#when fives died it felt like a part of me died and if echo dies AGAIN?!!!? nah

[nobie]

stop making fives and echo comparisons ICANTDOITANYMORE

[mrs-weasley-reid]

DOCTORS ACROSS THE HALL

Spencer Reid x psychiatrist!reader

Synopsis: Sleep-deprived and traumatized, Spencer Reid attempts to pin the blame on his innocent new neighbor (he can't). Word Count: 2k+ Warning: meet cute-ish(?) fluff(?) i'm not sure anymore, lol. light mentions of death and trauma. a few curses. not proofread !!!! A/N: inspired by S2 x E14 & 15, we all know what i mean hehe

Spencer Reid's eyes are dry.

Each blink is a terrifying journey. Afraid that he'll go back in the past—in that hut—in between the millisecond of closing his eyes.

He's seeing nothing but blurry darkness, and yet he can still feel Tobias Hankel's shaky palms across the skin of his arm.

"It helps."

"Trust me."

The same four words ring in Spencer's ears, encouraging pain—paranoia.

"It helps."

"Trust me."

With every breath Spencer takes, they hitch in the middle of his throat. Forever stuck and dies there with no trace of hope for the next generation of traveling air.

Hope that he'll be able to breathe without tugging aches all over his chest is long gone.

No man would ever be the same had they been in the situation he went through. He can't help but feel weak. And it's eating Spencer alive to the point of deliberate insomnia.

He doesn't remember the last time he'd ever slept like a normal person.

"It helps."

Knock, knock.

"Trust me."

Knock, knock, knock.

Spencer opens his eyes. He's not sure when slumber took over his mind or if he even participated in sleep at all. Chances are he was too dissociated from reality that he's left his body frozen for a while. Nonetheless, in the little time he spent in serene blankness, only one emotion brews in him.

Anger.

Who in their right minds would go out knocking at—Spencer glances at the clock on his nightstand—2 AM?

Knock, knock, KNOCK—

It stops.

A creak echoes in the hall as muffled voices scratch Spencer's ears. He can't make out the words, only the wave of the softest and gentlest whispers he's ever heard.

On a different day, he may have let it go. Hell, a different him would have let it go.

The Spencer from one week ago would have let it go.

The Spencer who never felt so nauseous at the sight of his own blood along the canvas of his temple. The Spencer with an awkward grin without the baggage of Tobias Hankel's torture over his shoulders.

The Spencer he used to be.

But despite everyone's loving support. Despite the bragging rights he gained for surviving a serial killer. No one can loosen the throttling chokehold of trauma around his neck. Not even him.

Spencer catches himself clenching his fists too tight. Crescent indentations sting on his palm—nostalgic and unsettling. He only grits his jaw at the thought. And comes in the invigorating vibrations all over his chest.

There it is again.

The useless anger.

A loaded gun with no target.

The man is dead. Tobias Hankel is dead.

Spencer wonders about the use of his boiling anger when the person he loathes is already rotting in his grave.

Without any other outlet to unleash the colossal mass of suppressed rage brewing inside of him, Spencer makes good use of one of the most common defense mechanisms: displacement.

Maybe screaming at someone will deflate the tightness across his chest and clear his mind a bit in the form of self-loathing after he realizes the grave immaturity of his plan.

He lifts his body off his mattress, swinging his legs on the side of his bed as he methodically rubs his eyes against the lamp's brightness. Strands of his hair go array around the vertical circumference of his head like an electric halo.

A huff pulses off his lips. He swallows a lump of thick air as he weighs his next moves.

Part of Spencer died in that cemetery. What difference does it make if he screams at the world? If he screams at—

His brows furrow, eyes narrow, and ears perk.

It's different this time.

Irritating knocks. Opening door. Muffled whispering. Closing door. Then quiet for an hour.

That has been a constant for the past five days. A constant routine that he felt indifferent about but somehow grew annoyed by.

But it's different this time.

The door across the hall didn't close.

And it's been five minutes.

Before Spencer knows it, his hand turns the knob and swings the door open.

Two women across from him. They are in the middle of what seems to be a tight hug before one bids her goodbye and lightly runs down the stairs.

Spencer watches as the other disappears down the lower level. Anger morphs into confusion.

"Did we bother you?"

He jolts back, snapping his gaze to the woman across. "What?"

You smile apologetically, "I'm sorry about the noise—"

"Dr. Spencer Reid," He spits. Spencer's forehead creases. He wonders what prompted his mouth to openly provide his full name to a stranger, specifically when the information was not asked for.

"Oh," You blink, lightly jumping on your toes. An unseen glint sparks in your eyes. You introduce yourself as a response, a lot less threatening than he did but equally awkward. You smile again. Sweetly, this time. Like you're looking at a puppy.

Spencer's brows bounce over his forehead as the hand over his doorknob loosens. "You're a doctor?" He inquires.

You nod, "Mhm, what are the odds, right?" You chuckle. The sound echoes around the quiet hall.

"11.76%."

"What?"

"The odds—" Spencer scratches the back of his neck, "—it's 11.76%. There are fourteen tenants in this building, including you. We both found out we're doctors, and I know none of our neighbors are. Most of the neighbors are living alone besides the old couple on the first floor, but I know none of them are doctors. That's two in fifteen people. So 11.76%. But now I realize you weren't being literal about it..." Heat rushes against the skin of his face.

Silence hovers between the two of you. He feels more awake than he was minutes ago for an entirely different reason—embarrassment. Spencer wishes that some sort of earthquake would open up the floor and swallow him.

"Interesting," You finally speak, changing the leg where you placed your weight. "I tried calculating it myself and got the same result. You were right."

His mouth falls agape. A surge of warmth strikes his chest. "You were calculating?" Spencer squints, rubbing an eye out of habit due to his current predicament and baffled by your antic all the same.

You nod again, "Just cause you're my neighbor doesn't mean I'll just take your word for it, you know. But I have to admit, it was cool that you figured that out in a second. You have my respect." You flash a playful smile, hugging your chest at the sudden draft.

"Ahh," Spencer steps back into his apartment. The tinge of giddiness is quickly replaced by sleep deprivation and anxiety. A hand throws itself into the cavity of his eye socket, pushing it close to remove the pain that's settling in.

Flashes of bright light blind him in the dark shade of his eyelids. Frustration swiftly creeps over his shoulders. Like he's drowning above water, tied down, and has no air to gasp for. Panic begins to paralyze him. All seems lost, and darkness slowly—

"Would you like some tea?"

Spencer blinks, lifting his gaze back at you as your soft smile slowly adjusts his sight.

"I have a new brand of tea I've been dying to open. Would you like some?" You repeat, tilting your head a bit as you await a response. When you don't get one, you add, "I promise I don't bite." And your heart flutters at the little twitch at the ends of his lips.

He concludes you're roughly two weeks fresh from moving in. Here you are, inviting a stranger in the middle of the night to enjoy tea inside your home.

Seems reckless.

Idiotic.

But Spencer doesn't say no.

He walks towards you like he's leaving a world to explore another. Anxiety slowly dissipates with each step he takes. A contrast of what he feels each second that passes while he lies awake.

You step aside to give him way. "Grab a seat—" you gesture towards the kitchen -island-slash-dining-table, "—The girl you saw usually stays longer, so I already heat some water. Is chamomile okay?" You talk as you maneuver around your small kitchen.

Spencer finds a seat closest to the door. For all he knows, you're the serial killer on your end of the skeptical assumptions in his head.

"Nice apartment," He says out of the obligatory guest etiquette. Spencer takes in every bit of your reflection in your home.

It's inviting. Warm and cozy. The hint of oat and lavender whiffs past his nose. Your place is adorned with small, warm lights, brightening each corner with sunset tones.

Your chuckle brings his attention back to you. "Don't be shy, Dr. Reid," You glance at him over your shoulder. "It's messy. You can say it."

"If a couple of books on your table is messy to you, you should see my side of the building."

Spencer straightens up as confusion spreads over his face.

How do you do that?

Make him feel comfortable with words and a gentle voice. Everyone on his team has been doing the same exact thing, but somehow, you get something out of him without further prompting.

The image of your coffee table pops in his head. Cultural Psychology. Learning Psychotherapy. Trauma and Dreams. And a few more books that clocks his interest in you further down the rabbit hole.

"You're a psychologist," He announces into the air.

"Psychiatrist, actually," You place a mug in front of Spencer, finding a seat across from him. "But what gave it away? The tea or the messy apartment?" You ask into your mug that says 'you're purrfect' in pink lowercase and has a cat’s paw under the lettering. A playful smile is curving your lips.

Spencer accepts the blue mug, brows rising at the police box outlined image over the blue stain. He wouldn’t have expected you as a fan of Doctor Who, but who’s he to judge? A part of him wants to discuss common interests, but he doesn’t feel comfortable enough to change the subject.

"T-the books." He says hesitantly, uncertain whether the art of observation has marked him a creep right at that moment.

You hum, "Thought I would've been more mysterious than that." You chuckle, pulling a leg against your chest. "And you?" You inquire back.

"I have three PhDs," Spencer shares shyly, breaking eye contact masked as drinking your quite tasteful tea. He notes to ask the brand you're so enthusiastic about later on.

"Three?" Your eyes glisten under the warm light.

He nods.

"Let me guess, 190."

"190?"

"Your IQ," You lean back against the table, "My guess is you graduated young. Went to high school, college, and graduate school as a puppy." You add, amping with adoration over the new information.

"A puppy is a strong word, but yes," Spencer blushes now, hoping the small lighting leans in his favor to hide the red tint over every bit of his skin. “And just 187, not that big of a deal.”

"Just 187? You're just being humble, right?" You giggle, "I bet some prestigious agency hired you at a young age, and you're called the genius kid." You jest, genuinely interested in him more than ever.

More like the boy genius. But can’t possibly expose himself more than you already did out of sheer lucky guesses. Spencer avoids meeting your eyes like it's the plague. "You awfully guess a lot..."

You gasp, placing your mug on the table, "Shut up! I was close, was I? Oh my gosh!" You're laughing now, utterly comfortable to show quirks that people you just met shouldn't see yet. "I'm good at this. I think I'll be okay later, then." You say to yourself, nodding in satisfaction.

"For what?" Spencer chimes, troubles slipping away to the back of his mind and the sound of your hush laughter lulling him. It might be the tea or the possibility that you'd drugged him, but his body felt light for the first time in weeks. He doesn't have any complaints.

"I moved here for a job," You start attentively, making sure that you don't share too much. "But I have people. They'll search for me in case you turn out to be a serial killer."

His brows jump, "How do I know you're not the serial killer? Women can be one, too. And statistically, women who are serial killers are attractive."

"Are you saying I'm attractive, Dr. Reid?"

"I—" Spencer freezes, heat flowing to his ears. "I-I was making a point—" He cuts himself off. He wonders when the earthquake he's wished for earlier is coming to save him from embarrassment.

You stay silent, reveling in his stuttering voice.

"Is that coffee? I thought you made tea." He changes the subject—poorly.

You don't mind it one bit, indulging at the sight of his pinkish ears covered by his unruly hair. "I invited you for tea. I didn't say I'll drink one with you." You take a sip of the caffeine, rubbing the idea on his face.

Spencer responds with a subtle roll of his eyes that makes you chuckle more than intended. "Why coffee at three in the morning?" He asks gently, not wanting to step over any boundaries.

"I'm supposed to start my job later. I heard my patients need a lot of assistance, so I need to study and make sure I give them the right help."

"That sounds noble," He yawns, the first of many.

Spencer never thought your smile could get any sweeter, "I haven't officially met them yet. So, I really wish it goes well."

It might be the chamomile tea with a hint of honey finally working in his veins, but Spencer thinks you're beaming like an angel descending from the skies.

He yawns, and you giggle once more, "I think you should go to sleep, Dr. Reid."

“Yeah, yeah, I should,” Spencer’s eyebrows collide at the sadness in his chest. His body feels comfortable in his seat. Getting out of it feels like torture. 

You both stand from your seats, walking him towards the door. 

Spencer turns around before he closes his, a sleepy smile on his face. "Thanks for the tea," He yawns, a hand covering his mouth.

“You’re— hold on, give me one second,” You turn around and back inside your apartment. He can’t see you but can hear your light footsteps on the floorboards as you run to your coffee table and back inside the frame of your front door. 

Spencer patiently waits as you walk to his end of the hall, take his hand out, and hand him a heart lollipop. 

“Take this. They help with the bad craving,” You advertise as you walk backward. Before he completely shuts the door, you call for him, "Oh, and Dr. Reid."

Spencer swings the door open back wider, "Yes?"

"I think you're attractive too."

reid masterlist | masterlist

[sinsofsummers]

sensational

6.9k | joel miller & f!innocent!reader part two

this comes from this request. a few liberties were taken with the details (the reader knows that sex exists, but not much else), just fyi!

summary: thanks to becoming an orphan at age 13, you've lived the rest of your life oblivious to all the world can offer. now that you're in jackson, joel miller ignites something in you that only he can give answers to. warnings: slight angst (mentions of parent loss), innocent!fem!reader, age gap (joel is 56, reader is 25), kind of pervy!joel, smut (18+, mdni!!!), fingering, grinding, reader watches old pornos with joel, slight praise kink, no use of y/n. note: i planned originally to have this be just one part, but even though it ends in a way that i like, i could maybe be convinced to write a second part teehee (part two coming soon!)

You used to love the rain. The way it cascaded down your skin in little droplets, cleansing your body from a hard day's work, and the way it made your hair look so perfectly disheveled.

You craved the rain, until it became nothing but a reminder of the night your parents died.

It had been years at this point, but you would never quite forget how young, and small, and unsuspecting you'd been when they told you to run. How cruel, that time might pass, you might change, but with one smattering of rain, you returned so swiftly to the worst night of your life.

The three of you had been living alone, making your way...somewhere, but they never told you where. Your parents' only wish was to keep you safe, that much was clear. So it shouldn't have been a surprise that upon an ambush by at least ten clickers, after both your parents had been infected, that they'd insist that you run.

"Please, darling," your mother had pleaded, a lump in her throat as she formed the words. "Don't make me beg. I need you to run. Promise?"

Your father was somewhere else, but you could hear him yelling in the distance, in a fight for his life. You were too young, even at thirteen, to understand that those were the sounds of a dying man.

"I'll be right behind you," she'd choked on the last phrase, and in hindsight, you knew she was lying. But in the moment, you'd believed her. You couldn't see the bite she was hiding on her arm, her fate already sealed. "I'll come for you, my love," she insisted, "but I need you to go. Head for the woods."

It was the last time you saw her. You'd turned tail and had run as fast as you could for the woods.

The last thing you heard was a gunshot. A single shot, echoing around you in the trees. It may have been impossible to know, but you didn't need to turn back. Your parents were dead.

If you hadn't found Jackson, who knows how long you might have lasted. Nearing your twenty-first year, you'd proven valuable to the community, and they'd welcomed you in. Jackson was the first home you'd had since you were five.

It hadn't occurred to you that you were years behind your peers in terms of...well, everything, until you met Joel.

Rugged, tan, and sporting a perpetual frown paired with an ever-present crease between his brows, Joel Miller was your patrol partner. You weren't exactly sure why, and he didn't seem particularly pleased about it, but then again—he never seemed particularly pleased about anything.

It hadn't struck you as anything to be proud of, or to boast about to the other young women in Jackson, but they certainly loved coming up to you and expressing their jealousy when they felt so inclined.

"What's he like on patrol?" they'd ask, their eyes wide and lips curled in smirks as they waited for any insight you could give them on his mysterious personality.

All you could ever say over the next four years was a quick, "He's quiet."

Maybe that was why the two of you worked well. He wasn't much of a talker, and after you'd lost your parents, you hadn't been one to waste any breath on conversation, especially when you had survived alone with your own thoughts for almost eight years.

Silence was your mutual understanding. No talking meant no questions, and no questions meant no problems.

And this worked. Until it didn't.

-- -- --

It started like anything started. Quietly, hardly a bother, until it sank into the marrow of your bones and demanded that you address it.

More literally, it started in your shoulders. You'd been on patrol with Joel, a quiet, "Let's go," his only words to you that morning. They were his only words to you every morning, and that day was no different.

Patrolling with him was easy. Like you'd said—no talking, so no problems. You rode next to each other on your respective horses, and there was nothing more than a glance or two toward each other when necessary. It was the only form of communication that the two of you shared.

His big brown eyes had always startled you, looking so inviting in the contrast of the white snow during the winter, but they never showed you more than he allowed you to see. And all you saw of Joel was his dedication to sleep, patrol, eat, and repeat.

You hadn't felt the desire to look that closely at him until some of the girls in Jackson asked you how big his hands were, or what he looked like up close.

"You know," one of them had crooned, not realizing you were unsure of their intentions, "what does he look like without that big old coat on?"

You'd shrugged. "Why should I know?"

Another one wiggled her eyebrows. "Doesn't it get...lonely out there? Nothing but you, the snow, and a big man like Joel to keep you company?"

The faces of those girls, the glint in their eyes, it was something you couldn't quite decipher, as much as you wished you could. So one day, you'd asked the man himself what it all meant.

When you said it for the first time, it was so quiet that you could hardly even hear yourself.

Joel grunted, the only indication that he'd heard you.

Your cheeks burned, but you couldn't find a reason why. This was just Joel. He seemed to know everything there was to know about life; surely he could help you understand this. "Why do the girls in town keep asking me what it's like to patrol with you?"

He didn't answer for a second, but then shrugged. "They botherin' you?"

"No." You weren't quite sure that was true, and knowing him, he could probably hear the lie in your voice. "They're just kind of...belligerent."

His eyebrow cocked. "S'a big word," he mused. "Sure you know what it means?"

Your cheeks grew hot. "Yes," you insisted sharply. "I do read, you know."

He murmured a response, but the wind carried it away from you. You rode in silence for a bit longer before he said, "Don't let those girls get in your head. I think they just wanna get a rise outta you."

"A rise?"

Joel nodded and brought his horse to a routine stop. This was where the two of you always stretched your legs. He reached up to help you down your own mount and set you on the ground gingerly. "You know," he said, as if you should know, but with no regard for the fact that you didn't. "You're still kinda new here. Seems they're still pretty dead-set on embarrassin' you."

"I'm not embarrassed," you insisted again. "I just...is there a joke I'm not getting?"

"Any reason you chose to talk so much today?" was his only answer, which made your stomach clench.

There was no reason for you to be offended, as it was your typical routine to remain quiet unless absolutely necessary, but you couldn't help the way your lips curved downward. "Sorry," you mumbled, "forget I asked."

He was quiet again as the two of you walked at least two hundred paces, stretching out your sore muscles in the snow. It used to be comforting, the silence. It wasn't maddening, it didn't ever bother you if Joel was in his thoughts. You weren't even sure at times if he had any. But all that had changed now; his brow creased more than it usually did, and you wanted nothing more than to ask him what he was thinking.

Joel was the one constant in your life now. Maybe it was a—well, probably it was a trauma response from losing your parents, but you couldn't help it. You didn't need much from anyone, just someone to stay. Joel was strong enough to take care of himself and was smart enough not to make any rash decisions. As far as you could tell, he'd stay.

So how could you be so embarrassed by asking these questions?

"I forgot how long you said you were...alone out there," his grunting voice filled the space between you once more. It was quiet, and he sounded hesitant, as if he wasn't sure how to speak.

"Since I was thirteen," you said mechanically, so familiar with others in Jackson asking the same question.

"Shit," he cursed under his breath. "And you're how old?"

"Twenty-five," you said, feeling oddly small in his presence.

He shook his head. "That's a long time to be alone," he muttered, blowing out a breath.

You huffed. "Yeah, well, I survived. And besides, I've been here for four years now, you know."

"I know."

Again, the silence. Infuriating.

Then, you couldn't help it. "What's...'spooning,' and why do those girls ask me if we've done it?"

Joel stumbled, reaching out for balance. His hand found purchase on your shoulder, and you caught him awkwardly. "You don't even know what spooning is?" He sounded incredulous, as if you'd asked a juvenile question.

The warmth from his hand was astonishing, and distracted you from your embarrassment, if only for a moment. It sank through his glove into your coat, and down toward your skin. Something about the weight of his hand on your shoulder, even for a second as he removed it quickly, was enough to send you spiraling.

Your face burned. "Never mind," you said quietly and mounted your horse again. How stupid could you get? You scolded yourself. You'd ventured too far into this conversation, and now you didn't know how to get yourself out of it. "I was just...never mind. We should get back."

He nodded, but his face still looked somewhat pinched. "Yeah. S'getting dark."

The sun was still up. No intention of sinking beneath the horizon for at least a few hours. You rode again in uncomfortable silence, this time letting it fill the space. You foolishly thought that maybe if you were quiet long enough, he'd forget that you'd made a fool of yourself, that you'd exposed yourself to the truth: that you knew hardly anything about...anything except for survival instincts.

When Joel spoke again, it surprised you. "I didn't mean to tease ya," he said. "It's just kind of a surprise that you're not...that you don't..." he looked over at you, and there was some type of pleading in his eyes, as if he were begging you not to make him say it.

"That I don't what?" you said dumbly, hoping you didn't sound as childish as you felt.

He pondered his next words carefully, and then he hummed, "If you want, I could...teach you some stuff."

"Like spooning?" You felt a warmth in your face as you watched his shoulders hunch with a soft laughter. Your own shoulder burned where he'd touched it, and something bloomed in your gut.

He chuckled. "I don't know about all that," he said, "but I'll help you get...back on track. Would hate for someone to take advantage of your...innocence." It sounded sinful, the way he said it, and the something in your gut pulsed.

"You don't have to," you shook your head, but you didn't even believe the words as they came out of your mouth. "I'll just ask someone else."

"Darlin', don't trust anyone else to give you straight answers. I'm older'n half of everyone in Jackson, anyway." He flashed you a look. "I'll help. Whatever you want to know."

You bit the insides of your cheeks, your stomach turning strangely. "Anything?"

He nodded dutifully, but his eyes had already left yours. Joel Miller, ever the professional. "Whatever you want."

-- -- --

Joel liked to consider himself someone who would never again suffer the shock of surprises. After having lived through and seen more shit than any normal person could, he thought he'd experienced it all.

That is, until her pretty lips had opened and asked him to teach her about all she'd missed. Until she asked him to teach her.

He hadn't really seen her as the picture of innocence until he'd heard how long she'd been alone, surviving with no one and nothing besides her own thoughts and the clothes on her back.

The least her parents could do was teach her how to shoot, he'd thought when he first met her. It was a curiosity that was quickly resolved, as she'd proven herself valuable to Jackson.

Tommy had wasted no time putting them on patrol together. "It'll be good for you," his brother had reasoned when he brought up concerns. "You know, to talk to someone out there. I know she's on the young side, but you don't gotta fall in love with her." He'd flashed an apologetic smile when Joel had scowled. "You're scarin' everyone, Joel. Bein' all quiet and shit...it's—"

"It's what?" he'd asked gruffly. "I don't do it on purpose. I'm a grown man."

This was all true, and he very much didn't do it on purpose. With no one around whom he deemed worthy of his conversation, Joel Miller had become the quiet, introspective version of himself that everyone decided to become scared of all of a sudden.

The way he saw things? It wasn't his fault everyone in Jackson was boring. Or childish.

But her. With her unmistakable will to survive and those eyes that could burn fierce with ire one moment, and soften with curiosity the next...it was only a matter of time before he agreed to do whatever she asked.

He should have seen it coming, especially considering her past. Every time he thought of just how...unsuspecting she was about...everything, he had to shake his head, clearing it of any thoughts that threatened to take advantage of her.

But being ignorant of spooning. He had to clear his throat every time he thought of what that might mean for himself in this particular arrangement. If she knew nothing of something so...palatable, he could hardly help himself when thinking of what else she might be unaware of.

He tried to be patient, and he tried to be respectful, but at the end of the day, he was Joel Miller. From the moment she looked at him with those wide eyes, he was lost.

-- -- --

"What I would give to give that man the ride of his life," one of the girls next to you hummed at breakfast the next morning, her eyes presumably glued to Joel, who'd just come into the cafeteria. You didn't look up at him, instead casting a confused glance toward the girl who'd spoken.

"Ride where?" You cursed your quick instinct to ask questions, as the girls erupted into a fit of giggles. Face burning, you looked down again at your plate. "Never mind," came your almost instantaneous response. You were getting used to having to apologize for your ignorance, and people rarely—especially not these girls—offered their kindness.

One of the other girls snickered. "Why don't you ask him? I'm sure there's nothing much to talk about out there anyway," she said, smiling widely. Her next words were nothing short of a drawl, the complete essence of mockery. "'Joel, what's it mean to ride?'" she pinched her face in what you assumed was an impression of you, and it only made your eyebrows furrow despite your stomach sinking in utter horror.

And then there he was. He'd called your name, and now he was standing behind your left shoulder, hand outstretched to save you.

You were sure his hand had never looked quite as appealing as it did now. The calluses on his palm were raised and visibly rough. For a moment, you stared at his fingers and wondered what they might feel like against your cheek.

Swallowing a lump in your throat, that something arose in your gut once more before you heard him murmur your name again.

"Come on," he grunted, but there was a gentleness to it that made the hair on the nape of your neck stand on end. "Time to go."

The girls at your table were silent when you took his hand gingerly and let him lead you from the cafeteria. You noted the swift wave of cold that hit your hand as soon as he dropped it, just a second later. Clasping your hands together, you hoped in a fit of desperation that you might preserve some of the weight and warmth of his touch on your skin. It failed.

"Thanks," you said later, when the two of you were outside the community's borders. Jackson felt a bit too stuffy for any real admissions of gratitude, you'd decided. It turned out to be a good conclusion when you felt the delicious churn of your stomach at the idea of being alone with him once more.

I'm sure there's nothing much to talk about out there anyway, one of the girls had said. Doesn't it get lonely out there? You were reminded of another's teasing, and this time your cheeks burned at the memory. Nothing but you, the snow, and a big man like Joel to keep you company.

He was big, you considered. When he stood next to you, his frame was almost larger than life, and his shoulders were sinfully broad when you watched him walk in front of you on previous patrols. The sheer size of him was enough to send you into a heady descent.

As usual, Joel didn't answer for what felt like ages, and you'd begun to wonder if he could see where your train of thought had led you. Then:

"You could have told me they were bein' that outrageous," he grunted, keeping his eyes forward. "I woulda helped you out sooner. S'no fun feelin' left outta everything."

It was...odd to hear such words come from a man like Joel. Although, you reminded yourself, you'd hardly spoken to him in the four years that you'd been in Jackson; who was to say he wasn't normally like this? A quiet, brooding older man, yes; but maybe he was naturally like this. One to offer his help.

"If you wanted to help, you would have made an effort four years ago." You let your words hang in the air. You didn't mean for them to come off sharp; it was simply the truth. "I don't need your help," you added, tightening your hands on the reins of your horse and swallowing roughly. "It was fine. I am fine."

He flashed you a look as if to say, is that so? You couldn't help but notice the way the corners of his eyes creased, the only sign of amusement. It was all you could do to keep your eyes on him, although you weren't sure how you were going to explain the way your mouth went dry at the sight of his big brown eyes.

"Besides," you insisted quietly, "you're not my dad."

Joel cleared his throat. Looked down, shoulders tense. Inhaled. "No," he said decidedly. "No, I'm not."

Emboldened by this clarification, you inquired, "So what did those girls mean earlier? Riding, I mean?"

If you could have guaranteed the image of Joel's eyes going wide in surprise to remain in your head for the rest of your days, you would have done it instantly. His forehead was creased as his eyebrows lifted, and despite his position facing away from you, you could see it all.

The way he seemed to wrestle with himself before answering, the way his hands seemed to clench in his gloves. "So, uh..." he started, and then paused again. Mustering up whatever courage he needed, Joel finished, "Well, ya see, when a man and woman love each other very much—"

"Joel." Oh. You couldn't help it when a breathless chuckle left your lips.

He was silent, and when he finally answered, it wasn't a question. "What."

"I'm not fucking stupid. I know how reproduction works."

Joel's chest rose and fell in a deep sigh, and you couldn't ignore the look of complete relief that washed over his rough features. "Thank fuckin' Christ. Didn't know if I had it in me for another sex talk. I'm too old to be doin' this."

"Believe it or not, my parents did leave me with the basic information." Swallowing roughly, you continued. "And I know...I know that men usually...take. It's an assertion of power, from what I've...seen."

He shook his head. "Guess I shouldn't be surprised that you've run into your fair share of dirtbags, even in the middle of the world goin' to shit." He ran a gloved hand through his hair, and you secretly enjoyed the way it stood up. "Anyone ever, you know...take...from you?"

Hearing your own words regurgitated back to you left you feeling fluttery. Shaking your head, you got down from your horse; you'd reached your typical resting spot. "No," you said firmly. "They never wanted me."

Joel nodded. "S'good," he said, and it bothered you to no end that you couldn't understand the emotion in his voice. "So..."

By now he was standing next to you, closer than you were used to, judging by the way his coat sleeve bumped yours as the two of you walked, stretching your legs. "So," you said, thinking up a way to make this conversation less awkward. "I just hate feeling like a kid again. I'm twenty-five, for fuck's sake. There's more than just survival when it comes to living. I just want to know what I'm missing out on," you confessed with a hand on your stomach.

When Joel brushed by your side again your stomach flipped. And what the fuck is that about, and why do I keep feeling it? You asked inwardly, but you were too nervous to ask. Bombarding Joel with questions, especially after you'd just started talking to him on patrol after four years, seeming to be the wrong path to take.

He shrugged, eyebrows still furrowed in thought. "There's nothing to miss if you don't know what you're missin'."

"Yes," you admitted, "but that doesn't stop any of those girls from making me feel like I'm..."

"Innocent?" he murmured, and you thought you weren't meant to hear it until he turned to look at you.

Those big brown eyes, they just won't quit, a voice nudged you in your head.

"I don't want to be innocent," you groaned, throwing your head back. "God, not in the sense that they see me in. Sounds like a damn curse."

The sound of his rumbling laughter, however quiet, sent a shock down your spine and you nearly tripped in the snow. "There's pros and cons, I s'pose," he offered. "It's like I said: I'll help you get back on track. If that's what you really want."

"It is." You stopped walking, took a look around at the landscape, otherwise empty with the scattering of trees. You swallowed, pressed one. "So...riding. It's a part of reproducing, then?"

He chuckled again, but this time it didn't come off as demeaning. It was like he was teasing you, but good-naturedly. "Let's not jump too far ahead of ourselves, yeah? Start with somethin' smaller. Then we'll work our way up."

Joel's eyes were piercing when he held yours in his gaze. If someone watched this conversation, you were sure they'd be able to see the blush blooming on your cheeks.

"Learnin' takes time, ya know," he mused, his growling voice nearly a hum that could have warmed you from the inside out.

You'd made it to the edge of the woods now. This was normally where you turned back, heading for home. But neither of you moved. The bubble of something pulsed again, and you swallowed roughly before whispering hoarsely, "So where should we start?"

-- -- --

If Joel were a better man, he might have warned her what the curse of innocence in a young woman could be. He might have shook his head, stepped back, and told her to ask someone else. He might have taken the reins and turned the two of them back toward Jackson.

If he were better, he wouldn't have stepped closer to her. If he were a better man, he wouldn't have looked into her sparkling eyes and let the question slip. Fuck it all.

"You ever been kissed, darlin'?"

-- -- --

You swallowed. Don't make a fool of yourself, you begged yourself before answering with a quiet shake of your head. "Not many contenders out there. Not any good ones, anyway."

He'd leaned closer to you with his question, and now you could practically see each line of age in his face. Joel's expression was unclear; he could have been pleased with this information or...or maybe there was pity in his eyes. "No," he said with an understanding nod. "No, I suppose there wouldn't have been."

He lifted a gloved hand to his mouth and you watched as he traced it along his lips. The gray strands in his hair glinted off the sunlight, blinking pleasantly in your eyes. That something pulsed once more in your stomach, and there was a sort of realization that came with it.

Joel, you thought. Joel is making me feel like this.

"Will you kiss me?" The words were out of your mouth before you could reel them in.

But instead of laughing, or scoffing, or giving any sign of mockery, Joel Miller inhaled quietly. "You know how much older I am than you?" he asked.

You nodded. "We're both adults, Joel. Besides," you felt a ghost of a smirk come to grace your lips, a feigned confidence coming to save you in this moment of truth. "I thought you told me to ask you these questions."

He sighed. "You're right."

"So? Will you?" you asked, with a small, "please?" coming out afterward.

He moved slowly, something you were equally thankful for as you were frustrated with, but his forehead met yours soon enough. His eyelashes brushed against your cheek, and he let out a shaky breath, letting it fan deliciously across your face. The knowledge that he was just as nervous as you were was not only a comfort; it was perhaps the most attractive thing you'd ever known.

And when you lifted your chin, just a hairsbreadth from his lips, your eyes fluttered closed, waiting for him to meet you in the middle. It only took a moment before he was closing his mouth over yours, and Joel Miller was kissing you.

He was gentle, of course, but there was something restrained about his kiss, the way he slowly slotted his lips over yours as if you might crack under any more pressure. It only made you want more, more, more...

You pressed your hands to his chest and curled them into fists, tugging his jacket to lessen the distance between your bodies even more. You didn't know how you were doing this, how you'd managed to find confidence in what could have easily been a humiliating experience. Your first kiss at twenty-five? With anyone else, it might have been a nightmare.

With Joel, it was turning out to be the most delightful dream.

"So soft, baby," he pulled back to whisper against your mouth. "These lips are so soft for me."

You hummed your response and pulled him back to you, letting him see that you wanted more. That incessant pressure was building, and it wasn't until he had his arms sliding around your waist that you forced yourself to pull back, head spinning. "Joel."

He blinked. "What? Too fast?" He shook his head. "I'm sorry, darlin', you're just so—"

"No, that's not it." You managed a weak smile, but the look in his eye, the question and the undeniable desire—is that what it looks like?—quivering in his brown irises, nearly made you collapse. He waited for you to continue, his hands never leaving you, a courtesy you were grateful for. "I feel...hot." Your cheeks warmed. "Um, there's this...pressure."

His lips closed in a tight smirk, and he squeezed your hips. "Where, baby?" he murmured, and you could have sworn you saw stars outlining his head at the sound of the pet name. "Show me," he cooed.

"Um." You paused, unsure of just how. But with his hands on your waist, his heavy, warm touch melting you on the spot, you took one of his gloved hands in yours and guided him to your stomach. "Here. Kind of."

"Yeah?" he said, and you forgot about the cold. About your horses waiting to be mounted, about your other responsibilities in Jackson. All you could see were his dark eyes that had somehow grown darker as you pushed his hand down, down, down...

"Fuck, babygirl," he cursed, and let his hand rest on the crux of your thighs, just barely pressing on the source of the tingling sensation. If anything, it made it worse, and you let a breathy whine fall from your lips. "You're gonna be the death of me, huh?" he groaned.

You couldn't form words. Just one kiss (a very good kiss, mind you) and a heavy hand on your core was all it took, apparently. You could hardly look anywhere but his face, your mouth dropping open as your hips moved of their own accord, grinding into his hand before you realized you were doing it. "Joel—" you whimpered, and he pulled his hand away.

There wasn't enough time for you to feel jilted, as he tugged you back to your horse and practically launched you onto it himself. "We're goin' back," he said firmly, "now."

Swallowing, your throat dry and rough, you pressed a hand to your cheek, feeling the heat swimming under your skin. "Did I do something wrong?"

You could hardly see him shake his head as he mounted his own horse, looking back at you to make sure you were following him. "'Course not," he called over his shoulder. When you caught up with him, the two of you shoulder-to-shoulder, he continued. "Look, darlin', f'I'm gonna be givin' you your first kiss and makin' you feel that good..." he sighed, his dark eyes finding yours. "I'm not doin' it in a fuckin' snowbank."

-- -- --

The entire ride back to Jackson was painfully long, silent but for Joel's mumbled directions, despite the fact that the two of you had taken this same route countless times in the four years that you patrolled together.

Your eyes were trained forward, and you knew his were as well, but it took everything in you not to glance at him even for a second. If you did, you were afraid that the pressure building in the crux of your thighs would never go away.

It would be unfair to say that you were completely unaware of what might happen when you got back to Jackson, but you still didn't know much, which left a nervous bubble rising in your gut. It wasn't like there were any books left in Jackson that you could read about it, or any movies that Maria would allow to remain in the community's borders.

Again, you got a wave of feeling like this should have concerned you, or at least made you a little anxious. But with Joel pulling ahead, his strong back the only thing you could look at, you felt the knot of tension release in your stomach. This was Joel. After four years—even four mostly silent years—of working together, you felt like you...knew him, somehow. That he couldn't possibly lead you astray.

Sure enough, when you were both within the borders, horses returned safely to their stables, the tension returned. Or had it ever really dissipated?

Joel hovered close to you as you left the stables. "Let's go, darlin'," he breathed, a gloved hand on your lower back as he guided you.

"Where?" you said, and you hoped it didn't sound as desperate as it did to you, the pressure getting worse. "I need—"

"I know, baby, I know," he cooed gently, his head on a swivel as if looking for anyone who might stop you. "We're goin' to mine. I've got the perfect lesson planned for ya, alright?"

It was all you could do to nod and let him push you forward through the snowy streets. If only those girls could see you now.

Once inside, you took a breath. There was no one around, and once the door closed behind you, the silence felt all the more heavy. "Ellie?" you asked, if only in courtesy.

He shook his head, and you bit your lip when you saw him smirk. "Just us, doll."

Joel shed his outer layers, and when he stood in front of you, you realized that this was the first time you'd seen him without his coat. Without his gloves, aside from that morning.

Your eyes snagged on his fingers, and you swallowed roughly when you saw the way they twitched, as if in anticipation for something. Or maybe he was holding himself back, you considered. His jaw did seem to have an impatient clench to it. Hands rough like you knew they would be, it didn't take long for your mind to wander into thinking of what it might be like to feel those hands on your skin.

With any luck, he'd give you the sweet release you craved, however it would unfold.

"See anything you like?" he teased, and your cheeks warmed.

"Sorry," you fumbled for a response, your eyes dropping. You'd meant to clear your head, but then your eyes were caught on his thighs. Specifically how hard the seams on his jeans were fighting to remain unripped. "Um, a lesson, you said?"

He nodded, reaching out a hand to take your own coat off, leaving you in the sweater and pants you'd had on all day. You were sure your hair was knotted and would be for days, but he only smoothed a hand down your face, letting you lean into his touch. His fingers were still cold, but your face was hot and it offered a dizzying sense of relief.

"I could never teach you all this," he murmured, his thumb rubbing back and forth in an absentminded swipe across your cheek. "Not without getting...distracted," he finished, pressing his other hand to your waist. Underneath the thick layer of your coat, his hand felt like a hot iron scorching your skin, despite there still being a few layers of clothes between your bodies.

"Distraction is okay," you breathed, lifting a hand to cup his on your waist. "Right?"

He shook his head, a chuckle lifting from deep in his chest. "Not tonight," he whispered. "Tonight, I want to stick to the plan."

"Which is?"

Wordlessly, he removed the hand on your waist and entwined it with your own, tugging you toward the living room where an old television had been placed on a rickety-looking shelf. "Sit," he directed, and you did so without hesitation. He paused, biting back a smile at your eager cooperation, and adjusted himself.

It occurred to you that as much as you were affected by him, he was experiencing a similar effect from you. His pants, already tighter than sin, seemed to have become even tighter, as a bulge began to grow while he stood just a few feet from your face.

"Joel—"

"No, no," he waved a dismissive hand and went to the television to grab something. He came back with something you recognized: a VHS tape. "Don't worry 'bout me, sweets. Tonight's just for you."

"We're gonna watch a movie?" you asked, trying to ignore the way your heart sank a little. You had been hoping that the two of you would kiss some more, and maybe even...you didn't even know the name for it.

"Not just any movie," he grinned, putting it in to watch. The video started. "A special one."

When the scene opened on a man and a woman in the throes of passion, you gasped. "No way," you whispered. "I thought Maria—"

He shrugged, sinking down on the couch beside you, his knee bumping yours. "She must've missed this one," was all he said.

The woman looked to be enjoying herself, as her scene partner kissed her neck, dragging his tongue from the dip in her clavicle to the curve of skin where her neck met her ear. A cartoon-ish moan left her lips, but you didn't pay it any mind. The sight of it made your thighs clench together subconsciously, the lick of pressure rising again in your center.

"Joel—"

"Shh," he said gently. "C'mere, darlin'." With no more than a heavy hand on your waist, he tugged you closer to him, situating you over his lap. "Comfortable?"

You almost said no; you knew that this wouldn't be an acceptable seating arrangement in the cafeteria (or anywhere public, for that matter), but when his hands landed on your thighs, you nodded swiftly. His fingers curled around your skin, and you could feel every pulse of his heartbeat through his fingertips, poised as if he might spread your legs from where they were squeezed together between his own thighs.

Something hard and solid nudged at your core, and you couldn't help it when you leaned back into his chest, head tilting back to rest on his shoulder. A breathy moan tumbled from your lips, and your stomach fluttered when you felt his chest rumble with a chuckle.

"That quick, baby?" he whispered, his breath fanning over your neck. "You really are a sweet young thing, aren't ya," he teased, pressing his nose to the joint between your jaw and your neck, "fallin' apart for me already?" He rocked his hips forward, his bulge pressing harder against you, and it nearly sent you into a spiral.

You swallowed, your throat dry. The sounds of the movie seemed far away as you opened your eyes and looked at his beard, peppered with gray and scratching at your chin when he leaned over you. "Joel," you whispered, bringing your hands to cover his own on your thighs, "I-I want to know everything." You'd never meant anything more fervently, more desperately, than this.

If you'd known how addicting this could feel, being so close to him, feeling his hands on you, perhaps you would have been embarrassed at the way your hips began rubbing yourself on his lap, hoping for—you didn't even know what could be after this. You just knew that the way you felt was the most intense thing you'd felt in your entire life, and you wanted to keep feeling this way, as long as you could.

Joel tutted, squeezing his hands on your thighs. "Oh, look at you," he groaned, a deep, carnal noise that made your chest constrict, "you're a natural, doll." His lips brushed your shoulder, and he darted his tongue out to lick a small strip up your neck.

Your heart swelled with the praise, and it was all you could do not to squeeze your eyes shut. "Please," you begged quietly, as if someone might hear you.

"I know, baby, I know," he crooned, dark eyes locked onto your own as his hand crept closer—to your waistband—closer—unzipping your pants—closer...there.

Your hips lifted from his lap with the heady sensation of his fingers pressed to a bundle of nerves between your legs. "Joel—!" you squeaked.

You felt him smile against your cheek. "So wet," he murmured, "so slick for my fingers, baby." He began rubbing that spot in tight circles, a slow, torturous pace. "Let me know when you're gonna come, yeah?"

"When I..." you trailed off. You'd never...how would you know? "I don't..."

Joel hummed in your ear, rocking his hips again and releasing a guttural groan. "S'okay, pretty girl," he reassured you, "I'll be gentle. Lemme know when it feels like it's too much. "I've gotcha."

You were too far gone to doubt him. This was Joel. He wouldn't let you fall, as much as you felt like you were going to slide to the floor at the feeling of his hand coming up from your leg to caress your breast, rolling a nipple between his fingertips. A strangled mix between a cry and a moan left your lips, and with one more kiss to your brow paired with a quick swipe of his finger over your ever-sensitive bud—

Something gave way and you jerked your head back, digging into his shoulder. Your legs spasmed and you squeezed your hand over Joel's, holding his hand in place underneath your panties.

"Fuck, doll, just like that," he encouraged you. "Look at you, eyes rollin' back for me. Shakin' like a good girl." His hips tensed beneath you and you felt his chest shudder as he released a punishing moan. "Got me feelin' like a damn teenager, comin' in my jeans."

His fingers stilled, but his hand didn't move. Your legs slowly stopped shaking, and the solid mass beneath you was softening. You let out a sigh, your eyelids fluttering closed. Your cheeks were flushed, you could tell; but this time, it wasn't embarrassment that brought the warmth to your face.

"You okay?" he murmured, carefully removing his hands from their places on you. "Feel alright, darlin'?"

Your head turned, nestling into the crook of his neck. Nodding quietly, you shifted in his lap. "I...I didn't know it could be like that," you shivered.

Joel paused the video, the living room falling quiet around you. Swinging a hand under your legs and tugging you to a more comfortable position over his lap, he raised his fingers to his lips, glistening with the remnants of your desire. Your jaw slackened when you watched him open his mouth, lapping at the tips of his fingers.

"Trust me, doll," he said with a glint in his eye. You whimpered in anticipation as he reached to brush a strand of hair from your face. "I've got so much more to teach you."

tysm for reading! you made it to the end! part two is in the works posted!

[gxthicwxrm]

Hi! Saw you were looking for hotd requests.

How about arranged marriage au with Daemon x fem!reader. They have 1 or more kids but Daemon doesn't seem to like her. After an attack on her and the kids (she's a trained assassin/warrior), he realizes how much she does for them. Maybe she goes unconscious for a few days and Daemon has to look after the kids.

Ignore this if you don't want to do it! But thanks and have a good day!

Hello! I am so sorry for the late reply!! I did a few changes, I hope you don't mind. I plan to use this prompt for Aemomd and Aegon as well. However I hope you enjoy!!

Fire Like A Targaryen

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x Wife!reader

Warning: blood, assault, mentions of rape and murder, angst

Word Count: 1,907

Masterlist - Part Two

---

You drums you fingers against your swollen belly, feeling little feet meeting the flesh beneath your hands. "Hello, my little love." You hum to the unborn baby that dances in your stomach while the baby's father disappears somewhere, surely his doting niece following closely behind. 

You have been married to Daemon long enough to know the feelings he has for his niece, even if he doesn't realize himself. His neglect of husbandry duties always increased as we spent time in King's Landing, nearing the Princess of Dragonstone. However, you didn't blame your husband's inability to love you, on the Princess or even her lover. Sometimes people just don't love each other.

Giving up long ago for his affection, you decided to make the best of your time with simple pleasures: reading in the garden, learning to cook with the maidens, painting with the richest of colors. Quickly, you adapted to the riches of the Targaryen's royalty which dulled the ache you felt for her husband. 

The night of the wedding, the pair never consummated the marriage, it left you feeling like a pawn in a game. He stumbled in drunk, tripping over his feet before dragging himself up the bed, practically crawling towards you. Unable to deny your growing love for this mess of a man, you reached your hand out and guided him towards yourself. 

Slowly, he looked up at you before clasping your cheeks in his hands, pressing his cold lips against your warm ones. Hungrily, his hands fly to your sides and pull you against his bare chest. Moaning into your kiss, both sets of hands begin exploring each other. For once, you felt at home, like this was how the two of you were supposed to be, together. However, your bliss died when his lips whispered one that was far from your own.

"Oh, Rhaenyra!" He mumbles into the flesh of your neck, leaving little bruises training down your chest as he moves towards your breast. His words crash around in your head as you lay beneath Daemon who finishes and falls asleep beside you, wordlessly.

Despite the pain of that night, you gained motherhood. Daemon was happy to be a father, scared but happy. He never told you, but you could tell when he'd ghost his hand over your bump or give you an extra piece of bread with dinner. He even held your hand during the birth of your daughter, Alysannne.  He may not love you, but he loves his child. Although, a small part of you wished this child would make him love you. You were naive to think Daemon would ever love you.

But, years have passed since your daughter was born. Alys is five, running around her father as he brushes Caraxes in the Dragonpit. 

"Mommy!" Her tiny voice echoes on the stone walls once she sees you walking towards herself and her father. Looking up, Daemon's eyes meet yours, offering a small smile before turning back to the huffing Caraxes. 

"Hello, my little one. What are you doing out here? Look at you, you are all dirty!" You pick at your daughter's ripped gown, covered in soot. 

"We were playing with Caraxes! Daddy said he'd let me fly with him!!" The little girl runs between her parents and the Blood Wyrm, kissing the dragon's cheek as she pets him. 

"Well, she is her father's daughter." Daemon chuckles, putting his hand on the small of your back as Alys dances around in front of you, twirling her ruined skirt. Affection from him was no longer rare but quick. His thumb caresses the exposed skin of your back, soothing the pain of carrying a child. His unused hand finds itself cupping your belly.

"How has he been treating you, today?" Daemon's smooth voice steals your attention from the girl before you. Looking down at his hands, you rest yours beside his but he moves, so his fingers are right over yours.

"He's been good. Hasn't been kicking me a ridiculous amount which is a new change of pace." Your attempt at a joke brings a smile to your husband's face who kneels down before you and kisses your clothed belly, much to your surprise.

"Be good for your mother. Cherish her, my little Dragon." He whispers, but you were still able to here his words. Standing back up, he cups your face.

"I'm going to take Alys flying before she makes Caraxes eat me. He listens to her more and more these days." With a peck on your cheek, he's running towards his daughter and his dragon. 

"Don't forget Alysanne needs to bathe before dinner with your brother. She may be a dragon but she will not smell like one." You call them, laughing at your own words. 

"Yes ma'am." Daemon smiles at you before telling Caraxes to fly,just streaks of red melding into the blue sky above. 

Waiting for your family, you sit in your chambers, rubbing oils on your stretched belly while the water for Alysanne is being gathered by your maids.

Grabbing a book from Daemon's bedside table, you absently flip through the pages; glimpses of words and stories fly by along with the pages.

A creak of the door alerts you, bring you to your feet as you cover your stomach with the slits of your gown.

"Mommy! We flew so high!" Alysanne pushed the door open enough to slide between the wood, running to her mother's side, a severant boy coming in behind her with two buckets of hot water. Alysanne leans into your side as you take in the dirt covering her face.

"Oh, my little girl, what did they do to you? Did they roast you?" You giggle, tickling at her sides. The servant moved slowly beside you as he filled the white tub.

"No, I roasted them, mwah ha ha." She laughs, stomping and pretending to breathe fire as she runs around you in circles.

"Okay my dragon rider. It's time to bathe. Come on." She taps her daughter's shoulders, moving her towards the steaming bath. Looking towards the lingering servant, Y/N felt bad dismissing him but was cautious why he was staying so long.

"Thank you, sir. Your kindness won't be forgotten." You turn towards your child and still feeling the man in your room, pull the curtain around the tub closed, canceling your still clothed daughter. She was eerie of this man in their room, unsure what to think of him.

Slowly, he straightens to look you in the eye, a cold shiver runs through your body as you see the glint of a dagger in his hand. 

"No! Guards! Daemon!" You shout as the man lunges, knife pointed towards your belly. The man kept coming at you, backing you in the furthest corner away from your daughter, who peeked from the curtain. Moving to run around him, his arm grabbed you by the stomach and shoved you down. Flying backward, your head hits the ground, a loud crack echoing through your mind as you look around for a weapon. The man is stalking you while you try to move toward the bed across you. You knew Daemon kept a dagger under the left-hand side of the mattress. If you could just get to it, you could save your children's lives.

The sound of glass breaking stops you and your attacker, both looking toward the direction of the crash. The tub. 

A fear like no other took over you as the man started towards your daughter's hiding spot. Reaching for his legs, you try to pull him down, screaming but to no avail as he kicks you. One landing in your swollen belly, making black dots cloud your vision. Wetness trickles down the side of your face, but you keep dragging yourself behind this man, desperate to stop him from hurting your child. 

Using the table nearest, you pull yourself up and grab Daemon's letter opener. This man would not leave this room alive; you'd make sure of it even if you died trying. The man throws open the curtain but pauses. Creeping behind him, you see Alysanne isn't behind the curtain anymore. 

"Where is she?" The man asked himself. He turns, locking eyes with you before grabbing you by your hair and pulling you to your knees. "I said," Where is she? You dumb bitch!" He goes to smack you but stops as you shove the letter opener into his hand. Letting you go, you drop back down before dragging yourself to your feet.

"You fucking cunt! I was going to let it be quick, but now you will watch me rape your little girl and slit her throat before I do the same to you." He spits, pulling the blade from his hand and coming at you. His words once would've made you cower and hide, but now light you up like a flame. A fire burned in you to keep going and fighting despite the pain radiating over your body.

"You won't lay a finger on her. Over my dead body." You knew this would be a fight you'd lose. You have no weapons, training, or husband to protect you. It was up to you to protect these children, and you would do it even if it killed you. The Man grabs at you again, but you slap, scratch, and claw at his face this time. His hands find their way around your throat while yours dig into his eyes, a gut-wrenching scream comes from the man as he yanks away from you, but you don't stop. Lunging at him, you push his body against the tub, hitting his head before you wail on his chest, tears flowing down your face as the man beneath you go limp.

A scream of frustration leaves your throat raw as the adrenaline leaves your body. 

"Alysanne? It's okay to come out now, darling. It's okay." Your thoughts cleared. Where is your daughter? Stumbling off the man, you pull yourself up and turn, trying to find your daughter, when suddenly she slides from under the bed, rushing to your side. 

"M-mommy! I thought, I thought he was-" 

"Shh, it's okay now. Everything is going to be okay." You hold her to your chest, trying to soothe your nerves. The door swings open to your relief, and Daemon rushes in, sword drawn with the Gold Cloaks rushing in behind him.

"What happened? Are you okay? Alysanne? The baby?" Daemon's questions shoot at you, each before the words can find you. Staring up at him, blood smeared across your face, bruises forming, and tears filling your eyes. Daemon has never seen you like this and never plans to again.

"Mommy killed the bad guy. He tried to hurt us, but she saved us!" Your daughter summarizes to her father, who turns to his wife, shocked, before pulling her and her daughter into his arms, kissing each other on their foreheads. He always thought she lacked the fire a Targaryen has. But at every turn, she has proved him wrong. Not only did she give him a dragon and another coming, but she became one in the process.

[suckerfordylansstuff]

New Journey (S.H.) Chapter 5 Season 4

Pairing: Steve Harrington x henderson!reader

Summary: Back to Hawkins for spring break. Y/n believed it would just be a quiet time to cherish with her loved ones, but one day in and another mess had already began.

Warnings: cursing

Notes: This chapter is slightly longer than the rest because I realized this season is going to be like... idk 15 chapters by the time I finish, so... yeah. Getting closer to the action so excited for you to see that. Enjoy this chapter and stay safe!💕

Chapter 4 << Masterlist >> Chapter 6

You arrived at Hawkins High quickly, rushing to get inside and find the rest. When you spotted Steve and the kids, you felt relief to see them alive. But that feeling was quickly replaced by dread as Steve was over Max who was lying on the floor.

“It was here. Right here.” the redhead explained to you after she got off the ground and calmed herself down. She was looking forward to a wall in front of you, searching for something that clearly wasn’t there.

“A grandfather clock?” Nancy asked.

“It was so real. And then, when I got closer, suddenly I just… I woke up.”

“It was like she was in a trance or something. Exactly what Eddie said happened to Chrissy.” Dustin’s face was filled with worry, even though he wanted to mask it. Hearing his words made you all imagine the worst about your dear friend.

“Fred and Chrissy, they both came to Miss Kelley for help. Uh, they both were having headaches, bad headaches that wouldn’t go away. And then… then the nightmares. Trouble sleeping. They’d wake up in a cold sweat. And then they started seeing things. Bad things. From their pasts. And these visions, they just… they kept on getting worse and worse, until eventually… everything ended.” Max explained to you and the girls who had missed their part of the plan.

“Vecna’s curse.” Robin stated.

“Chrissy’s headaches started a week ago. Fred’s six days ago. I’ve been having them for five days. I don’t know how long I have.” you immediately opened your mouth to argue but Max shot her hand up, stopping you before moving on “All I know is that, for Fred and Chrissy, they both died less than 24 hours after their first vision. And I just saw that goddamn clock, so… looks like I’m gonna die tomorrow.”

Before any of you could say anything, clanging began echoing through the halls. You tensed up and looked at Steve to see his next move. His eyes fell on you and without hesitation took the responsibility in his shoulders.

“Stay here.” he told all of you before picking up a lamp that was next to him, leaving the room and you behind. You knew that he was never scared to confront anything that came your way, but he also knew that none of you ever listened to him, so it was a matter of time before he heard footsteps following him.

You were right behind him, ready to assist him in any way possible. You focused on the noises, the sound of footsteps coming closer and closer to you. Steve lifted his arms and the lamp, ready to strike when he saw the intruder round the corner you were in. However, a yelp fell from your mouth the moment you saw the face before you was a familiar one. Luckily, Steve’s reflexes were quick so he stopped his movement before he could hit Lucas, who started screaming along with the rest of you.

“It’s me!” the poor boy exclaimed, his voice heavy as he panted.

“Lucas?” Nancy asked out of pure confusion.

“It’s me!”

“Jesus. What’s wrong with you, Sinclair?” Steve yelled at the kid.

“I’m sorry.” Lucas exhaled deeply, trying to find his breath.

“I could’ve taken you out with this lamp.” your boyfriend cried out, clearly shaken up over this.

“Lucas, what are you doing here?” you asked, trying to find some answers to this whole mess. Why is he here? Did he follow you?

“I’m sorry, guys. Sorry. I was… I was biking for eight miles. Give me a second.” he held up his finger to you, as he took deep breaths in and out “Shit. We’ve got a code red.”

“What?” Steve asked, the lamp now on the floor next to him.

“Dustin.” Lucas walked up to your brother “I’ve been with Jason, Patrick, and Andy, and they’ve gone like totally off the rails. They’re trying to capture Eddie, and they think you know where he is. You’re in terrible danger.” your eyes opened wide at his words.

“All right, yeah, that- that definitely sucks, but we’ve got bigger problems than Jason right now.” Dustin looked over at Max, Lucas quickly following his eyes. You watched as the boy’s face fell and the realization hit him the moment he saw the girl he loved. Something was wrong and it was far bigger than Jason.

After last night’s crazy adventure, you returned back to safety but this time you spent the night at the Wheeler’s basement. It was kind of weird being here without Mike. You kept trying to reach out to the rest in California, but the line was always busy. Dustin blamed Joyce’s new job.

So, since you couldn’t find anyone else to help, you figured it was up to you to solve this mystery. Just like old times you thought.

Nancy and Robin had talked with you early in the morning about what they were planning on doing. You nodded as you listened to the plan “Your only job right now is to inform the rest about what we found. Easy peasy.” and sure, you would have agreed with Nancy’s statement if you weren’t dealing with three boys who share three brain cells.

“Okay, be honest. Uh… You guys understand any of this?”

“No.”

“Pretty straightforward.”

You were showing Steve, Lucas and Dustin, the newspaper article you had found at the library, and your brother, being the group’s, know-it-all decided to showcase his smarts to the rest who clearly weren’t having it, especially your boyfriend. He was pacing back and forth as he read the papers in his hands, while you were sat in the armchair, the kids on the sofa next to you.

“Oh, straightforward, really?” Steve asked Dustin impatiently.

“Well, what’s confusing to you? So far, everyone Vecna has cursed has died, except for this old Victor Creel dude Nancy found. He’s the only known survivor. If anyone knows how to beat this curse, it’s him.” Dustin explained as you sat and listened to their conversation, waiting for a moment to let you explain your findings.

“Yeah, that’s assuming he was cursed, Henderson, which we don’t even know. How can Vecna have existed back in the ‘50s? It doesn’t even make sense.” Steve said, mostly to himself as he scratched his head, trying to make sense of what you told him.

“As far as we know, Eleven didn’t create the Upside Down. She opened a gate to it. The Upside Down has probably been around for thousands of years. Millions. I wouldn’t be surprised if it predated the dinosaurs.”

“Dinosaurs? Okay, what are we-” Steve was ready to argue with him when Lucas’s voice cut him off.

“Okay, okay, but if a gate didn’t exist in the ‘50s, how did Vecna get through?”

“Oh, and how’s he getting through now?” Steve pointed at Lucas, continuing on the question.

“And why now?”

“And why then? Just pops out in the ‘50s, kills one family, and he’s like, ‘Eh, I’m good’. And poof, he just disappears. Just… gone? Only to return 30 years later and start killing some random teens? No, I don’t buy it. Have you guys thought of anything?” your eyes landed on Steve when you realized he was asking you something, but you were quick to turn down his hopes over an explanation.

“Not anything that you haven’t said right now. I mean, it makes sense that this is connected to the Upside Down, you can’t explain it any other way. But how is it connected? How he came into our world now and then is something we haven’t solved. I just- I don’t know…” you sighed and shrugged your shoulders, accepting defeat.

“See, Henderson, it’s 3 to 1. Straightforward, my ass. You know, honestly, a little humility every now and then, it wouldn’t hurt you.” your eyes followed Steve who moved to sit on the armchair opposite to you, pointing his finger at Dustin.

“Sorry.” he said, but you could tell he didn’t mean it.

Silence filled you for a moment before Dustin’s interest picked up again when his eyes fell on Max “Any idea what she’s writing?” you and the rest followed his eyes and watched the said girl, hunched over the desk in the basement, writing on papers without ever stopping “Did she sleep?”

“I mean… would you?” Lucas asked him.

Just then the door at the top of the stairs opened, revealing Nancy and Robin who had just returned after perfecting the plan you had come up with.

“Okay, so… We have a plan.” Nancy announced, passing to you the 2 folders she had on her hands. After checking out their work, you handed it to the rest of the group.

“Thanks to Nancy’s newspaper minions, we are now rock-star psychology students at the University of Notre Dame.” Robin started explaining enthusiastically. She was leaning on the staircase while Nancy sat on a stool next to her.

“I’m now Ruth.”

“And I’m Rose.” Nancy and Robin told you one by one.

“Ruth?” Steve questioned as he looked over one of the folders.

“Nice GPA.” Dustin started which made Nancy smile.

“Thanks. So, we called Pennhurst Asylum, told them we’d like to speak with Victor Creel for a thesis we’re co-writing on paranoid schizophrenics-”

“To which they said no.” Robin cut in, her words making you scoff.

“Can’t imagine why.”

“But we landed a 3 o’clock with the director.” Nancy informed you.

“Now all we have to do is charm him and convince him to let us talk to Victor.” Robin continued the plan.

“And then maybe we can rid Max of this curse.” your friend’s eyes fell on Max’s figure.

“Yeah, about that? We’ve been doing our Victor Creel homework, and, uh… we got some questions.”

“Lots of questions.” Lucas agreed with Steve’s statement, to which Nancy and Robin could only nod their heads to.

“So do we. Hopefully, Victor has the answers.”

“Wait, wait, wait a second.” Steve said immediately after Nancy stopped talking. Confusion had filled his face as he pointed between the two of you “Uh… Where’s ours?” he held up one of the folder’s, chuckling as if he missed a vital piece of information.

“Steve. We’re not going.” you explained to him as a matter of fact.

And with this simple sentence, chaos erupted. You were now following behind Steve, who was following Nancy to her room to get prepared for the plan, arguing about his place in the group.

“You guys are outta your mind if you think I’m babysitting again.” Steve’s voice was loud as you stepped inside Nancy’s room.

“We need to keep them safe. What don’t you understand about that?” you argued back, your hands on your hips. Nancy was ignoring the situation as she started searching her closet.

“I know, but why does it always have to be me?” his body was now facing you, throwing his hands around with exaggeration.

Suddenly Robin came through, which pulled your attention from the arguing “Oh my God, you have a Tom Cruise poster. You have a Tom Cruise poster.” her smile was sly and aimed at Nancy who immediately got flustered.

“That’s old. It’s just. Can you please not touch anything?” you shook your head, removing yourself from that conversation, and returned to the one that mattered to you.

“Steve, what is the problem? Please, just say what you’re thinking for once.” you pleaded him, and after a moment of stuttering he pulled his thoughts together.

“I just- I can’t- I can’t do anything here to actually help. Do you feel like you’re helping?”

“Max is in danger, Steve. There is no way she’s staying here alone without an adult to help her. You don’t think that’s important?” you looked up at him. You knew you sounded like a mother scolding her child, but when he’s acting like a kid not getting his way, your behavior was called for.

“No, of course I do, but I do kind of want to get out into the field just once. You know maybe I can truly help with the asylum director. Maybe, like, turn on my charm.”

“Not the kind of charm we need.” Nancy interrupted you, which made Steve turn his head to her, a frown on his face.

“Ouch.”

“No, I just… I did a little digging last night, and it turns out this Dr. Hatch is a distinguished fellow of the American Psychiatric Association and a Harvard visiting scholar, okay? This is a lifelong student of the world, and if we’re gonna win him over, we’re gonna have to convince that him we are too. That like him, we are true academic scholars.”

“Holy shit. There’s a little ballerina in here.” Robin was once again in her own little world, making Steve scoff.

“Academic scholar? She’s giving you an academic scholar vibe? Yeah.” he said sarcastically making Nancy shrug her shoulders.

“Well, Y/n refused to join so we didn’t really have a choice.”

“You would have gone without me?” Steve whined at you.

“Did you miss the part where I said no?”

Before you could continue disagreeing, Nancy took your attention by holding up a pink dress she had pulled out of her closet “But it doesn’t matter because anyone will look the part with this…” the silence made Robin look up and stop her snooping when she realized the dress was meant for her.

“Oh, please, tell me that you’re joking?”

Steve had never felt more defeated as he sat on the couch, squished between Dustin and Lucas, trying to find something to focus on except for Max who was sitting right opposite of them, still writing.

“I know you guys are staring at me.”

“What? Sorry?”

“You said you needed something?”

“Just hanging out.”

“Yeah.”

You all told her at once, grabbing anything nearby to act as if she didn’t catch you staring at her. You busied yourself with a yo-yo that was lying on the floor.

“How do you think your eyes boring into the back of my head is protecting me from Vecna, I don’t know.” you could see from the corner of your eye that Max was now out of her sacred chair and was walking towards you, but you were still focused on the very tangled yo-yo on your hands “You can look at me now.”

You let out a breath, letting the yo-yo fall from your hands back on the floor and lifting your head to watch her from your seat on the armchair.

“For you. For you. For you. For you, and, um, you.” you frowned when she began handing each of you letters “Oh, and, um, give these to Mike, El, and Will. If you can ever get a hold of them again.” she handed the rest to Lucas. You stole a glance at the guys and began opening the letter when Max’s voice stopped you “Hey what are you doing? No, don’t. That’s not for now. Don’t open it now.”

You lifted your hands up as if you surrendered to her demands when Dustin spoke up, asking the very thing you were all thinking “Don’t. Okay. I’m sorry. What is this?”

“It’s, um… It’s a fail-safe. For after… You know if things don’t work out.” your mouth fell open after hearing her words, your defense, or better denial, walls lifted up.

“What? Max, no.” you shook your head.

“Things are gonna work out.” Lucas tried to reassure her as well, but you quickly realized that this wasn’t what she was looking for.

“No! No, I don’t need you to reassure me right now and tell me it’s all gonna work out, because people have been telling me that my entire life and it’s almost never true. I mean, of course this asshole curses me. Should’ve seen that one coming.”

You teared up at her words, because even if you didn’t want to believe it, even if you knew all of you would do anything in your power to help her and keep her safe, the Upside Down was cruel, never showing mercy. You feared that her words were true and her fate was sealed, but till anything happened you were okay with being in denial. Just for a moment.

Max’s gaze traveled along the basement, finally landing on one of the radios on the table. She grabbed it and turned to ask Dustin a question “If we go to East Hawkins, will this reach Pennhurst?”

“Of course. Yeah.”

“Wait, why are we talking about East Hawkins?” you waited for an answer to come after Steve’s question, but instead of words, Max responded with a look on her face that made you incredibly anxious “No. No. No!”

“Max, we’re not going anywhere.” you stood up, trying to stop the kids from getting ready, but before you knew it you were running after Max who had walked out the basement door and headed straight for Steve’s car.

“Max! Max. Seriously. Seriously, we’re not joking, okay? I’m not driving you anywhere.” Steve’s tone was firm, but Max’s was firmer.

“If you two think I’m going to spend what is likely the last day of my life in the armpit that is Mike Wheeler’s basement, then you’re out of your minds. So, either take me where I need to go or you’re gonna have to tie me down, which is technically kidnapping of a minor. And if I live to see another day, Steve, Y/N, I swear to God, I will prosecute.” she failed to open the car door, which made her even more frustrated “Open the door.”

“Uh, no.” Steve was assertive. You, not so much.

“I know a good lawyer.” Max glared at you. She knew you were the easy one to crack, especially when deep down you knew she was right.

“Open the car.” you told Steve, making him whip his head to stare at you.

“Y/n?”

“She scares me.” you explained and nodded towards the car, silently telling him to open it. He looked into your eyes for a second before sighing and doing as he was told.

“Henderson, that super walkie of yours better reach Pennhurst.” you got inside after he unlocked the car and placed yourself in the passenger’s seat “And you’re wondering why I wanted to go on team Pennhurst. If I’m gonna be bossed around, I would prefer it not be kids doing it.” Steve was mumbling under his breath, his words winning a chuckle out of you.

“Drive.” Max demanded.

“Fine!”

The first stop you made was to her and her mom’s trailer. It was easy to get there now since all the cop cars, ambulances, and reporters had disappeared. You waited longer than you would have liked but when you were ready to go search for her, she appeared as if out of thin air, instructing you to start the car without any explanation as to what had happened or where you were now heading.

She just kept giving you the directions as you went along your way. By the time you had realized where she was taking you, you didn’t know if it was the right choice to come here, but if this was what she felt she needed, then it was the correct one.

“I feel like I’m gonna throw up just sitting here.”

Just because it was the right choice didn’t mean it was easy for any of you. You couldn’t even imagine how Max was feeling.

“Yeah, me too. It’s been long enough.” Steve agreed with you, already taking off along with you to check on her.

“Please, just give her some time.” Lucas told you, but you wouldn’t listen, worry taking control over your body.

“I have, all right, Sinclair? I’m calling it. She wants to get a lawyer, she can.” Steve answered for the both of you.

As you walked up the mill, you began calling out for her “Max? Sweetheart, is everything okay?”

“Time to giddy up, Max, yeah?” you crouched before Max, Steve’s body a little behind you. He stood there waiting for a response from the redhead, but all he got was a gasp and a cry for help coming out of your mouth.

Vecna had Max.

That’s all you could think about. Panic filled you as you and Steve tried to snap her out of the trance he had put her in. Watching Max’s still body and her blank eyes made your insides do flips.

Steve eventually calls out for the kids to come and help. After seeing that shaking your friend’s body is unhelpful, you tell Dustin to go and quickly call Nancy and Robin, to see if they have found anything useful.

It wasn’t long before your brother returned, carrying something in his arms. He let the stuff fall to the ground, in front of Max. It was then that you realized he had brought you Max’s Walkman and some of her music.

“What is this?” Lucas questioned, unable to guess how this would help at all.

“Her song. What’s her favorite song?” Dustin asked him, his voice raised.

“Why? Why?”

“Robin said if- if she listens- It’s too much to explain right now. What’s her favorite song?” Dustin was yelling at this point, making your brain go blank.

“It’s here. It’s right here! I got it!” luckily Lucas found the tape, and passed it to Steve, who put it in her Walkman. You placed the headphones on her head and signaled for Dustin to hit play.

You waited for something to happen but still tried calling out to her. However, when her body began lifting up in the air, you all lost your voices. You stood up, your eyes never leaving her levitating body. You yelled out her name again and again, desperately trying to wake her up.

After feeling like you were screaming for an eternity, Max’s body surrendered to gravity and fell to the ground, quickly coming out of the trance scared and panicked. Lucas took her into his arms to calm her down.

“Hey, Dustin, this is Eddie the Banished. You there? Dustin, can you hear me? Dustin?”

Your eyes fluttered open when a voice interrupted your slumber. You lifted your head up, trying to focus on the voice. You were sleeping uncomfortably on one of the armchairs, while Steve was sleeping even more uncomfortably on the floor next to you, his back supported by the armchair.

It wasn't hard to let sleep take over you after the eventful day you had yesterday, but the sleep felt short, so you were cursing the person who was right now interrupting your one moment of calm.

“Earth to Dustin.” you looked around the room to locate the noise and when you realized it was coming out of the walkie-talkie, you rushed forward to answer Eddie, careful to not knock Steve’s head.

“Yeah, Eddie, it’s Y/n.” your voice was harsh, so you slightly coughed to get it back to normal.

“The other Henderson! Hey. Um, I’m gonna need a food delivery, like, really soon, unless you want me going out into the world.” Eddie told you but you shook your head at his words.

“No. No, no, no. Don’t do that. Stay there, and we’ll come as fast as we can.” you heard a groan from your right and you looked over to see Nancy waking up due to your talking. You gave her a quick smile before focusing back on Eddie’s voice.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Listen, um… can you pick me up a six-pack? I know, it’s stupid as shit, drinking right now, but uh… cold beer would really calm my jangled nerves.”

You opened your mouth to agree with his request, but Nancy spoke up, catching your attention “Hey. Where’s Max?” your head whipped around to look at the couch Max was supposed to be sleeping on, finding it empty.

“Sure, um… I have to go…” you turned the radio off and shook your brother’s body.

“Dustin!” the boy just groaned “Wake up.”

“What?” Dustin asked, his whole body jerking him awake. In the process, his head rolled back and hit the TV making him groan again. You rolled your eyes, Nancy taking the detective role.

“Aren’t you supposed to be on Max watch?”

“Yep. Yep, yep, yep. Sorry.” Dustin rubbed his eyes, forcing himself to wake up.

“Okay, well- Then where is she?” you questioned.

“She’s right there.” Dustin answered quickly, for a moment thinking you were dumb for not seeing that Max was right there, but his eyes widened when he saw the makeshift bed empty, realizing he had screwed up “A second ago. I swear, I just dozed off for…” he checked his watched and cringed “… an hour.”

“Shit.” you exclaimed and got up to look for Max. Nancy followed behind you. Your first thought was to get out of the basement and search the entire house. Luckily you didn’t have to get more stressed, because when you entered the kitchen you saw that Max was as safe and sound as she could be at the Wheeler’s residence, sitting with Holly at the kitchen table, drawing.

“Morning, girls. Everything okay?” Karen, Nancy’s mom, asked you. She had the sweetest smile on her face. You nodded your head at her question even though it was a lie.

“Yeah. Yeah, everything’s okay.” Nancy answered her mother. Dustin was now with you after exiting the basement, looking at the breakfast Karen had prepared.

“I think it’s so sweet that you guys are sticking together like this.” the woman told you, but your attention was focused on Max who had just noticed you.

“Could try sticking together at a different house for a change.” you ignored Mr. Wheeler’s snide comment and headed over to the table, sitting opposite Max and next to Nancy.

“Hey.” the girl said after removing the headphones from her ears.

“Hi. You okay?” you asked with a soft voice.

“Just couldn’t sleep. People kept blasting music in my ears for some reason.” you both chuckled a little at her joke “But Holly let me borrow some of her crayons. We’ve been having fun, right, Holly?” the little girl hummed but was clearly not paying a lot of attention to the three of you, focusing on her own toy.

“Is this… what you saw last night?” Nancy pointed at the red drawings filling the wooden table.

“I mean, it’s supposed to be. I thought it’d be easier to draw it out than to explain it, but… not so much.”

“Is that?” Nancy couldn’t finish the question, just took the drawing in her hands. You leaned over to take a look, your eyes widening when you realized who she had drawn.

“It was like they were on display or something.” the girl could not shake the memory from her mind, seeing Chrissy and Fred’s bodies like this was unforgettable “And then there was this red fog everywhere. It was like a dream. A nightmare.” Max explained, her eyes almost distant.

“Do you think it was on purpose? Trying to scare you?” you asked her.

“With Billy? Yeah. But when I made it here… I dunno, something was different. He seemed surprised, almost.” you took a glance to your left and saw Dustin sit next to you, his plate filled with pancakes “Like he didn’t want me there.”

“Maybe you infiltrated his mind. He invaded your mind, right? Is it that big of a leap to suggest you somehow wound up in his? Like Freddie Krueger’s boiler room.” Dustin suggested and Holly’s head lifted up, his words catching her attention.

“Freddie Krueger?” the small girl questioned.

“He’s a super burned-up dude with razors for fingers. And he kills you in your dreams.” Dustin told her like it was not a big deal to say something like that to a girl.

“Dustin! Seriously?” Nancy told your brother who, after taking a look at your scolding face, realized that what he had said was wrong.

“Sorry. It’s a movie. It’s not real.” he said to Holly and quickly got back into the matter at hand “Just… think about it. What if you somehow unlocked a backdoor to Vecna’s world? Like, maybe the answer we’re looking for is…” he took one of the drawings in his hands “…somewhere in this incredibly vague drawing. God, we need Will.”

“Yeah, no shit. But I tried them all this morning and it’s the same usual busy signal.” Max complained.

Dustin placed down the paper he had grabbed and your eyes landed on it while the rest talked. Something about it felt familiar to you, and when you realized how, a gasp fell from your lips.

“Nancy?” the girl hummed at the mention of her name “Doesn’t this look like…” your finger pointed at the sketch. Nancy grabbed the paper when she saw it.

“Is this a window?” she asked Max, who nodded.

“Yeah.”

“Stained glass with roses.” you told Nancy, the gears already turning in her head.

“Yeah. See? I’m not so terrible after all.” Max said.

“Yeah, well, it helps that we’ve seen it before.” Nancy began aligning the papers to make out the image you had in your heads. She took one of the markers from the table and lined out the outlines of the house that had formed from the drawings.

“It’s pieces of a house.” Max said in realization.

“Not just any house. It’s Victor Creel’s house.” you looked at them, your words widening their eyes.

You stole a glance at Nancy, before you both got up from your seats.

“Where are you going?” Dustin asked Nancy, his mouth full of pancakes.

“Waking the others.” Nancy answered him.

You made your way back to the basement, your first stop being Steve.

“Get up. Get up. Get up.” you shook his shoulder. A groan left his lips.

“Just five more minutes.” he tried to sway your hand away, but you continued to shake him.

“Now.”

He recognized the seriousness in your voice so he opened his eyes, even if the light hurt them “Hey, what’s the matter?”

“We have a lead, so we need to go. Now!”

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[justalonelyslytherin]

Happy Father's Day - Lloyd Hansen

Pairing: Lloyd Hansen x female Reader

Warnings: cursing, violence, gun handling and shooting, death, blood, insinuation/mention of hurting and/or killing a child

Wordcount: 3.9k

If you enjoyed reading this, please consider leaving a comment or reblogging. I don’t allow for my content to be copied, translated, or reposted on other websites/apps. Please don’t steal my work.

A/N: Another one of the longer ones in this series. Writing Lloyd was so much fun. And I really enjoyed this scenario and the open end, if Reader and Lloyd will get along or not. Part of the ‘Happy Father’s Day’ series. Dividers by the fantastic @/firefly-graphics

Footsteps echoed through the empty hall, drawing nearer until the door swung open. A figure walked into the office.

“You are late.” 

Carmichael, who had been sitting in his chair and watching the arriving car through the dimmed window, turned around.

“Yeah well, I didn’t want to be here.”

“It’ll be worth your expenditure.”

“You better be paying me good for this. Summoning me here, you are becoming flamboyant. I could be otherwise entertained.”

“As always. You should know better of me.” Carmichael pursed his lips, glancing at the other man over his glasses. “This one is a special mission.”

“Are you finally getting rid of Susan, that frigid bitch?”

“No. But similar. I wanted to see your reaction myself.”

“And once you're finished we’ll have a drink together. Like the good old times.”

Lloyd raised an eyebrow as Carmichael opened a drawer. Withdrawing the file in an exaggerated motion, he held it in the air. It was inconspicuous. Like any other file the CIA used on their targets.

With a heavy thud it landed on the dark wooden desk, the noise reverberated through the dim office. Licking his lips and cocking his hip out, Lloyd took a lazy step forward. He swiped the file up in one smooth motion. Opening it, he was greeted with a picture. 

Lloyd’s grip tightened around the file, the etches crinkling. His jaw ticked, square, and ready to snap as he eyed the contents.

“Her?” He asked after a tense, long silence. 

“Her,” Carmichael confirmed. He leaned forward in his seat, elbows placed on the edge of the desk, “I want her disposed of.”

“Any particular reason?” Lloyd lilted lazily, eyes dragging over the file towards the other man. He didn’t need to read the print, he had committed it to memory a long time ago.

“None that should matter to you. I thought you might like to do it yourself. Since you two have…history.”

Huffing he let the file drop onto the desk, the smack reverberated through the office. A devilish, hungry grin spread over Lloyd’s lips. 

“It’ll be my pleasure.”

Today had felt like an ordinary day to her, but if she knew one thing it was that there were no ordinary days. 

There were quiet days and then there were hectic days. There were days when everything went according to plan and days when everything went wrong. There were days in which she’d been safe and days in which she’d nearly died.

The latter ones were now few and far between. Once it was her day-to-day, her nine-to-five. It was behind her now for most of it.

But as a seasoned agent, she should have known nothing ever truly stayed gone and that especially as someone in the intelligence industry there was no such simple thing as retirement. 

Dying was your retirement.

The house was quiet when she arrived home. Something wasn’t right. It felt deadly quiet, not even the usual noise from the neighbors or cars passing over the street was there. It was too quiet. 

Her days in the field might have laid behind her but her instincts were still as sharp. And so was her habit of still carrying a weapon with her at all times. As silently as she could, she put her purse beside the front door, moving slowly and carefully. Squatting, she drew her gun from inside the bag.

The entryway was clear and so was the office she never used. When she walked through the living room, clearing it as well, gaze moving into the adjacent, open kitchen she froze. Halfway hidden behind the kitchen counter lay a body on the floor. Rosa. Her household help. Face down, in a puddle of her own blood, unmoving. 

Rushing over, there was nothing she still could have done for the nice lady she’d become friends with. She wasn’t long dead, body and blood felt warm.

Then she heard it. A creek. Snapping her head towards the ceiling she listened. When another creek sounded, she bounded to the stairs. Taking two steps at a time she rushed up. 

On the second level, she ignored most of the doors, bypassing clearing each room in favor of getting to the most important of it all. At the far end of the hallway was a cream-colored door, opened just a slit. A soft melody played, faintly echoing through the hallway. She’d closed that door just before she left the house.

The door swung open, barely stopping before it hit the wall as she barged in, gun drawn high. She pointed the barrel at the figure standing on the other side of the room, looming above a baby bed.

“Hands up where I can see them and step the fuck away from the cradle!” Her voice was firm but there was the hint of a shake looming close. 

The figure stayed relaxed, slowly raising his hands. There was a big gun in his right hand, making her grit her teeth as her heart dropped. Hopefully, she wasn’t too late already. Please, don’t let her be too late. Her grip around her gun tightened as the person turned around. 

Shock coursed through her, almost making her forget what was going on. Almost.

“Lloyd.” 

He grinned at her, “Hello Sunshine.”

The pet name rolled off his tongue so smoothly as if not a single day had gone by. It didn’t trick her, it was a farce and so she kept her guard up and the gun centered on his chest. Not that Lloyd could have cared for any of it. That grin, that split his lips and pulled at his mustache mocked her together with the glint in his eyes. The amusement was highly evident on his face.

“You sneaky little thing, aren’t you?” He made a show of trailing his gaze through the room before he continued, “A safe house – that’s not so safe anymore – and a baby?” 

His laugh made her skin crawl. 

“I didn’t peg you for the chick that would let herself get stuck with a brat,” he taunted and she rolled her eyes. “Although I would have enjoyed being the one to fuck one into you.”

“Step away from her,” she demanded, unreactive to his jabs. He wanted to provoke her but she wouldn’t grant him that pleasure. 

Lloyd looked behind him toward the crib in which her baby was peacefully sleeping. “And what if I don’t? You shoot me? Shoot in the direction of your darling?” Her eyes flickered to the crib behind him, just for a moment. Enough to confirm he was right. She wouldn’t. She couldn’t.

“As I thought,” he hummed, slowly putting his hands down. 

She’d just lost her advantage, her threat. The gun in her hands was useless if she couldn’t – wouldn’t – use it to actually shoot him. It was just a show and he could do and please how he wanted without her being able to prevent it.

“I have to give you that: She is cute as a bug.” Her heart nearly gave out as Lloyd turned around again and leaned over the crib. He was reaching down, his fingers running over the baby's smooth dark hair and soft cheek. As his pinky ring graced her cheek, the cold sensation of the metal on her skin made her frown. It caused his lip to quip upward. 

With his other hand – the one holding the large gun – he leaned down too. The nose of the gun softly traced along her little tummy. 

It made her breath hitch, instinctively she took a step forward. A mistake as Lloyd’s head cocked back at her. There was enjoyment glinting in his eyes. He loved games like this, toying with people’s emotions, but most of all with their fear.

“Oh look at you, all momma-bear. Am I driving you crazy with concern huh?” He was having the time of his life.

“What will you do?” he wanted to know, taunting once more, “I could shoot her right now and you wouldn’t be able to stop me.” 

He was right. She wouldn’t be able to cross the room fast enough to prevent him from pulling the trigger or ripping the gun up and away from her child.

“Step away from her,” she demanded, voice shaking with equal amounts of rage and concern. It was an empty demand. What threat did she have against him? What options to stop him? Her words made him laugh.

“Give me one good reason why I should do that instead of pulling my trigger right now?”

“Because she is yours.”

Lloyd raised an eyebrow, beneath his long lashes his eyes dilated in surprise but also in glee. Once more he started laughing. A full belly laugh this time. So much he had to wipe away tears pooling at the corners of his eyes.

“That’s a good one, sunshine.” But she stayed unwaveringly serious. Lloyd eyed that as well. Straightening up he took in the sleeping baby closely.

“Oh, are you serious?” The amusement was still there but now there was a hint of seriousness in his tone as well. 

“Her?” He pointed towards the cradle. “Mine?”

Reluctantly she nodded. There was a brief moment in which Lloyd turned solemnly serious, a moment in which he seemed to contemplate it all. Then his face twisted in rage. In a split second, he lunged at her.

She was slammed to the floor, him above her as her gun skidded over the ground, out of her reach. His hands wrapped around her throat, strong hands unrelenting. The air was pushed out of her lungs as he choked her. Wrapping her hands around his forearms, she tried to stop him but there was no point. He was too strong.

“You little bitch.” Lloyd was seething. Spitting as he looked at her like an animal gone wild. “You are enjoying this aren’t you?”

“Greedy little slut, took everything you could get your hands on, didn’t you? Even a baby!” Her mind was reeling, both from the lack of oxygen and his words. They didn’t make sense. She hadn’t taken anything from him. It wasn’t like she had tried to get him to knock her up and then vanish.

Even with the blood rushing in her ears and the black rims growing at the edges of her vision she couldn’t get his hands off her. But maybe getting his hands off her neck wasn’t what she should focus on. With what quickly draining strength she had still left in her, she started squirming under him. 

She couldn’t die right now. Not like this. There was no way in hell she would leave her daughter to Lloyd’s mercy. 

“You are a twisted, backstabbing–” Mustering enough strength she managed to kick him in the balls, hard enough to sway him for a moment. It was only a short moment but it was enough to kick him off her and send him to the side.

She coughed and wheezed, greedily sucking in as much air as she could. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed him sit up, brushing a hand over his mouth. It came away with a streak of blood.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” She wheezed, turning to her side, all the while her eyes roamed through the room, looking for her gun. 

“You were the reason the CIA kicked me out! Not that I would have enjoyed being in that constringent shithole with their stupid rules. I’m much freer where I am now but that doesn’t change the fact you betrayed me!” 

What?

“I didn’t!” She watched him try to stand up and so she swiped her leg out, ripping his feet out from underneath him. He smacked against the floor as she continued, “I didn’t even know you were kicked out! No one would tell me anything about what happened. You were simply gone!”

“Liar,” he roared, looking at her with rage. Seeing his rage was nothing new, but this was the first time it was focused on her.

“I thought you were dead!”, she roared back, “It took me weeks with no success until I found out– … until I found out I was pregnant. Only when I went to Fitzroy did he tell me you got kicked out.”

“Bullshit! Someone ratted me out! Who was it then?”

“Who? I'll tell you who! Your buddy, fucking, Carmichael!” 

There was a fire burning in Lloyds eyes and with newfound vigor, he pushed to his feet. Scrambling, she looked around the room, frantically trying to find her gun. She needed to reach her gun before Lloyd could reach his. 

“He never liked me, Lloyd. He always hated that I was by your side. That ass was always jealous of what we – you – had since college! He couldn’t stand that I was taking you away from him, don’t you understand?!” 

Lloyd had never seen the clear disdain with which Carmichael had regarded her. The poorly hidden hatred and animosity.

She’d stalled him long enough to locate her gun in the room, just as Lloyd had risen to his feet and centered his attention on his gun – much closer than hers. Their eyes crossed as a mutual realization set in. They had the same plan and they both needed to stop the other. There was a second in which neither one of them moved. Then, jumping around she scrambled for her gun. Nearly there, only millimeters from grasping it in her hand, her fingers brushing the cool plastic, a hand wrapped around her ankle. With a violent jerk, she was yanked back. Not without a fight. Her kicking was fruitless, Lloyd’s hand stayed around her foot like a vice. It was to no avail.

He was pulling her back until she lay under him and Lloyd pinned her to the ground with his knees and hands. His gun was pointed at her. The click of the bullet slipping into the barrel had her deflate. 

All the fight rapidly left as she realized: she’d lost.

“Don’t kill her,” she whispered, eyes dimmed in grief. She pleaded with him, “Don’t punish her for what you believe me to have done.” In a violent lurch her face whipped to the side, the sound of his backhanded slap echoing in her ears. The metallic taste of blood spread in her mouth. 

It didn’t stop her from continuing, “Look after her.

At least find her a safe place with a new family if you don’t want her.”

This raging fire kept burning in his eyes as Lloyd centered the barrel of his gun to her forehead. Cold metal touched her skin, creating a burning halo. She wouldn’t close her eyes. No, she chose to keep looking into his, waiting for her inevitable end.

When the trigger got pulled, the shot rang out loudly above her but the bullet never hit. 

No longer was the gun pointed at her but at the door, she’d burst through not long ago. Ripping her eyes away from the gun, she focused back on Lloyd. He was already looking down at her, his jaw clenched and lips pursed.

Behind them – in the cradle – their baby started to wail.

In his hands, Carmichael held a couple of pictures. A drone shot from a burned-down house. Multiple from the burned-down interior of said house. And one of a corpse burned so badly she was unrecognizable.

The door to his office opened up without premonition.

“Well done.” Putting the pictures down the man with the glasses looked up.

“How did it feel?” “Satisfying,” Lloyd mused, hands loosely clasped behind his back as he whipped on his feet. 

“So the bitch got what she deserved.” Carmichael looked pleased, a sly grin formed on his usually composed and unhappy-looking face. “You know I never trusted her. Always knew there was something off with her.”

“She was a rotten apple from the beginning.” “Was she?” Lloyd asked with ease. “Why’d you never say something then?”

“I wanted you to have your fun with her. I thought that’s all she was to you anyway.” 

Nodding Lloyd hummed, “She was a pretty good fuck.” 

In the end, Carmichael stood up, walking towards a sideboard with glasses and a bottle of expensive alcohol. “Let’s drink to that.” He poured some into the two glasses, the trickle of the liquid sloshing the only sound.

“A toast,” he said, turning around with the two glasses in his hand. One held out towards Lloyd, the other comfortably nestled in his own. “To the two of us. That no woman will ever be worthy to come between us.” 

Lloyd was now directly in front of him. Before he could register the thing shoved against his chest, the muffled sound of a shot rang out. The glasses toppled from his hands, their golden liquid soaked the carpet beneath his feet. He could only glance at the gun between them in shock. The gun Lloyd had aimed and fired at his chest. 

“The bitch is indeed getting what he deserves.”

Lloyd’s mustache quirked up, revealing the grin on his lips as Carmichael stumbled and slid down the sideboard. Sitting before him, the man's blood mixed with the carpet.

“You should have never come between me and her.” It was the last thing Lloyd whispered, watching as the light left the man's eyes.

Picking up one of the two glasses, Lloyd eyed the remains of the liquid in the crystal clear cup. He downed it in one swift gulp. 

“Happy Father’s Day to me.”

Outside the office, Carmichael’s men lay slumped over. Dead too. Lloyd stepped over them, wasting no glance back as he walked on. 

Behind the corner at the end of the hallway, a figure awaited. Fitzroy. The older man had his hands shoved into his pockets as he watched him approach. Both men looked at one another, unable to stand their opposite but still working together. An Exception.

“You better treat her right,” Fitzroy was serious, looking down on him with disdain. “Or I’ll come to get her and my granddaughter and you’ll be dead.”

The words didn’t impress Lloyd. It was a real threat. Fitzroy still had his trumps and his ways to win over Lloyd. 

Yet he calmly and dryly answered, “She isn’t your granddaughter.”

“No, but she is as good as.

I was the only one there for them, during the pregnancy and when she gave birth to that sweet little angel.”

It was a carefully calculated attack, the words meant to cut deep. Lloyd didn’t say anything to that. He walked past the man without another word. Outside a car waited for him already, driving away the moment he sat inside.

High-pitched coos and unintelligible babbling littered the air as she held her daughter in her arms softly swaying her from side to side. Her heart fluttered as she took in the chubby cheeks and long lashes. 

“We still have to get used to our new home, don’t we?” She mumbled against the soft tuft of hair dusted along her daughter’s head. Her little head couldn’t stop turning around, not nearly fast enough to follow her curious eyes. 

“It’s so big.” Her little one cooed in agreement, even though she likely couldn’t understand her yet. Taking in the huge room they were in, big still felt like an understatement. The improvised baby room looked anything but suited for a baby. The luxurious theme felt overpowering, just like the rest of the castle did. Adjusting from a comfortable little two-story house to a castle with rooms in the hundreds would take time.

“Who would have thought your dad would show up to join your life.”

There was still a part of her that didn’t want to believe it and a part of her that mistrusted Lloyd. Her lip and back still ached from the fight, the memories of him pointing his gun not only at her but at the baby and threatening to shoot fresh in her mind. Too fresh perhaps.

Lloyd had changed from wanting to kill her to wanting to protect her and their daughter in less than a minute. A split-second decision that otherwise would have found her with a bullet in the head and her daughter orphaned.

A noise from the outside alerted her. It drew her to the big window so they could watch what was happening outside. Together they eyed the black SUV drive over the gravel of the huge driveway, fast approaching the house. When the car stopped just before the entrance and Lloyd stepped out of the car, she sighed.

“Speaking of the devil,” muttering to her daughter, she pressed a kiss against her head. The baby coed once more and babbled happily in her arms. Clumsy little fingers gripped her sleeve.

“Sunshine! I’m back!”

Not a moment later Lloyd’s loud voice boomed through the house. One might think that with its size his voice would get drowned out. It didn’t take him long to reach the room and push the door open. Once his eyes settled on the two of them, still close to the window a grin appeared on his face.

“There they are!” Striding over he stopped shortly in front of them as his eyes settled on the toddler. 

“Bug.” She rolled her eyes at his newly proclaimed nickname for his daughter. Her eyes followed his hands, reaching out and demanding to hold the baby. For a moment she hesitated to pass her over. Lloyd’s eyes jumped to her, narrowing slightly but ultimately he dropped his hands to his side.

Not for long. Just as quickly as he had folded his hands found her waist. Rather forcefully she was turned around, gazing back out of the window.

“You’ll start to trust me again.” His voice murmured into her ear as Lloyd settled behind her, his arms wrapped around her waist. Her back was pressed against his front. Resting his chin against her shoulder, he nosed along her neck, whispering more words into her ear.

“And maybe by the next Father’s Day, I’ve fucked another one into you already.”

She scoffed, lips twitching upward in a smile as she glanced back at him, “In your dreams. How about you learn to handle your existing daughter first. She’s already got your temper when she is tired and cranky, by that time next year she’ll likely have reached the terrible twos.”

BONUS:

“If I find out you lied to me,” Lloyd threatened as he stood up, still looking down at her. He nodded towards his gun.

“Why would I?” Scoffing, she too slowly sat up and wiped away the blood from her mouth. “I would have never betrayed you, I loved you.”

Something in the way he laughed so dryly deeply hurt her. Her eyes were turned downwards as she got up. When she stood in front of him, face to face, her expression remained unchanged and just as solemn.

“You are serious?”

“Is it so hard to believe? My future was yours.”

She was about to breeze past him and towards the cradle, towards her crying daughter when he stopped her. His hand wrapped around her biceps.

“Looks like you are getting what you wanted in the end,” he rumbled into her ear. Then he dropped his hand. “Calm her down, take whatever you need for her, and be done with it in five minutes.” 

He didn’t leave the room while she did so, hovering beside the door with his arms crossed, holding onto the gun as he watched.

[wifeofsnowbaird]

You Can't, You Can't Catch me Now I'm coming like storm into your town

Part 1/Part 2/Part 3/rest on Masterlist

[Mentor!Coriolanus Snow x time-travel, thg-era, tribute!reader x toxic!Finnick Odair (in the Peacekeeper era)]

Warning: gore, blood, gun and knife violence, serious injury, death, physical assult, possibly non-con...as I said, maybe...

Summary: You are a rebel, the last chance of the rebellion against President Snow. You're told to go on one last mission to kill the man who massacred Panem. It took you years to understand your mission when you became [name] Lily Baird, starting from the age of five till before the reaping day of the 10th Hunger Games.

The day you began your plan to destroy President Snow before he became the villain he was meant to become.

'Both sisters, Lucy Gray and [Name] Lily Baird are a part of the Covey, and though they have been chosen as tribute for both District 12 and 9 because of our own mistakes, we hope they will stay safe.'

You knew about [Name] Lily Baird, named after her because your mother was inspired by her fiery personality and strength, but now you realize that you were transported to a time before the Baird sisters died, one of sickness and one because of Coriolanus Snow himself.

'I will kill you, President Coriolanus Snow.'

[bolded and italics is parts straight from the book]

As the world died, you stood still, seeing nothing but the burnt hospital where Katniss announced the rebellion. 

A scream caught your eye and that’s when you noticed that Lucy was beside you, perfectly lost in the chaos, but the scream came from the boy you think could be changed into a person who loved Panem and wanted to do what was good for all citizens.

Struck with silence, you felt a slow rush of smoke flutter through you but it felt like your lover.

Your Finnick.

‘[Name] Lily…Please…’

Coriolanus didn’t have the strength left to scream and cry like the other people surrounding them but his voice sounded broken, so different from his determined echo singing the National Anthem of Panem.

You helped him, but you felt tense because of the look on his face.

It reminded you of, 

‘Finnick, my…F-’

‘Who’s Finnick?’

You ignored Coryo’s freezing tone to say your love’s name in a calm chant. You felt woozy like you were drunk on Posca.

‘Finnick Odair, from District 4…I loved him with my heart until I had to leave him to save the Districts from the President…’

Coryo hummed as you slowly passed out and lost his balance because of his injured arm.

'Don't worry, [Name]. Help is coming...' But the help was for him, and they bashed a gun into your stomach, forcing you to cough up blood. Unfortunately, He was dragged away by the medics, but he yelled your name as you were taken from him,

‘[Name]! Don’t hurt her! Please!’

they ignored him, and he had one thought in his mind before he fainted.

‘I’m glad you left him, he doesn’t deserve you, that poor District boy. [Name] Lily Baird, you are a diamond bought by the future President of Panem, Coriolanus Snow, from a poor beggar.'

Finnick Odair.

But never forget, your Coryo won't overlook that name until Odair dies.

He woke up on a pure white mattress with soft sheets thrown onto his lean frame. 

‘Hi, Coryo. It’s us.’

Tigris smiled at him, checking his body for injuries the doctors hadn’t seen. Coriolanus hissed as a wound on his back started to sting, but still, he formed a small grin and faced his cousin and Grandma’am.

‘Hey, you missed bomb time…’

Tigris chuckled before frowning at the bandages wrapped around him.

‘Turns out that’s worse,’ she mumbled, ‘Knowing that you were there and I wasn’t.’

Coriolanus’ gaze faltered before he could reassure her that he was glad she was far from the Arena.

‘I’m glad that I’m not alone, and I’m glad that you’re safe and sound.’ He whispered, finally glancing back toward the blond-haired woman.

Tigris’ eyes teared up before clearing her throat and motioning to his scars to ask about what happened.

‘[Name] saved me…But she was hurt in the process…’

Tigris laughed before she could stop herself.

‘Well aren’t I glad!’

Grandma’am didn’t quite believe him until he gave a quick timeline of events.

‘Well, that does show some character, she seems like she wants to be a sweet capital girl. I applaud her personality.’ 

It was high praise for a District girl coming from a capital lady.

Especially from the woman who believed that all District breeds should be maids.

His grandma’am eventually shuffled over to him again when he lied down and took in a large breath.

‘I wonder if Clemensia felt this way when she was bitten by Dr.Gaul’s snakes.’ Was what haunted his mind.

After a bit of questioning, Coriolanus finally dared to ask what had to [Name] Lily. Tigris shrugged and only said that she wasn’t on the list of dead tributes before they settled into a deep silence.

Sejanus was silent, sitting on his couch while the news of dead tributes played over and over again. The male tribute from District 12, both tributes from 1, the girl tribute from 2, and the male tribute from 9 had died. Luckily, neither of the Baird sisters had died, well, lucky for him and Coryo, he supposed.

‘Sejanus, eat something, you could have been seriously hurt!’ His ma yelled.

Sejanus hummed, but his gaze never moved from the television, watching a brave brown-haired girl running through the camera’s vision.

It was hours after Coriolanus had awoken, and Grandma’am was busy complaining about how proud the Districts should be while watching the bombing.

‘But they say hardly anyone there saw it, Grandma’am.’ Tigris snorted. ‘You know they despise watching it.’

‘It won’t take a while for them to find out.’ Grandma’am clarified. ‘It’s the type of story that catches fire.’

The world had caught fire before your eyes and all it reminded you of, just like during the bombing, was the speech Katniss yelled out to President Snow during the 75th Hunger Games.

‘You can torture us and bomb us and burn our districts to the ground. But do you see that? Fire is catching... And if we burn... you burn with us!’

‘[Name], are you sure you’re okay?’

You smiled at your sister but you knew that wouldn’t quell her worries at all.

‘I promise, I’m fine, I’m just a bit shaken up.’

Lucy Gray nodded before staring into the cold alley where they kept all of the tributes that hadn’t died.

‘I’m happy that you’re okay.’

‘I’m glad you’re okay too, Lucy…’ You mumbled before embracing her in a warm hug.

The doctor who had entered to check up on Coriolanus was coincidentally the doctor he’d seen after the snake attack, Dr.Wane.

He reassured the Snows that Coriolanus was fine and had a mild concussion but he would, unfortunately, have to stay at the Hospital for a few more days before he could go home. 

‘Wait!’ Coriolanus yelled. Dr.Wane turned back and nodded.

‘Do you know how my tribute is doing? Her hands were burned and she was choking on blood and smoke before I fainted.’

‘I wouldn’t know, but right now that shouldn’t be your concern, young man. You should focus on resting for now.’

Coriolanus wasn’t quite happy with that information but he obliged, his eyes weighing down on him before he finally passed out.

ugh should i kill finnick when he comes on, its like the Peacekeeper part but i gotta think about it now...

[thatone-brightstar]

The Bear & The Fox (Carmy Berzatto x Fem!Reader)

Chapter 12: A Carmy shade of blue

Words: 7.4k

Summary: It all comes down to this...

a/n: I made Fox’s set and it came out so good omg! Can we please talk about the dedication! Also I’m posting the Epilogue right after this one so enjoys both and remember comments are always appreciated!

Ps. reader is Latina in this so there will be some Spanish!

‘You can do this. You can totally do this. You don’t have to talk to him, just show up.’

You had been trying to psych yourself up for the better part of the last half hour. After clipping on your earring and fixing the curly pieces of hair that frame your face, you thought you’d feel brave enough to move. But your legs stayed locked in place, tightly knotted over the vanity stool that had started to dig into the sides of your bare thighs. 

The bubbling nerves had you doubting all your decisions. The dress didn’t seem appropriate so you changed, then your makeup felt cakey so you rinsed it off and started over. The necklace was too small, the hoops too big, the urge to call Carmy too grand and the noise from the living room too overstimulating. Between the volume on the stereo and your aunts’ joyous laugh, the thin walls didn’t stand a chance and neither did the vibrating pulse in your skull.

You finally push yourself off the stool and stalk past the hallway to the kitchen, slamming your door in the process. The circle of heads turn in your direction as you appear in the space, each sister cradling a glass of wine in their hands.

“Mamá -mamita- por favor, can you turn that shit down!” You say louder than intended and you know you fucked up just from the look on her face.

“Que te dije de azotar puertas en mi casa, eh?! Cuando vivas en tu casa entonces-”

“-puedes hacer lo que se te dé la gana-” You recite over her words, rolling your eyes and causing the nerves to pound harder in the back of them. “Yes, I know, mami but can you please just turn it down? My head is killing me…”

“Okay- okay. Ya, see? It’s down.” She says, making a show of pointing the control to the stereo and lowering the volume to the lowest. “What, are you hungover again?”

You drag yourself around the counter to greet your aunts with a kiss, then take the empty space beside your mother and rest your aching head over her shoulder. “No, I haven’t gone out… It’s probably just my period, I dunno. Y mi abuelo?” You ask and rub at the empty space between your brows.

“Playing cards with his friends.” Angie answers, picking at the platter they had set in the middle of their circle. “You sure you’re not pregnant?”

“Why does everyone keep asking me that!?”

“Ay dios, pues maybe cause you’re all moody!” Tere adds.

“Maybe cause I’m nervous!”

“Then that’s why your head hurts…” Your mother says as she gently runs her fingers through the soft curls. Then she laughs out of nowhere. “Remember that time in the school choir, when you had the solo and you were so nervous you-” She’s laughing too hard to finish and the echo of all three only makes you groan.

You pull your head from her shoulder and rest it over your palm with your elbow on the cool surface of the counter. “One: I was like five, and two, you remember that but can’t stop calling me ‘mijo’ every time I walk into a room?”

Her laughter dies down as she waves her hand dismissively and takes a drink from her glass. “You two have the same stride, it's not my fault!”

“So what are you nervous about?” Tere changes the subject while she peels the skin off her grape.

“She’s nervous to see her ex..” Your mother answers, as if you weren’t in the room to speak for yourself.

“Ay, el de los ojitos?” Angie asks surprised. “I like him, he’s cute.”

“Y’know who I like? The other one- the tall one-, give me two more glasses and I’ll climb ‘em like a tree-”

“Ma ya!” You call out with a grossed out expression, trying to avoid the mental picture of your mother and Richie from even materializing in your head.

“Qué? How do you think you got here!?” She says between the chorus of chuckles.

‘Jesus, fuck’ You think and shudder, then take the wine glass from her hand and down the rest of the liquid that successfully drowns your nerves.

With the soft music floating in the air, Angie takes the bottle and pours a hefty amount of liquid into the glass in your hands.

“So, boy troubles?” She asks, only receiving a nod from your part, eyes fixed on the swirling maroon. 

“He’s catering tonight and we didn’t really… end things on a good note.”

“So what? This is your day too and you can’t let a little fight get in the way…”

You don’t have the time or energy to entertain them with the whole story of your failed situation with Carmy. They know about the car crash but not the bridge or of Mikey and the last thing you need is all three finding out over wine and a cheeseboard.

“I just won’t go, it’s easier like that…” You take another sip. “I’ll stay with you guys instead.”

“Ah-ah, no. Mira-” Your mother grabs a hold of your knees and turns your body to face her. “Mi amor, if you stay cause you’re nervous that’s fine, your painting’s will still be there. But you can’t stay just cause you’re scared you might see him.” Her hand feels warm and soft over your knees. 

“I feel like I fucked it up worse with what I said yesterday…” You confess to the women and even when you thought your eyes had gone dry, a few drops seem to accumulate on your bottom lid. “What if that was it, what if the last thing I told him was to get his shit together…”

“Then you were telling him what he needed to hear. You said it because you care, not because you wanted to hurt him and if he can’t tell the difference, then you did the right thing by stepping off that train early.” She wraps one arm around your shoulders and pulls you to her side. “But you won’t know if it works out unless you go…”

A hefty sigh rattles your lungs, the wisp of your mother’s familiar perfume filters through your nostrils and calms you down better than the wine ever could. She was right, you couldn’t go through life scared that you might run into him all the time. This was more important to you than having to hide from him, no matter how things had ended.

“Now I know I raised a bad bitch not a little one, asi que andale, finish getting ready or you’ll be late-” A soft laugh bubbles in your throat as she playfully shoves you off the stool and in the direction to your room, turning up the volume again once you’re gone.

“And show us the look before you go!” You hear your aunt Angie’s voice bounce through the hallway.

**********

The whole 24 hours leading up to the auction felt like a fever dream for Carmy. Since the moment you fled the grounds with bloodshot eyes, to the obscene amount of cash they kept pulling out of canned tomatoes, he had felt not at all there. In a daze, flashes of blurred out scenes from a third perspective take the space of memories every time he tries to recall. Like a long ago dream that he can’t quite make out if it’s real or not. Except it is, and they did find that money… and he also did break your heart. 

He still remembers the overwhelming impulse that itched under his skin with every empty can that was thrown into the garbage. To reach for his phone and call you, or better yet, to drive to your place and back because there was no way in hell you would believe him if you didn’t see it for yourself. Even at the end of the day- when he was home washing out the thick pulp from under every fingernail- he wondered if he could still try. Run to your house and confess how much of an asshole he was for not noticing the shit he put you through. Girls dig that shit, right? 

But even if he did run after you now, what would he say? He already proved himself incompetent word-wise, inside the walk-in. The surprise to see you again had rendered him speechless, as if an ice cube had been dropped down his shirt and he had no other choice but to pretend like the cold wasn’t piercing his skin. Pretend with tight fists and wavering stares like it wasn’t eating him alive to refrain from pulling you into his arms. The plain touch of your skin as he nursed your wound was enough to rile up weeks’ worth of shrouded emotions he was too afraid to confess, because every time he tried dialing your number, the words would constrict his throat and leave him heaving over the bathroom sink. 

“I still don’t understand why we gotta wear this…” 

“I think we look fine as hell!” Marcus says grinning and checking himself out in the dull reflection of the oven. “Like professionals…”

“Speak for yourself, mine’s all itchy.” Sweeps mutters under his tone while pulling around the neck of his new chef’s coat.

“Alright, take ‘em off before you stain ‘em with something.” Sydney calls from the entrance with an impatient motion in her hands. “They’re for the event tonight, so we actually look put together and not- well, whatever this is...”

“..Cute?”

“..Sexy?”

“Late. We’re gonna be late, if you don’t quit messing around and finish filling up the truck!” They both yell a hard ‘Yes, Chef!’ then continue hauling the plastic boxes with the preparations for the evening into the van Syd had borrowed from one of her cousins. 

Carmen watches half concentrated to make sure that nothing is thrown around, although he trusts them enough to know they’ll be careful. Instead, he’s focused his attention on finishing the last of the sauces, a sweet Demi Glacé that he insisted on making himself. Now that they would be closing for renovations and the tension of staying afloat wasn’t straining his back, he enjoyed every second of the process. Cooking didn’t feel like something he had to do anymore, but something he wanted to as well as enjoyed, and he wasn’t sure how long it had been since the last time he felt that way. He did know, but the images carried a bitter sensation that weighed thick on his mouth and he was trying excruciatingly hard to stay above his regular broody mood.

“Yo, chef, you not comin’ with?” Marcus asks once they’ve compacted everything inside the small van.

“No, I -uhm-” Fuck. He swallows hard and tries to rack his brain for any plausible excuse. “-I trust you can manage.”

A groan echoes through the small space. “If you’re a little bitch just say that!” Tina chimes in with a mocking tone, setting down the tall metal cylinder filled with spoons and tongs that they’d be using for that night.

“T, c’mon-”

“Yeah, man just say that, don’t bruise my ego like that!”

“I’m not a little-”

“You gotta fight for love, man!”

“Even if she rejects you again-”

“Alright, shut up for a sec-” He grips the edge of the table in irritation, head hanging low. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I broke it off, okay?”

The words feel wrong as they tumble from his mouth. Not because of what they might say, if anything they were the few people he trusted most in the place, but something inside him didn’t like the sensation the words unearthed. They made his chest wither and crack, like the clay you had used to cover his fissures was popping off with every reminder of your absence. 

“...Why?” Marcus asks, breaking the silence. 

Carmy doesn’t answer, and even if he wanted to he wouldn’t know what to say. He chooses to shrug instead, heavy and noticeable in hopes that this is a sufficient response that will get them off his back.

Tina takes a step closer and reaches out to softly pat his shoulder. “No offense Carm, but I don’t think you’ll be able to pull anyone better than her…”

Her words rip a soft snigger from his throat, from his side view he watches her pick up the cylinder again and walk to the back where he assumes the rest of the team awaits by the van.

Marcus stays beside him, contemplating the words around before letting them out. “Shit got rough, then?” 

“That's an understatement” He mutters through bared teeth as he fears another word will split the last piece of clay holding him together.

“My statement still stands… Shit gets rough for everybody but that doesn't mean you gotta go through it alone… just sayin’.”

Marcus pushes himself off the table to leave, taking the sauce with him and leaving Carmy with his tumultuous thoughts in the restaurant that hadn’t known this much peace since its opening day.

**********

The typically calm ambience of the gallery had been replaced by the buzzing sounds of chatter and movements as the last details were polished with only a few hours to the opening. You had been in a hectic frenzy since your arrival, only finally catching your breath when you were certain everything was where it needed to be. The decorations sat strategically by the entrance and away from the attention of the artwork, clipboards and pens had been placed for whoever wanted to bid and the bar stations had been successfully assembled around the perimeter of the room.

“Thanks again for the help, I owe you one.” You say as you help carry the last box of champagne bottles to one of the bars.

“No prob, to be honest I’m just here for the free booze-” Nico answers with a grunt, picking the box from your hands and taking the bottles out to chill in ice.

“As opposed to what? The other free booze at your regular gig?” You ask your cousin in a teasing tone.

“Hey, just cause I drink it, don’t make it free.” 

“Just try not to black out, okay? Angie ’ll kill me if I let you drive home like that!” 

You hear a mocking ‘Yeah, yeah’ as you leave him to go open the back door for Syd, after reading the text from Marcus that they had arrived. The floor feels slightly unstable as you walk past the back, to the door that leads onto the side alley, but you credit it to the irritating thought that it may be Carmen’s face that you’ll see once you open the door.

A sigh of relief- and partial disappointment- parts from you at the sight of Marcus and Sweeps dragging out a long white cooler from the back of a beated van, but no Carmy in sight. They both greet you quickly as you guide them into the area they’ll be occupying temporarily. It’s the same space your easels had been standing in for the last month, though the only evidence of it were the small stains and smudges of cyan and teal on the gray concrete.

“There are another two tables up front, by the expo, so you can serve up there. This one’s just for like, mise en place, if you need anything from scratch.” You say to Syd while the rest of the team finish unpacking.

“Yeah. no this is fine. We finished everything this morning. I only brought a portable burner for a few of the sauces, but other than that, we’re set.”

You nod in response as you watch them observe their surroundings in awe, the multiple rows of never ending art catching their attention.

“Sorry for bailing like that… yesterday.” You blurt out as the words seem to catapult straight from your guilt. “It was a dick move.”

Syd acknowledges it with her own nod. “It was a dick move- but, y’know… I get it.” She shrugs.

Your throat itches to ask about him, if he’s considered coming, even with the excuse to check up on them. But you know that regardless of the answer, the pressure over your chest won’t subside, so you resign to bite the soft flesh inside your mouth to keep the words at bay.

“Uhm. well let me know if you need anything. The whole thing starts in an hour so just make sure to have everything over by the tables by then.”

A chorus of ‘Heard’s resonates in the large space and Syd turns to you with a proud smile, wiggling her brows. You give her an enthusiastic thumbs up before stepping back and out into the busy room, striding directly into Nico’s bar.

“Pour me a glass, will ya?” You ask with a soft knock on the counter, applying pressure between your brows.

“Bro, I haven’t even opened anything yet…” You stare up at him through incredulous slits, earning a sigh from his part, then he pulls an open champagne bottle from the small fridge and a glass.

As soon as he sets it down, you take it and rapidly chug the amber liquid, bubbles burning the sides of your throat and filling in the void in your chest.

“Woah, woah- cousin! We’re not gonna run out, chill…”

You place the glass back down and wipe the corners of your mouth. “Sorry, I really needed that.” 

“You good?”

“Yeah… yeah.” You sigh, then turn to scan the room one last time.

Past the glass walls, you can see a small crowd already beginning to form at the entrance. The culmination of months of hard work stands behind the transparent barrier, and a part of you can’t help but to think of all the ways tonight could go wrong. ‘What if the lights go off in the middle of the event?’ or ‘What if the whole thing blows over and we don’t raise any funds?’ and the worst of all ‘What if no one likes my work and they’re the only ones that don’t sell?’. 

“You sure?” He asks with a creased brow. “You’re kinda hyperventilating…”

“Yeah…” You say for the third time, less convinced than the first two. “Y’know what, Nico can you pour-”

“-Way ahead of you.” The soft sizzling of the drink is muted by the instrumental music playing over the speakers, but you still hear the glass slide by your palm, where it rests over the cool surface.

You know it’s a bad idea to drink two glasses straight, especially when all you’ve had to eat is a granola bar you found at the bottom of your bag on the train ride there, but the thought is soon chased away by the cooling liquid trickling down to your empty stomach and drowning it completely. You only finish half of it before being whisked away by Syd to help with setting their station. 

With a pair of latex gloves and your hair thrown into a bun, you paint streaks of raspberry coulis along the bottom of the small dishes, then above that, you place the small tapas that Marcus is assembling beside you. The alcohol has calmed your fingers enough to draw steady lines over the canvas and the repetitive actions soothe the wavering anxiety.

“They turned out fire…” Marcus comments by your side.

“Hmm?”

“The Brioche bites. The chai filling was a good call.”

“Oh, right- yeah, I’m glad!”

“Can’t wait for you to try them, chef. These things are gonna fly!” His excitement is contagious and you can’t help but to smile up at him too.

“I’ll definitely try one before they do…”

“I saw your set by the way, on my way here…”

You swallow dryly, flicking your gaze to him from your hunched position then back to your task.

“Yeah? And, uh, w-what did you think?”

Marcus shrugs lightly and stands to his full height, even in your heels you barely reach his shoulder, let alone without them. Everytime you stand beside him, you’re reminded to straighten your posture, as if that’ll do any good in stretching you up.

“I don’t know shit about art, but I thought it was baller. I like what you did to The Beef. I’d bid, y’know… if I had any money.” 

You nod slowly with a slight smile flourishing on your face and turn back down to fill up a tray for one of the waiters. 

With most of your concentration on the kaleidoscope of served plates, you don’t notice the room starting to slowly fill up. Only when the music grows a little louder and the chatter reaches your ears, you lift your head to spot the swaying crowd already holding bubbling flutes in their hands and gravitating in your direction. 

“Think you can manage, chef? Or do I call for backup?” You challenge Marcus, pointing with your head to the oncoming group.

“Nah, I’m all good, you go ahead. Run ‘em dry” 

“Yes, chef” You respond with a salute and a click of our tongue, then throw your apron under the table and cautiously round it on your way to the open space.

It wasn’t as bad as you assumed it would be. Once you broke through the initial awkwardness of having to answer questions about some of the pieces, it all seemed to flow naturally. You had the most knowledge about them, after all. Months of planning and studying the best layout for each work had you inevitably remembering details that hadn’t seemed useful until now. You could gladly keep answering questions all night if it meant keeping your thoughts shut and your mouth busy.

You avoid your set like an active minefield, though. Now that you think about it, you’ve only seen it complete once -two weeks ago when you finished it- around three in the morning and slightly high. It was the only way you were able to do it without throwing up and turning into an angry sobbing mess. It was also the only set you didn’t hang up yourself, asking instead two of your coworkers for help while you stood outside with the cigarettes you had recently picked up again. In a way it was intentional. You had poured the most turbulent contents of your soul into each stroke, plastered it in the open for everyone to see and dissect. You didn’t want to see it in fear of hating how exposed you felt and pulling the plug. You do wonder. What it may look like under the dimmed lights, if the colors swirl with the shades you intended or if they fall flat against the canvas with no real sentiment.  

The memory of the five paintings laying side by side is a bit foggy in your head and you bite your lip as your feet guide you deeper inside the maze you’ve been avoiding. 

You stop by a wall that harbors your student’s final projects and the dread is momentarily overshadowed by pride. Each painting has its own bidding sheet, it’s not part of the actual auction of course, but it helps boost their morale. Before leaving, you take a closer look at the lists and smile as you read the name of the respective parent, along with the copious sum they wanted to ‘offer’ for their child’s work.

A faint wave of insecurity stirs inside as you spot a sparse crowd discussing technique and motivations of the artist and you gulp down a bit of the liquid in what has become your emotional support glass. 

“I think it’s too obvious…”

“Is it? Really? How so?”

“It’s obviously the crashing result capitalism has had on the smaller businesses of the city…”

“You definitely just made that up-”

A gentle snort blows over the rim of your glass while overhearing the stranger’s conversation. Your heels click softly as you settle by the back wall and eventually drag your eyes up to the five frames. Swirls of pearl, browns and aquamarine decorate the desolate icy blue eyes of a grizzly as it stares directly past the canvas. The sorrow has fallen heavy over droopy lids, patches of ash scatter over its matted fur. Under the large canvas, another three smaller ones depict angry oranges and blood reds swallowing up a pot, a stove top and ultimately engulfing the whole perimeters of The Beef.

The last painting spreads across the bottom of the smaller ones, same dimensions as The Bear. It sits cleaner, in faux composure, with defined lines around the borders of a stainless steel counter observed from the front. A mess of open bottles and jars rests beside a dish, meticulous yet chaotically plated. Splashes of a thick orange sauce invade the surface under a perfectly cooked salmon. It contrasts with the mess surrounding it as it seems like every tiny herb was tweezed on to every spot with perfection. It’s perfect. 

Too perfect. As if it were trying to disguise a deeply rooted impotence, impostor syndrome. An anxiety that is blatantly obvious in the cinder-patched arms that finish plating the dish, fingers gripping onto the steel utensils for dear, dear life.  The small letters ‘S.O.U’ are barely visible under the black soot and repeat a second time over a thick line of green tape along the counter line.

Your ribs rattle with a deep inhale as you knock back the remaining liquid. The crowd in front of you sways in thick groups that momentarily cloud your view of the pieces, giving you seconds to breathe before the piercing eyes you tried to replicate wash over you again. It’s until the bodies disperse, that you catch an unnervingly familiar back leaning down to scribble something on your sheet, then rising and walking in the opposite direction to you. The sensation you feel can only be compared to slowly climbing up the rails of a roller coaster, as if the pit of your stomach had been stuck on land while you crawled up the treacherous metal.

You place the empty glass on the tray of a waiter passing by and despite the alarms ringing in your head that your actions would only cause more harm, you force your stiff legs to move in the direction of your work. With shaky hands you pick up the sheet to inspect the name. An eerie chill claws at your arms and you grip on to the flimsy material with all your strength or you fear you might collapse in front of everyone. In a recognizable cursive- taunting you motionlessly- sits the name ‘Isaac H.’ bidding six thousand dollars. One for each month you spent together. For each fucking month he made you believe he loved you, the sick fuck.

The panic in your veins turns to anger, hot and scolding, traveling at light speed and triggering your neck to check around the space for the familiar face. You’re moved by hatred, stalking out of the maze with the crumbled page digging into your wounded fist, still searching around. A familiar head swims through the crowd then disappears past the door. Your heels click again in the direction of the entrance, throwing the ball of paper into one of the trash cans on your way out. The rage boils too heavily and you have every intention to smack your fist in his face until your rings leave a dent, once you spot him outside.

However, he’s not alone. There’s a girl with him, lovingly hanging on to his arm. It’s not his wife, but someone that closely resembles you from a distance. From the same hair length to stature and the complexion of her skin. It’s a strange mirage that has your steps faltering to a stop and wanting to rub your eyes in hopes that it may all be in your head. She steps up on her toes to leave a kiss on his cheek with a small giggle when his arm pulls her closer to him.

“Oh, you poor thing..” You expect the blatant display to stir your insides in memory, yet pity is the only emotion that seems present over your screwed brows. Pity and shame, that you could not notice how fucked up he truly was so long ago.

You have half a mind to call out to the girl and save her from a similar fate to yours, but before you can, they’re hailing a cab and leaving in the opposite direction to the gallery. A heavy sigh escapes you and you soon find yourself pulling the beaten package and lighter from your cleavage for the third time tonight. 

Goosebumps rise on your skin from the evening air as you walk further away from the door, blowing smoke into the light breeze. You rest your exposed back over the cold glass wall, eyes focused on the passing cars and only moving mechanically to take a drag every few seconds while your other hand unconsciously fidgets with the lighter.

You feel exhausted, the bulk that hovered over your shoulders all through the day finally falling over them like a weighted blanket, rendering you still and heavy against the glass. You thought that seeing Isaac might have made you want to cry, but your exhaustion is far beyond physical at this point and your eyes have grown tired above all else. You rub your finger in the center of your brows, careful to not crush the cig resting between them. 

The low hum of the music playing past the glass lulls you into a state of calmness while you finish your cigarette, hot skin enjoying the soft breeze that comes in through the river.

“Shit-ah-” You hiss and look down to your hand, where the embers have caught up with the filter and nibbled at the delicate layer of skin, the throb makes you drop the bud to the ground. You inspect the small burn, then turn your palm up to see the uncovered cut that Carmy had nursed the evening before and another hefty sigh mixes with the wind. It feels like all you ever do is sigh nowadays.

With the slight lightheadedness of the nicotine and the booze floating in your system, you push your body off the glass and slowly walk back into the gallery in hopes that the event will end soon. As you make your way past the doors, one of the other coordinators tells you that someone interested in purchasing your paintings is waiting by them and for a second your blood runs cold at the thought that Isaac might have come back. But the idea soon falls through, when your eyes try to adjust to the change in lighting and you’re greeted by the blurry image of Carmen.

He stands with all his undivided attention towards the pieces in front of him, with a bouquet of red flowers hanging from his hand and you think that- despite everything else in the day- this is definitely the moment that’ll give you a heart attack. He’s wearing his chef whites, like the one the team is currently sporting, but he looks completely different from that one picture you had seen of him, with his sullen eyes and glossy hair. You swallow hard and deep, eyes racking the flexing muscles that now seem too noticeable under the white material. His sleeves are rolled up, letting the few tattoos peek out from under and his hair holds the messy curls that make your fingers twitch with want.

You stop in your tracks once you’ve spotted him, but don’t take your eyes away from his form, afraid that his presence is only a fiction of your tired imagination. It’s only when his attention is ripped from the frames and directed towards you, that your legs seem to gravitate without option towards him. There’s a mixture of emotions blending with the champagne in your system that makes your breath ragged and your skin hot despite the cold air invading the large room.

Your steps are cautious and after what feels like eternal seconds of anguish, you’re standing by his side, the heat radiating from his body matching your own.

“Hey…” He breathes out.

“Uh… hi.”

“I-uh- I know you’re supposed to get, like, flowers for actors and stuff but… didn’t know what to get for artists…” He speaks while lifting up the bouquet of what you can now distinguish as red carnations, fresh and full ones that make your heart grow too big inside your chest.

You nod your head slowly to acknowledge them but don’t speak, afraid the little control you have left will evaporate into thin air with your words, the sight of his soft baby blues already have you like a fly to a Venus.

“This is…” His eyes fall back to the wall, scanning over the frames in awe as you fidget with your fingers by your sides. “..a-amazing.” Then he takes a closer look at the bottom painting, brows slightly creased. “You… painted me?” He asks surprised

You shrug and point to one of the smaller frames. “I also painted The Beef on fire…”

“I almost did set The Beef on fire-” 

“What?”

“-O-on accident.”

You sigh out the heavy breath trapped in your chest, shoulders slouched in defeat. “Carmy…” His name feels at home over your lips, sweet honey suckles coating each syllable.

“I know, I really suck at this, just… gimme a sec-” He scratches the ghost of an itch over his forehead, more out of habit as he scrunches his eyes shut and searches his brain for the words that have been circling inside since last night.

“You’re right. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you- and it was a complete dick move to react like that when all you did was try to tell me something important. I’m sorry for… everything. For thinking that you were only with me cause Mickey- for never calling you back to try and fix things…”

You tear your eyes away from his wounded ones, only to direct them to the similar expression harbored by your creation.

“I thought that… if I stayed away long enough, then maybe you’d notice how fucked I was a-and not want anything to do with me anymore.” He plays with his hand to try and calm the nerves, cracking his knuckles multiple times until the little bubbles won’t budge anymore. “I wanted to, though… call you.”

His soft confession slowly turns the tap on your barely contained feelings and you find yourself staring his way with hopeful eyes.

“Every time I was home I- I had to hold in my breath cause just the smell reminded me of you, and when I saw you in the restaurant I thought I had finally lost my shit” Carmy laughs softly under his breath. “And when you left-”

He swallows the knotted sensation blocking his throat and you take his pause to sniff back and swallow your own batch of tears.

“I tried to let go of it, to forget and just let you go- I really did Fox- but all that’s been running through my head since then is how good it felt to hear you say you love me-” He takes a decisive step towards you, palms growing sweaty under the cellophane wrap. “-and how much I want to hear it over and over and over again- but… just from you.”

Your sight of him grows blurry again past the tears that you thought dry,  coating your eyes.

“I didn’t know how to tell you before but I’ve been going to therapy. It’s al-anon family, for-uh- a couple sessions now… around three months.” He notices your expression is more confused than before and mentally cringes at his lack of communication skills. “It’s helped out a lot. You had nothing to do with what Mickey did, it’s a really fuckin’ awful coincidence, I get it now. But I’m glad he was there to stop you- to save you- cause I don’t know what I’d do with myself if you weren’t here, Fox.”

And there it was, the second you felt your heart stop and any trace of oxygen leave your body, a feeling only he could ever give you. Your lips tremble slightly with the tears in your eyes and you pull your bottom lip under your teeth to stop its shaking. He takes another step, then another, until your chests are so close, you’re both only a deep breath away from sealing the space.

“I searched half the city cause I wanted to get you Carnations…” He mumbles, raising up the bouquet in your direction a second time. “I know they were your-”

“-Grandmother’s favorite” You speak in unison and chuckle. “...yeah” 

This time you don’t reject his approach, wrapping a hand around the base, fingers lingering over his for a few moments. Your gaze stays glued on the ruffled rouge petals, a soft smile curving ever so slowly at the ends of your lips.

“Whatever happens, I want to be by your side when it does. As a friend or-or more- if you’ll still have me…”

Beat. Exhale. Beat. Inhale.

It’s soft and tender and calm. The way your heart at last feels at rest. Like it had worked in overdrive all this time to keep you alive for this precise moment and can now take a step back in relief. A hue of sapphire invades your surroundings, drowning the walls and bystanders in what you’ve baptized as a ‘Carmy shade of blue’. Incomparable and unique to the man bathing you in his loving stare. 

Your body reacts before your mind, losing the last bit of self control under the gentle waves, with arms circling his shoulders like a raft. It’s as if you can breathe again, nose clear, lungs full and head above the water; and you know very well that damned is the person that deposits all their stability on to another but you don’t seem to care. Not when the arms pressing you tightly to his sturdy chest feel like coming home.

“I missed you.” You whisper against the dip of his neck, nose nuzzled into the wild strands.

“Me too.” He sniffs to pull back the joyous tears. “I meant it Fox, I really do fuckin’ love you-” Empty hands cup your cheeks and tilt your head up to press your lips to his.

You don’t try to hold back the grin the awaited kiss brings you, instead sliding your hand to his chest and gripping around his uniform to pull him impossibly closer. A pleased sigh escapes your chest when he pulls back and presses his forehead over yours.

“I love you too, Bear.” Is all you can say.

The bustle of your surroundings grows quiet in deaf ears, silenced by Carmen’s steady breath and the resting beat in your chest.

“Alright Van Gogh, let's see what you got- holy shit…”

You can hear Richie’s voice around the corner before you even see him and take a step away from Carmy, he still keeps his arm around your waist to hold you close once his cousin joins you in front of the frames. 

“This you?” He gawks pointing towards the wall. You nod. “Damn. Badass…”

It’s the most quiet you’ve seen him since you met the man, he’s just standing still while absorbing every detail in great concentration.

“So anyway, you two fuckin' again or what?” He turns to you after a few little seconds of silence. 

“Jesus, Cousin! Why you gotta go make everythin’ weird-”

“I had to ask just in case I fucked up again-” They start talking over each other as you just stand there and smile at the banter. “Sorry sweetheart, you and I wouldn’t have worked out anyway…” Richie directs towards you.

“I am truly shattered.” You respond, hand sarcastically over your heart. 

“Yeah, yeah…” He groans. “Listen cuz, some rich guy’s asking if we do weddings and shit. You go talk to ‘em, I didn’t know what to say since we're closin’ and all that, plus rich people give me hives-”

“Wait, you're closing the restaurant?” You ask up at Carmy in confusion.

“Renovating-” He blurts out.

“Didn’t he tell you ‘bout the money?-” The taller of the two throws your way.

“Money?- The fuck did I miss…”

“It’s kind of a long story…” His grip on your waist pulls you in closer. “Tell you at home… yeah?”

You can’t say no to the way his eyes glow under the fluorescents, though it seems something more shines behind them than just the brightness in the room. You bite down on your lip with a smile and only speak a soft ‘okay’ with a kiss to the corner of his lips. Richie groans again from a few steps away, crossing his arms and rolling his eyes, though deep down he knows he feels relief that his cousin won’t be so alone anymore.

You stay in each other's line of sight for the rest of the night. While he helps out plating the canapes, Carmy sneaks a couple peeks in your direction. Seeing you move freely through the space with a new found delight while speaking to some of the guests brings a peace to his chest that he had been afraid to never feel again. You catch his stares each time and share a complicit smile with every one of them. It’s subtle, just for him- a loving message delivered in a crowded room- ‘i love you’s scribbled in little notes and slipped across the desk in silence. 

The room started to die down around 11. You had bribed Nico with the promise of food if he gave you some drinks that the team gladly took once they were done carrying everything back into the van.

The gravel in the back alley of the gallery groans under everyone’s  tired feet, but in spite of that, there’s a jovial spark in the cold breeze around them. Crates and long empty coolers serve as makeshift seats for the family huddled together. You and Carmy sit on the edge of the van, doors open wide and with a drink in the hand that isn’t holding the others’ while everyone debriefs their day. 

“Dude I swear if one more person asked me for some gluten free, keto, low calorie bull crap I was gonna lose my shit.” Tina groans before taking a swig off her drink.

“Yeah, I heard you saying ‘No hablo ingles’ halfway through the night.” Sweeps jokes, earning a sincere laugh from the group.

“Hey too bad your work didn’t sell.” Syd says in your direction. 

“No one bid on ‘em?”

“Dunno-” You shrug, leaning into Carmy’s side with his arm around you, feet swinging peacefully and heels fully abandoned by the door. “Marge told me there was no way they could know who won cause they couldn’t find the bidding sheet.”

“Tough luck…” Richie mumbles from his own seat. “They were pretty sick, kid.”

“Thanks… It’s not that bad really, she let me take ‘em home. Maybe it can be an early opening gift for your new place…” You turn to Carmy, who holds a loving smile to you and nods warmly.

“What’re we gonna call it, anyway?” Marcus asks after a couple minutes when the conversation broke down into smaller ones.

“Oh, we already got a name.” The man by your side answers.

“We do?”

“Yeah… ” He turns to you for a microsecond while his other hand scratches a phantom itch under his nose in nervousness. “It’s-uh, it’s The Bear.”

“The Bear..” Marcus repeats, swirling the words around in his mouth and smiling approvingly to the taste. “I like it. To The Bear.” He raises his glass in the center of the circle you’ve created and everyone follows suit.

Tonight, the midnight sky is bright with millions of stars and the unspoken promise that whatever happens, you will be by each other’s side when it does. 

So you scoot closer to the edge, toes grazing the cold gravel and lips pressed to Carmy’s beaming face as you all toast ‘to The Bear’.

Epilogue.

Taglist: @pearlstiare @teteminne, @beebslebobs, @harrysmatcha, @yum-yahgurt, @pussy-f41ry, @kirakombat and that’s it lmao

[arctrooper69]

Feels Like Durasteel

The former ARC trooper and his Jedi General grieve together.

Warnings: Season 2 finale spoilers. Discussion of death and dying. Mostly hurt with a teeny bit of comfort.

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

She couldn't breathe. Her knees hit the durasteel floor with a thud. This couldn't be happening.

No. I refuse. Not again.

The all too familiar agony of loss had lain in ambush, readying itself for her journey to consciousness - then it attacked without mercy.

"Where's Tech!?"

"....General"

It grasped at her as she ran from the room, ripping and tearing into her with it's heavy, piercing claws. It's poison burned through her veins as she stumbled up the ramp into the Marauder.

"When have we ever followed orders."

Her mind spun faster and faster, replaying that moment over and over again until it reached such a speed that she couldn't keep up but it continued regardless. It filled her ears, blurred her vision, and constricted her lungs.

I'm a Jedi. I'm a kriffing Jedi! I could've saved him. I could've done something. Anything. Why didn't I?

The weight on her chest was suffocating. She could no longer feel the clench of her teeth nor the cold bite of durasteel beneath her knees.

"General!?"

Footsteps. Muffled sounds of metal against metal; a cold hand providing no relief to burning skin.

She recognized Echo, though he was as hazy as everything else that was slowly closing in around her.

"Look at me! Breathe."

I can't.

I don't want to.

It's too heavy and I don't have the strength.

Everything she'd been through. Everything she'd lost. Everyone she'd lost. It was all too much.

"Come on, General! Breathe with me."

***

A spider spun a beautiful web across a shelf of datapads. She didn't mean to kill it, but it startled her and she crushed it. Her first introduction to death and one of her first lessons as a youngling.

There is no death, only the Force.

Accept it as a natural part of life and let go.

Mourn them do not. Miss them do not.

For the fear of loss is a path to the Dark Side.

Maybe that's why she felt this way. Maybe she wasn't Jedi enough. Maybe it was somehow her fault. Maybe she could've done more. Made different choices. Chosen different words. Maybe she wasn't the leader they made her out to be.

Maybe she was cursed.

Perhaps the Force could tell that she formed attachments too easily - that she loved too deeply, and expressed herself too passionately.

Maybe that was why they were all dead. Because of her.

Maybe she deserved the horror that was to be left alone again. That was why she couldn't breathe. She was alone.

***

"That's it. There you go. Breathe."

She kept her eyes down, not wanting to meet his pitying gaze.

They sat in silence, the only sounds drifted faintly in from the city outside.

She felt her head tip and almost unconsciously lean against the hard plastoid of his shoulder. Neither of them said a word.

"I..." She spoke, voice barely a whisper. She couldn't make the words come. But he knew what she meant.

"I know...."

There were no tears, there hadn't been yet and there probably weren't going to be for awhile. They both knew how this played out - each in their own ways with the common ground of an all consuming numbness.

It was a feeling that made it easier to keep going until one day you couldn't take it anymore. But that day wasn't today. It never was.

It was a process that she had down pact - allowing just a sliver of grief to slip out, tricking her brain into locking away everything else.

"I miss him too."

***

Echo. Fives. Tup. Hardcase. Just a few names - barely a shadow of the sea of troopers she called friend.

Vivian. Rylah. Sari. Pol. Ben. Her creche-mates. Friends. Casualties of war. Brothers and sisters that she grew up with - fought with, ate with, and trained with.

None of them had seen the end of the war.

The Jedi died as battlefield heroes - faces and names to be memorialized forever in stone. The clones died for the sake of a Republic that only saw them as faceless numbers.

The clones were born to die. Why wasn't she? Things would be a lot easier then.

But they were all gone, leaving her alone again in galaxy too big to understand.

***

"It's too much, Echo..." She could barely hear her own voice.

He didn't answer. He didn't have an answer.

Pick up the pieces, dust yourself off. Move on. That's what he'd always told himself. That's what he'd tell himself this time too. Tech would want them to move on, right? To give meaning to his sacrifice?

He probably could - he'd been trained to do so since he popped out of the tube. But no matter the training, he was, at the end of the day, still human.

Was it the same for his General?

Most likely.

Grief had a way of disregarding the chain of command.

***

She didn't know if she would consider Echo a loss. He had come back to her, but the pain she'd felt was real. He was the first real casualty of war that she could name.

Hardcase was the first clone she'd considered her friend. He was kind. He was funny. He had tricked her into luring his Captain into a paint trap. It caught Kix instead and the medbay had never seen so much color - in both paint and language.

On Umbara, his force signature went out with a bang. Loud and explosive, just like him. He wouldn't have had it any other way.

Tup was young. Fresh-faced. He'd barely worn out the shine on his armor. He didn't deserve the way he went out - an unfortunate victim of a political ploy activated too soon. His force signature had always reminded her of the quiet calm before a storm.

She never got to say goodbye to Fives. The strong, handsome ARC trooper went out doing his duty. He died doing what he thought was right. He died trying to save his brothers. His force signature was full of light. Sometimes it flashed, pulsing like the strobe lights of a club. Sometimes it shone strong and bright with a fierce determination.

And then there was Tech...

***

The former ARC trooper and his General sat silently on the cold metal floor of the Marauder - each one slowly drowning beneath the weight of the galaxy.

"Did you know," she began quietly, "that everyone has their very own force signature?"

Echo was silent. He turned to look at her, blinking in a daze as though her voice had dragged him from the depths of an impossible whirlpool. Hearing her voice made it easier to breathe. It kept his head above the water - just barely, but that was all it took to keep from drowning.

The General's lips twitched in a fleeting, sad smile that didn't quite reach her eyes, oblivious to his silent plea.

Please keep talking. I can't take the silence. I don't want to be alone.

"Even clones," she continued. "You all feel so different."

Echo leaned his head against the wall. "Oh yeah?"

She was silent and for a moment, Echo feared that she hadn't heard him. Then she spoke again.

"Tech's force signature felt a bit like durasteel."

Oh.

"What do you mean?" he shifted so that his shoulder rested against her own.

"Always strong, no matter the situation it's put in. Cold, straight edged. Sometimes sharp."

She took a shakey breath and wiped away tears she hadn't even realized she'd been crying. "But durasteel can be worked with. It's reliable. It's adaptable. With time and warmth, it can be shaped into almost any tool or mechanical part. It holds heat well, making the most bitter cold into someplace comforting. It's just...always there. Without it..."

She stuttered to a stop, afraid that if she kept going, she'd start something that she had no power to stop.

Echo felt her shaking, curling into his chest. He didn't know if she'd meant to or not but it didn't matter to him. He shifted, allowing his flesh arm to rest, wrapping around her shoulders.

She took a breath, "Without it....our ship would be in pieces. It wouldn't fly." Her voice cracked. "It wouldn't be a ship at all."

Echo was silent, once again he didn't know what to say. She was right. It did feel like that. It did feel like their squad - their family - had lost too much to continue.

"I know..." He finally said with a gravelly whisper. "I know. I won't say that we'll be ok because I don't think we will be okay for awhile." He took a breath. "But we have eachother. We have the rest of our family. We have our mission." He paused, squeezing her shoulders, "and we have an Empire to make aware that there's gonna be Hell to pay."

I'm not sure if I like this one or not... I haven't written in third person for awhile... Does third person count as x reader if there's no name mentioned? And I'm not trying to beg for attention or anything, but if you liked this, can you leave a comment please? I feel like I'm kinda losing my touch...

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[64yrsold]

the 1975 (notes)

“In a little while from now, if I’m not feeling any less sour,” I sang quietly, strumming his guitar carefully. The empty house echoed my timid singing, the drip from the faucet accompanying me. “I promised myself to treat myself, and visit a nearby tower.”

The chords came easier than they usually did, thankfully. I couldn’t help but grin, the lyrics skipping ahead of me. I closed my eyes, trying to imagine my voice filling the room.

“We may as well go home as I did on my own, alone again, naturally,” I had forgotten how good it felt to hear my own voice, to feel the notes buzz in my chest, to hunch over the acoustic and play as loud as I could. Not that he wouldn’t let me play, just… He had a better ear than me, he spent his life perfecting a sound. I was just having fun.

“What do we do, what do we do,” I sang, and took a deep breath. The solo was my favourite part, but my fingers often tripped over the fretboard. I squeezed my eyes shut, forcing myself to live in the moment for once. And it came, my fingers working habitually on their own, my ear turned into the sound-

“You liar,” he whispered, leaning against the doorframe. I yelped, shocked at his sudden presence, muting the guitar with a whine from the strings. “You filthy little liar.”

“You scared the shit out of me!” I gasped, rubbing my hand against my thrashing heart.

“You said you didn’t play. And you said you couldn’t sing!” he pointed an accusatory finger at me, shaking his head.

“I’m just messing around,” I laughed, setting his guitar back on the stand, “I’m sorry, I didn’t think you were coming home tonight.”

“No, don’t change the subject. You lied!” he crossed the room, sitting beside me.

“About what?” I held my hands in the air, and he grabbed my wrists.

“Darling, your voice,” he sighed, “I knew you were lying.”

“Alright, relax,” I groaned, shaking my hands free, “I like singing, but I love listening to people sing. To you sing. I’d rather hear your voice than mine.”

“You sing so effortlessly,” he ignored me, a hand set firmly on my knee, “And you’ve got this gorgeous, airy tone that’s just so soothing.”

“Sure,” I blushed, tapping his knuckles, “This is embarrassing.”

“Why?” he frowned, lifting my chin, “You can’t be embarrassed around me.”

“I think I can be,” I laughed, smothering my face in his neck.

“Sweetheart, you’re fantastic,” he hummed, rubbing circles into my back, “Please, please, sing for me.”

“Oh God,” I mumbled into his sweater, "I knew you'd get like this."

“Seriously!” he giggled, letting me go and getting his guitar, “Come on, please?” He picked at the strings, and I covered my face with my hands.

“I’m gonna throw up,” I moaned, earning a boyish giggle.

“Looking back over the years, and whatever else that appears,” he started where I left off, his honey voice forcing me to peek through my fingers. His watched me with an eager grin, head tilted to the side and nodding rhythmically, “I remember I cried when my father died, never wishing to hide the tears,” he prodded me with his foot, then closed his eyes. “Help me darling, I don’t know the lyrics.” I swallowed the lump in my throat.

“And at sixty-five years old, my mother, God rest her soul,” I sang, my throat dry and voice shaking.

“Couldn’t understand why the only man she had ever loved had been taken,” he sang along with me, keeping his voice slightly under mine.

“Leaving her to start with a heart so badly broken,” I smiled as he nodded quickly, our voices both distorted from our widening grins, “Despite encouragement from me, no words were ever spoken.”

“Yes, baby!” he chirped, his guitar ringing into silence as he reached a hand out to cradle my face.

“And when she passed away, I cried and cried all day,” I watched his eyes soften as he listened to me sing alone, “Alone again, naturally.” My voice seemed to echo down the hallways of our home, the sounds sinking into the walls and the bedding and the curtains, our voices together flooding the room with warmth.

“Beautiful, darling,” he murmured, kissing my cheek, “Now you’ve got to do it in the studio for me.”

“Not a chance,” I giggled, tilting my head up so his lips would meet mine. He pressed a soft kiss to my open mouth, laughing into me. He pulled back, smirking.

“Well, I already recorded this,” he wiggled his phone in front of my face, pausing the voice recording.

“You did not,” I gasped, grabbing for his phone, which he easily held out of my reach.

“Might as well finish it off, don’t you think?” he winked, setting his guitar to the side. I lunged for the phone again, and he sprung from the couch, "Come on, we can record a lovely duet together! It'll be romantic."

“Delete it,” I said sternly, stalking him down the hallway.

“This recording is my prized fucking possession,” he raised an eyebrow, “If you want it… I’ll be at the studio,” he turned quickly, sprinting down the hallway to the front door.

“Don’t you dare!” I yelled, chasing him out the front door to his car.

“Baby, I love you, but I am much faster and stronger than you,” he swiftly opened his car door, hopping inside and locking it. I stood at the window, knocking on it uselessly as he typed on his phone.

“Open the door,” I whined, and he held his phone against the window.

“I already sent it to the guys. Might as well hop in, I’ll give you a lift to the studio,” he shrugged, muffled by the car door between us.

“You’re unbelievable,” I shook my head, jaw open.

“Your voice is what’s unbelievable,” he unlocked the doors, giving me a sheepish smile, “Get in the car, sweetheart.”

//

[the-bi-space-ace]

Now that Blind Trust is complete I have a really angsty thought to leave you with that was spurred on by a comment on Ao3.

Under the cut because it is long, angsty, and talks about blood, injury, and possible death. Get ready for some whump.

At the end of Chapter 4 Hunter drags Crosshair onto the Marauder. The batch has no idea what Echo and Crosshair have been through only that Echo is critically injured, he’s bleeding, and he’s unconscious. He’s been hit. They need to get him stable and fast. Meanwhile Hunter has Crosshair who is screaming, sobbing, and begging to be let go. He has bandages wrapped around his eyes.

The batch doesn’t know what’s going on.

But they know they’re getting shot at and every second they spend trying to calm Crosshair - who is having quite the emotional meltdown - that’s one less second they have to tend to Echo who is actively dying. So they sedate him. And, truthfully, I think Crosshair would’ve been fine if they let him sit on the floor while Tech and Wrecker worked on getting Echo stable. I think he would’ve found a part of Echo to keep his hand on and stayed out of the way and been fine for the duration of their flight.

However, the batch doesn’t know this. They can’t be sure he won’t continue having this response and knock stuff over or hurt himself or someone else without meaning to. So they sedate him. And it’s not the nicest choice but it was the one they thought made the most sense at the time.

This got me thinking about how this must be the first time they’ve seen Crosshair cry in a really long time. He’s sobbing. He’s screaming. He’s clawing Hunter’s hands to get away. And he’s in such a state of panic that it must’ve made the rest of them start to panic in their own ways.

I don’t write the scene in the fic (I left it open bc of perspective but also bc I like letting people fill it in on their own) but I’ve always imagined that when Hunter carries a sedated Crosshair away and they’re no longer getting shot at Hunter goes back to sit with him. He can hear Tech and Wrecker working with Echo and he’s afraid for him but he hasn’t seen Crosshair cry in a long time. And he’s never seen him sob like that.

So Hunter sits with him. And he tries not to imagine what hell those two have just went through. He tries to listen in on how Echo is doing. He tries to keep it together.

And finally this comment. I love this comment. Thank you for this comment.

I do think Echo would scold them for sedating Crosshair in that moment. For not trying to explain to him what’s happening. He needed reassurance and they stripped that from him. And Echo would have words to say.

I’d like to imagine that it’s Crosshair who tells him about those last moments. He’s lying in Echo’s cot because he can’t stand being alone in the other room. And he has his head on Echo’s shoulder. And he just hasn’t talked much. So Echo asks. He asks and he doesn’t really expect an answer.

But after some light prodding Crosshair tells him. He says that he thought Echo had died. He thought he was gone and he lost it. After everything that happened and everything they did he lost it so bad he thought the world was ending. And then they sedated him and he was sure by the time he woke Echo would be gone and he’d never get the chance to say goodbye.

He wanted five minutes and they couldn’t give him that.

Echo’s heart breaks but his chest burns. He tightens his arm around Crosshair and reaffirms that they made it. The medics are healing them and everything is fine. But he doesn’t sleep much that night. When the medics come to take Crosshair for some testing Echo is left alone with the batch and he lets them have it.

Not really because they deserve it but because he can imagine how frightened and alone Crosshair must have felt. He knows the solitude and silence hurt physically, mentally, emotionally. And they didn’t even try to talk to him or explain. He didn’t have his eyes to guide him, to prove anything. They could’ve taken a few seconds to explain.

And they all look gutted. So distraught that Echo’s temper simmers long enough to hear their explanation.

They thought they were losing Echo. And Crosshair was so torn apart they were afraid it would break him to have to hear what they were doing to keep Echo alive. Afraid he’d hear Echo’s lungs collapse again and panic. Afraid he’d just be harmed further by listening.

And Hunter just looks destroyed. He hasn’t defended himself but he looks close to crying. So much closer than Echo has ever seen. So I think he makes Hunter sit on the edge of the cot so he can explain to him in detail how much of this wasn’t his fault. He’s trusted Hunter’s decisions before and he trusts them now even if he doesn’t always agree.

Because he knows how much it hurts to watch someone you love fall apart at the seams. It’s messy and leaves you feeling hollow and nothing you do really makes you feel better about it.

Echo will go into full protector mode when he finds out. He’ll lose his temper and demand an explanation. He still may not agree with the choice they made but he sees how hurt they are and will feel that tug to protect them too.

Because he loves them. All of them. And they never once stopped looking.

[crystalfic]

Archmage's Run

Warning: Minor character death

"Impossible," the Advisor for Magic said regally, turning away from the young man kneeling before him. "You are, at best, twenty-five. The use of magic sadly burns up our best and brightest; none have ever survived past thirty."

 Daren felt the whisper of magic-born intuition, and closed his mouth on the arguments he wanted to make. "My apologies for misspeaking. I meant twenty-six, not thirty-six."

The cruel curl of the Advisor's plump lips was almost, but not quite, obscured by the fall of his grey hair. "You are renowned as the wisest of our magic users, Archmage Daren. I am surprised you would make such a slip."

A cold chill sparked down Daren's spine as the last of the pieces slammed into place.

He knows.

Daren ducked his head, keeping his eyes on the Advisor's feet. "My lord, I am so often deep in the intricacies of spellwork that I frequently forget what day it is."

The Advisor for Magic chuckled warmly, the sound a lie like every one that came out of the man's mouth. "Perhaps that is why you have lived so long, Daren. Your devotion to the academic side of your calling does you credit."

Play along, Daren thought. Make him sure that I know nothing but my books. If he guesses how much I know about the way magic actually works, I'm, dead. "I desire nothing more than the company of my books, my lord. Which is why I wished to speak to you."

"Oh?" The Advisor draped himself in a cushioned chair—the only one in the room—and plucked a candied leaf from the bowl beside it. Candlelight glinted from the man's golden hair, echoing the precious metal that decorated the man's seat.

Daren didn't move. "The books that the Council have been so generous in providing are beginning to strain the shelves. I request that an extension be built to the library, so that we may access them more easily."  

The Advisor chuckled again, and Daren's skin crawled. "A reasonable request, young Archmage. I shall put it to the Council of Advisors. Is that all?"

It wasn't, not in the least, but the Advisor had proved himself to be part of the conspiracy that Daren had wanted to tell him about. "It is, my lord."

The Advisor flicked his hand dismissively. "You may go."

~

Sheena met Daren as he exited the Council Hall, matching his pace step for step. "What did he say?"

Magic keep her from burning, Daren was glad that Sheena understood how precarious their position was. The wrong word out in the open could mean both of them turning to ashes in the next group ritual. "The Advisor agreed to put forward our library extension proposal, so we may be freed from teetering book piles within the year."

Her stride hitched for a brief second, and Daren refused to look at her. Her reply, when it came, was bright with artfully acted relief. "Oh, wonderful! I swear, if I get one more tome falling on my head because someone backed into a stack, I'm going to make them carry the entire pile somewhere safer."

Daren laughed, partly because it was expected and partly at her clever choice of consequences. A magic-user could not be violent, said the Council; those with hot tempers burned out early, spending their rage and their lives in pursuit of magic. He'd seen people vanish into smoke for lesser threats than hitting someone with a heavy book. "Which reminds me, have you finished learning the spell for Unlocking things yet?"

"There's still one bit I'm having trouble with," Sheena said, biting her lip. "It's that complicated part in the middle where the cadence gets out of time with the gestures." Another lie, but a believable one; Sheena had perfected her grasp of the spell at seventeen, not long after he'd first started to suspect that something in the processes of the very magic they wielded was tainted. That one seeming flaw was all that held Sheena back from her own title of Archmage, now that she'd survived until her twenty-first birthday. Archmages died faster than any other rank.

"If the Working Hall is empty, I can help you practice?" Daren suggested. It would be good to be seen in public, toeing the line of the spells taught to every mage.

Sheena shook her head. "Tomlis and Bari and the others are renewing the wards on the city walls today. The Working Hall won't be free until this evening."

Now it was Daren's time to freeze. Tomlis was one of the older Archmages at twenty-four, and one of the few who were aware of Daren's suspicions about how wrong the magic being taught to them was. "We have to stop them."

He broke into a run, Sheena's long legs still carrying her beside him. "Stop a ritual? Daren, you can't!"

Can't, he thought, crushing the tidy grass underfoot as he sprinted towards the Working Hall. Can't. They teach us that rituals cannot be stopped or altered once started. Thin branches cracked and whipped at him as he ploughed through an ornamental bush. Can't. I'm throwing away everything I've been working for. Marble slipped under his feet, the broad steps leading up to the door echoing a warning drumbeat. Can't. It's too late. The Advisor was my last hope, and he is the most corrupt of them all.

He skidded to a halt in front of the Working Hall's doors.

Can't stop.

Perhaps Sheena, too, knew that there was nothing left to lose. The spell of Unlocking was perfect, elegant, and out in the open where the Mirror of Visions could see it. It saved him the power he would otherwise have spent on the spell, her sacrifice meaning that they'd both go down together now.

Too late.

Every mage in the ritual circle was glowing, but only one was smoking, fine grey curls rising from hair and skin to join the fog of incense. Tomlis met Daren's eyes and smiled sadly, the chant still spilling from his mouth.

"Change the ritual!" Daren shouted, his voice nearly lost in the thrum of the spell. "Take out those bits I showed you, the spell is wrong, they're all wrong! Magic doesn't burn you, it's the parts they added that kill you!"

Tomlis's skin glowed redder from underneath, and his face slackened in resigned acceptance. Then, from some unbelievable reserve of strength, he found the power to break the incantation.

"Run."

It was Tomlis's last word. The fire consumed him, turning a living man to ash and smoke in less than a heartbeat.

Backing up, Daren stared at the place his friend had stood mere moments ago. The rest of the circle continued their spellweaving, the magical immolation brushed aside as the commonplace it was.

Fingers, warm and alive, threaded into Daren's, and he felt the belated tingle of magic-born intuition once more. The Council were coming, and their loyal Mage-Guard with them.

"Tomlis was right," Sheena said. "Time to run."

[cloudwhisper23]

Another day of Grumbo Month under the belt! I don't know that I really remembered to stick within the guidelines for this one, but then again, I'm really bad at sticking to the prompt anyway. Once again, thanks to @grow-bettah for creating this event!

Day 3: Hurt/Comfort

Grian could taste blood when he jumped into the lava after Mumbo, getting a secure grip on his friend before he swam back up to grab the ladder. They both stood there trembling after the fire died down, but Grian knew he was shaking more aggressively.

“I think… I might just fail my task on this one, mate.” Mumbo looked worriedly at his friend. “It’s not going so well.”

“You think?” Grian said distantly. “We haven’t even made it to the fortress yet.”

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t still help you,” Mumbo said slowly. “You did just jump in to rescue me, after all.”

Grian nodded, knowing fully well he should not have risked himself for Mumbo. They weren’t even allies. Mumbo’s task was forcing him to be here. He wheezed out a cough, blood finally splashing on the netherrack as he attempted to clear his throat.

“Grian?” Mumbo hesitated, fists clenching and unclenching. He wanted to help, but he didn’t know how.

Grian wasn’t even sure if it was possible for Mumbo to help. He felt like a breeze could kill him at this point.

“Maybe you should build across for a while?” Grian said when he could finally breathe again. “If you don’t mind, I mean.”

“Of course.” Mumbo carefully started bridging. “How many hearts are you on?”

Half a heart, Grian nearly answered. He clenched his jaw and lied. “Three. You?”

“Five. I guess we’re both tougher than we thought we were?”

“Still…”

“We very well could still die here. I’ll probably still die here,” Mumbo said.

“I’d die before you would, Mumbo. Lower hearts, remember?”

“Yeah, but your reaction times are better.”

“Sure,” Grian said, following Mumbo’s lead.

“It’s strange, what we’re doing. Following the words written in a little book.”

“But it’s a requirement of the game,” Grian replied automatically.

“Yeah, but if all but one of us are going to die anyway, why can’t we just ignore it? What are the consequences of that?”

Grian clenched his jaw. He knew the consequences very well. He remembered a ring of cactus and bloody sand. “Nothing you want to find out about.”

“Grian?” Mumbo looked at him again, concerned. “Are you sure about this?”

“Hard task, Mumbo. I have no choice. But you do have a choice.” Take it. Leave me to this. Don’t risk yourself.

“And I choose you,” Mumbo replied simply.

“Maybe I think you should choose yourself.”

“Well, it’s not your choice to make, is it?”

Yellow eyes caught green. Grian’s mouth thinned into a tighter line. “You’re yellow, Mumbo. If you’re not too careful, you could go red in an instant.”

“I’m well aware of the risks, Grian.”

A short while later, they arrived at the fortress. Mumbo hissed out a breath as wither flickered across his skin for a moment after killing a wither skeleton. Grian’s sword clattered to the ground as he quickly built a box around the two of them.

He held his breath as he watched Mumbo shudder with damage. “One heart,” Mumbo said softly.

“Unacceptable,” Grian replied, his hands shaking. “Let me-“ He gave the extra heart to Mumbo almost without consideration.

“Ah, thanks mate.” Mumbo swallowed slowly. “So, now what? We’re both low.”

“Now?” Grian echoed. “Now you stay here while I get what I need.”

“No need to shatter the illusion mate. You need a wither for something. It’s gotta be part of your task. Which means you’re dead if a wither skeleton hits you once.”

“And you’re not?” Grian’s voice was strained. “This isn’t by choice, Mumbo.”

“Mate, the task can’t be worth this-“

“It isn’t!” Grian inwardly winced at how hysterical he sounded. “Nothing is worth this risk! But that’s the aim of the game. If I don’t at least try, then it’s not going to be entertaining enough!”

“Entertaining?”

“Stay put,” Grian said. “I have a task to work on, and you are not allowed to get yourself killed.”

Half a heart or not, Grian wasn’t going to sacrifice his best friend. Even if he had more health, this was Grian’s problem.

The skeletons fell easily, and Grian had his three skulls. “Time to go, Mumbo.”

“Uh huh.” Mumbo sighed again as Grian started up his coughing once again. “You lied about your hearts, didn’t you? Side effects like that don’t come up until you’re under two.”

Grian didn’t answer, opting to push past Mumbo and walk back across the bridge. He typed out a message to Etho as he went, letting his ally know to be prepared to work on the next phase of their task.

“Grian,” Mumbo said in a worried tone as Grian’s coughing nearly took him over the edge into the lava. “Careful now.”

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine. Grian-“

Rushing forward so he didn’t have to hear Mumbo complain, Grian forgot about the hole in the platform he’d built earlier. He dropped straight into the lava and died instantly. He sat up from a bed, a strangled cry stuck in his throat.

That’s one way to avoid Mumbo’s motherhenning, he thought to himself. Groaning into his hands, Grian sighed. There was no way around it. He was yellow now, and that was something he’d need to cope with.

In his distress, he almost missed the next death message. Mumbo tried to swim in lava.

“Mumbo…” Grian’s feet hit the ground, and he was running for it.

He watched Mumbo press the fail button, hidden behind the Secret Keeper. Mumbo’s shoulders sagged as the new task appeared in front of him.

“This isn’t just a game,” Mumbo said quietly, glaring up at the Secret Keeper. “You can’t make me do this. You can’t force me to do this task.”

Grian’s curiosity tugged at him. He wanted to come out and ask, but Mumbo wasn’t allowed to tell him. Not that it mattered, since Mumbo clearly didn’t want to do it.

His communicator dinged in his pocket. Etho was ready to do the other half of the task. With a muffled sigh, Grian left Mumbo to shout at the Secret Keeper on his own.

He had a task to do, after all.

Things were not going well. Grian stumbled away from the edge of the cliff, thunder still rumbling in his ears as Jimmy fell to the ground and disappeared.

Mumbo was still down there, and the Warden was hunting. “Scar, over here!” Grian yelled as the Wither came into range. “If we get them to fight, they’ll leave us alone!”

“Great idea, Grian!” Scar yelled back, and together they ran toward the Warden.

Almost automatically, Grian threw an egg, and the Warden whirled to let out an outraged roar. Pain shot through his body as it knocked him backwards. He heard several people yell his name, and he stumbled to his feet to get away from the fight.

A stray shot from the Wither hit him squarely in the back, and Grian fell to his knees in front of the Secret Keeper. The poison flashed across his skin, unrelenting even as the Warden let out a final roar and died. He was almost delirious as he laughed. Blood came up his throat yet again as Mumbo staggered toward him.

“You’re insane,” Mumbo muttered, wrapping his arms around Grian.

“I did it.” Grian laughed more as his eyes became more unfocused.

“Stay with me, G. You gotta stay awake until you press that succeed button.”

Grian leaned into Mumbo’s supporting arms. “I don’t care if I die. I did it.”

“Grian?”

He was being stubborn about it, he knew. But the Secret Keeper had told him a secret he wasn’t supposed to know, in favor of making Grian behave.

Looking up into Mumbo’s red eyes, Grian giggled more. “I’m okay. You’re alive.”

“I- Yeah?” Mumbo tried to smile, and Grian let his eyes close. “Hey, stay awake, Grian.”

“You’re alive,” Grian said again.

“I’m alive,” Mumbo confirmed. “And so are you. But you won’t be for long if you don’t press that button.”

“It’s fine. Wither wore off.”

“That doesn’t negate the other risks, G.”

“Worried I’m going to hit the ground too hard?”

“Grian-“

Grian forced himself to get up and view the destruction caused by the battle between the Warden and the Wither. He let out a low whistle, causing him to cough a few more times. “What a disaster.”

“Yeah…” Mumbo steadied his friend as they both looked at the shell-shocked server. “I take it this was your task then?”

Grian didn’t reply. He saw blood on the fields, and he wondered who else had died. Jimmy and Lizzie were both gone already, but Grian almost didn’t want to check who was still alive.

The Secret Keeper had shown him Mumbo’s final death. The Warden bore down on him, and his foot caught on a fence post. There had been no chance.

Tears spilled out of Grian’s eyes as he stared at the offending posts. He wanted to get his axe out and destroy them. He wanted to drag Mumbo away to live with Etho and Cleo.

He wanted…

“Grian? Hey, it’s okay buddy.” Mumbo said softly. “It’s over. They’re both dead.”

“I helped unleash two bosses onto the server at the same time,” Grian said. “I got Timmy killed.”

“It was a risk.”

“You could’ve died,” Grian snapped, burying his face in Mumbo’s shirt. “You would’ve been gone.”

“But I didn’t die. You and Scar got there in time.”

“How did you die in the nether?” Grian demanded.

“A ghast broke the bridge,” Mumbo answered. “Mate, you need to calm down.”

“Calm down? Calm down? Why didn’t you just leave the nether when you decided to hit fail, Mumbo? Why did you stay?”

“I didn’t want you to die when I could do something about it,” Mumbo replied firmly. “Grian, I think you’re in shock.”

“Am I?” Grian replied, his voice getting higher. “Maybe you’re the one in shock.”

“I think you need to go hit that succeed button, mate. Come on.”

Grian let Mumbo bring him back over to the Secret Keeper, and he glared at Mumbo before his hand came down over the button. “Happy now?”

“I’d be happier if you were smiling.”

“Not much to smile about.”

“The session is almost over. We can take a break and breathe.”

“How exciting,” Grian said sarcastically.

“It will be.” Mumbo pulled him into another hug. “There will be no more red names, no more permanent death, no more grief. It’ll be okay.”

Grian sniffled, reaching for Mumbo again. “I guess anything is worth it if it means you’ll be by my side.”

“Of course. Never apart, mate.”

“Never.”

[dana-chan-the-control-brain]

The last interaction Dib has with his father for years.

Things said... things unsaid...

Sometimes... you just need to let them know, the things you hold onto.

An echo return of past conversations

Part of the Post Florpus AU in the somewhat distant future. 

Dib and Zim leave for college or something, I don’t know. 

This comic is ooooooooooold. Like around two years old. I shared an preview update on my Kofi and shared with a few people in discord servers for awhile, but I never posted it publicly. 

Part of the reason I held onto it for such a long time: (personal long ramblings under the cut and talk about my grief experiences.)

....was partly because I felt without context for the overall series huge chunks missing about Dib’s character development in Post Florpus and what I have planned, it would have come across as a shallow thing... Dib forgiving his Dad for being a neglectful father or something akin to that and I feared the protentional backlash something like this could have among the Invader Zim community. Since people who connect personally with that show typically all have their own issues regarding their parents. (not always but I see it very often)

And I changed the dialogue of what Dib said to his father over several times. Like “I love you” “I forgive you....” but it didn’t seem appropriate to me. Nothing felt right other than telling him that He’s proud of him in the same way that Membrane told Dib in Enter the Florpus. 

And no, Dib doesn’t forgive his Dad for having a shitty neglectful childhood. Cause he was, a terrible parent, but Dib can acknowledge that his Dad is getting better... and working to improve... and knows his Dad loves him... but he also can establish boundaries and set his distance... this is the last thing Dib basically says to Membrane before he cuts him out of his life temporarily when he goes to University. 

And it very personally echos the relationship that I had with my Father and Mother. There was a huge period of time where I hated my father after he passed away. For how distant he was in his parenting style and how much he left my controlling Mom to do everything. When he passed away I felt like my Mom was tighter with a leash on me, and it took a long time and therapy on both of our ends to have a healthy relationship with good boundaries. 

I’m on real good terms with my Mom now and I can’t imagine a time where it was ever tense between us, and she’s really a different person then the one I grew up with. Heck, even Mom from seven years ago is a different person and was way were then. I’m glad that I can call my Mom my friend too. 

I know it doesn’t always work out that way in real life for some people.... but this AU is extremely personal to me, and I like to write about my displacement in my family since my Dad died, and what happened over the years as we coped with that. 

Post Florpus AU stemed from me being emotional about ETF due to my grief of losing my father and my own personal experiences with my family just struck the right chord at the right time in 2019. And that has never changed. 

I drew this two years ago angry at the time... thinking that there were many things I wanted to tell my Dad. How he could have been there for Mom more when me and my sister were struggling with heavy bullying in school, how Dad could have took on more responsibilities when my Mom tried to go back to college. And how I still wanted him here.... but in retrospect, he did the best he could do at the time, knowing what he knew... as an undiagnosed autistic and everything else.... 

Like there’s no forgiveness of his favoritism of one child over the other and how he left Mom to do all the parenting. But I feel if he was alive in our family unit today, we’d all have a healthier family dynamic and balance. People can always change, and change every day and I personally don’t hold onto memories of people when I know every five years someone can be reborn. But the effort always needs to be there.

I don’t know. I’m rambling.  

In any case, I just kept this under my belt for so long because I was worried of public perception and worrying people might judge me for “Forgiving shitty dads” or something...

Sorry to break it to you... but in this AU everyone does get better. Dib doesn’t even need to be in contact with his Dad, and he won’t for a long while until he matures more. 

Forgiveness is a choice on the Membrane Sibling’s part, and sometimes, in this case... it isn’t needed. Membrane himself doesn’t even want forgiveness for his shitty parenting in the past. He just wishes for his children to grow up happy and healthy, and if they want to stay in contact with him, great, but he won’t force himself when he’s not wanted. It’s a delicate balance.... He’s not forgiven exactly, but the Siblings appreciate the effort... and they like who he is now, rather than who he was... but it will take a long time before they can have a proper adult child and parent relationship. Baby steps.

TLDR: My au. My rules. Membrane Trying juice. 

[bluejaysandblackbats]

blood on your altar

Fandom: DC Comics, Titans (fab five), Aquafam, Arrowfam

Summary: Roy Harper is haunted by a strange sight he witnessed while on holiday by the seaside.

Chapters: 4/?

Characters: Roy Harper, Garth, Oliver Queen, Hal Jordan, Dinah Lance

Relationships: Roy Harper/Garth

Additional Tags: Cannibal Mermaid AU, Sacrifice, Cannibalism as a Metaphor, Secrets, Angst, Romance, Horror, 1950’s AU

Chapter Four: Death at the Eclipse

Being followed at nighttime is a strange feeling. I remember Ollie told me something about the true nature of a man coming out when his life is on the line, and I thought it was war talk. Shuffling through the sand at a steady pace kept me from panicking as I listened to the sound of someone’s feet trudging behind me. I didn’t turn but I should have… Because the second I felt his breath on the back of my neck and smelled the stench of liquor and cigar smoke on him, it was too late. I felt something strike me in the back of my head, and I recalled Ollie’s words clearly. “When a man comes across a situation that is undoubtedly life or death, there’s nothing to separate him from an animal… And at that moment… He becomes a predator or he dies like prey,” Ollie’s words echoed in my head while my ears rang like a bell. I was out of it, knocked on my back with a man on top of me, punching me. I couldn’t hear him speak, but I had time to look when he stopped attacking me to see the glint of a blade. I blocked his attempt to stab me with my forearm. I went wide-eyed, staring into the eyes of my attacker. The man from the ice cream parlor. I struggled to get the upper hand, but he’d knocked me so hard in the back of my head. 

I felt his weight fly off of me, and I heard a crunch and squelching noise. Once my ears stopped ringing, and I regained my senses, I tilted my head back in the sand, staring at the blood on the rock ahead of me. Then my eyes focused on my boy creature in full creature form. His entire body covered in dark abalone shells glistened in the moonlit showers. His teeth were sharp and white, and his sharp, scaly claws tore the limp mess of a man’s head from his body. I sat with my legs crossed in the wet sand, staring at him. “Ur ye awrite?” the boy creature asked. I couldn’t speak. He cleared his throat, looking at me with his bright amethyst eyes. “Are you okay?” His American accent was exaggerated and dragged out but I understood him much better. 

“Are you going to eat me next?” I asked. 

“Of course not, dafty… You didn’t hurt anyone,” he answered. He lugged the limp thing on his shoulders carrying what remained of the head with one hand, and walked through a rock mass toward a closed-off beach area. I clutched my head and grabbed my satchel, following him dizzily. “You didn’t tell anyone you saw me… I listened for a tale, and you didn’t speak. You didn’t utter a word about me. Why?” 

“I don’t know. I was curious about you,” I confessed. 

“You made pictures of me. Will you make more?” he asked. He was talkative for a creature. We reached a half-submerged cave and he threw the body down ripping the man’s limbs from his body. “Does this make ya ill? I could eat him later.” I shook my head. 

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have drawn you that way—.” 

“Why not? Do you not like your drawing?” he asked innocently. 

“I—. Well—.” I stammered before taking a deep breath. “I draw what I like to look at. I never draw anything that I don’t like.” He smiled. 

“I liked it too. You made me look special… I’ve never talked to a human before. I have so many questions,” he replied. He could’ve yammered on forever. He seemed lonesome. I wondered if there were others like him. But I figured it’d be better to let the person who could tear men limb from limb ask the questions. I nodded. “Do your parts change?” 

“Huh?” I asked. I watched as he set the arms aside and wiped his mouth. Holding eye contact, he took a fully human form and started touching himself. I felt my face go red hot as I turned away. “Is it not human enough?” I swallowed hard, trying not to let it arouse something in me. 

“It’s human, alright,” I answered. He rinsed his hand in the water and touched my head where I’d been struck. The pain subsided, but I felt so dizzy that I fell forward on him. He held me. 

“I didn’t know if it’d work on ya. Does it hurt still?” he questioned as he smelled me. I thought it was strange, but he didn’t seem like an immediate threat to me. 

With my forehead pressed against his shoulder, I glanced down at his lower body, and I found myself staring. “Are than any others like you?” I asked. 

“Not like me… But there are others,” he answered, “It’s my eyes… There’s a superstition. I don’t know much about it, but people who have my eye color are usually killed at birth… I’ve been alone for most of my life, but I’ve had contact with others. They’re like a family to me. I come here to hunt. I need things that they don’t. That’s why I eat humans. I won’t eat you, though. You make me look nice in pictures… Why do you cover yourself with so many things?” 

“It’s cultural. Most humans prefer we cover most of our bodies. Why did you hide when I saw you that night?” I asked. 

“I thought you’d want to hurt me… Humans don’t like it when people aren’t like them. I wasn’t going to hurt you,” he mumbled. He wrung his soft human hands and frowned. 

“I don’t want to hurt you. I want to—. What I want to do doesn’t matter,” I paused to gather my thoughts and say something more appropriate. “What’s your name?”

“Garth,” he answered. 

“That’s a good name,” I smiled. He removed the man’s sleeve as he bit into a bicep. He went half-creature as he ate, humming and groaning with pleasure. He ate until he picked the man’s flesh clean from his bones. His body alternated between varying degrees of human and inhuman. He wiped the corner of his mouth with his thumb. 

“What do you want to do?” Garth questioned without looking at me. He kept eating, and I didn’t mind. I knew I should’ve, but I was so intrigued with him that I didn’t care. 

I silently stared at him until he looked at me. “Will I see you again after this?” I asked. 

He nodded, still focused on cannibalizing the ice cream parlor bigot. Garth paused as if he’d remembered something important and grabbed my face. I tensed, wondering if it’d be my end, but he rubbed the bridge of my nose with his thumbs and touched my lip with his bloody fingers. The pain in my face subsided, and he returned to his meal. “Wash your face… No one will know he hurt you. I fixed your face. It’s pretty again,” Garth reassured me. Pretty? Ha. I grabbed his wrist, stopping him for a moment. His eyes went from bright amethyst to their indigo color, and I wished I could’ve kissed him. I wanted to, but I didn’t dare. “What’s wrong?”

“You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen,” I whispered. He grinned at me, studying my features. 

“If you come back, I’ll take you to see the beautiful place. It’s going to rain again, so I can’t take you today. Your human skin is too fragile. The lightning could hurt you. After I finish eating, you should go home,” Garth suggested, “And you never told me your name… But I’ve heard it. Roy, isn’t it?” 

“Mhm. Roy Harper,” I replied as I washed the blood off my face. 

When I dried my face, Garth grinned at me. “You’re not afraid of me. Will you bring me a picture soon?” Garth asked. He pushed the body into the deeper, murkier part of the water and washed his hands and face. That’s when he leaned forward and kissed me. I pulled away. My thoughts raced as I tried to grasp at something sensible. “Sorry, I thought—.” I reciprocated before he could finish his sentence. I felt him creeping across every inch of my spirit, and I believe I did the same to him. Like an eclipse, for a moment we were perfectly aligned, sharing the same thoughts and feelings. My heart raced as I reached for his face, soft and fleshy like a human’s. Our lips captured each other, and I could taste blood. It made my ears ring and my whole body tingled, raising goosebumps from my neck and down my arms and back. How could I turn back? How could I stop myself from falling in love? I couldn’t be bothered with my conscience. I wanted him, body and soul. He had me. Everything I was… I was willing to give. If he wouldn’t eat me, I’d let him devour me. Heart and mind. Mind and all.

[mandos-mind-trick]

Here’s To The Future - Part 3: Cornered

Summary: The war’s over. That should be cause for celebration, except the wrong side won. Things begin to change quickly, and it doesn’t take long for Midnight to realize something’s not right among the clone army. She should be glad the war is over, but the threat of her losing her boys is all too real. She did swear she would do everything she could to keep them from being separated when the war ended.

She’s not going to give up on that promise. Even if it kills her.

Pairing: The Bad Batch x reader (no clonecest)

Warnings: NSFW, Lots of emotions, arguing, Hunter is a little bit of a dick, some rehashing of CW pain, badly written smut

A/N: May the 4th be with you! Here's the much anticipated update. I combined Episodes 3 and 4 for this one, since I wanted to focus more on Midinght and less on following the plot of the show. Stuff still happens, but significantly less action than the previous two chapters. Lots of feelings, lots of angst.My Hunter girlies, I did promise.

Also I am still looking for a beta reader for this one, so if you’re interested…

< Previous | Next > | SERIES MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

She can feel him. 

Arms snake around her, a firm chest presses against her back. His nose presses into her hair, inhaling deeply. She can feel the thump of his heart, long fingers lacing with hers. The musky smell of him, mixed with blaster residue and plastoid. He’s warm, he’s real. 

There’s a hand on her but it’s not his. 

She’s clutching his pillow, face half buried in it. Tears are streaming, wetting the pillow. 

“Hey.” A quiet voice whispers, the hand shaking her. 

She turns on her back, blinking through the tears. She can’t see clearly, but she doesn’t need to. 

“Come on.” He motions with his head, stepping back from the bunk. 

Midnight sniffles, wiping her face. The dream had felt so real. For a moment she thought he really was here. He really had crawled into the bunk and held her like he had so many times before. It had only been a dream, though. He was still gone. He was still missing. 

Midnight crawls out of the bunk, dropping down quietly. Tech’s bunk is still empty, but Wrecker and Hunter’s are occupied. She follows Echo to the hull, watching as he kneels down, pulling a panel off the wall. 

It’s quiet for a few moments, Midnight watching him fiddle with some wiring. She shifts on her feet, unsure if she should be helping, or if he’ll ask her to. It wasn’t unusual for Tech to drag her somewhere and expect her to jump in and help him without direction. Echo was usually more straightforward. 

“Back when I was a reg, I was really close to one of my batch mates.” He starts talking, his back still to her. “Fives, we called him, because his designation number was all fives. We were assigned to the Domino Squad during our training. We wound up being the only two of the Domino Squad to survive and we were placed in the 501st.” 

Midnight sinks down onto the floor, pulling her knees to her chest. She’d heard about his early days, how he’d come to join the 501st before, but he had never mentioned anyone specific besides Captain Rex. She knew what happened to him to an extent, but he avoided talking about his time before Skako Minor in detail, unless something specific came up. She knows he’d rather move on from it, he’d rather not remember. 

“I never asked Rex when he died, or how.” He shakes his head, sitting up on his knees. “I know he’s gone because if he were still alive, he wouldn’t have given up either. He would have been right beside Rex, doing everything he could to rescue me.” He places the panel back in place, keeping his back turned to her. “I know it’s not the same. I can’t even begin to understand what it feels like. We’re taught from a young age any of us could die at any moment. That doesn't mean we don’t feel it, but we bury it because we have to keep fighting.” 

Tears burn Midnight’s eyes once more, her grip tightening around her legs as she tries hard not to cry again. “It hurts.” She sniffles. “It hurts so much.” 

“I know.” He turns to face her, a sad look in his eyes. “Hunter told us what happened, what Suu told him.  I know you want to do this alone. I don’t blame you. None of us are really good at this.” 

“I’ve always had to do it alone.” Midnight laughs, more at herself than anything else. “We’re not that different, you know. I never got to mourn anyone. My mom disappeared when I was ten years old. I couldn’t do anything but miss her sometimes because I had to take care of myself. So many friends either left or just disappeared and you never blink twice at it because that’s just the way things are. That’s just...life.” She sobs quietly, fresh tears falling. “This hurts so much worse.” 

“Because Crosshair didn’t just disappear.” Echo says, taking her hand in his. “He betrayed you. He betrayed all of us.” 

“Does it ever go away?” She whispers, clutching onto his hand tightly. 

“No.” He says. “Not entirely. You just...begin to feel it less and less often.” 

She wipes her tears, a futile action since more just keep falling. “I wish I had done something sooner.” 

“You couldn’t have known.” Echo says, pulling her to her feet. “None of us could have known. Don’t beat yourself up too much. Don’t beat the others up either. They’re trying their best.” 

Echo does have a point. It’s not just her that’s lost Crosshair. On top of everything else that’s happened, she’s not helping any. 

“Come on.” Echo takes her hand, leading her towards the door. “If you want to sleep more, you can use my bunk. I’ll be working on repairs for a while.” 

“Can I...do anything to help?” She asks. 

He shakes his head. “No offense, but I don’t think you’d be much help.” 

Midnight shrugs. “I can fit into small places.” 

“You’re not the only one that can.” Echo gives her a grin. “I’d rather have you resting.”

Right. Omega. She hadn’t spent much time with the kid. Kids aren’t really her thing. She avoided them as much as possible on Coruscant, since she knew most of them would beat her up for spare change or something to eat. She feels a little guilty for basically ignoring the kid. Maybe she should spend some time with Omega. For female solidarity or something like that. 

Midnight takes Echo’s offer, slipping into his bunk. She doesn’t sleep, instead she lays awake, staring at the top of the bunk. Echo did have a point. It wasn’t like they weren’t trying to help her. She knows Hunter was only trying to help her, offering her an option if she wanted it. 

She probably shouldn’t have gotten so upset about it. The thought of leaving them, even if it was safer for her, hadn’t even crossed her mind. She’d rather face danger head on with them than leave them behind. Even if Crosshair is gone, she can’t fathom the thought of losing the rest of them. 

She’s not sure how long she’s laid there when the privacy curtain is pulled back, Hunter leaning down with a box of rations in his hands. “Food time.” He says, holding it out to her. 

Midnight doesn’t feel hungry, but she knows she should probably eat. They were running low and safe places to stop were going to get harder and harder to find. She takes a bar, swinging her legs over the side of the bunk. “Thanks.” 

“Are you...alright?” Hunter asks, eyeing her hunched over position. 

He’s not asking if she’s wholly okay. He wants to know if she’s physically hurt. Is she okay? No. Is she injured? No. 

“Yeah.” She nods, trying to smile but she’s sure it looks more like a grimace. “Not my first firefight, remember?” 

He nods, looking down. “Right.” 

He turns, looking like he wants to move away but she stands, calling out to him. “Hunter?”

He turns to face her and she gets lost in his eyes for a moment. She had gotten used to seeing the stern face of her Sergeant recently, and had missed the softness he used to look at her with when they weren’t in a fight or running for their lives. 

“I-” 

She’s cut off as the ship violently jerks, nearly throwing her from her feet. She manages to catch herself on the edge of the bunk, keeping her feet under her. Hunter runs for the cockpit, and she follows, barely able to keep her feet as the ship continues to violently shake. 

“Getting thrown out of hyperspace. I’d say that’s pretty critical, Tech.” Hunter says, bracing himself on the back of the pilot’s seat. 

They were no longer in hyperspace, instead plummeting straight towards a moon. 

“It’s not affecting life support. We’re fine.” Tech says, like they’re not about to crash land on some moon they’ve never even heard of. 

“Are you kidding me?” Hunter asks in disbelief. 

“The power capacitor’s blown. We need to land immediately.” Echo says from the copilot’s seat. 

“Strap in!” Hunter yells, moving to the seat behind the copilot. 

Midnight takes the seat behind Tech, holding on for dear life. They plummet through the thick clouds of the moon’s atmosphere, alarms blaring from the ship. Midnight trusts Tech’s flying abilities, but while crashing? The gonk droid slides up into the cockpit, many loose items clanging around in the back as they continue to nosedive towards the surface of the moon. 

Tech pulls up on the controls, managing to flatten out the Marauder before it slams into the moon’s surface, sliding to a stop. Midnight lets out the breath she was holding, hands still clutching the seat tightly. 

Hunter rises to his feet, helping the gonk droid up before looking in the back. “Everybody all right?” He puts a hand on her shoulder and she nods, still holding onto the seat. 

Is she really okay? 

No. 

Definitely not now. 

***

Midnight stacks empty crates back in their place, working with Wrecker and Omega to put everything back where it belongs. The mess wasn’t as bad as she had thought it might be, or at least what it had sounded like. 

Despite the mess, it’s probably the cleanest the ship has been in a long time. Probably since it came off the line. 

“I suspect one of our capacitors sustained damage during our firefight with the regs.” Tech says. “We won’t be able to take off without replacing it. Inventory analysis indicates we have one spare onboard.” 

“Is it in here?” Omega asks, moving a crate. 

They all turn to look at her, Midnight’s stomach twisting painfully. They’re all quiet, all of them thinking the same thing. 

“What?” Omega asks as they continue to stare at her. 

“That’s Crosshair’s weapon kit.” Hunter explains slowly.  

Wrecker groans. “Fine. I’ll say it. I kinda miss him.” 

“He shot you, remember?” Echo says. 

“Ha! I sure do. That hurt!” Wrecker says, moving his once injured shoulder. 

“It’s worth noting the possibility that Crosshair’s actions were influenced by his inhibitor chip.” Tech says. 

“It can do that?” Echo asks. 

“That’s what it was designed to do.” Omega says. 

“So, it wasn’t Crosshair’s fault?” Wrecker asks. 

“Well,” Tech goes to start but Hunter cuts him off. 

“Look, debating this won’t fix the ship. Right now we need to find that capacitor and get off this rock.” Hunter says, walking towards the cockpit. 

Midnight stays still, thinking over Tech’s words. She knows Crosshair. As much as he was an asshole, betraying his squad? Shooting two of them? He wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t betray them like that. 

Not willingly. 

***

Midnight swivels the chair back and forth, staring at the screen. She’s not really sure what she’s looking at, but it was better than looking at nothing. 

“Are you...alright?” Hunter asks, coming to stand next to her. 

“I won’t be if you keep asking me that.” She snaps, but immediately deflates. “Sorry.” She shakes her head. “Nothing ever goes our way, does it?” She scoffs. “My mom would say ‘the universe is just giving us all the bad now so it can save up all the good for later.’” 

“She sounds like she was a prolific woman.” 

Midnight snorts. “She was drunk. Drunk and desperate. I used to think maybe she found a way out, she made herself a better life somewhere. I know that’s not true. Not with the kind of people she spent time with.” 

Hunter puts a hand on her shoulder squeezing gently. It’s a comforting touch, something she hadn’t realized she was missing. 

Their moment is disturbed as Wrecker walks by, groaning in pain. 

“What’s wrong with you?” Hunter asks, turning to face him.

“I must’ve hit my head in the crash.” He groans, holding the side of his head. 

Tech and Echo reenter the ship, joining them in the hull. 

“The capacitor’s in place, but other systems are now failing.” Tech says. 

“Something’s causing damage to the exterior hull.” Echo says. 

“You wanna narrow that down?” Hunter asks, turning to them. 

The ship goes dark, whirring as the entire thing shuts down. The sound of thudding from the top of the ship is loud in the silence, all of them looking up as something makes its way across the top of the ship. 

They all rush to the cockpit as something moves across the viewport out of sight. Omega calls out, being the only one who saw it. 

“What? What is it?” Wrecker asks, Omega standing on the copilot’s seat. 

“Some kind of creature, about this big,” She holds her arms out to show how big it was. “With a long tail. It ran off with the part.”

Echo hits a couple buttons, pulling up the ship's schematic. “She’s right. The capacitor’s gone. And that was our last one.”

 “The creature is most likely an Ordo Moon Dragon. A species that feeds on raw energy.” Tech says. “It was probably drawn to the capacitor’s electric charge.” 

“Well, that would have been good to know beforehand, Tech.” Echo says. 

“You two get those other systems online.” Hunter says. “Wrecker, stay here. I’ll go after the dragon and get our part back.” 

“I’m fine. I-” Wrecker tries to argue, still groaning in pain. 

“You’re staying.” Hunter commands. 

“I’ll go with you.” Omega says excitedly. 

“No, that thing could be dangerous.” Hunter says. 

“I’m part of this squad now too, right?” 

Hunter turns to look at her, casting a glance at Tech and Echo who have also turned to look at her. Echo shrugs, knowing the final decision was up to Hunter. 

“All right, kid.” Hunter says. “Just stay close.” 

Omega puts on her oxygen mask, running happily towards the ramp. 

“What about me?” Midnight asks, noticing Hunter had skipped over her entirely. 

Hunter turns to look at her, furrowing his brow like he had forgotten her existence entirely. It hurts a little. “You stay here.” 

“But-” 

“Keep an eye on Wrecker, and help Tech if he needs it.” 

Midnight bites her tongue as Hunter exits the ship, nearly drawing blood. Of course he’d sideline her. She’s not exactly in the most stable mindset, and it could possibly be dangerous. Yet, he’s willing to take a kid with him. 

Midnight fights the urge to punch the wall. Wrecker was already hurting. They didn’t need her to be hurt too. 

***

Midnight peeks out of the bunk as Tech and Echo pass by. All of them had headed towards the back of the ship, Omega included. She climbs down from the bunk, following curiously. 

Omega is sitting up in the gunport which has been decked out and lit up. So that’s what Wrecker had been doing back there this whole time. 

“I’ve never had my own room before.” Omega says, plopping down with Lula in her arms. 

“Well, you’re a part of this squad now too.” Hunter says. 

Midnight smiles softly, leaning up against the wall. 

“That’s really sweet of you, Wrecker.” She says as the giant clone passes her. 

“Aww, it was nothing.” He says bashfully, rubbing the back of his neck. “This way she has her own room and you can have yours back.”

Midnight nods, her smile faltering just a little. “Right.” She knows she’s not ready to leave Crosshair’s bunk yet. Not while it still smells like him. 

She shrieks as Wrecker lifts her off her feet suddenly, carrying her towards the bunks. “Wrecker! What are you doing?” 

“Well, I just thought since Omega has Lula now, I need something to cuddle at night.” He pauses right beside his bunk. 

“Oh, Wrecker.” Midnight shakes her head, wrapping her arms around his neck. “You sweet, sweet man.” 

Wrecker climbs into his bunk, still holding onto her. She lays across his chest, not exactly the most comfortable with his armor, but the feeling of his arms around her, the warmth of him makes up for it. She hadn’t realized how much she missed it. 

It wasn’t exactly like they’d had time for it. Between escaping Kamino and barely escaping Saleucami, and then crash landing on a deserted moon, they hadn’t really had time to do much else. And now with Omega on board, the entire dynamic had to change. 

She hadn’t exactly been in the mood for a cuddle lately either. 

Now, though, being held secure against Wrecker’s chest, being moved with every breath he takes makes her realize how much she’s missed it. How much she still yearned for their touch, even if it’s something simple. 

She drifts off to sleep easily, sleeping soundly for the first time in a while. 

***

Midnight rifles through her belongings, cataloging what she still has. It’s mostly clothes, GAR issued uniforms and the few civvies she had brought with her, the small crate of bathroom necessities, and her armor. 

She rifles to the bottom of her underwear drawer, pulling out the hinged box. The top doesn’t close all the way anymore, some of the contents threatening to spill out. 

It’s her most prized possession. 

She’s been saving credits in it since before she joined the GAR. It’s a lot, more than she’s ever seen in her entire life. Most of it came from her GAR paycheck. She had made meager credits in her job on Coruscant, the box mostly going near empty, or entirely empty a few times. Now it’s almost overflowing. 

She had started saving for her new life after the war. If she survived, she was going to buy a plot of land on some remote planet and live her life happily in a wide open space. Of course, her relationship with the boys had changed those plans a bit, but the desire to move to a remote planet hadn’t lessened. The only difference was she wouldn’t be living there alone. 

She has more than enough. She knows that. She could easily buy them enough supplies to get to some remote, deserted planet. 

She gets up, packing a few credits in a pouch before leaving her room. Hunter has changed into the clothes Cut had given him. Midnight forgets how good he looks in civvies. She glances at Echo who is dressed in...something. 

“What are you supposed to be?” She asks, looking over Echo. 

“He’s a droid!” Omega says excitedly. “It’s his disguise.” 

“Right.” She nods slowly. 

“We can’t draw too much attention to ourselves.” Hunter explains. “The less we stick out, the better.”

Midnight glances at the red bandana and skull tattoo. “Uh huh. Here,” She hands him the pouch of credits. “I want you to have this.” 

He stares down at her hand for a few moments before pushing it back. “No. You should keep that.” 

Midnight frowns. “I have a lot more than this. I want to contribute something, since you’re buying supplies for all of us.” 

“We have to figure out a way to get credits anyway.” Hunter says. “Keep yours for emergencies.” 

“Does this not qualify as an emergency?” She asks, following him as he moves towards the back of the ship. “We literally have no food.” 

“We can figure it out.” He says, opening a crate. 

“But you don’t have to!” She says, getting frustrated. “You want to do this quickly, you can skip an entire step this way! This isn’t the time for some chivalry bullshit! Have you stopped to think maybe I’m your expert in living like this? Constantly watching your back, laying low, staying hidden, that’s how I lived my entire life! You only know how to be a soldier! Guess what, you aren’t anymore! Let me help!” 

“We don’t need your help!” He snaps, slamming his hands on top of the crate. Midnight flinches, not having seen him this angry before. “Your head is not in the right place right now. You’ll be a danger to all of us. I’m not putting our lives at risk. Stay here. Fix your attitude. We’ll be back.” He turns, making his way towards the ramp. 

Midnight seethes, watching him go before she steps into her room, wishing she could slam the door. 

***

Midnight sits in the cockpit, staring out the viewport. She can hear Tech and Wrecker thumping around outside. She could go and offer to help, but she’s not sure she could do much. She’d likely just be in the way. She’s not an engineer or even a mechanic. Hell, she’s not even capable of taking care of children. Maybe Hunter is right. Maybe she is a burden. 

The comm blinks, Hunter’s voice coming through. “Wrecker, Tech, Echo. I lost Omega. Somebody attacked us.” 

“Somebody who?” Wrecker asks. 

“A woman. Highly trained. She’s after the kid.” 

“Yeah, we’ll see about that.” Wrecker says. 

Midnight jumps up, heading back to her room. Maybe this is her chance to prove to Hunter she’s not a liability. That her head really is in the right place despite everything. She quickly changes into her armor, tugging it on. 

She goes to leave the ship but Tech grabs her arm, stopping her. “Where are you going?” 

“To help find Omega.” She says, trying to pull out of his grip, but he’s too strong. 

“No. You need to stay here.” He says, using his grip on her to pull her closer. 

“I’m going to help.” She says defiantly, digging in her heels. 

“Hunter’s right, you know.” He says, not loosening his grip any. “Your head is not in the right place. You’re only a risk right now, and the last thing we need is you lost in the city too.” 

Midnight knows he’s right. She has no clue where they are, much less how to help. She refuses to stand down though, hating that two of them now have told her she’s too unstable to do anything. 

Tech’s face hardens a bit. “Don’t make me tie you up.” 

***

“This is dehumanizing.” Midnight says, kicking the back of the pilot’s seat. 

“What happened to you?” Wrecker asks, sinking into the seat beside her. 

“She was intent on leaving the ship.” Tech says. “Restraints were necessary to prevent that from happening.” 

She’s not even sure where he got the rope from, or why he had it, but he had successfully tied her to a chair in the cockpit. It hadn’t been much of a fight since he was much stronger than her, and apparently was well versed in tying people up. 

“Yeah, well, it’s over now, so can you untie me?” She kicks the back of Tech’s seat once again, Omega giggling. 

Wrecker turns her seat, undoing the rope in a couple easy tugs. It hadn’t been tight, but Midnight stretches her arms anyway. 

“That woman. She has to be a bounty hunter.” Hunter says, joining them. 

“A what?” Omega asks. 

“Someone hired to retrieve targets.” Echo says. 

“And you appear to be the target.” Tech says, spinning around so they’re all facing each other. 

“Me?” Omega asks, sounding frightened at Tech’s words. 

“Hey, don’t scare the kid.” Wrecker says. 

“We have to find out who she is and who hired her.” Hunter says. 

Midnight sighs. There goes their shot at laying low on some planet. Bounty hunters always find ways of locating targets. Even the best hidden ones. “It can never be easy, can it?” 

“No.” Wrecker grumbles. “I’m starting to get hungry.” 

“You’re always hungry.” Tech says. 

“But this is worse. We don’t even have any food!” 

****

Midnight isn’t exactly thrilled to be sitting in a closet. She’s seated on a crate, leaning back against the far wall. She’s been here for probably two minutes, but it feels like a lifetime. She had so much more she could be doing, like sleeping or flipping through the computer, or crying. 

She looks up as the door opens, Hunter standing in the doorway. From where she’s sitting he looks like an imposing figure, his broad shoulders taking up the entire doorway. His brow furrows as he looks down at her, turning to look back over his shoulder. 

“I thought you said-” 

He’s cut off as something hits him from behind, forcing him into the closet. Midnight barely has time to move as he hits the wall behind her, catching himself. Before he can recover, the door slides shut, closing them both inside. 

Hunter hits the button to open it, but the door stays shut. “Tech!” He yells, banging on the door. “Open this door.” 

“Sorry, Hunter.” Tech’s voice sounds from the other side. “It seems to be jammed.” 

“Tech,” Hunter says, a warning in his voice. 

“It’s for your own good.” Echo’s voice sounds. “You both need to talk.” 

“Tech you liar!” Midnight yells, slipping under Hunter’s arm so she’s closer to the door. 

“My apologies,” Tech says, not sounding sorry at all. “It’s the best way to ensure the two of you talk through your problems.” 

“I’m gonna kill you.” Midnight threatens. 

“Worry about that later.” Tech says, before leaving them alone. 

Midnight moves back to the crate she was sitting on, plopping back down. 

“I take it you didn’t know about this?” Hunter says, leaning against the wall next to the door. The closet is small enough she could touch his feet with hers if she stretched them out. 

Midnight shakes her head. “Tech said he needed my help in here. I thought maybe this would have a more satisfying ending.” She leans back against the wall, crossing her arms. 

“He told me he needed me to take a look at something. I should have known something was up.” Hunter shakes his head, crossing his arms. 

Midnight chews her lip, tucking her legs closer. “They are right. We can’t keep fighting each other.” 

“It’s too dangerous for all of us.” Hunter moves to sit on the crate next to her. “I know this hasn’t been easy on you, and I haven’t been easy on you either. Cut was right. Omega’s not a soldier, and neither are you.” 

Midnight looks up at him, turning slightly to face him. “I never really was.” 

He smiles just a little. “You’re good at playing one. Sometimes I forget.” 

“I can’t blame you.” She leans her head against the wall. “I am the first nat-born you’ve had extended contact with. I’ve been your first for a lot of things.” 

“It’s...an adjustment.” Hunter says. “This wasn’t how I thought things would go.” 

“You’re not alone in that.” Midnight says. She looks away from him, curling up in the corner. “I feel like I failed.” 

Hunter shifts so he’s more comfortable on the crate. “I know following orders isn’t really our thing, but I think this is one time we should.” He leans up against the wall. “Talk to me.” 

So she does. 

She tells him everything. How she knew something was wrong with Crosshair, but she hadn’t done enough to try and fix it. She tells him about her conversation with Tarkin, how he’d blackmailed her using them. She tells him about Crosshair’s betrayal. She tells him how she’d signed the contract, not knowing what else to do. She tells him her plan to break them out, about how she feels like a failure. 

She tells him about her panic, about how she can’t stop the overwhelming feelings every time she has to fight. She tells him how she feels like she’s falling apart. 

She’s crying by the end of it. She’s so tired of crying, but she can’t stop. Hunter’s arms wrapping around her only make it worse, the floods of tears quickly soaking a wet spot on his shirt. Hunter rests his chin on top of her head, letting her cry. 

“I don’t want you to treat me differently.” She says, voice slightly muffled by his chest. “I’m still me. I’m still Midnight.” 

“I’m sorry if I made you feel that way. It’s been hard, with everything going on. With Omega too...things can’t be exactly like they used to be.” 

“I know.” She sniffles. “But they don’t have to change that much. We can adjust. It’s what we do, right?” 

He kisses the top of her head softly. “I guess so. We’ve...got a lot to learn. You are right, though. We don’t know how to be civilians, or how to operate in that world in the way we need to.” 

“That’s why you have me.” She says. “Luckily, I’m pretty good at that.” 

“I think Omega could benefit from some lessons too.” 

Midnight snorts. “Girl needs some life lessons.” 

Hunter pulls away slightly to look down at her. “You are the expert.” 

Midnight shakes her head. “No, no. I am not good with children.” 

“I think you’re doing just fine.” He smiles at her. 

“I’ve spent like five minutes with her. That’s not nearly enough time to figure that out.” 

“Maybe you should make an effort.” He says, shifting her slightly in his arms. “She is part of this squad now.” 

Midnight crinkles her nose. “I don’t even know how to approach her.” 

Hunter laughs. “She’s not a Loth-wolf, she’s a kid. You just walk up and start talking.” 

Midnight stares at him. “Since when are you an expert on children?” 

Hunter shrugs. “Just speaking from experience.” 

Midnight shifts so she’s sitting between his legs, her back to his chest. He wraps his arms around her, her fingers trailing down his arms to his hands. “How long do you think, until they unlock the door?” 

Hunter shrugs. “Not sure. I don’t think they’ll believe us if we tell them we’re done.” 

Midnight hums, tracing his knuckles. “Probably not.” 

They fall quiet for a few moments, Midnight enjoying the feel of him wrapped around her. She really had missed them, all of them. She knows part of the problem is the pent up energy between them. Normally they could just slip into a bunk and relieve it, but now with a child on board, that wasn’t exactly possible. 

“How long has it been?” She asks, tilting her head as he nuzzles against her neck. 

“A month?” He asks, lips brushing against her skin. 

“Yeah, after Esus when you took down that Octuptarra.” She says. “I was ready to get on my knees right then and there.” She can feel his smirk against her neck. 

“You enjoyed that, huh?” His teeth graze her neck, making her shiver. 

“Immensely.” She gasps, hands falling to grip his thighs as he slips a hand down her stomach. 

He hums in her ear, gripping one of her thighs to pull it to the side. “You know I love watching you use your knife.” He trails his fingers down her thigh, her other one falling open in anticipation. “Easily one of the most attractive things I’ve ever seen.” 

Midnight smirks. “What about that time I-” 

Hunter groans, his hand closing around her thigh. “That might be the most attractive thing you’ve ever done.” 

Midnight laughs, leaning her head back against his shoulder. “It wouldn’t be hard to replicate.” 

“Not in here.” He says, kissing the back of her neck. “Once we get a chance to settle down.” 

“Is that a promise?” She asks, tilting her head to look at him. 

“It’s a promise.” He says, finally letting his hand reach the junction of her thighs. 

She’s already damp, quickly soaking through her underwear. She’s so ready for him, so ready to feel something other than the agony and anger that had been burning through her for the last few days. 

He cups her through her pants, slowly dragging his hand with enough pressure she can feel it against her clit. She relaxes back against him, letting him take over. They both need this, need to release the pressure between them. 

He takes his time, knowing Tech wouldn’t unlock the door anytime soon. He wants to make the most of this moment. It’s not likely they’ll get a chance like this again, at least for a while. 

“You look really good in civvies.” She murmurs, rocking her hips against his hand. 

“Not nearly as good as you.” He laughs, slipping his hand into her pants. He wants to feel her, get lost in the warmth of her. 

“Maybe someday we can hang the armor up for good.” She says, clutching onto his arms as he runs his fingers along her slit. “Maybe someday we can finally relax.”

He slips a finger into her, sliding in easily as her body welcomes him. She moans quietly, quickly biting her lip. They have to be quiet now. The last thing they want is any awkward questions. 

“Kriff.” She breathes, rocking her hips in time with his hand as he thrusts his finger in and out of her. “I missed this.” 

“Me too.” He murmurs against her shoulder. “Missed your sweet pussy.” 

Midnight gasps, clenching around his finger at his words. “Hunter?” She gasps, gripping his wrist. “I need you inside me.” 

“Is that an order?” He smirks. 

“I can make it one.” She says breathlessly. 

Hunter releases her, letting her shimmy out of her pants. He undoes his pants, slipping his cock out. He pumps it a few times, already half hard from the scent of her arousal alone. She sits herself in his lap, his calloused hands dragging up her thighs. She takes over for him, wrapping her hand around his thick length. He groans quietly at her touch, watching her face as she pumps him. 

She shifts her hips over him, sinking down onto him. She’s tight around him, gripping him like a vice. He can feel every inch of her, every essence of her being as she sinks down fully on his length. His hands grip her hips, feeling the softness of her, the warmth of her pressed against him. 

He wraps his arms around her, stilling her for a moment. They’re still clothed, but he can feel her. The scent of her arousal is thick in the enclosed space. He can hear the quick thump of her heart in her chest. He loves the sound, finding himself seeking it out when he feels stressed or worried. 

The worst thing he can imagine is that sound disappearing. 

“Hunter.” She breathes, pressing her forehead to his. 

“I’ve got you, mesh’la.” He says, wrapping his arms around her waist. 

She begins to move, rocking her hips against his. It’s fast and a bit sloppy, both of them wanting to make the most of the time they have. 

Hunter presses his lips to hers to keep her quiet, his hands sliding down to cup her ass. He helps her move, feeling how close she is by the way she’s squeezing around him. She whimpers against his lips as her clit brushes against his pelvis, fingers tangling in his hair. 

She cums quickly, and so does he, spilling into her. He holds her close, letting her collapse against him. He feels guilty for how he had been treating her. They all were struggling with Crosshair’s betrayal, but she had felt it the most. He could practically feel her anguish and he had gone and said all the wrong things, done all the wrong things. He could have lost her, so many times. He could lose any of them, Crosshair was proof of that. 

The thought of losing Midnight hurts the most. 

“Love you.” She whispers, clinging to him. 

“I love you too.” He says, without hesitation. 

There’s movement outside the door. A small shuffle, the familiar hum of electricity then a click. Hunter watches as the button to open the door lights back up.

Taglist:

@amyroswell, @dangraccoon, @hunnythebee​, @lokigirlszendaya, @kriffingmeshla, @storm-breaker7