“Only trust yourself.” “Does he normally just lie on the floor like that without moving?” “I was alive when the Dead Sea was just a lake that was feeling a little poorly.” “I have a deep understanding of the human psyche, at least that’s what Freud always said.” “Mad men rarely make sense, mostly they just hate.” “Marriage is a wonderful institution… not that I would know.” “Last chance to save yourself.” “A regrettable choice of words,” “Is he more of a flower or cologne man?” “Pretty boy, get your team ready.” “Right, we should… join the party.” “Move it along, teenagers. The only person who gets to canoodle in my bedroom is my magnificent self.” “There’s nothing to be ashamed of, ____.” “For almost a century, I’ve closed myself to feeling anything for anyone.” “You’ve unlocked something in me.” “They say time heals all wounds, but that presumes the source of the grief is finite.” “I need your strength.” “Let me spell it out for you, I wanted to see you again.” “I’m not being cryptic, I’m being coy.” “Come in. And try not to murder any of my guests.” “True love cannot die.” “He hated us enough to kill us all.” “I love a challenge.” “I’m tired of you only wanting me around when you need something.” “You’ve inflicted worse.” “This fight’s far from over.” “To us.” “So if you were planning on teaching yourself the lambada on a greased platform over a pit full of knives, I wouldn’t.” “There’s no turning back.” “Maybe you should start living for yourself, do what’s in your heart.” “Your heart beats faster when they walk by, your skin tingles every time they enter a room…” “The good suffer, the evil flourish, and all that is mortal passes away,” “I know you feel what I feel.” “When things get crazy, don’t push me away.” “You continue to surprise me.” “You should leave him here. I could hang hats on him and things.” “I don’t care how many people you haven’t been with.” “I’m not okay, because you’re not okay.” “But you are different, and it’s a good thing.”
Screenshots of a recap of an actual article - TOP is not okay. He is not okay, he is not out of the woods at all, he has not woken up. The fact that his mother had broke her silence in the matter shows that this is not some small thing or something that will blow over (which is basically what the police are trying to instill). Please keep him in your thoughts. I’m sure he really, really needs your strength and willpower.
Thank you to one of my greatest friends and Parabeta @sfjessii! She is truly a blessing in my life and she has no idea how much she improves my mood on a daily basis! <3
A smile spreads across Alec’s face as he wakes the next morning. The warmth of the sun catching his face just right. It’s not too bright in his eyes. But more cause for his smile is the man laying next to him. After the torment Magnus went through Alec refused to leave his side. He wanted to make sure he was comfortable and calm the rest of the day. Having yourself switched with a terrible monster is one thing, but… and now Alec is frowning, having the man you love not see that it is you trapped in someone else’s body is horrific. Alec almost lost Magnus in so many ways and now he will never let him go. Alec has apologized too many times to count, so many times in fact that Magnus banned him from using the words again within the next 72 hours.
Amongst his thoughts he hears a sound… sniffling, quiet mumbles. He turns very slowly to see the shaking of Magnus’ shoulders. He is crying. Alec does not need to say a word, instead he fully turns, forming his body to that of his love’s and wraps his arms around him. Placing a few gentle kisses in his hair while his hands tangle with Magnus’. And they sit there and Magnus cries and cries. Alec’s not talking or moving. This is Magnus’ pain and all he can do, just like with Jace and Izzy just a few days ago, is give his strength and love. The people he cares about are all facing terrible issues, and he knows he is having some problems as well, hell the whole world is. But he would trade the world to ensure that Magnus, Izzy, and Jace all make it out of this mess alive and happy, and never having to feel the pain of heartache again.
I know how you loved your papa, my son, and I know you will be as devastated as I am by this loss. But you must put those sentiments to one side now, for duty calls. The grief of your fathers death will be felt far and wide. Your people will need your strength and leadership. I have seen three great monarchies brought down through their failure to separate personal indulgences from their duty. You must not allow yourself to make similar mistakes. And while you mourn your father you must also mourn someone else: Elizabeth Mountbatten. For she has now been replaced by another person, Elizabeth Regina. The two Elizabeths will frequently be in conflict with one another. The fact is, the crown must win. Must always win.
Ten days he’d been in intensive care and ten days you’d been by his side.
He was breathing by himself now at least, although his injuries were still incredibly severe. The combination of pain killers he was on meant that he was doped up to the eyeballs and asleep for the majority of the time. But at least he’d woken up. It had taken five whole days but he’d woken up. That was something.
You’d been at headquarters helping Penelope when the call had come in from Emily. Spencer, your colleague and boyfriend of two years… fiance really, had been shot. It had been a routine house call looking for witnesses, but they’d stumbled upon a drug den quite accidentally. Emily had been injured as well, but she was up and had been discharged. Spencer had taken the worst of it. You didn’t even listen as they listed his injuries, all you wanted was to see him. And when they’d finally let you into his room after a four hour agonising wait whilst he underwent life saving surgery, you’d been shocked. He was unconscious, looking pale and fragile in a hospital bed, tubes and IV’s streaming from his body and a breathing tube in his throat.
You’d fallen to the floor and both Derek and Aaron had needed to drag you out of the room, you clinging to your supervisor as you sobbed.
When you finally managed to compose yourself you’d been allowed back in and had taken up residence by his bed side, not moving for the next ten days.
The nurses were kind and compassionate towards you and the team kept you well supplied with clean clothes so you didn’t have to leave. You slept on a tiny cot the nurses had found and showered in the small bathroom available for families with members in critical conditions. The team took it in turns to sit with you, trying to keep you company and bringing you Spencer’s favourite books for you to read aloud to him. He may be unconscious but numerous studies had shown that he’d still be able to hear you, Spencer himself would tell you that if he’d been awake.
After five days he’d stirred and your heart had lifted. He’d coughed and spluttered as the Doctor had removed the tube from his throat, pleased that he was able to breathe by himself. Spencer had croaked out an “I love you” and had fallen quickly asleep again.
Since then he’d been in out of consciousness, holding lucid conversations with you one moment, and slurring from the morphine the next. He hated being drugged, but he had very little choice given the state he was in.
He’d had to be rushed back into surgery once more two days ago. A piece of bullet that hadn’t been removed had shifted inside of him, causing internal bleeding and a build up of fluid in his abdomen. Since then he’d been back on oxygen. Not a tube down his throat this time, just a mask. But it was scary enough.
You hated this. This wasn’t meant to happen.
Ten days he’d been in this bed he’d been told. Ten days. Sometimes he was in pain, sometimes it was like he was floating on a white fluffy cloud.
There were times when it seemed like he was looking down at his body, looking at the beautiful girl who hadn’t left his bedside for ten days. The girl who he’d asked to marry him only two months before.
Spencer loved her so much, and her pleas for him to keep holding on were all that was keeping him here, making him fight. His body was weary though. So weary and tired. During the moments he was awake he relished the feeling of her hand on his, the touch of her soft lips on his forehead. When he was asleep he could still hear her, reading his favourite stories that he knew off by heart, her voice soothing him. She was everything to him.
Yet… He knew. Somehow, he knew.
She wouldn’t leave him though, he’d heard the team, his amazing teammates that he loved and adored, they’d all begged her to go home and get some proper rest. But she wouldn’t leave. Sometimes in the night he’d wake up and see her curled into her a ball on the cot in the corner of the room. Oh, how he longed to crawl next to her and to wrap his arms around her and never let her go.
She was dozing now, her head on the hospital bed next to his hand. His best friend Morgan was sat by his bed, keeping her company.
Derek glanced over, seeing he was awake.
“Hey buddy,” he scooted his chair closer to the bed.
“What time is it?” Spencer couldn’t see the clock on the wall. He didn’t have his glasses and his contacts had been removed days ago.
“It’s about 11pm. I came after work, hoping I could convince Y/N to go home. She’s not having it though.”
She needed to leave. Spencer needed her to leave. He was so tired, in so much pain.
But he couldn’t.
“Derek, if anything happens to me here, you’ll take care of her won’t you? You’ll keep her safe for me?”
Morgan noticed the urgency in his friends voice and reached out and patted his hand.
“Course I will Kid. But nothing’s gonna happen. The doctor’s have got you covered.”
Spence gave a weak smile, “Will you wake her up. I’m going to try to get her to go home. Will you… will you stay with her if she goes?”
“Sure thing, Reid,” Derek stood and walked around to where Y/N was sleeping, nudging her gently.
“Hey, Sleeping Beauty. Lover boy is awake. He wants to talk.”
She rubbed her eyes, raising her head from the hospital bed and immediately taking Spencer’s hand, not noticing how cold it felt.
Derek sensed that Reid wanted to be alone with her and left the room, hovering outside the door.
“Hey,” Y/N smiled her beautiful smile at him. A smile he’d take with him. Even in her sleep deprived state she was still the most amazingly beautiful creature he’d ever seen.
“Hey… Y/N, I need you to go home,” his voice was clearer than it had been before, had more power and strength behind it.
She shook her head, just like he knew she would.
“Please Baby… You’re so tired and it hurts me to see you like this. You need a good nights sleep. You need your strength to look after me. For when I come home.”
He gave her hand a squeeze, not letting the effort it took for him to do that small motion show on his face.
“I don’t wanna leave you alone. What if….?”
“Nothing’s going to happen. I feel much stronger today, I’m not in as much pain, I think I’m starting to heal. And I’m surrounded by doctors. Do you think they’d let anything happen after all the effort they’ve put in? I’m fine. In a few weeks, I’ll be home and in a few months, this will be a distant memory. I promise.”
The Bureau had taught him to lie and he hated how easily the words were slipping from his mouth.
She studied his face. His voice did sound stronger and he wasn’t slurring. She glanced at the machines by his bed. She’d learnt to read the vitals that were displayed over the ten days she’d been here, and they seemed stronger than ever. Maybe… Maybe he was right.
Spencer could see her wavering. “Please. Go home. Derek will go with you. Get a good night’s rest in our bed and have a nice hot bath. When you come back tomorrow I want to see you fully rested. Okay? Please…”
She stood from her chair, leaning over the bed and pressing her lips to his dry chapped ones.
“Are you sure?” she asked quietly.
“Yes. You need to sleep properly, I’ll be fine.”
She kissed him again, whispering “I love you” to him.
He repeated the words to her, savouring the look on her face as he said them.
“I’ll be back tomorrow, bright and early. I love you.”
“I love you too. Now go!” he feigned a chuckle, trying not to cough. His chest felt suddenly heavier, like it was drowning in fluid.
She grinned and picked up her bag, exiting the room.
The next time Spencer saw her, she was asleep in their bed. Her hair had fallen over her face and she was clutching his purple scarf that he loved so much.
Softly, I will leave you softly
For my heart would break
If you should wake and see me go
So I leave you softly, long before you miss me
He hated himself for lying to her, but he needed her to leave. If he heard her beg and plead with him again, he wouldn’t be able to stand it. And he just hurt so much, he couldn’t take the pain anymore. He just wanted it to end.
Long before your arms can beg me stay
For one more hour or one more day
After all the years, I can’t bear the tears to fall
So, softly as I leave you there
He reached his hand out, brushing her hair back and watching her chest rise and fall with each breath. She’d be okay. They’d take care of her. Derek had promised and he knew the others would make sure she was cared for.
The few years they’d had together had been the best of his life. He’d been lucky to have had those few with her. Never in a million years would he have ever expected to have shared the joy and love that he had with her. He’d take those few years, it was more than a lot of people had.
He sat and watched her, running his hand along her arm and seeing her shiver and pull it under the covers.
Softly, long before you kiss me
Long before your arms can beg me stay
For one more hour
Or one more day
After all the years, I can’t bear the tears to fall
So, softly as I leave you there
He heard the faint ringing of a phone down stairs, Morgan’s cell.
He needed to go. He moved away from the bed, to the corner of the room as he heard a loud “NO!” from downstairs, followed by the sound of footsteps charging up the stairs.
Derek flung the door open and Y/N awoke instantly, turning to look at him.
Her face crumpled immediately, she knew. Derek didn’t need to tell her. “No no no no no. Oh god no.”
Derek crawled onto the bed next to her, wrapping his arms around her and she repeated the words over and over, tears spilling free from the both of them.
Spencer watched, his still heart breaking. This was why he’d needed her to leave. He couldn’t leave with her in the room. She’d never let him.
Dearest Lilibet, I know how you loved your papa, my son. And I know you will be as devastated as I am by this loss. But you must put those sentiments to one side now, for duty calls. The grief for your father’s death will be felt far and wide. Your people will need your strength and leadership. I have seen three great monarchies brought down through their failure to separate personal indulgences from duty. You must not allow yourself to make similar mistakes. And while you mourn your father, you must also mourn someone else. Elizabeth Mountbatten. For she has now been replaced by another person, Elizabeth Regina. The two Elizabeths will frequently be in conflict with one another. The fact is, the crown must win. Must always win.
In a few short (long) months, all this, will be on our screens for our viewing pleasure. Definitely one to be stored away in the spank bank, I’m sure.
In a few short months…this will all be on the screen for our visual, ahem, entertainment
I did, my resentment gradually melting into a sort of warm and glowing stupor as I ate. I hadn’t taken anything for the pain in my arm, but as my empty stomach expanded in grateful relief, I more or less quit noticing it.
“Will ye have another bowl?” Jamie asked, as I swallowed the last spoonful. “Ye’ll need your strength kept up.” Not waiting for an answer, he uncovered the small tureen Murphy had sent, and refilled the bowl.
“Where’s Ishmael?” I asked, during the brief hiatus.
“On the after deck. He didna seem comfortable belowdecks—and I canna say I blame him, having seen the slavers at Bridgetown. I had Maitland sling him a hammock.”
“Do you think it’s safe to leave him loose like that? What kind of soup is this?” The last spoonful had left a delightful, lingering taste on my tongue; the next revived the full flavor.
“Turtle; Stern took a big hawksbill last night. He sent word he’s saving ye the shell to make combs of, for your hair.” Jamie frowned slightly, whether at the thought of Lawrence Stern’s gallantry or Ishmael’s presence, I couldn’t tell. “As for the black, he’s not loose—Fergus is watching him.”
“Fergus is on his honeymoon,” I protested. “You shouldn’t make him do it. Is this really turtle soup? I’ve never had it before. It’s marvelous.”
Jamie was unmoved by contemplation of Fergus’s tender state.
“Aye, well, he’ll be wed a long time,” he said callously. “Do him no harm to keep his breeches on for one night. And they do say that abstinence makes the heart grow firmer, no?”
“Absence,” I said, dodging the spoon for a moment. “And fonder. If anything’s growing firmer from abstinence, it wouldn’t be his heart.”
“That’s verra bawdy talk for a respectable marrit woman,” Jamie said reprovingly, sticking the spoon in my mouth. “And inconsiderate, forbye.”
I swallowed. “Inconsiderate?”
“I’m a wee bit firm myself at the moment,” he replied evenly, dipping and spooning. “What wi’ you sitting there wi’ your hair loose and your s starin’ me in the eye, the size of cherries.”
I glanced down involuntarily, and the next spoonful bumped my nose. Jamie clicked his tongue, and picking up a cloth, briskly blotted my bosom with it. It was quite true that my shift was made of thin cotton, and even when dry, reasonably easy to see through.
“It’s not as though you haven’t seen them before,” I said, amused.
He laid down the cloth and raised his brows.
“I have drunk water every day since I was weaned,” he pointed out. “It doesna mean I canna be thirsty, still.” He picked up the spoon. “You’ll have a wee bit more?”
“No, thanks,” I said, dodging the oncoming spoon. “I want to hear more about this firmness of yours.”
“No, ye don’t; you’re ill.”
“I feel much better,” I assured him. “Shall I have a look at it?” He was wearing the loose petticoat breeches the sailors wore, in which he could easily have concealed three or four dead mullet, let alone a fugitive firmness.
“You shall not,” he said, looking slightly shocked. “Someone might come in. And I canna think your looking at it would help a bit.”
“Well, you can’t tell that until I have looked at it, can you?” I said. “Besides, you can bolt the door.”
“Bolt the door? What d’ye think I’m going to do? Do I look the sort of man would take advantage of a woman who’s not only wounded and boiling wi’ fever, but drunk as well?” he demanded. He stood up, nonetheless.
“I am not drunk,” I said indignantly. “You can’t get drunk on turtle soup!” Nonetheless, I was conscious that the glowing warmth in my stomach seemed to have migrated somewhat lower, taking up residence between my thighs, and there was undeniably a slight lightness of head not strictly attributable to fever.
“You can if ye’ve been drinking turtle soup as made by Aloysius O’Shaughnessy Murphy,” he said. “By the smell of it, he’s put at least a full bottle o’ the sherry in it. A verra intemperate race, the Irish.”
“Well, I’m still not drunk.” I straightened up against the pillows as best I could. “You told me once that if you could still stand up, you weren’t drunk.”
“You aren’t standing up,” he pointed out.
“You are. And I could if I wanted to. Stop trying to change the subject. We were talking about your firmness.”
“Well, ye can just stop talking about it, because—” He broke off with a small yelp, as I made a fortunate grab with my left hand.
“Clumsy, am I?” I said, with considerable satisfaction. “Oh, my. Heavens, you do have a problem, don’t you?”
“Will ye leave go of me?” he hissed, looking frantically over his shoulder at the door. “Someone could come in any moment!”
“I told you you should have bolted the door,” I said, not letting go. Far from being a dead mullet, the object in my hand was exhibiting considerable liveliness.
He eyed me narrowly, breathing through his nose.
“I wouldna use force on a sick woman,” he said through his teeth, “but you’ve a damn healthy grip for someone with a fever, Sassenach. If you—”
“I told you I felt better,” I interrupted, “but I’ll make you a bargain; you bolt the door and I’ll prove I’m not drunk.” I rather regretfully let go, to indicate good faith. He stood staring at me for a moment, absentmindedly rubbing the site of my recent assault on his virtue. Then he lifted one ruddy eyebrow, turned, and went to bolt the door.
By the time he turned back, I had made it out of the berth and was standing—a trifle shakily, but still upright—against the frame. He eyed me critically.
“It’s no going to work, Sassenach,” he said, shaking his head. He looked rather regretful, himself. “We’ll never stay upright, wi’ a swell like there is underfoot tonight, and ye know I’ll not fit in that berth by myself, let alone wi’ you.”
There was a considerable swell; the lantern on its swivel-bracket hung steady and level, but the shelf above it tilted visibly back and forth as the Artemis rode the waves. I could feel the faint shudder of the boards under my bare feet, and knew Jamie was right. At least he was too absorbed in the discussion to be seasick.
“There’s always the floor,” I suggested hopefully. He glanced down at the limited floor space and frowned. “Aye, well. There is, but we’d have to do it like snakes, Sassenach, all twined round each other amongst the table legs.”
“I don’t mind.”
“No,” he said, shaking his head, “it would hurt your arm.” He rubbed a knuckle across his lower lip, thinking. His eyes passed absently across my body at about hip level, returned, fixed, and lost their focus. I thought the bloody shift must be more transparent than I realized.
Deciding to take matters into my own hands, I let go my hold on the frame of the berth and lurched the two paces necessary to reach him. The roll of the ship threw me into his arms, and he barely managed to keep his own balance, clutching me tightly round the waist.
“Jesus!” he said, staggered, and then, as much from reflex as from desire, bent his head and kissed me.
It was startling. I was accustomed to be surrounded by the warmth of his embrace; now it was I who was hot to the touch and he who was cool. From his reaction, he was enjoying the novelty as much as I was.
Light-headed, and reckless with it, I nipped the side of his neck with my teeth, feeling the waves of heat from my face pulsate against the column of his throat. He felt it, too.
“God, you’re like holding a hot coal!” His hands dropped lower and pressed me hard against him.
“Firm is it? Ha,” I said, getting my mouth free for a moment. “Take those baggy things off.” I slid down his length and onto my knees in front of him, fumbling mazily at his flies. He freed the laces with a quick jerk, and the petticoat breeches ballooned to the floor with a whiff of wind.
I didn’t wait for him to remove his shirt; just lifted it and took him. He made a strangled sound and his hands came down on my head as though he wanted to restrain me, but hadn’t the strength.
“Oh, Lord!” he said. His hands tightened in my hair, but he wasn’t trying to push me away. “This must be what it’s like to in Hell,” he whispered. “With a burning she-devil.”
I laughed, which was extremely difficult under the circumstances. I choked, and pulled back a moment, breathless.
“Is this what a succubus does, do you think?”
“I wouldna doubt it for a moment,” he ured me. His hands were still in my hair, urging me back.
A knock sounded on the door, and he froze. Confident that the door was indeed bolted, I didn’t.
“Aye? What is it?” he said, with a calmness rather remarkable for a man in his position.
“Fraser?” Lawrence Stern’s voice came through the door. “The Frenchman says the black is asleep, and may he have leave to go to bed now?”
“No,” said Jamie shortly. “Tell him to stay where he is; I’ll come along and relieve him in a bit.”
“Oh.” Stern’s voice sounded a little hesitant. “Surely. His…um, his wife seems…eager for him to come now.”
Jamie inhaled sharply.
“Tell her,” he said, a small note of strain becoming evident in his voice, “that he’ll be there…presently.”
“I will say so.” Stern sounded dubious about Marsali’s reception of this news, but then his voice brightened. “Ah…is Mrs. Fraser feeling somewhat improved?”
“Verra much,” said Jamie, with feeling.
“She enjoyed the turtle soup?”
“Greatly. I thank ye.” His hands on my head were trembling.
“Did you tell her that I’ve put aside the shell for her? It was a fine hawksbill turtle; a most elegant beast.”
“Aye. Aye, I did.” With an audible gasp, Jamie pulled away and reaching down, lifted me to my feet.
“Good night, Mr. Stern!” he called. He pulled me toward the berth; we struggled four-legged to keep from crashing into tables and chairs as the floor rose and fell beneath us.
“Oh.” Lawrence sounded faintly disappointed. “I suppose Mrs. Fraser is asleep, then?”
“Laugh, and I’ll throttle ye,” Jamie whispered fiercely in my ear. “She is, Mr. Stern,” he called through the door. “I shall give her your respects in the morning, aye?”
“I trust she will rest well. There seems to be a certain roughness to the sea this evening.”
“I…have noticed, Mr. Stern.” Pushing me to my knees in front of the berth, he knelt behind me, groping for the hem of my shift. A cool breeze from the open stern window blew over my , and a shiver ran down the backs of my thighs.
“Should you or Mrs. Fraser find yourselves discommoded by the motion, I have a most capital remedy to hand—a compound of mugwort, bat dung, and the fruit of the mangrove. You have only to ask, you know.”
Jamie didn’t answer for a moment.
“Oh, Christ!” he whispered. I took a sizable bite of the bedclothes.
“I said, ‘Thank you’!” Jamie replied, raising his voice.
“Well, I shall bid you a good evening, then.”
Jamie let out his breath in a long shudder that was not quite a moan.
“Good evening, Mr. Stern!” Jamie bellowed.
“Oh! Er…good evening.”
Stern’s footsteps receded down the companionway, lost in the sound of the waves that were now crashing loudly against the hull. I spit out the mouthful of quilt.
His hands were large and hard and cool on my heated flesh.
“You’ve the roundest arse I’ve ever seen!”
A lurch by the Artemis here aiding his efforts to an untoward degree, I uttered a loud shriek.
“Shh!” He clasped a hand over my mouth, bending over me so that he lay over my back, the billowing linen of his shirt falling around me and the weight of him pressing me to the bed. My skin, crazed with fever, was sensitive to the slightest touch, and I shook in his arms, the heat inside me rushing outward as he moved within me.
His hands were under me then, clutching my s, the only anchor as I lost my boundaries and dissolved, conscious thought a displaced element in the chaos of sensations—the warm damp of tangled quilts beneath me, the cold sea wind and misty spray that wafted over us from the rough sea outside, the gasp and brush of Jamie’s warm breath on the back of my neck, and the sudden prickle and flood of cold and heat, as my fever broke in a dew of satisfied desire.
Jamie’s weight rested on my back, his thighs behind mine. It was warm, and comforting. After a long time, his breathing eased, and he rose off me. The thin cotton of my shift was damp, and the wind plucked it away from my skin, making me shiver.
Jamie closed the window with a snap, then bent and picked me up like a rag doll. He lowered me into the berth, and pulled the quilt up over me.
“How is your arm?” he said.
“What arm?” I murmured drowsily. I felt as though I had been melted and poured into a mold to set.
“Good,” he said, a smile in his voice. “Can ye stand up?”
“Not for all the tea in China.”
“I’ll tell Murphy ye liked the soup.” His hand rested for a moment on my cool forehead, passed down the curve of my cheek in a light caress, and then was gone. I didn’t hear him leave.
Description:Kim Junmyeon, your neighbor and ex best friend suddenly begins taking to you after nearly six years of silence. Although he may be talking to you, he’s not the most…decent person now that he’s grown up.
Warnings: vulgar language. Fuckboy-ism. Smut.
Word Count: 3,617
Pairing: Kim Junmyeon (Suho) x Reader / Park Chanyeol x Reader
Author: Admin Xiufairy ㅅㅇㅅ
Despite what everyone said about it, you woke up and you didn’t feel different. You noticed the lack of warmth next to you. You figured that he had just gotten up to go to the bathroom or something, so you got up to get your clothes.
Panic started to set in when you noticed his clothes were gone. You shook your head, getting away from the thought that he left you. He promised he wasn’t using you. Was a promise always enough?
does Dean feel when the woman he loves is dying?
Pairing: Dean x Reader
Word Count: 1198
(with song lyrics)
Warnings: Slight language
and angsty angst. Sorry!
A/N: This is for @katymacsupernatural‘s Writing Gif Challenge. My gif is below. I got
inspired by the song “Say You Won’t Let Go” by James Arthur, so it’s included
in the fic. The lyrics are italicized. It’s a bit of sweet angst from Dean’s
POV. It’s unbetaed, so all mistakes are mine!
“Why am I not surprised to find you hidden away with your nose buried in a book?” A deep voice whispered in your ear, pulling you back to reality from the story. You couldn’t help but smile to yourself knowing without looking exactly who it was leaning over the back of your chair, his mouth poised close enough that his warm breath tickled the skin of your neck.
“You shouldn’t be up here,” you reminded him in a light tone, “Did anyone see you? Do they know you’re here?” Turning slightly in your seat, you closed your book, letting it rest in your lap as you finally looked to the man behind you. The first things you noticed was the smirk under his scruffy muttonchops and the mischievous glint in his eye.
“Not a soul,” he replied in a low voice that was barely audible over the noise of the revelers below.
Summary: In 2000, John Winchester opened the door to his current motel room and found a little girl at his feet, sleeping peacefully with a fuzzy white blanket tucking her in a wicker basket. Now, nearly 16 years later, (Y/N) has still yet to find herself in the world of the Winchesters.
Warning: Slight season 10/11 spoilers, moody teenager, cursing, angry Dean, mentions of character death
A/N: Hi again, just wanted to thank everyone for the notes on the prologue. After a while of thinking over the story, I have discovered what I wish to do with it! And I apologize in advance for long periods between posts. Enjoy!
My bare feet feel cold against the bunker’s tile floor as I make my way to the kitchen in the dark. The sleeves of the huge hoodie Sam bought me last Christmas cover my hands, keeping them warm from the chilly air. Expecting to see my brothers sitting at the table, their faces glued to computer screens and bodies jittery from caffeine, my heart sinks closer to my stomach when I find the kitchen empty.
“Where the hell are you?” I breathe into the empty space.
I check my phone, reloading my messages. Nothing. Radio silence.
Sam left me at the bunker a week ago, telling me he had to stop Dean from doing something stupid again. He’d given me a hug, a kiss on the forehead and then rushed out the door in a blur. Other than a message explaining how I have to stay in the bunker and that they’ll call me out of school until further notice three days ago, there’s been nothing.
Balling the ends of my sleeve into my hands, I cross my arms and sink into the floor, pulling my knees to my chest. The dark thoughts I have been fighting so hard to keep back come creeping back in.
I haven’t even heard anything from Castiel or Charlie… At least one of them would give me some kind of update.
I run my fingers through my hair, slightly pulling at the strands as I can feel the tears weld up in my eyes. They can’t be dead. They’re Winchesters.
Just as I’m edging on the ledge of an anxiety attack, my phone lights up and vibrates against the tile floor. I scramble to pick it up, dropping it in the process of switching the small green icon to answer the call from Sam.
“Sammy?” I ask weakly, biting on my thumbnail and hoping it’s not an officer calling me because they found their bodies.
“Hey, (Y/N),” Sam says calmly and releasing a sigh. “I’ve been meaning to call, but things have been… busy.”
I roll my eyes. They’re always hiding things, or trying to hide things from me. They dropped me off at a library before they asked the man who cut off his arm questions and they also tried to cover up the fact that that man’s family was going to burn the bunker to the ground (I wasn’t home for that either, they thought it would be best to drop me off at Jody’s for the weekend).
They can never tell me everything.
“Is Dean okay? And have you heard anything from Charlie, she hasn’t been answering.”
Sam takes a moment to breathe deeply, and I can just imagine how tired and stressed he looks. A heartbeat later, Sam’s ready to talk.
“(Y/N), Charlie’s dead.”
“She’s been dead for a couple of weeks, (Y/N/N).” Tears well up in my eyes, and I have to fight them from falling. “Dean killed the men that did it.”
Of course he did.
“Castiel isn’t doing to well, but the three of us will be home soon.” With that, Sam hangs up and I close my eyes as a few tears trail down my cheek. She was my best friend. How could they not tell me? How come it took so long to tell me?!
I can feel the slow simmer of my blood beneath my flesh and my eyes flicker to the digital clock on my phone’s screen. I have an hour to get to school.
My fingers hold the ice pack against my eye lid as my body shifts in the chair across from the principal’s office door. The secretary judges me from her thick pink rimmed glasses, and I glare back at her in response. My leg bounces with the left over adrenaline from the fight that had just taken place in my math class. To be honest, I don’t know the kid that I started this fight with, I’m not even sure he deserved it, but I had to do something.
“Winchester,” Principal Young calls from her office door, just as Dean and Sam walk into the front office. They both catch the eye of the secretary, and I snicker as she ogles at them. Dean glares at me, silently asking me if I think this is funny (he’s completely unaware of the old woman practically drooling over them).
I quickly make my way to the small office and take a seat in front of the wooden desk, my hands between my legs and my head ducked down. Young takes his seat at the desk, pointing to the other two uncomfortable chairs for my brothers to sit. Once they do, he sets to work, explaining that I have one last chance to clean up my act or I’ll be expelled.
Young finishes by giving the same spiel that he’s given me before. “You’re a good student,” “You have good grade, you just need a better attitude.” The same tune… yadda yadda.
Frustrated, I drop kick the ice pack into the parking lot once we were excused. Dean is the first to speak up.
“So, what? We come home and you decide you just have to punch the first kid you see?” He hollers, tossing my book bag at me. My bag drops to the concrete, the zipper undoing and spilling the contents. I watch the blank notebook papers dance in the air, tucking my hair behind my ears before bending down to pick it up.
“No, Sam! I wanna know!” Dean continues to yell, tossing his hands up. “Every time we’re gone, you’re “the best student of the school” but when we’re here, you seem to lose your fucking mind!”
“Dean!” Sam shouts at our brother, pulling on his shoulder to force him to stop. “You’re making it worse.”
My body feels extremely warm and my cheeks are damp with tears I hadn’t realized I was shedding. My stomach clenches tight and my vision blurs with the unsheded salty water and my shoulders quiver and the palms of my hands dig into my eyes as the reality really sets in that Charlie is gone.
“(Y/N)?” Dean kneels down and places a hand on my shoulder.
“I miss her,” I meet his eyes, my voice quivering. I haven’t cried this hard since Sam dragged Dean’s wounded body to his room, telling me that Metatron killed him.
Dean pulls me into his chest, my fingers wrapping tightly around the flannel. Dean hugs me tight, smoothing out my hair, mumbling, “I miss her too.”
After several long minutes of my brothers giving me hugs, Sam walks me to the car with me tucked under his arm, promising me that we’ll get back to the bunker and we’ll sit down and watch whatever movie I want. No matter how cheesy and romantic it is, we’ll watch it.
Castiel greets me with a weak smile as I take my spot in the back of the Impala, and my eyes drift to the cuffs around his wrist. My eyebrows raise, “why is he cuffed?”
“Rowena did something,” Sam answers bluntly. “We’re taking precautions.” Nodding along to Sam’s words, I tuck my bag between the seats and smile at Cas.
“Would you like me to heal that?” Castiel huffs out, slowly raising a hand towards his own eye. Before I can speak, Dean interrupts.
“Cas, you need your strength.” Cas seems to ignore my brother, still watching me as he waits for an answer.
“No, I’m good.” I sniffle, forcing a large smile. “It adds character anyways.”
Castiel smiles weakly before resting his head back and slightly closing his eyes. Dean speeds out of the parking lot, Sam grumbling something underneath his breath, and I lean back into the seat, my eyes growing heavy as I watch the trees pass by.
I’ll never forget you, Charlie. I close my eyes, hoping that maybe, just maybe, she can hear me wherever she is.
Request: “Hey! Can I please
request a kylo x Reader do where she is a medic on the ship and takes care of
kylo after he is seriously injured and he falls in love with her and always
makes up excuses or injuries to go visit her in the medbay. Maybe he goes to
see her one day but she is treating hux and he gets super jealous/possessive.
Thanks so much x”
Pairing: Kylo Ren x Reader
Word Count: 1980
Warnings: a lil implied smut at the end
Starkiller had fallen. The shame prodded more deeply at Kylo than
the bleeding gash in his shoulder, and he limped towards the medical bay on the
Finalizer, grunting with each step. A ripple of pain ricocheted against his
shoulder and face. He would’ve been fine with having a droid stitch him up, but
the wound across his face would need the care of human hands to make sure the
scar healed nicely. He didn’t care about how he looked, but Hux had insisted
that the new Doctor on board would be able to keep Kylo at least recognizable.
A trail of blood was left by the knight of Ren, and his vision was
growing hazier by the second. He no longer could feel the left side of his
torso, and it took all his strength to will the Force to keep his guts from
spilling out. If only he hadn’t have been wounded, he would’ve slaughtered both
the traitor and the scavenger girl. His weakened state made the duel totally
unfair, but he still felt immensely disappointed that he still could not have
pulled through in victory.
You emerged from the busy ward, having tended to countless injured
Storm troopers, and almost dropped your information tablet at the sight of the
I’m too nervous to post a selfie so I’ll just type a bit!! I’m 13 years old and straight trans guy. I have anxiety and depression, which makes my relationship with God a bit rocky at times, but I’m proud of call myself a Presbyterian Christian!! I enjoy baking, dogs, movies, and playing with my little brother. I have yet to transition but I hope that I will in the near future. It’s so cool to see all these lovely people on this blog!