’s dad announced they would stop making weapons. (Sure, the bigger stick holds the power, Tony had explained it to Peter, but could you imagine if there were no sticks at all?)

“Well your dad did something that made him nervous,” Pepper replied, not looking up from her laptop. There were papers spread out across the sofa and Peter was building a Lego house on the coffee table. On the television, the news played quietly, numbers and names running across the screen with what Peter recognised as stocks.

“I don’t think it’s that,” Peter replied. “I think he’s mad that dad’s back at all.”

Pepper frowned, looking up. “Obadiah’s happy that he’s back,” she said. “Really. We’re all just a little on edge because building weapons – it’s what this company does. It pays for everything else we want to do.”

Peter frowned, eyes stuck on his Lego house. “Well the company would change eventually,” he said. “So Obie shouldn’t be so annoyed about it now.”

“Why’s that?”

Peter shrugged. “Because it’s gonna be my company one day and I’m not building weapons for anyone.”

Peter was nervous about Obie, still. Especially when the annual Stark gala happened and Peter noticed his dad leave for it half way through, as if he hadn’t been told about its existence. They had a sitter that stayed with Peter a lot because of Tony’s work in the lab, and Peter watched the news as they set up his Scalextric race track and picked out their cars. In the background of an interview with someone else, Obie and Tony seemed to be arguing and Peter frowned, because Obie wasn’t supposed to argue with his dad.

So Peter wasn’t surprised necessarily when Obie tore out his father’s heart and left him paralysed and dying on the sofa. He was surprised that that’s the way Obie would hurt his dad – Obie, one of the four people Peter could trust with anything – but not that he would hurt Tony at all.

Because Obie had a sort of smile that Peter didn’t trust and spending so long in his boring meetings while Tony was away told Peter too much about the kind of person he was. Later, when Tony explained to him that Obie had been giving weapons to the enemies as well as the US military – dealing under the table - Peter huffed and waved a hand.

“He eats cereal without milk, too,” Peter said. “I knew he was bad news.”

But on the day Tony’s heart was ripped out, Peter was in bed, reading with his nightlight though his reading time should’ve ended an hour before. He heard his dad’s voice, quiet, and then a strange, distant ringing, and crept out of his room, moving to the staircase. He peeked around it long enough to see Obie leaning over his dad, the two of them talking in murmurs that Peter couldn’t hear.

There was a pause, then something strangled, and Obie was moving away and leaving the house while Peter was left staring at the hole in his father’s chest. The second Obie was gone, Peter ran down the stairs, leaping onto the sofa by his father’s side.

“Dad! Dad, can you hear me? Daddy, come on, please.” Peter didn’t want to cry but there were black veins on the sides of Tony’s face and his skin was a shade of purple, like he couldn’t breathe. The hole in his chest where the arc reactor was meant to sit was empty, a shiny silver, and Peter hated how far he could see into his father’s body.

His dad’s eyes were twitching, though, and Peter took that as a sign that he was alive.

“What do I do? Dad – what do I do?”

It took too long for Tony to be able to breathe out half words that Peter could barely decipher. It took too long to realise that he had to run to the lab and leave his father, defenceless and paralysed on the sofa. When he was down there, he typed in the code with shaking hands – messing it up three times before getting it right – and then looking around in a daze.

What could possibly help here? There were tools and pieces of Iron Man armour (Peter knew his dad was Iron Man but didn’t know if his dad knew that Peter knew that) and prototypes of things Peter couldn’t even figure out. But he knew that his dad needed an electromagnet to keep the shrapnel from his heart-

Hadn’t he had another one? Wasn’t the one that Obie stole the second?

“JARVIS,” Peter said, looking up at the ceiling. “Does Dad have another mini arc reactor?”

There was a pause, then, “Yes, three tables to your right. It’s in a glass box.”

Peter ran over, searching with wide eyes until he caught side of it. Proof that Tony Stark has a heart. It felt like a gift from Pepper. It felt like something Pepper would do.

He apologised to her silently before breaking the glass box on the table, crying out at the glass that shattered across his hands (he was already crying when he ran down to the lab but now he was bleeding too and the red was a lot like the shade of the Iron Man armour). Peter ignored the blood and snatched the arc reactor, turning back to run back up the stairs.

When he fit it into his father’s chest, it was like Tony Stark could breathe again.

When he could finally move, Tony said, his voice hoarse, “I’ve got to stop Obie. I’m sorry.”

Peter nodded. “JARVIS can call my sitter.”

Tony smiled and pressed a kiss to Peter’s forehead. “You’re growing up too fast, Pete. JARVIS, call the sitter, but keep an eye on Peter until she gets here, okay?” With the AI’s confirmation, Tony pressed one last kiss into Peter’s hair and started off down the lab, throwing an, “I love you” over his shoulder as he went.

Peter waited until Iron Man was gone before walking to the kitchen and washing his hands clean of the blood. He stuck a bunch of Dora the Explorer plasters across the cuts, then grabbed a blanket and climbed onto the sofa, turning the TV onto the news.

He’d wait for the breaking report on Iron Man that would inevitably come, and he’d stay up until his dad came home to put him to bed.

[thereluctantinquisitor]

"Not a person standing in the hall" for the spoopy promptsss

To the new owner

There are some stories that are easy to tell. They roll offthe tongue. Make good conversational centrepieces at parties. Fill thoseawkward silences in office banter when everyone realises that they used up allthe good topics the day before.

This is not one of those stories.

In truth, I’m not entirely sure where to begin. I supposethis is the part where some wise-guy says ‘the beginning, idiot’. Well, theywouldn’t be wrong, so… here it goes.

My name is Jean.

There is something behind me.

Not a person standing in the hall. Not even a person at all.

Just... something.

I can’t tell you what it is.

It started when I first moved in to my new place. Reasonablynew, freshly painted, with high ceilings and smart wood paneling. I know whatyou’re thinking; this is going to be some typical haunted house bullshit. Hell,maybe it is to some degree. I think it goes a bit beyond that, though. Let meexplain why.

That very first day, when the dust and boxes had settled, there was a letter under my door,preceded by knocking that could only be described as frantic. I tried to spotthe person who had left it, but whoever they were, they were either unnaturallyfast or hiding somewhere just out of sight. Let’s just say this is going to bethe start of a theme. You’ll see what I mean.

Or maybe you won’t.

God, I hope you won’t.

Anyway, the letter. Simple enough. Plain paper, neathandwriting - nothing serial-killery or stalkerish about it. I assumed it wasjust one of those ‘welcome to the neighbourhood’ messages some socially awkward people like todeliver. I opened it as I wandered back into my living room, noting fondly that the floorboards didn’t even creak underfoot. I think the firsttime I read the message it didn’t really sink in. I almost tossed it down onthe coffee table without even a second thought, my brain apparently re-writingit into something that made sense. Something I could understand.

But then I read it again.

To the new owner,

It is yours now. It will come at night.

Do not look at it.

My first instinct, to be honest, was to laugh. I thoughtsome kid was playing a practical joke on me. Sure, it was a different kind of‘welcome to the neighbourhood’ experience, but hey, maybe there were somemischievous teenagers around. At least Halloween was bound to be a blast.

Shaking my head, I set the letter down and went about my day, chuckling everytime I caught a glimpse of it sitting there on the table. I mean, it was a bit of a crueljoke, really. They were lucky I wasn’t a paranoid person, or it might have seriouslymessed me up.

It… seriously messed me up.

The sun started to sink and for some reason, my stomach sankright along with it. This, frankly, made no sense because the house seemedanything but nefarious. Despite that, I turned on every light in the place, andfresh paint and paneling aside, it was that damn letter sitting on the tablethat demanded my attention. Taunted me. Shit, I must have read and re-read themessage ten more times, wondering why someone had made the effort to write itso neatly. To go over the last line over and over so the ink lay thick and darkagainst the pale paper. The hand-writer’s version of bold text.

In the end, I decided I just needed to sleep.

That was when everything changed.

I brushed my teeth. Showered. Changed. It seemed normalenough, and with each part of my routine I successfully completed I startedfeeling more like myself. More human and less like a frightened animal. Itprobably didn’t help that this was the first time I’d ever lived on my own. Noroommates, not even a dog. Just me. Anyway, I calmed down a bit and went to my nicedouble-bed, totally ready to sprawl out and make the most of the space. And Idid. I fell asleep.

Then I woke up.

I can’t say what woke me, other than that skin-tinglingsensation that someone was watching. My room was an inky black, full offoreign shapes that set my heart racing in the dark. Lying there, I kept telling myself Ijust wasn’t used to it; that it was a new bed in a new place and some part ofmy mind had just felt uncomfortable. Out of place. Still, I fumbled aroundblearily for my bedside lamp. My hand hovered mere centimetres from it beforefour words suddenly crept through the shivering walls of my mind.

Don’t look at it.

It seems insane to say it, but I hesitated. I actually hesitated because some part of me wascertain that I’d hit the light and see… shit, I don’t know what I’d see. Aperson? An animal? Something?

Nothing?

“It’s nothing,” I remember whispering to myself. Hell, Isaid it with such convictionthat all I can do now is look back on that moment and laugh myself to halfwayto tears.

Why? 

I already told you why.

It’s right fucking behind me.

That first night passed in something of a surreal blur. Icouldn’t seem to get back to sleep. That awful prickling sensation refused togo away, and no matter how I tried to distract myself, I couldn’t get the wordsof that letter out of my mind. But I stayed still. So still. I barely moved, not because I was paralysed but because Ichose not to. My arm started to ache and turn numb and I ignored it because the entire back of my body felt strange and tingly. The back of my headitched but I just used that sensation as a form of distraction from the heavybeating of my heart. Not fast. Not slow. Just… heavy. 

I’d never felt anything like itbefore.

It was almost dawn before I worked up a shred of courage. Maybe itwas because I was deliriously tired, or maybe the approaching dawn had given me some confidence, but I started to get more and more fed upwith myself. With my own ridiculousness. After all, was I seriously going tolet some kids get to me like this? I had work in the morning. I was an adultwith adult responsibilities and shit to do. I needed sleep. I needed to proveto myself that there was nothing there because there was no mum or dad to comein with a torch and do it for me anymore. And I didn’t need them to.

So… I rolled over.

I did it slowly. No one was there to judge me for it, afterall, so I figured who cares? As I rolled, I remember keeping my eyesdirectly forward, not moving my head as my body turned. I’m not sure whatpossessed me to do it like that; it felt far from natural. But that’s how I did it.

It was just as well.

At first I thought it was just another shadow; a blur in thedark of a cabinet or a stack of boxes waiting to be unpacked. However, despitemy rational mind… well, rationalisingit… I froze. Completely and utterly locked up in this awkward, half-rolledposition. The urge to turn my head towards it was nearly overwhelming but fuck, all I could imagine were those heavilytraced words screaming at the back of my mind.

Don’t look at it.

I have to tell you, it goes against every natural instinctin the human body, to sense danger and not look at it. It goes againsteverything that has kept us alive over hundreds of thousands of years ofevolution. But, for whatever reason, something inside me overrode this naturalfunction and kept my eyes fixed firmly forward. I couldn’t look. I couldn’tclose my eyes but I also couldn’t look.

I stayed like that until morning. Frozen. Barely blinking. 

So did the thing in the corner.

-

That was my first encounter, and after that, things only gotworse. Every night was torture, spent lying awake buried under my sheets,sweating from the heat of my own breath and fear. The prickling of my skin;that cold fission; was enough to drive me mad, but at the same time, I knew itwas a warning. A sign that it was near. A signal that, if I wanted to movearound or look, I would have to do so extremely, extremely carefully.

Worst were the nights when I had to take a piss.

I remember it vividly, the first night when I’d made themistake of drinking too much scotch before bed in a pathetic attempt toself-medicate. Most nights I would just hold it in, but that night there was justno way that was going to happen. As much as it pains me to confess, I actuallyconsidered… well, wetting the bed. Honestly, I think I would have, but then this strangeindignation washed over me and I decided that, no, I was an adult, and adultsdid not piss themselves because they were too scared to walk to the bathroom.

The decision was about as spur of the moment as anything. I threw the covers back in a dramatic rush, trying to ignorethe sudden wave of shivers that flared across my skin like cold wind through an open door. It wasn’t just theback of my neck this time, but a full-body sensation, as though I was…

… as though I was facing the thing head-on.

My eyes were shut. I wasn’t stupid enough to make a move withthem open, but shit I swear I could feelit right in front of me. Silent. Still. My heartrate spiked and I flailed about,kicking my legs off the side of the bed that was closest to the hall. I musthave run into every corner between my dressing table and the doorway, but forwhatever reason, I barely felt any pain at all. No. I felt nothing but thatcold, prickling, horrifying sensationof being watched. It was utterly overwhelming.

Then, as I finally staggered into the hallway, it just… stopped.

Just completely stopped.

I remember standing there, frozen in place, breathing sohard I wanted to rip my own lungs out because it meant I couldn’t hear anythingabove my panic. But the longer I stood there, eyes closed and sweating, themore I realised I was, for all intents and purposes, alone. So, I groped aroundthe for light on the wall – felt it click beneath my shaking fingertips. The darknessbehind my closed lids gave way to a warm red, and… I opened them. Slowly. So…so slowly.

There was nothing there. 

Just me, alone.

I’d pissed myself.

-

You start to get better, as the days roll into weeks. Startto develop strategies to cope. Little things, like whenever I’d open my eyes, Iwould look down at the floor and let my hair hide the rest of the room. Likefeeling for that awful tingling sensation racing across my skin and blindly walkinguntil it faded into nothing. Like wearing an eye-mask to bed to prevent anypossible late-night… mistakes.

Hell, I even bought a fan for my room so I could pretendthat horrible sensation on my skin was just the brushing of air across mysheets.

It probably sounds insane to someone outside the situation.I can hear you all screaming ‘why didn’tyou just move out. Leave! Go somewhere else!’ and believe me, I considered it. But you have to understand, these things aren’t as simple as they seem. I hadno family or friends in the area. No money, because all of it had gone into thedown payment on my own personal nightmare. Even if I put the place back up forsale, it would raise questions from new buyers – drag out the process – and allthe while I’d still have to live in the house because where the hell else couldI go?

Anyway, I developed strategies in the meantime. I neededsome way to deal with what was happening every night. I determined loose rulesabout the… whatever it was and I wrote them down.

1. It comes at night.

2. It comes after 10pm.

3. It tells me where it is.

4. It does not speak.

5. It does not move.

6. It does not follow.

7. It waits.

It was strangely comforting, to ascribe some kind of laws tothe lawless. Some sense to the utterly senseless. Terrifying though it was, itnever seemed to try to trick me into seeing it. There were always the samewarning signs, and for whatever reason, it tended to stay towards the edges ofthe room, where I was not likely to look as a matter of first instinct. Somepart of me wondered if it was just toying with me. Playing some kind ofgame.

Now... well, now I know it was just the beginning.

Nothing stays the same.

[bespectacled-girl-blog]

Flying Away: Chapter 13

Word count: 2005

Angst is going strong in this chapter! And as I once again wrote too much, I’m sorry to have to inform you that it will still be going strong in the next chapter XD I hope you will like it, don’t hesitate to comment and reblog! Tagging @stunninglyignis, @themissimmortal, @atarostarling, @blindbae, @cupnoodle-queen, @nifwrites, @hypaalicious, @itshaejinju, @alicemoonwonderland, @prettyprompto, @roses-and-oceans, @louisvuittontrashbags, @lupanaoflaminar

Pain. Darkness. Fear. That was all he could remember at first. He passed in and out of consciousness, with no notion of time, day and night looking the same.

After a while he was aware of a hand, never leaving his, stroking his knuckles softly. He tried to crack his eyes open, but for some reason, found he could not. He tried to squeeze the hand, but his body was not responding. After that, he was lost to oblivion again. He heard sobbing from a distance, it belonged to a woman. Remotely, he wondered who it was, and thought that something horrible must have happened for her to cry like that. He felt sad for her, wanted to comfort her, tell her it would be all right eventually. He woke up suddenly, feeling lost. He was alone, the hand was gone, he still couldn't open his eyes. He tried to sit up, his breathing quickening as panic surged through him. He felt two strong hands on his shoulders, pushing him back on the mattress. “Hey, hey Iggy, calm down, it's all right. Prompto, he's awake, go wake Lyne.” Ignis heard some rushed footsteps receding from the room. Wanting to see who was there with him, he reached up to his eyes, trying to take off the thing that was blindfolding him. “You shouldn't take that off yet, the healers said it would take a few more days.” came what sounded like Gladio's growl. “Gladio? What happened?” Ignis croaked, his voice hoarse from days of sleep. Only silence answered him. As despair and a paralysing fear were creeping up in his mind, he heard the door open again, two pairs of feet entering the room. Someone sat on the bed to his right, their weight making the mattress cave in a little. All of a sudden, the hand was back. Soft skin brushed against his, and he felt Lyne press a desperate kiss to his knuckles. Still, no one was talking. Ignis was starting to lose his patience. He shifted his weight on the bed, and opened his mouth to demand answers. “Okay guys, I think it would be best if... I took things over from here.” Lyne's voice sounded strained, as if she was trying not to cry. “We'll be in the room next door if you need us.” Gladio replied. Ignis felt a hand on his shoulder, and two pairs of feet walked away. Lyne took a deep breath and sighed. She kissed his hand again, and he heard her sniff. “My love, please... I need to know what happened...” Ignis' voice came as a plea this time. “I'm sorry.” she replied, taking several deep breaths. “Darling, what is the last thing you remember?” Ignis searched his memories hard for any clue about his present state. “We were helping with the evacuation of the Altissians... Noct had gone to meet the Hydraean to forge the Covenant... I remember us fighting some imperials. I think... I think you were in danger. Has anything happened to you?” he added in alarm. “No, honey, I'm fine. And all thanks to you” her voice was almost a sob. “You saved me, because I was careless, you took the blow for me, and now... Oh Iggy... The healers told us they don't know if you will ever be able to see again...” Some buzzing was clouding Ignis' ears suddenly. A cripple. That's what he had become. Although there was no way he could come to regret what he'd done if it meant his love's life, all the implications of his new condition were slowly popping into his mind. He was never going to see her face, her smile again. He realised Lyne was crying. She held his hand against her heart, her grip hard as if she was afraid he might vanish. He straightened up a little against his pillows, and with his other hand, searched for her shoulder. He bumped into her arm, and, acting as if that was what he'd meant to touch, turned her a little toward him. Lifting his head to look where he supposed her face was, he put his 'controlled composure' mask on to comfort her. “It's going to be all right, Lyne. Don't worry about me. It will only take a few days of getting used to it.” “Stop that Iggy, please. You know you don't have to do that with me. And besides, you shouldn't be the one comforting me right now. Right now is the time to think about yourself.” Ignis needed to feel her in his arms, but didn't dare ask. How could he, after what he had become? He kept silent a moment, until he couldn't stand it any longer. He needed to feel her close to him. “Please, would you be so kind as to help me remove these bandages?” “I'm not sure... The healers said it would be best if you kept them on a few days more...” “Let's be honest, if I'm going to be blind for the rest of my life, I don't think removing this thing now will make it any worse.” Sarcasm had always been one of his best weapons. This time he used it because he wanted to hear her laugh, but to no avail. Although, she stopped crying at once. He supposed that was a good start. “Okay...” She crept on the bed to kneel next to him. Although he dared not impose his touch on her, he could feel her presence right there, her aura comforting him. “I'm going to touch your face. Is that okay?” He was touched by her delicacy. He nodded. The touch of her fingers in his hair, against the skin of his cheeks, as she removed the bandages gently, meant the world to him in that instant. He almost leaned against the palm of her hand, remembering at the last second not to. The dressing gone from his eyes, his head felt strangely light. He heard Lyne gasp, and his heart shattered at her reaction. Hesitantly, he lifted his hands to his face. A scar on his nose, another on his lower lip, one above his right eyebrow. His left eye shut tight, the scar there not even fully healed. And darkness. He could tell his right eye was open, but didn't perceive anything of his surroundings. He lowered his head. How was he going to be any use to the group now? How could he help Noct? “Where's Noct?” “He's... Asleep. He was found unconscious, after his battle against Leviathan, and hasn't resurfaced since.” “Was there any other casualties?” “Lady Lunafreya has disappeared. The Altissian authorities say she's dead, though they haven't given up the research yet.” He didn't answer right away, letting the news of what had happened sink in, revelling in the solace her presence offered him a few more seconds. “Well, thank you for filling me in, Lyne. If you wish to go back to the others, I won't keep you here any more than necessary.” he said, his tone blank. This might be the hardest thing he'd made himself say in his whole life, but he had to. Had to give her the choice, because no matter what, a flicker of hope was still burning bright, deep in his heart. “Why would I want to be with the others? It's with you I want to be, love.” Hope burnt brighter at the tenderness in her voice. But he couldn't do that to her. Couldn't be a burden. “Don't you see the two of us is not possible any more?” He all but whispered. At first he thought she hadn't heard him. But then he felt hands on his shoulders, lips on his face, pressing soft kisses to his uninjured cheek, his forehead, his lips. “What I see is the man I love, who has suffered some major injuries because his heart was too big to save his own life and let his girlfriend face the consequences of her own actions. I don't intend to go anywhere, unless you tell me you don't want me in your life anymore.” A single tear rolled down his cheek, soon followed by another, and before he knew it, Lyne had wrapped her arms around his head, cradling him against her chest while he cried for the first time since his mother's death years ago. He couldn't say why exactly he was crying. Was it out of sadness for his lost eyesight? Out of relief because the woman he loved still wanted him in her life after what he had become? Or out of love for her and her altruism? When he had no more tears in him he asked her help to get up and dress himself. She assisted him willingly, letting him try to do things by himself first and helping him when she saw it was too difficult. He had not had to rely on others for a long time, but if she truly wasn't disgusted with his present state he figured he should start to try and accept her help. Once he was dressed, she helped him do his hair, and proposed to replace his usual spectacles with a pair of dark glasses, to which he gladly agreed. “What do you want to do now?” She asked when he was ready. “I would like to spend a moment with Noct, if it's okay with you.” “Sure.” She started to take his arm, but let go of him suddenly. ”Oh, wait, Prompto figured you might be needing this for a while.” He felt her put something in his hand. A cane. Though it was another blow to his injured heart, he had to admit it would come in handy. “Thanks” he managed to reply. She took his arm again, helping him to lead himself while he became used to trusting the point of his cane. Once he was seated in the armchair in Noct's room, he asked for a moment alone with his King. He needed time to fathom all the implications of his new condition, but didn't want to make her feel like he was rejecting her. Of course, she accepted the dismissal without a remark, only telling him that she would be back in his room if he needed anything. Listening to her footsteps receding in the corridor, he wondered if he truly deserved her.

Lyne had been reading a book, trying to calm her nerves while waiting for Ignis to come back to their room. She hadn't even noticed she'd been reading the same paragraph for the past half hour. When she heard the doorknob click behind her, she jumped to her feet to help her boyfriend if he needed her. Looking at his still handsome features despite the injury, she could tell he was upset right away. His once beautiful turquoise eyes were expressionless, one shut and the other white, but the rest of his face conveyed all she needed to know. She couldn't blame him, after all he was going through. She walked to him, taking his hand to let him know she was here if need be, but he flinched at her contact. Saying nothing, he took his hand away, guiding himself through the room with the sole help of his cane. Lyne wondered what had happened while he took a seat on the couch. “Is everything all right darling? Is Noct awake?” she tried, her tone careful. Ignis took a few seconds to regain his composure, and the sudden stillness of his expression told Lyne at once that something was awfully wrong. “As a matter of fact he is. He confirmed to me that Lady Lunafreya has indeed passed away, and that she had just enough time to entrust him with the Ring of the Lucii. He also told me something rather... interesting, that Chancellor Izunia shared with him when they met during the Rite. Pray tell, my love, when were you intending to inform me that you are the daughter of the Fulgurian?”

[mischievousmoonhunter-blog]

Shadow of the Stars

A Captain America and Winter soldier story

Jaylin Rogers has always struggled with being the daughter of Steve Rogers, aka Captain America, mostly because of her lack of freedom. After a failed attempt to do something about this, her life is changes forever when a shadow from her father’s past returns to haunt her.  

Chapter One

@skeletoresinthebasement @38leticia @purplekitten30 @fetalpositionokay @lokiyoulittle @all-hail-the-fandom --------------------------------------------------------------

CHAPTER SIX

Thump. Thump. Thump. A steady walk was swaying me softly back and forth. My head bobbed up and down on the rhythm of the footsteps. Dad was carrying me. Had I fallen asleep on the couch again? I really needed to stop doing that; it tended to leave me with aching muscles whenever I woke up. But no, dad always held me like I was made of glass. The hands currently gripping me were unforgiving, not caring if I was in pain. Hands grasping me… my heart skipped beat. I remembered a dark sky with ferocious glaring stars, and those same hands gripping me, dragging me…  above all, the pain in my stomach, which still prevailed. Who was this person, who could creep up on both Captain America and Black Widow, and who could fight them off long enough to take me with him? Even more importantly; why hadn’t he killed me yet? It was by far the easiest solution. Why take me?

As my brains began working, I started to move - or actually, I tried. Nothing happened. My body wouldn’t work. Panic filled my chest, gripping my heart with fear. Was I paralysed, or had he drugged me? Neither option sounded good.   Even though my mouth was empty, it felt stuffed with cotton, thick and dry, obstructing me from speaking. I tried to scream, but only muffled sounds came out. My captor didn’t react. He put me on some kind of bed or table, and when he bent over me, I could finally see him. Or actually, still not quite, because he was wearing a muzzle - covering most of his face - and goggles - covering his eyes. The only visible characteristic was his dark, chin length hair.   Something reflective flickered in the dark. My eyes widened when I realised he was holding a scalpel. ‘Hnnnn! Hnnnn!’ I still tried to move, to scream, to get away from the shiny blade. The man looked at me, even though I couldn’t see his eyes. ‘Hnnnnn!’ He looked away again, then he was back, his hand up, holding a syringe. The needle blinked in dim light. A quick, sharp pain – the world started to fade away.

Darkness grew faint. Dim fluorescent lights mounted in the ceiling spread a cold light around a bare room, with concrete walls and floor, and nothing more than the bed I was laying on. Everything was a dark shade of brownish grey. Only the dress I was wearing had some colour, as if it had absorbed all other colours in the room. Around my waist was a long, white bandage, where my dress was almost completely cut in half. The white of the bandage was dazzling in the cold white of the bare lights. I rubbed my eyes, instantly regretting it; they started to sting instantly. When I withdrew my hands, they were smudged with some sort of black substance - right… the makeup. I blinked rapidly in order for my eyes to fill with tears, and I carefully tried to remove at least some of the cosmetics, so it wouldn’t find its way back into my eyes again.

To prepare myself for more pain, I took a couple gulps of air. It was cold and musty, almost dead. It absolutely wasn’t the oxygen rich air I needed most, but it would have to do. I moaned and tried to get up. It wasn’t easy, and it hurt like hell, but eventually I managed, though I had to press my hand firmly to my bandaged side. Making my way around the room, my torso twisted at a weird angle in an attempt to avoid any more agony, I checked for air vents or maybe something else able to help me get out. Even in the darkest corners I bent down, causing myself to gasp in pain, desperate to find something of use. However, no such luck. Nothing special was found while I dragged my shaking hands across the rough concrete, only the thin lines and holes which made up the texture of the material were encountered by my sensitive skin. Completely frustrated I punched the wall, scraping my own knuckles. Minuscule drops of blood welled up between the damaged skin. I spilled just a bit more blood. Well done. Even this short exploration had taken all the breath from me. My hands pressed against the concrete. It wasn’t enough support; I leaned forwards with my head against the same rough material. Now I wondered how long I had been in here. It couldn’t have been that long, right? The bullet wound still ached, even though the man had probably gotten it out. Knowing my healing abilities, I at least couldn’t have been asleep for more than a day; thankfully not a week or more, held unconscious on drugs.

Suddenly, I heard movement behind the door. I stiffened, pushed my back against the wall and made my way for the door, in such a way someone wouldn’t be able to see me when they’d enter. The door opened and when the dark silhouette stepped inside, I rushed past – or so I had hoped. A hand - cold, and stronger than humanly possible - grabbed my arm, yanking me back. I yelped, falling to the ground. The man said something in another language- I recognised the Russian. I wasn’t really sure what he said exactly due to my plunge down, but thanks to Natasha I understood the message: “trying to escape is useless”. In his eyes I clearly had already lost. ‘We’ll see about that,’ I grunted as I got up. I glared at him, while the world was spinning around me. Even the floor had turned into a sea of waving concrete. ‘We will see about that.’ The man didn’t speak again. He just took a couple of confident steps forwards, pushed me to the bed, forced me to lay down, and started unwrapping the bandage.

I couldn’t stand his mechanical way of behaving, like he was a robot. I could see his hand and forehead, those were human. His metal arm, not really. It was pretty cool, though, advanced and probably nothing short from an well-oiled killing machine. If he wasn’t holding me captive, I’d be very interested. Now, with my life and the lives of my family on the line, not so much. Maybe if I talk to him, I thought, I can make him realise he’s human, and I’m human too. And that I’m just a girl, somebody you don’t lock up in a concrete prison! It was quite hopeless. Yet, it was all I could think of.   ‘Yeah, you did kind of ruin you mission,’ I said light-heartedly. ‘If I was your mission, that is. Usually they say dead or alive, and when they want an animal alive, they want it unhurt. Now I probably lost a lot of my worth. Sorry.’ The man didn’t react at all, as if he didn’t hear me, and went on checking the wound, after which he applied new bandages. ‘I usually don’t let boys so close to me, you know,’ I remarked. ‘But well, you’ve shot me, so you’re kinda special. Plus, you have to fix me.’ No response. He just tightened the bandages, and started walking away. ‘Wait!’ I called out, standing up with a grimace on my face. ‘Can I use the bathroom, please?’

He led me through a narrow hallway, holding my arm tightly in his metal grip. I got the feeling we were underground, but that didn’t help much; you could build a concrete tunnel system wherever you wanted to. The bathroom was small, without windows or any other type of exit besides the door my guard was standing behind. When I reopened the door, the man had taken off the goggles – which I could understand as the hallways were very dimly lit. His incredibly blue eyes startled me; they were cold, empty, unforgiving, emotionless. I looked him deep into the eyes, trying to discover some feeling, some humanity, but he only grabbed my arm again and pulled back to my cell. The door slammed shut, and I was alone.

Chapter Seven

[call-me-velvet-thunder]

Bellarke One Shot - Post 4x02

{This is written in second person from Clarke's perspective, the night after she gave her speech in 4x02. I basically wanted to write a xreader with Bellamy but without having to introduce the reader as a new character... Also Bellarke is too real... + I'm on the mobile app, so instead of italics, I have used '/.../'} Dedicated to @sun-breath I love fangirling with you 😁 - You stare up at the ceiling restlessly, head swimming with images of the people you just lied to. In your room which contains nothing more than a bed and a bench, you feel pressed in; suffocated. You squeeze your eyes shut to block the people out of your mind and stay that way until your controlling conciousness loses it's battle and gives way to sleep. "Clarke..." ALIE's emotionless voice reverberates inside your head, it has an an amost painful, ghostlike ring to it that causes you to jerk upwards so that you're sitting. You're outside, though you don't remember walking there, slumped on the hard packed dust in Arkadia.  "Clarke, don't." ALIE's voice comes from inside your head, and you know this, but you still spin around, looking for the cause of the risen hairs on the nape of your neck. In the distance you spot a figure, sprawled on the ground, unmoving. You rub your eyes, still feeling the weight of sleep, before pushing your legs forward in a half-run.  The closer you get to the figure, the more your heart begins to push against your chest. The lines that draw together on the face of the fallen victim are familiar. Too familiar, too much like home to be written on a corpse. "Mom?" Fire roars in your chest, spreading to your throat as you kneel over her. Her body is cold and stiff as you turn her over. A long and deep gash is scored accross her throat. "Mom," Your voice only comes out in a hoarse whisper, then softens, "no." "Clarke..." Bellamy's voice comes from behind you. You're confused by its tone, it's as though he can't even see Abby's corpse.  You turn, vision obscured by tears.  Bellamy stands paralysed, a long, sharp blade pressed against his throat. Your eyes follow the length of the blade, to Echo, who looks you directly in the eye with a cold, emotionless menace.  "Take the chip Clarke," Echo says in ALIE's voice.  "Please don't hurt him," you say, reeling back at the sound of your own voice. Cold, emotionless, ALIE. You squeeze your eyes shut in panic, and when you open them Echo is gone, but Bellamy still stands with a knife to his throat. ALIE, who now weilds the knife, rips it sideways, driving it deep into Bellamy's throat. He makes a panicked grunt before the life vanishes from his eyes.  Agony colder than ice rages through your body, you collapse to your knees, screaming, overwhelmed with shock and panic and grief.  You jerk upwards again, only this time in your room, tangled in sweaty blankets. Your throat is raw and stinging and your cheeks are clammy with tears.  Heart racing, you rip the blankets off your body and stumble to your feet, the image of Bellamy's dead eyes burning your memory. The image of your mothers corpse sitting, cold in your stomach.  You have to make sure it wasn't real. You have to see Bellamy, you have to look into his eyes and see their usual warmth, their usual soft glow.  You push the door open and almost blindly run down the hall to his room. The moment you reach his door, you push it open, careless of the fact that it's the middle of the night.  His room has a window that casts soft moonlight into the darkness. The door slips shut behind you with a soft thud, but its enough to make Bellamy sit up. You can barely see him, but his silhouette shows signs of a confused, sleepy stupor.  "Clarke?"he asks, his voice rough but his tone concerned. Suddenly the room is filled with light as Bellamy flicks his lamp on. Your heart, which has continued to race beneath your ribcage since you woke up, is soothed by sudden relief. Even in his confused and tired state, you can see the glint in Bellamy's eyes, proving there is life behind them.  The exhausion from the nightmare hits you in a wave of uncontrollable sobs and you drop to your knees. The metal floor is freezing against your bare legs, though thats not why you're shaking. Hot tears drip hastily onto your cheeks and the floor. Your Mom and Bellamy are the two people who you need, whose loss would send you into a state void of life. Bellamy's panicked gasp replays itself in your mind as the memory of the dream begins to properly form. You're no longer mindlessly searching for proof that it was a dream, but the torment  of tonight takes many forms. Now, you have to live with the shadow of your worst fears sitting behind your eyes. You jump when calloused, but gentle hands brush over your shoulders. Bellamy has gotten out of bed and is wrapping his strong, warm arms around you. The stark contrast of his body heat and the freezing air makes you remember that you had stripped down to a singlet and your underwear before getting into bed. The cold, however, has no effect on your face which begins to burn. Bellamy doesn't seem to care that you're almost naked, he pulls you against his body and brushes your hair back from your eyes.  The tears slow and you take a deep, careful breath, focusing on the sound of Bellamy's heart, which beats a little too quickly beneath your head. He slowly runs his fingers through your hair before resting his chin atop your head. He is warm and safe, and despite coming down from your nightmare, soft tendrils of happiness weave slowly around your heart. After a few minutes of peace, of feeling your heart beat gradually shift from painful thudding to gentle fluttering, Bellamy speaks again. "Can you stand?" His voice is still rough from sleep, but its so warm and nice, "it's isn't a good idea to stay here on the floor." You nod against his chest and he stands, before leaning down to help you up.  You wonder, as he looks at you, what tonight must have looked like for him; being woken suddenly as you burst into his room and collapse in a heap on the floor without saying a word.  He looks away suddenly, blushing upon realising his gaze had lingered a little too long. Eyes still averted, he pulls off his t-shirt. Your heart jolts and you catch your breath on the edge of a gasp before he reaches his arm out, handing you the shirt. You look down, remembering your lack of clothing and blush again.  Taking the shirt, you try not to look too much at Bellamy, aware that weeks of fighting has not left him unfit.  /its just Bellamy/ You slip the shirt on and offer him a small smile, which he returns, eyes sparkling. You never want to see his eyes without life in them. /was it ever JUST Bellamy?/ He walks over to his bed and sits on the edge, silently gesturing for you to sit with him.  "You want to tell my why you burst into my room in the middle of the night?" He says with a smirk. You're glad he isn't angry about being woken.  You look up into his eyes. He is so gentle looking in this light, so caring and empathetic and you just /know/ like you always have, that you can trust him. "I had a nightmare" your throat closes as you force its memory to stay out of your mind. "Must have been pretty bad" "Yeah" "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to, I know what it's like," he says softly, sliding his arm accros your shoulders and pulling you closer to him. You rest your head against his chest, which is now bare, and he scrunches his shirt in his hand on your shoulder. His skin is hot, despite the temperature of the room, and his heart rate still seems quite fast.  "Are you feeling alright Bellamy?" You ask, getting concerned, "you seem like you might have a fever." "What do you mean?" "Your skin is hot and..." you stop yourself, realising that maybe for once, Mr Confidence could simply be flustered. You look up into his eyes, his reddened cheeks. Your eyes catch on his lips for a moment before returning your head to his chest. "If you don't feel sick then you're peobably fine," you say. Your stomach tightens as you remember the way he was looking at you before. If you hadn't been in such a panic, maybe you would have gotten flustered too, at the way he looks without a shirt. You're acutely aware of the way Bellamy Blake makes you feel,has always made you feel. But it's Bellamy, you need him alive, not dead like the others that made your heart race.  Like his is now. He stays quiet. Maybe he's uncomfortable or maybe he's just thinking.  You look over at the clock on his nightstand, which reads 2:20AM.  "I should let you sleep," you say, returning your gaze to his eyes. The corners of his mouth tilt upward, "I'm okay Clarke, really." "I know you haven't been sleeping that well lately..." you pause, hoping you don't sound like a stalker, "nobody has." He holds your gaze and for a moment you feel as though you could look into his eyes forever. The person you see in those eyes means the world to you. He's the only one who understands what its like to make the decisions you've had to make.  "You could stay here, if you like." You immediately feel your heart rate quicken. "Its okay, I'll sleep on the floor," he adds. "The floor's freezing Bellamy." "Well I don't want you to be alone, not after a nightmare like that." You look down at his bed, just big enough for two people, but only if they're pressed together. Part of you longs to fall asleep with his arms around you. He makes you feel safe and warm, he makes you feel happy. /But what if he gets the wrong idea?/ As much as you want to get close to him, you know the risk of losing another person you love would drive you over the edge you're already teetering on.  As you return your eyes to his, however, you realise it may be already too late to reserve your feelings. You need him. You /love/ him.  He is your home, your family, your best friend. You move back on his bed and lift your legs onto the mattress, sliding around so you lie on the far side, against the wall. Bellamy goes to stand up but you catch his arm. "You can fit on here." The emotion in his eyes is so intense that you can't look away, but he does. He looks at his feet, almost like he is embarrassed, but without another word, he lies down next to you. His head turns so he faces you, brown curls almost reaching his eyes. "Feeling any better?" "Yeah. Thanks." He nods a little, flicking the lamp off. You can't help but notice the way the moonlight catches on his skin, highlighting the muscles of his still-shirtless body. A long scar reaches from his shoulder, running alongside his collarbone before curving downward. It looks like the wound was from a sword. Without thinking, you reach over to lightly trace it with your fingers, only realising what you're doing when his body freezes at your touch. You can feel his pulse beneath your fingers, and his breathing is so short it's like he is panicked.  "Sorry, I..." you shrink back a little, pulling your hand away, but he catches it in his. Turning on his side, he entwines his fingers with yours, draping his arm over you so he can pull you close to him. You turn so that his body fits closely around yours and you can feel the heat from his breath on your neck. His heart still races, only slowing gradually, but you notice that your heartrate matches his. In the moment, so much of you wants to turn around and kiss him, to hold his face in your hands, feel his lips against yours, but your afraid of where that might lead and what that would mean. He's just so warm and close and you can barely process his response to being close to you. He's nervous, maybe even afraid like you, but there's more to it. Its as though you both know that in another life you'd have been together for a long time by now. That nagging tightness in your stomach when you're around him, the way you can't pull your eyes from his lips, those signs would have convinced the old you in seconds. And then there's who he is as a person. You've never known someone so protective and strong, yet capable of tenderness and gentleness. Someone so smart and so powerful. His body has relaxed against yours and his breathing has become steady and rhythmic. You can't actually believe that you ended up here, with your closest friend pressed up against you, fast asleep.  You match his breathing until you relax too, until the world blurrs and fades. You wake to the sound of voices outside Bellamy's window. The thin curtain does nothing to obscure the sharp sunlight streaming through. Bellamy still sleeps soundly, still pressed against you, however one of his legs somehow ended up on top of yours. He's so warm and peaceful, it's good to see him getting this rest. Its hard to tell how often he sleeps, but you assume, from the way his head usually droops and his eyes are shadowed that it's not often. You tuck your head back into your shoulder and stare at the wall.  /I won't regret this will I? It doesn't really change anything... does it?/ The voices outside the window return, work for the day seems to have started. Since your speech, Raven has had no trouble getting people motivated. Bellamy starts to shift behind you. He moves his hand, which had remained on your side, to rub the sleep from his eyes. Suddenly, he moves his leg off yours. "Sorry..." he mutters. "Don't worry," you turn to look at him, "sleep well?" "Yeah, actually," he half smiles, sitting up. You sit up aswell pulling your hair into a ponytail, "do you think people will ask questions when they see me leaving your room this morning?" "Hopefully they won't see you,"he says casually, though the morning light doesn't do him any favours in hiding the blush on his cheeks. He looks so cute, with his hair somehow more ruffled than normal and the slightly awkward look he has on his face. You smile at him reassuringly, which causes him to smile back, eyes doing their trademark sparkle.  "Thank you," you say softly, "for being there for me."  His smile softens to something more personal, and he reaches out to brush the stray hair from your face. His hand lingers for a second as he looks into your eyes. You reach up and plant a kiss on his forehead, and when you meet his eyes again you feel like you might start crying or just explode because there is so much emotion there, so much humanity. "I should go." He nods, getting up so you don't have to climb over him. His shirt hangs down a few inches above your knees, the sleeves pretty much at your elbows. You notice him smirking at you when you look up. "Suits you." Part of you wants to make a joke about his bare chest suiting him, but you hold it back, giving him an entertained smile instead.  "Do you have a shirt for yourself?"  "In the laundry" You almost laugh at the fact the he really doesn't own many items of clothing. It's not likely for people to these days, but two shirts? /two?/ You consider giving him back the shirt you're wearing, but making your way back to your room in your underwear, when people are around, just doesn't seem like a good idea.  Before turning to leave, you thank Bellamy again, trying not to get lost in his eyes. He moves closer to you, and as usual, simply being close to him causes your heartrate to rise. You feel tension around him, like the air is hotter and its hard to breathe, but at the same time you feel more alive than anywhere else.  "I... uh..." he pauses, you have no idea where he's going with this. "What?" "I felt something. Last night," he looks as though he doesn't want to admit what he's saying, but maybe keeping it to himself is too hard. "It wasn't unfamiliar but... it felt more real than usual." Part of you wishes you could say you have no idea what he's talking about, part of you wishes you were back in bed, snuggled up to him. You nod a little, speechless in the moment. He has somehow moved closer to you, like always, like its more natural for you to be almost touching.  In a swift, confident move, he leans down and kisses you. His lips are soft and his hands graze your back as he wraps his arms around you. Your run your hand accross his chest, moving from where you can feel his heart (which is racing again), up to where your fingers slide into his curls.  You don't even know what's happening, your brain has no hope of processing the fact that yesterday you were so afraid of your feelings for  Bellamy, yet today... So much has changed. And it all feels natural, the shift from seeing him as a friend to seeing him as something more.  Maybe there was less of a shift than you had anticipated. He pulls his lips from yours, resting against your forehead, breathing slowly.  More and more people are stirring, you know you'll have to move quick or someone will see you in Bellamy's shirt in the hallway. You're not sure why, but what has changed between you two, feels like it should stay between you two. Atleast for now.  "I really have to go," you almost whisper, "I'll get dressed then bring you back your shirt." He straightens up and steps back, nodding. You listen for the hallway to be empty before slipping out the door. Its cold outside of Bellamy's room, the metal floor bites into your feet. Your room is only a couple of meters from his. You quickly check over your shoulder once you reach the door, jumping when you notice someone has seen you.  Harper is standing a few meters away, frozen in confusion, but with a smirk growing on her face. You give a small, embarrassed smile before opening your door and stepping into the safety of your room. You feel heat in your cheeks and hope that maybe you can catch Harper later and ask her politely to keep her mouth shut.  You strip off Bellamy's shirt and get dressed in your own clothes, wishing silently that they smelled of him like his shirt. Maybe one day they will.