#i need to relax because i can feel my blood pressure spiking | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lazysimp · 3 years

Text

Normal Again /// Bakugou x Fem Reader (18+)

✧Click HERE to read Male version ✧

Rating: Explicit

Summary: A sequel to fine. You never expected recovery to be easy but you never thought it would be nearly impossible. In the weeks since your torture things between you and Bakugou had only grown more strained. Will you be able to save your relationship or is it a lost cause?

Word count: 8.7k

Warnings/tags: TW: Self hatred/violence, degradation (not in a sexy way), Angst, Explicit sexual content, Oral sex (giving and receiving), Anal play, She/Her pronouns, All characters are adults, SMUT 18+ Only

masterlist┃AO3

A vicious laugh filled the air as Bakugou’s boot connected with your cheek sending your body flying towards the ground. His deep red eyes were full of glee watching you spit out blood from your busted cheek. He crouched down, looking at you as if you were filth.

“Look at you,” he sneered. “Just lying there taking it all. You are pathetic, honesty how did I ever see you as more than an easy fuck.”

“Stop it Bakugou,” you beg weakly. You could not bring yourself to understand how such cruel words could come from the same mouth that used to worship you.

His boot connects to your head once more sending blinding pain shooting through your skull. “Did you really think you were going to be with me forever? That I would tie myself to someone who can’t even stop themselves from getting kidnapped by a B-ranked villain.”

His boot rests on your face, its thick rubber sole indenting its print into your cheek. “The only reason I kept you around this whole time was that you spread your legs whenever I wanted. You are easy, too easy and the whole office knows it. They all laugh at you, at how much of a whore you are.”

Tears begin to leak from your eyes as he brought to light all your insecurities. You would rather he kept beating you than continue to torture you with his taunts. After every night of the same torture you had grown numb to the physical pain but no matter how hard you tried you could not escape his words.

“If it wasn’t for you I would have already climbed my way to the top. All you can do is hold me back from my dreams with your constant failures. You make me despise you.”

His heel digs into your temple creating an agonizing inescapable pressure. You were helpless to stop his merciless assault and you were not sure you even wanted to. All you really wanted was for all of this to stop. The constant pain and guilt had worn down your spirit, it was as though you had nothing left to even lose.

“Look at you just lying there taking it. Why don’t you fight me you pathetic bitch? Why don’t you ever fight?” He screamed, emphasizing each with a blow to your head. You reach up to cover your ears not wanting to hear anything else but your arms were trapped down at your side, held by some invisible force.

You try again to lift move your arms and then your legs but a warm tight hold tightened even further. Needing to escape the suffocating warmth you thrash around, lashing out at the invisible force.

“Shh, baby it is ok,” Bakugou said above you his boot still on your head. “This is all just a dream.”

You slam your eyes closed needing to escape the glaring red eyes that only brought you pain.

“Mimic is dead and will never hurt you again I promise,” Bakugou’s voice grows closer to your ear. This was your chance! You manage to free one arm and reach up, blindly scratching at any body part you could reach.

Your nails scream for mercy as you drag them viciously down his arm, their gliding made easy by blood. Despite the pain you know you must have caused, the invisible hold only tightened, trapping both of your hands.

“Please baby open your eyes, you are safe I promise.” Bakugou’s voice cooed softly trying to pry you away from your own mind.

You shake your head not trusting the voice, after all, it was the same one that had just been hurting you. With both your hands held still you are left with no choice but to use your teeth. You bite down on one of the arms holding you, sinking your teeth deep into the flesh until a rusty taste fills your mouth.

“Open your eyes my beautiful girl please,” Bakugou’s voice grew clearer, the malice you had been expecting surprisingly absent.

Reluctantly you relax into the warm hold and crack one eye open. A sweet smelling black tank top was the first thing you recognized. You blink your eyes a few times to clean them and get a better look around.

The cold dark room you had been in only moments ago was gone, replaced by a soft bed and warm blankets. The tight suffocating grip that had held you earlier is now a warm embrace.

You look at the strong arms holding you to your fiancé’s chest and wince. Deep red scratch marks littered his muscles and an already bruising bite branded his shoulder. With you no longer resisting he released your hands and started to run his fingers up and down your back. Despite his mask of relaxation, you could tell he was shaken up.

“I did it again didn’t I?” you ask weakly already knowing the answer.

Bakugou let out a sigh, “Yeah, it took me nearly ten minutes to get you back this time.”

Overwhelming guilt filled your mind for the second time tonight. You had hurt the man you loved because of some stupid dreams. It had been months since your rescue and still every night without fail you dreamed about it happening. It was like the torture never stopped.

“It is getting worse,” Bakugou says, continuing to pet down your back.

You nod weakly. He was not wrong. Neither of you had gotten a full night’s rest since the incident. No matter what pills you took without fail you dreamed about Bakugou. Logically you knew it was not Bakugou who had been the one to hurt you. He was your hero and his reward is you flinching from his touch and attacking him in your sleep. None of this was fair.

Bakugou’s lips softly pressed against your forehead as he pulled you in even closer. You ignored the spike of fear being close to him caused and tried to remember this was your Bakugou, not the sick twisted version Mimic created.

“We can’t keep going like this baby,” he says weakly. “I think I need to leave for a little bit.”

Absolute panic grips your heart, “No! Please don’t leave me. I’ll get better I promise. I will find another sleeping pill that one doctor prescribed worked for the first couple of weeks. We can figure this out, please don’t-”

“Shh,” Bakugou pulled you in closer. “Right now I am not good for you.”

You open your mouth to protest but he places his hand finger over our lips. “Baby you flinch every time I look at you.”

You wanted to deny his claim but remember how his eyes felt on your skin and shutter.

“My face, my voice, hell my smell are all triggers for you. I am hurting you by being near you. I am causing you pain by serving as a living reminder of your pain and I can’t do it anymore.”

Hot tears start to fall from your eyes. You hated how everything he is saying is not wrong. He is a walking trigger for the memories of that night and you had no idea how to get over them.

“So this is it,” you say, defeated.

“No, baby god no. You and I just need some time apart until you are ready to see me again. I am planning on staying at Deku’s for a bit, the nerd offered me his spare bedroom.”

Despair was the only thing you could feel. All of this was your fault and he should hate you for it but he doesn’t. Why doesn’t he hate you like you hate yourself? He should be screaming at you for causing all of this. The blame is yours and yours alone. If you had been just a little stronger you would never have been taken in the first place and none of this would have happened.

“Until I can get you to talk to me about how you are feeling I can’t help you. All I am doing is making this worse.” His arms started to loosen their hold around you and for the first time in weeks you wanted them back.

His arms pulled away completely, taking his warmth. “This is not permanent,” he assured. “It is just until you are ready for me to come back and I will wait as long as you need.”

You start to reach out for him, to beg him to get back in bed but the silhouette of him above you sent a chill down your spine. You wanted to rip everything apart, every time you made progress there was something dragging you backward.

You watch helplessly as he quickly dresses and leaves the bedroom, not looking back. You can’t blame him, you want to be free of yourself too. You could hear the front door to the apartment open and quietly shut, the lock clicking into place.

Life moved slower when you did not have your angry gremlin by your side. It had been a few weeks since he left and you had never been more miserable. At first, you had agreed to the separation, after all, he was a giant trigger but you were quickly realizing it was worse without him.

The anxiety of being alone at night had you reaching for your phone nearly every night, wanting to call him. It was a miracle you had managed to resist. With you not there to bother him maybe he would finally be getting some sleep.

The only communication you had gotten from him was a couple of texts letting you know he was still alive. You know he was trying to give you space but the longer he was away the more you wanted to drag him back home.

Your therapist had still not cleared you for fieldwork so the only thing you could to distract yourself was binge a couple of shows and try some cooking. Of course nothing you made tasted half as good as Bakugou’s cooking. By the end of the the first week your life consisted of sleep, tv, and takeout.

Your glazed-over eyes half focus on the tv in front of you as you are lost in your thoughts. You hear a knock on the door and rush over to open it. Could he have changed his mind and come back? For the first time in a long time hope filled your chest but it was quickly shattered as you look through the peephole. Uraraka stood still outside your door holding a few grocery bags.

You try to plaster on a fake smile and open the door. Uraraka did not wait for an invitation and barreled her way into your apartment.

“Hello to you too,” you mumble, closing the door.

She sets the floating bags onto the counter and releases her quirk. “Whew, you would believe the line at the store this morning. All the old ladies were fighting their way into the store for the 20% off sale. Of course none of them could beat me from being first in line.”

You snort, no matter how many brand deals and hero contracts Uraraka had she never stopped being frugal.

“How was your morning?” She asked, unpacking the many goods from the bags.

You shrug, “Same as always, watched some tv and pretend my life isn’t falling apart.”

Uraraka pauses and gives you a look of understanding. “You know he hasn’t forgotten about you, not for one minute.”

You look away, “What does it matter, our relationship is practically over. I have not seen him in weeks and even if I did see him I would make everything worse with my stupid fear.”

“You fear is not stupid, you went through something traumatic and need time to heal.”

You scoff, “I have had time. But every time I make any progress something triggers me and I fall right back down to where I started.”

“That is normal though! It took me weeks to even look at Deku without crying. You are both being too hard on yourselves.”

“I am tired of waiting!” You yell, finally letting your anger out in the open. “I miss him so much it hurts. I miss how he would hold me every night after he helped me bathe because I was too sore to even lift my arms. I miss how he would pack my lunch every day because he could not stand watching me go hungry. I miss my Bakugou.”

Uraraka wraps her arms around your shoulders pulling you in tight against her chest, letting you sob. It was the first time in weeks anyone had touched you. Her soft hands traced up and down your back, trying her best to soothe the pain.

“I miss him so much,” you cry between hiccups.

“So why don’t you call him? I am sure he would be happy to hear your voice.” Uraraka pulls out her phone and starts to dial his number.

“No!” You snatch the phone from her hand and toss it over your shoulder. You wince as you hear the phone connect with the hardwood floor.

The hand on your back stills, “You are going to replace that you know.”

You nod, a worthy expense if it meant you did not have to confront reality just yet. At least with him gone you could pretend your relationship was not over.

“Stop saying that! Your relationship is not over. What the two of you need is a good conversation.”

You must have said the last part out loud. “What does it matter, even if we have a conversation and he moves back in I will end up having nightmares and keep him up for weeks. It is not fair for him to suffer through that for me.”

“Ugh!” Uraraka shoves you off her chest and stands. “Both of you keep pushing each other away based on some convoluted idea that you are actually protecting each other. It makes me want to pull my hair out!

You cross your arms over your chest, “Well I am protecting him.”

She rolls her eyes, “Sure.”

“Hey, don’t make me regret teaching you sarcasm. I’m being serious, my nightmares were getting so bad I started to attack him in my sleep.”

“No offense but Bakugou can handle you with his hands tied behind his back.”

“But he shouldn’t have to! It is not fair for him to have to worry if his fiancé will attack him in his sleep every night.”

“News flash, life is not fair. It was not fair when I watched the love of my life get skewered in front of me. It was not fair when I could not look at him for weeks without crying. And it was not fair when Mimic tortured you. None of this is fair or just, it is all shit we are given and sometimes it is more than we can handle.”

She holds your chin in her hands, “The only thing you are doing wrong is pushing away the person who you need the most.”

“But I hurt him when he is close,” you argue weakly.

Uraraka’s eyes softened, “You hurt him more when you push him away. His quirk is not mind reading, he has no idea how to help you, how you can both help each other.”

You knew she was right, that what you were doing was not working. But you were stuck, unsure how to even start talking to him again. Even so, you had to try.

“Alright, I will try giving him a call-”

Behind you, Uraraka’s phone rang, its piercing ring tone cutting you off. Your heart sinks, that ring tone only went off when a hospital was calling. Without a word, Uraraka bends down and picks up her phone from the floor.

“Hello, this is Uravity speaking,” she said into the phone.

You watch her face for clues and your heart grew even heavier as worry danced in her eyes.

“Are you going to transfer him to the Hero’s hospital in Tokyo?”

Your breathing stops. No, the world could not be so cruel. Your hearing grows fuzzy making it impossible to tune into the rest of Uraraka’s conversation.

“Hey,” someone said in the background. “Hey, I need you to focus. Bakugou is hurt, I am not next of kin so they won’t tell me anything about his condition. I am going to drive us over to the hospital, he should already be there by the time we arrive”

You nod, too stunned to speak. He was hurt. Your Bakugou was hurt and you were just standing around. Ignoring the pain in your chest your mind finally snapped into action.

Wordlessly you and Uraraka rushed down to her car below. The drive to the Hero’s hospital was short, only a few blocks from your apartment. The front entrance was already packed full of reporters trying to catch a glimpse of your injured hero.

You bite your tounge to stop yourself from cursing the reporters out. Those nosy assholes wanted to broadcast Bakugou’s pain to the public for a quick buck. Luckily disappeared from your sight as Uraraka drove past the and into the private parking lot.

Uraraka had not even put the car in park when you shoved open the door and ran to the sliding doors. You could hear her yell to wait behind you but you kept running until you found the front desk.

You skid to a stop in front of a shocked receptionist and slam your palms down on the counter, “Where are they taking Hero Dynamight?” You ask, holding your hero license out so she would know you were not a reporter.

The receptionist winced, “I am sorry but only allowed to disclose information to the family of the patient.”

“Well I am his wife and I am demanding to know where he is.” You retort, not caring about the implications of the claim.

“Dynamight is not married, his paperwork states he is a single but nice try.”

“Listen here you-” your rant was cut short by a soft hand on your shoulder.

“It was a private ceremony, they have still not made it public yet so there is now paperwork. I know that is not protocol but won’t you please let it slide this once ” Uraraka smiles sweetly trying to play cute to get what she wants.

The receptionist shook her head, “ I am sorry but I cannot allow anyone who is not documented family to visit any patient.”

You open your mouth to yell but Uraraka beats you to it.

“That is fine, thank you for doing such a great job protecting our heroes.” She gently grabs your bicep and pulls you away from the desk before you could say another word.

“What are you doing she is our only way of figuring out anything about Bakugou.” You hiss trying to pry yourself free from her hold.

“No she’s not,” Uraraka turns her head to look at you and smiles. “I spent a few weeks coming in and out of this hospital while Deku was recovering. Going through the main entrance is the easiest way but there is a locked side door. With enough force, it can be wiggle open.”

“Won’t it have an alarm?”

“Of course it has an alarm this is a heavily secured building. Luckily they have a well-trained hero there to investigate the disturbance,” she winked.

You laugh, being a hero did have its perks. It only took a few more turns before she found the small door.

“Now when I open this door a blaring alarm will go off and two security guards will come rushing from either end. I will handle the one on this side but you will be on your own for the other. Try not to hurt them too much.”

With that Uraraka wraps her hand around the door handle and pulls, her arm muscles bulging from the effort. You stand still, stunned to watch your friend pry open the solid steel door.

The door finally gives sending out a blaring alarm but you had already made it past the first couple hallways, hiding in a small doorway as a guard runs past. You wait another minute to make sure the coast is clear besides casually walking down the hallway until you found a nurse’s station.

“Excuse me,” you say, trying to sound as polite as possible. “The front desk told me to ask you which room my husband is in.”

The oldest nurse looked you up and down skeptically, “What is your husband’s name?”

“Bakugou Katsuki.”

“Uh-hu sure, wait here a minute for me while I go find his nurse.” She turned and disappeared into the room behind the station.

Fuck, she was onto you. You slowly walk backward away from the door’s line of sight and rush down the hallway looking desperately for Bakugou. He had to be here somewhere but the hospital was a maze of hallways and doors with no names on them.

You could not yell out for him that would only alert security to your position faster. You spin on your heels looking frantically for any sign of him but the more you look, the more lost you become.

“Hey! You cannot be back here,” A security guard yelled, a taser already armed in his hand.

You put your hands into the air, looking to your side for an escape. You could handle one petty security guard but you did not feel like explaining to the commission why you beat a guard. Sucking in a deep breath you run towards the officer who was too shocked to pull the trigger on the taser. Sticking your leg out you kick his feet out from under him sending his back to the floor.

Without looking back you run down the hall taking as many turns as you could to find a hiding spot. One of these rooms had to have no camera in it.

In your frantic looking, one door stood out. It was off to the left in a dead-end hallway. It had to be a good enough hiding spot as any. You sprint to the door and swing the door open into a pitch-black room.

You felt bile rise in your throat at the thought of entering the darkness but you had no choice, security was hot on your heels. You close your eyes and step into the darkness, closing the door behind you.

Your back rests against the door and you listen to the guards run past the hallway. For now they had no idea where you were. You let out a sigh of relief and feel around the wall for a light switch.

Mercifully, you find it and switch it on. The room looked like any other hospital room except for one thing. There was someone in the bed and they were about to look up.

Shit! You duck under one of the tables in time to hide from their view.

“Oi, I thought I told you people to leave me alone! I already took the damn pills and agreed to stay the night.”

Your breathing stops at the deep rough voice of Bakugou. You found him; he is not in a coma fighting for his life. He is in bed resting safely just feet away from you. A sob of relief climbs your throat, and you have to slap your hand over your mouth to mute it.

The rush of blinding fear to find Bakugou suddenly turns into fear about seeing him. What if he did not want you to visit? Fuck you should have thought about this more before you left.

“I can hear your breathing! Don’t make me get out of bed or I will kick your ass.”

Not wanting him to hurt himself by standing you relent and force your weak knees up. You keep your eyes to the floor not daring to look at his face, “Surprise,” you tease weakly.

“W-what?” Bakugou said, his voice high and full of confusion.

“I-I heard you got hurt, no one was telling me anything, so I decided to come and check up on you myself. But I see you are fine so I will leave you alone. I am sorry for barging in.”

“Wait! Don’t leave,” Bakugou winces as he sits up in bed, his abdomen covered in bandages. Instantly you rush to his bedside.

“Don’t move that fast you will hurt yourself!” You lecture, gently pushing him back down to the bed. Bakugou looks down at your hands with shock, you had not touched him caringly since the incident.

You quickly realized your hands were still on him and snatch them back to your side. You stand there awkwardly, unsure what to do. It was like the months of being together had been erased since he had left.

“W-what happened?” You finally ask to break the silence.

Bakugou looks down at his hands, “Some stupid kid ran out in the middle of the fight and almost got themselves killed. I didn’t have enough time to get them out of the way, so I had to shield them instead. Damn villain managed to shoot me.”

“You got shot!”

“Yeah, pathetic asshole knew he could not take me without a gun. Lucky for me he had terrible aim and managed to only graze my side. The only reason I am still in this stupid bed is because Rescue Girl is on vacation and refuses to come in and heal me.”

The heavy weight on your heart lifted slightly knowing he was not seriously hurt but you still worried about his current condition. Bakugou was not one to sit around until he felt better. In the time the two of you had been together he only got sick once and it took tackling him to the ground and tying him up in bed to keep him from working.

You knew him and Deku were on good terms now but dealing with a hurt Bakugou was a full-time job. “How long did the doctor say you have to be off work?”

Bakugou scoffed, “She thinks I have to wait at least a week even with Recovery Girl. As soon as I can escape this bed I will head back to the office I have a villain to hunt down.”

You put your hands on your hips, “Oh no you won’t. If the doctor tells you to wait a week you will wait a week.”

A mischievous grin spreads across Bakugou’s face, “Oh, and how are you going to enforce that?”

Blood rushes to your face making your cheeks feel like they were burning. To keep him from fighting his restraints the last time he was sick you had to fuck him until he was too tired to care he was chained up. By the time he had recovered from being sick you could barely walk and he had to be the one to take care of you.

“Don’t look at me like that when you are hurt.”

“Then answer the question, how do you plan to keep me from working this week.”

“What are you five? Do you really need an incentive to be good?” You taunt.

A wolfish grin spread across his face, “Yes.”

You throw your hands up in the air, “Ugh, you are terrible!”

His hand reaches out and grabs your wrist to pull you in closer to the bed and for a second fear flashes in your eyes. All of the teasing had made you forget your fear but his touch brought is all back.

Bakugou sensed the change in your demeanor and opened his hand to free you from his touch.

“Wait, don’t move your hand,” you suck in a deep breath. “Just give me a second.”

His warm long fingers wrapped themselves back around your wrist, holding still as you try to calm your heart. You were stronger than this fear. You could do this.

“Baby, you don’t have to push yourself, I understand-”

“No!’ You yell, taking a step closer to his bed. “This is ok, I will make this ok again.”

You avoid looking at his face, needing to build up your strength before testing your limits. Being separated from him had helped your memories heal some but it was still difficult to see him.

Forcing the tight fear in your chest down you intertwined your fingers through his and pull them up to your lips, gently kissing his knuckles.

“It is easier when I control where you touch,” you mumble to him, trying to follow Uraraka’s advice.

“What?” Bakugou asked, unsure what you meant.

“When you are the one controlling the touching, it makes me nervous because I don’t know what will happen next. It makes me feel like I have no control and that is when I start to freak out.”

You look down to where your hands were joined, “When I am leading the touch I have some idea of what will happen next and it is easier to not feel scared.”

“So you have to be in charge?”

“I don’t have to always be in charge, I just need to know what you are thinking, what you are doing before you do it or I need to be guiding it.”

Bakugou smiled, “So if I told you to sit on my face would that work?”

A few incoherent words fall out of your mouth as you try to process what he just said.

“Well, maybe, but you are hurt and need your rest. Besides, you should not be thinking about that while you are lying in a hospital bed. When you are discharged, we can try something like that.”

Bakugou sat up straighter, “Oh no you don’t. I have gone without your taste on my tongue for too long. You are going to get that sweet ass over here and sit on my face.”

“No, Bakugou. Look at the state of you. I could seriously hurt you.”

That was the absolute worst thing you could have said, in seconds his teasing eyes filled with fiery determination. The last time he gave you that look was when you rejected going on a date with him. A week later he had your legs wrapped around his waist.

He lifts his finger and points to you and then his face, “Come here.”

You stubbornly shake your head, “This is not happening Bakugou. You could tear your stitches and have to stay in the hospital even longer.”

He shrugs, “Fine with me as long as you are here.”

This damn man must be suicidal. “We need to talk more about our relationship before we dive right into sex.”

“Your mouth will be free and clear to talk.”

“This is an awful idea. What if I get freaked out in the middle of it all?”

“That’s easy, we stop,” he gently pulls you in closer his face now only inches away.

“Please baby I have missed you; I promise I will stop if it gets too much.”

You were conflicted. Neither of you were in a state where you should be fooling around. But the feel of his hand on yours was so calming and warm that you wanted more.

“Alright,” you whisper. “But If you are in any pain you need to let me know.”

“Yeah, yeah, I promise. Now get that pretty ass up here,” he pats his shoulders.

“This is such a bad idea,” you mumble to yourself as you slip off your pants while Bakugou lowered the head of the bed. This could go wrong in so many ways but the longer you thought about his tongue on you the less you cared.

“Fuck baby,” Bakugou groaned, “Climb up, you won’t hurt me.”

You toss your pants to the side and do as he said. Climbing up onto his bed and carefully lowering yourself over his face. Your face was burning at the thought of what all he could see. Needing support, you grab ahold of the headboard. After all you did not want to hurt him. Bakugou was not having that. He wrapped his arms around your thighs and pulled you down until you had no choice but to rest your weight on his face.

“Wait, you could hurt yourself,” you protested breathlessly.

He only laughed, his hot breath teasing your aching cunt. He sat still under you for a few minutes letting you get adjusted to the feeling of his touch, and it let him soak in the sight of you above him.

“Such a pretty pussy,” he mumbled against the soft skin of your thighs. Not wanting to move too fast he first places a few sloppy kissing along with your inner thigh, giving you ample time to mentally prepare for his mouth on your cunt.

You try to stop yourself from shaking but it was impossible. It had been months since someone had touched you and to have Bakugou beneath you, ready to worship your body, was almost too much for your brain to process.

Bakugou’s mouth teased your other thigh before settling on your already soaking wet pussy.

“That’s my good girl, already wet for me. This pretty pussy knows who it belongs to, but does its owner?”

“Bakugou stop talking to my pussy and get to work,” you growl.

“Tsk, when did you become so greedy?” The hands on your thighs shift around until they were able to spread open your sex giving him complete access to you.

“You are lucky I miss this just as much as you do or I would tease you for hours. Tie your ass to the bed and not let you leave until neither of us could move.”

You rock your hips trying to egg him on, “Sounds to me like you are all talk.”

The hands on your thighs tighten forcing you to put all your weight onto his face. You try to pull yourself up, not wanting to suffocate your boyfriend but he refuses and goes straight for the kill. His soft wet tongue drags a straight line up the slit of your cunt, gathering up your juices.

Your hands abandon the headboard and thread through his hair. Bakugou groaned, settling into feasting on your cunt. His soft lips slide through your folds, looking for your hidden button.

“Ah please Bakugou,” you beg, “it feels so good.”

You could feel his smile against your skin before his mouth latches onto your throbbing clit, dragging it into his mouth.

While his lips teased your clit, one hand left your thigh to snake around under you. You lurch forward as two thick fingers slip through your folds, wetting themselves in your slick before they gently press at your entrance.

Your hips buck away from the combined sensations fearing to be too much but Bakugou was not having it, he strengthened his hold on your thighs and pushed you down on his fingers. You sob at the feeling of being stretched, it had been so long the burn was more intense than normal.

“Fuck baby you are so tight around my fingers, I can’t wait to have you wrapped around my cock,” he groaned.

“Bakugou,” you whined. “You can’t just say things like that.”

He releases your clit with a pop, “Like what? Like how I want to feast on this pussy until you are all I can taste for weeks. Like how by the time I am done with you, you will be a sobbing mess that I will have to take care of. Just listen to this sloppy pussy take my fingers. Fuck baby people would kill for even a sliver of this cunt but too bad for them it is all mine.”

You shove a fist in your mouth to stifle a loud moan. The last thing either of you needed was someone barging in.

Bakugou pulled your aching bud back between his lips and got to work. The two fingers inside you started to pump, curling to hit your sweet spot each time they were inside you. His delicious tongue flicked up and down on your clit driving you mad.

Trusting you would not run away he releases your other thigh and reaches under your shirt. His large hand stroked up your stomach, caressing the skin there before latching onto one of your nipples. He pinches the soft peak between his fingers, rolling it until it pebbles. You arch your back into his hand and start to rock your hips wanting more.

Bakugou moans into your cunt, able to tell you were growing lost in the pleasure. He loved it when you were too engrossed with feeling good to care about anything except him.

Looking down in between your legs you could see his light blonde hair peeking out from the apex of your thighs and had a devilish idea.

“Bakugou stick out your tongue,” you order.

He releases you from his mouth and looks up, his chin soaking with your juices, “What?”

“Stick out your tongue, like this,” You show him with your own mouth.

A spark of recognition flashed in his eyes and he smiled. Good, he liked the idea too. With no delay, his tongue stuck out of his mouth. You reach down and spread yourself open, settling back over Bakugou’s eager tongue. His fingers abandon you in favor of holding onto your ass while you dig your fingers into his hair.

With both of you settled you slowly begin to rock your hips, riding his tongue. You start off slowly, watching closely for any sign Bakugou was not comfortable but judging by his growl of pleasure you would say he is just fine.

A red hot warmth started to grow in the lower half of your body, slowly spreading its tingle to your lower belly. Fuck, the image of Bakugou beneath you, letting your ride his face was almost too much to process.

“Oh god Bakugou,” you moan. “Please, it feels so good.”

He could only groan in response, his mouth too busy bringing you to your peak. When you looked down at him between your legs you could only see his bright lust filled eyes. They were intensely watching you fall apart.

White spots started to grow in your vision and you increase the speed of your thrusts. The fingers in his hair tighten, now holding onto him for dear life. It only took a few more rocks of your hips before the white spots grew into a blinding white light.

Overwhelming waves crashed into you, sending glorious pleasure pulsing through you. Your body was not your own as the electricity ran through you making every muscle grow taunt and release in a never-ending cycle.

Bakugou redoubled his effort, not letting you even finish your first peak before he was building you up to another. The idea that you would feel that pleasure again was enough to make you mad.

His fingers slipped into your clenching entrance and curled forward, teasing your sweet spot. His lips returned to your clit, sucking it gently into his mouth and lashing at the tender bud with his tongue.

You release his hair, afraid you will rip it out, and hold onto the headboard as all the clenching tension finally releases, sending you spiraling. Loud wanton moans ripped from your throat and you could do nothing to stop them.

Bakugou toyed with you until you could no longer hold yourself upright. Only then did he gently lift you off his face and down onto his lap. You slouch over and rest your forehead on his shoulder. The world around you was fuzzy, your mind still reeling from how hard you finished.

“Wait, Bakugou you are not supposed to be lifting anything!” You yell when your mind finally returns to reality.

“Tsk, I already told you I am fine.”

You fought the urge to slap him, “You idiot what if you had busted open your stitches!”

“You did not seem too worried about that when you were rubbing your cunt on my tongue.”

“Well, obviously I was not thinking straight,” you mumble. Damn him for being right.

Bakugou gives you a sly smile, “You know I am feeling a little sore.”

Regret slams into you, “Damn it Bakugou, I was worried this would happen. Where are you hurting.”

His hips thrust upwards forcing his rock-hard cock against your ass. “Right there baby.”

You flick your finger against his forehead, “I was really worried you asshole.”

“But it aches, won’t you make it feel better?”

“You are lucky you are hot,” you whisper into his ear before carefully descending his body. You settle in between his legs, pulling down the blankets to free his cock.

You have to stop and stare at it. Everything about your boyfriend had to be perfect. His cock was long and proud, resting on his stomach with a small tuft of blonde pubic hair at the base. His cock had one large vein running up the length of it, pulsing with each heartbeat. God, you wanted to trace that vein with your tongue.

Reaching up you wrap your hand around the base of his cock. He was so warm on your hand, like your own personal space heater. You shuffle your body to get your mouth a little close to his cock and then before he could say anything bring the head of his cock into your mouth.

His reaction was instant, his hands shot down to grab at the sheets beside your head. You could feel his hips flex under you as he fought the urge to thrust up into your mouth.

Feeling emboldened by his reaction you relaxed the muscles in your jaw and took more of his length into your mouth. His salty flavor spilled across your tongue as he started to release pre-cum. Your poor baby had gone too long without any attention.

Redoubling your effort you bring up your free hand and wet it with your spit. Reaching under your busy mouth you slide your finger down until you find Bakugou’s tight entrance.

“Hey, what do you think you are doing?” Bakugou growls, grabbing your wrist.

You let his cock fall out of your mouth and look up innocently, “I am making you feel good baby, just lay back and relax. I promise this will feel good.”

He looked conflicted but slowly the iron-clad grip on your wrist loosened enough to set you free. Not waiting for him to change his mind you begin to circle his hole with your wet finger. Before you could even try to push your finger forward you needed him to relax. You return to teasing his aching cock with your mouth, sucking on his tip just the way he likes all the while circling your finger around his hole, waiting for him to relax enough for you to slip it in.

As you take another inch of him into your mouth you could feel him relax enough to slip your finger slip past the tight ring of muscle. You could feel Bakugou tense so you did not move the finger forward, giving him time to adjust to the intrusion.

With your tongue on his dick it was easy enough to distract him as you slowly inch your finger in. Once you went in far enough you twist your finger around, looking for a soft spongy spot inside him. A sharp thrust up into your mouth signaled you had found exactly what you were looking for.

“What the fuck,” Bakugou groaned, his hands going to hide his face. You smirk, finally, you were the one driving him insane.

You benign to move your hand and mouth on his cock in time with your finger in his ass. Small pathetic whines were leaving Bakugou’s mouth and you felt like a god. You were so engrossed in bringing him pleasure you had no time to think about anything else.

You could hear his breathing begin to grow more labored and his cock grow even harder in your mouth. “Fuck, baby I am going to-” Was the only warning you had before his cum shot to the back of your throat.

You swallow his release down, making sure to ease your hold on his cock, now only gently pumping your hand and finger to lengthen his orgasm.

Slowly the pulsing of his cock stopped and you released him from your mouth, wiping the spit on your chin off with the back of your hand. You could not help but smile as you watched Bakugou slowly come back into the real world with a beautiful dazed look on his face.

He slid his hand under your chin and lifted your head to meet his eyes, “Where the fuck did you learn that?”

“Being away from you for this long made me desperate so I watched a couple of videos to make it easier.”

“Right,” he said breathlessly, “You need to show me that shit later if it taught you that.”

You laugh, “Gladly. Now lay down you need your rest.”

Bakugou tilts his head, “What the hell do you mean rest? I have not been away from you for too long, I can rest later. Now I am going to get my cock into that tight pussy.”

“Bakugou you just finished.”

“So,” he thrusts his hips up, rubbing his already erect cock against your ass.

“How?” You ask in amazement.

“I have been fantasizing about fucking you for months baby. Did you really think once would be enough to satisfy me?”

Without waiting another minute his hands grab into your hips and lift you up. Lining your entrance up with the tip of his cock. In a flash you involuntarily tense your body, the memories of that night rushing back into your head. No, no, no, not now, not when you were so close to being one with Bakugou again.

His bright red eyes meet yours as he feels you tense. Fuck, why did you always mess everything up, this was all your fault. Why could you not just be normal, that is what he deserved a nice normal happy girl.

“Hey,” Bakugou whispered softly. “Talk to me, what is wrong.”

You wanted to keep your lips shut, to pretend that everything was fine but that would be lying. You never wanted to lie to him.

“I can’t stop thinking about Mimic. One minute I am fine and the next he is all I can see.”

Bakugou’s eyebrows furrowed, “You were fine with what we did earlier? What triggered it?”

You shake your head, “It is different every time. It is just hard for my mind to differentiate from my Bakugou and the one Mimic made.”

“So call me Katsuki.”

“Huh?”

“If you are having a hard time with there being two Bakugou’s, then try calling me Katsuki. That way there is at least one easy way to tell me apart from him.”

“You want me to call you by your first name?”

His eyes softened, “Yeah baby, I want you to call me by my first name.”

“Katsuki,” You test his name out, loving how it feels on your tongue. You watch his face to see his reaction and see lust fill his gaze. Oh he liked it.

You start to whisper his name over and over again, like a prayer to remind yourself you were no longer under Mimics thumb. You were with the man who would kill anything that tried to hurt you.

“If you keep saying my name like that baby I am going to fuck you,” Katsuki growled into your ear.

Oh would he now? You wiggle your hips, teasing the head of your cock with your dripping slit. Pulling him in close you whisper one little word, “Katsuki.”

“You asked for it,” He laughed, hauling your hips back up until they hovered over his cock.

The hands on your hips gripped down with bruising force and his cock slipped into your entrance. All the play from earlier had left you more than prepared enough to take his length. The familiar burn started as his cock sank deeper inside you, opening you wide for him.

“By the time I am finished with you, this tight cunt is going to be fucking dripping in my cum. I am going to fill you to the fucking brim.”

A low groan was your only response he bottomed out inside you, his cock leaving no space unfilled. You could damn near feel him in the back of your throat. Normally he would be the one to initiate thrusting but you were growing too impatient.

Bracing your hands on his chest, careful to avoid his bandages, you lift your hips up until only the tip of his cock was inside. Then you slam your hip down, marveling at the feel of him entering you again.

His cock was perfect for hitting all the sweet spots inside you. Not wanting to be left out Katsuki grab ahold of your ass and uses his own strength to strengthen each thrust.

You look down to where you both were joined and almost came on the spot. The sight of his cock pistoning into you was mind-shattering. He looked like a god beneath you. His large muscles building with effort, the thick veins in his arms standing elevated.

“Look at me,” he ordered, his bright red eyes filled with determination. “Right now you are mine, that means the only thing you are allowed to think about is me. About how good my cock feels splitting you open. Is that clear?”

You weakly nod your head, too overwhelmed to speak. A soft smile spreads across his face, “That is my baby, so good for me.”

His praise felt like a caress on your skin. You needed to distract yourself or this would end too soon. You lean forward and press your lips onto his. His tongue glided along the seam of your lips, demanding entrance. You happily opened your mouth allowing his tongue to slip inside. The taste of his spit was mixed with your own flavor, and you still had some of his taste on your tongue. The combined flavor was so fucking lewd and hot.

The familiar tingled started to grow in your pussy, you were not going to last long. The muscles in your legs begin to tremble making your thrusts grow sloppy. Katsuki was not having it. His hips rose to meet yours, forcing your body to endure even more pleasure all the while he toyed with your mouth.

It all became too much, the different sensations all worked together to drive you up, higher and higher you were climbing until it was hard to even breathe. Then, just like that, all the pressure released sending you spiraling.

Your pussy clamped down on his cock, forcing Katsuki to erupt. The thought of him filling you only lengthened the brutal pleasure filling your mind. There was no room in your mind for anything but him. You had no care in the world but him just like he ordered.

As the pulses of pleasure slowed you were able to finally catch your breath. You both laid still in each others arms for a few minutes, letting you come slowly back to earth. Of all the times the two of you fucked this definitely had to be in the top three. Though they did say that makeup sex was the best.

“How are you feeling?” Katsuki asked, his voice rough.

You rest your ear against his chest, listening to his heartbeat, “I feel good.”

He places a soft kiss on your forehead, “Do you think you are ready for me to come home?”

You take the time to think about it. Having him back in your life did not set off fear like it used to. Instead, it made you feel warm inside. You looked forward to going to bed with him instead of dreading it.

“Yeah,” you smile. “Yeah, I am.”

The arms around your waist tighten pulling you impossibly closer to his chest. You snuggle in closer, getting comfortable. Katsuki would never admit it but lying here with you in his arms safe and happy was one of the happiest moments in his life.

Neither of you was healed from what had happened but you refused to push him away again. You will get past what happened and you will do it with him by your side.

590 notes · View notes

dutchvanwinkle · 2 years

Text

Have You Ever Sinned, Father? - Dutch x Reader

I didn't mean to get so carried away with plot, I just wanted to fuck Dutch in a church. But here we are. Inspired by this post from @simmehs of Priest Dutch.

First time putting any of my writing on tumblr, here's the ao3 link if you prefer.

Word count: 5,979

Content warnings: Smut, mention of past assault and blood

Summary: You seek counsel from a priest in Saint Denis.

“You’re desperate for a purpose. You want something you can serve.”

“Is this the part where you tell me to become a vessel for God?” you huff, amused at the lengths he’ll apparently consider to increase the number of churchgoers in his parish.

He shakes his head once and steps towards you again until the warmth of his chest is pressing into you. His fingers cup your chin and he holds your head to meet his gaze.

“Not for God,” he whispers against your lips and brushes his over them.

The man had you cornered, baring his teeth and sneering so close to your face you could smell the stench of moonshine even when you held your breath. You tried to duck out from under his arms, planted either side of you and it only stoked the sick fire within him while simultaneously sharpening the spikes of fear protruding from underneath your skin.

---

It hadn’t been your fault.

“There’s no point trying to run.”

Panting, you splash your face with freezing water from the outdoor bucket in an attempt to stun the memory out of you. It works until you re-open your eyes and jolt at the hand reaching out to you.

“Relax, it’s only me.” The familiar face of your friend steadies your stuttering breaths, bringing you back to the cornfield where you spend your working days.

The pay isn't fantastic, but the repetitive movements of pulling up the crops are monotonous enough to alleviate the whirlpool of thoughts occupying your head for most of the day. The fresh air is good for you too, you suppose.

“Sorry, I just... needed a minute.” You provide a nod to reassure them that you’re okay and they can go back to their work, turning your torso away to do the same.

“It’s that guy again, isn’t it?”

You nod hesitantly, blinking away the light that’s now too bright for your eyes.

Their hand rests on your shoulder, a comforting pressure that doesn’t relieve the existing weight that already resides there. “It’s over, whatever happened – it's over. He won’t do that to you again.”

That’s right, he won’t. Because you killed him.

♱

Saint Denis is known for its deep, dark corners where hidden secrets lurk. Including yours.

The early morning walk you’d elected to take hadn’t done any favours. Why would you go for a walk in the city where your nightmares live? You can’t run forever; it hasn’t worked so far and maybe you need to face it head-on.

It’s hardly like he was a man anyone cared about, which wasn’t surprising considering his affliction for abusing women. Good riddance, you thought; a sentiment you still stand by. He deserves what he got but you wish you hadn’t been the one to bring that justice. Taking a life is something you never thought you’d do, something you shouldn’t have been able to do. That’s what made it so scary, just how easy it was.

You just wished that the image of his blood on your hands could be washed away in your mind as easily as it had done in real life, when you plunged your hands into the nearest body of water and scrubbed until your skin began to blister.

It didn’t matter in your mind that it was self-defense, it was him or you. You’d be a fool not to choose yourself.

The sound of rushing water from the fountain in town calms you somewhat, enticing you to take the load off your feet and allow yourself some rest. Rest, incidentally, is all you want.

Maybe you’d feel this way forever. Maybe all your dreams would be haunted for the rest of your days. Maybe.

A deep breath in, not helping one bit thanks to the muggy air of the city, you tip your head back slightly and close your eyes to allow the sunlight to kiss your lids. Upon opening them, the cross atop the church steeple is centred in your gaze. Knitting your brow slightly, you look down at the small crowd of people making their way into the building.

The usual Sunday service. Not something you had attended in the city before.

As your legs carry you towards the entrance, you aren’t sure what you hope to find inside. Clarity? Forgiveness? Penance?

The room is welcoming, warm with the buzz of small conversation between what you can only assume to be regular worshipers, and beautifully lit thanks to the large windows and generous sunshine. If anything, it’ll be something to busy your eyes with for a short while.

You sit near the back, small and alone. Hopefully telling enough to those around you that you aren’t there for conversation, just as a silent observer. Definitely not someone who had recently committed a major sin.

It isn't long before the room’s conversation dies down and its occupants minimise to rousing in their seats.

You lower your gaze slightly, wondering why on earth did you decide this was a good idea and is it too late to leave?

Instead of scouting out an escape route, your eyes wander to the small bible on the seat beside you. You don’t pick it up, just run your hand over the cover with a perturbed sigh. It’s hard to imagine this book will be able to cleanse you.

“Welcome all, to the service of the ‘The Church of the Holy Blessed Virgin’.” You look up at the source of the deep voice, from the priest standing behind the lectern. He isn’t at all what you expected, tall with dark hair pushed back and a thick moustache above his lip. It’s hard to tell truthfully due to his cassock, but his body looks broad from what you can see of his shoulders and chest.

“I am Father Dutch van der Linde,” he nods around the room, his baritone carrying beautifully around it. There’s an odd sagacity about the man that makes you very interested in what he has to say.

“Before we read our first passage, I would like to extend my thanks to our donors, without whom these services would not be possible. If you are able, we have a donation box towards the back; any contribution big or small is appreciated, as always.”

Shit. You didn’t have any money on you for a donation. Hopefully, nobody will mind.

The service passes pleasantly, him reading various passages and the congregation standing for a few hymns – sadly no communion since you could really do with some wine – which was all well and good but you don’t hear any whispers of forgiveness from the heavens just yet. Sooner than you expect, he’s at the end of his closing passage.

“May we become useful vessels that bring glory to your name. In Jesus’ name, Amen.”

The light passing through the window hits his hand, revealing the glittering of gold rings.

“Amen,” you murmur, the priest bowing his head to the room.

When he raises it, he blinks his dark eyes up with it to meet yours instantly. He lingers there for a beat before turning away, walking from the podium and through the door to wherever, you aren’t quite sure.

The look on his face is difficult to read, but you fear some part of it is borne from uncertainty. Like he can sense the sinner in his midst.

You stand, hiding in the departing crowd until the outside air fills your lungs.

♱

Whether or not your soul had been somewhat cleansed by your attendance at the Sunday service, you found you had spent most of the week longing to return. Perhaps it was the tall, decorated walls, or the shelter of the curved roof, or the beautiful colours that bled through the stained-glass windows when the sun hit them at just the right angle. Or perhaps it was the priest.

No, it can't be the priest.

Whatever it was persuaded you to return the following week.

The service is more or less the same, the words spoken by the priest going in one ear and out the other despite how soothingly they roll off his tongue.

“The Lord lift up his face toward you, and give you peace. Amen.”

With the end of that closing prayer, he doesn’t look your way this time. He walks down as you suspected he normally would while his audience makes their way out of the church. You find yourself glued to your seat, if anything sinking further into it at not feeling any part of yourself turning pure. Not able to get the bloodstains out of your mind or heart.

You squeeze your eyes shut, willing your mind to just forget. If you weren’t forgiven you could live with it, but you would rather live in the dark than spend another day feeling the torment from your actions.

You remain there, hoping at any moment the weight will be lifted and you’ll be free. Free to go back to the mundane of everyday life that you hadn't expected to miss quite so much. For a while, you remain like this, an impending sense washing over you that if this doesn’t work, nothing will. It’ll be over and you’ll just have to learn to live with it.

The feeling remains.

You finally open your eyes, breath hitching at the sight of the man in front of you. Leant against the raised platform where he was speaking earlier, one foot over the other and arms crossed at his chest. A slight wrinkle between his brows as he studies you, his soft gaze boring into your startled one.

“Sorry,” your voice comes out as a whisper as you instantly stand to your feet. “I didn’t mean to linger.”

“Don’t apologise. The chapel doesn’t have opening hours; you are welcome to come and go as you please.”

You nod slightly, pressing your fingertip on the bench and averting your gaze to stare at the wood.

“I get the sense that right now, you do not want to go.” His comment is more of a statement than a question.

“Unfortunately, Father,” you clear your throat of the new word to come from it and look up, “I don’t think I know what I want.”

“Would you like to tell me what brings you to me?”

“I... I did something bad.”

“Would you like to tell me about it?”

You hesitate slightly, but shake your head in the negative.

“It’ll be difficult for me to help you if you don’t tell me what’s plaguing your thoughts, but I will do my best.”

“Thanks,” you swallow, only now realising that you’re quite nervous. “I’m not... I don’t come to church, usually.”

“I know.”

You tilt your head slightly in questioning and he shrugs.

“Not this one, at least.”

With an accepting nod, you turn your attention to the stained glass of the windows behind the raised platform. “It’s nice.”

“Would you like a closer look?” he’s no longer leaning, instead standing with his hands clasped.

“Sure,” you shrug, perhaps the beauty of art will provide some release.

He holds his hand out and beckons you once to come to him. The walk through the rows of chairs feels longer than you expected, with each step you’re unsure if the room is expanding or you’re growing smaller into yourself.

“You are safe here, my child.”

He must’ve noticed. Thankfully, the soothing tone of his words relaxes your shoulders along with a tension in your brow that you hadn’t yet registered. He gestures his head slightly in the direction he then walks in, you following until you’re up on the platform.

“Am I allowed up here?” you look back at the room, now looking much smaller from this point of view.

He chuckles softly. “You think I would lead you somewhere you weren’t allowed?”

You aren’t sure about that, you don’t know him even if he is a man of the cloth, but you shake your head anyway.

The two of you stand in front of the window. It’s beautiful, if a little harder to depict up close. It feels almost criminal to be in the presence of something so exquisite when you feel so dirty, as though you’re insulting the building just by being there. The warmth of the priest resonates to you and you find yourself choked up, trying to discretely swallow the feeling.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, and you can feel that he’s now looking at you. You turn your gaze to your hands, picking at your fingernails. “It’s okay,” he repeats.

You look at him. Really look at him. The man looks like he’s seen his fair share of sin himself. A dark aura to this priest that you hadn’t regarded before in the few others you’d come across. Unless... now that you had welcomed darkness into your life, taken the breath from the lungs of another, you could recognise it in those around you? Almost as though their sins radiated from them like the rays of the burning sun when it bounces off the windows? Could he see yours coming from you?

“Have you ever sinned, Father?” you hadn’t had time to think about the appropriateness of the question before blurting it out.

A smile creeps onto his lips, one that almost seems like it belongs to a different man from a past life. “I have.”

“But you’re a priest?”

“Correct. Our Lord is a forgiving one.”

“When was the last time you sinned?” you shift your weight from one foot to the other, feeling surprisingly comfortable around the man.

“You know, when people look for guidance, they usually talk about themselves.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.”

“Don’t apologise.”

You nod, pressing your lips together to stop another apology for apologising breaking past them. The choking feeling rises in your throat again and this time reaches your eyes, tears stinging that you desperately hope don’t start to fall down your face.

His hand is on your upper back then, reassuringly placed which only makes you feel like it’s reassurance you don’t deserve. You don’t deserve his time or his kindness. “Anything you say to me is confidential, you understand?”

It’s enough to convince you. You feel as though you’ll explode otherwise. “I killed a man.”

The silence that follows your monotone confession isn’t deafening, and his hand on your back doesn’t falter which makes you question if he’s even heard you. The weight on your shoulders doesn’t lighten, but it shifts slightly at the expression of your guilt.

“May I ask why?”

You bring your hands to your face and huff, as though smearing the blood on there now that he knows who you are. What you are. You bring your hands down and splay them in front of you, staring at the apparent murder weapons. If you tell him your motivation, perhaps he won’t think of you as such a monster.

“He... I didn’t know him, but he tried to... to...”

“You don’t need to say anything further.”

His tone calms you somewhat, but not enough to barricade against the tears which have now flown freely down your cheeks.

The hand on your back is removed, and he raises his other to take both your hands in his, turning you towards him and turning them over in turn so your palms face upwards. He runs his finger, which happens to be very calloused, from the centre of your wrist to the tip of your middle finger.

“These don’t look like murderer's hands to me.”

“You can’t see the blood,” you mumble.

He nods, almost empathetically. “Come with me.”

You follow where he goes, him dropping one of his hands and now holding one of yours with his other. His hold is soft, making it the easiest thing in the world to follow him wherever he’s leading you.

The destination is a mirror, leant against the side of the wall beside the platform. He positions you in front of it.

You look at yourself, the dishevelled look in your eye inescapable. And there he stands behind you, big hands now holding your upper arms with a gentle strength.

“Tell me what you see.”

You observe your reflection, not really seeing anything and once again your attention diverts to the man behind you. You shrug. “I just look lost.”

He blinks slowly, his hold on you tightening ever so slightly. “That’s right,” you aren’t sure when he lowered his head, but his mouth is now beside your ear. “Let me guide you.”

A shiver runs down your spine at that. Somehow, you trust him. Religious or not, you trust him. You give him a nod.

“Good. I unfortunately have other matters that require my attention right now, but do you think you could come back three evenings from now? You can just give my door a knock when you arrive.” He flitters his eyes to the left at a door a little further down from where you’re stood. You give him another nod.

You watch him walk away in the mirror until he’s out of sight. When you turn round to the room, he’s nowhere to be seen.

♱

The church looks different at night. Even with permission you still feel like you shouldn’t be here.

There isn’t any light bleeding through the windows, nothing to illuminate the beautiful architecture and instead shrouding it in darkness where one can only attempt a guess of what lurks in the shadows. The altar is the only place harbouring any light, where a few candles flicker with that natural flow of air. Everything is still, eerily quiet except for your timid footsteps that walk down the aisle. Each one echoes in some corner of the building, which now feels far too big, despite your best efforts to tread lightly.

You avoid your reflection when you walk past the mirror.

Reverend Dutch van der Linde

You spend a moment looking at the plaque which appears to be well taken care of, recently polished despite the dust that settles on the other various surfaces in the room. There aren’t any noises coming from inside, hopefully, your arrival isn’t going to wake or disturb him. Your hand creeps up, knuckles just inches away from the wood. You knock.

There’s a pause, then a few muffled steps that grow louder as they approach. The door opens and the man behind it almost appears taller than when you last saw him.

“Evening, Father,” you make your best effort to sound casual.

“Hello, my child. Would you wait up there for me?” he points to the lectern.

“Sure,” you shrug and he closes the door.

It feels even more wrong to be up here without him, making the wait for him to join seem longer than it is. Thankfully, the door opens and he strides out with a bottle of something in one hand and two glasses in the other.

“You drink?” he says, placing them down on the lectern.

“You drink?”

He smirks. “Priests are allowed to drink, you know.”

You shrug, unsure why you thought they weren’t. There’s something bizarre about a priest drinking alcohol, but there’s something bizarre about this priest in general.

“What are we toasting?” you ask as he hands you a glass.

He holds his glass up, pondering it as he turns it in his hand. “Faith.”

“To faith, I guess.” You clink your glass against his and down the whisky, him doing the same. “Can I ask why we’re drinking?”

“You could do with loosening up a little.”

You shunt a laugh, averting your gaze to the surface of the lectern and running your finger along the wood.

“The Lord forgives you for it,” he says soothingly.

“He tell you that?” you continue to watch your finger trace the lines in the wood.

“Not explicitly. But I am his servant and I forgive you.”

“Well, I can still feel the weight,” you sigh, looking back to him.

“What weight is that?”

“The weight on my shoulders.”

“May I?” his hands reach out, hovering over your shoulders and you nod indifferently.

“Yes, you’re very tense.”

“That’s because you’re touching me.”

“You were tense before I started touching you.”

“Then why d’you have to touch me to check?”

A smile, one that seemed to have an underlying intrigue grew on his face. Slowly, his warm hands brush up to the base of your neck – not pressing down, just there. If he moved any muscle in his hand upwards, he wouldn’t be touching you at all. He runs his thumbs from the side of your chin and along your jaw, the calloused tips delightfully relaxing as he sighs slightly, taking in the view of your face.

“What’s your diagnosis?”

That smile again.

“You need to let go.”

The slight eye-roll you didn’t mean to display feels rude, but he doesn’t comment or react. “And how do I do that?”

His left shoulder shrugs slightly. “That’s for us to figure out.”

“Us?”

“Mhm. I’m here to help you. I told you I would.”

He tilts your head up towards him, taking a small step forward until his torso is inches from yours. “Faith, my dear. I need you to have faith.”

“How can I have faith when I’m not sure if I even... believe?” the look you give him is hesitant but apologetic. The last thing you want to do is offend the priest in his own church.

“We’re nothing without faith,” he finally removes his hands and clasps them in front of himself.

“Easy for you to say, you’re a priest.”

“I had faith before I was a priest,” he turns to fill the glasses again. “It doesn’t matter if your faith isn’t in God, but you have to have faith in something.”

“What should I have faith in then?”

He appears to ponder this for a moment. “Me, if nothing else.”

“Well,” you clear your throat, “right now, you’re my only hope so I don’t think I have much choice.”

“It is my duty to guide people.” The word duty sounds thick on his tongue as he turns your attention to the bible he’s placed down, flicking through it while you sip at your drink. He taps on the page. “Can you read something for me?”

You look at the page, at the passage he’s pointing at. “John 3:12. We should not be like Cain, who was of the evil one and murdered his brother. And why did he murder him? Because his own deeds were evil and his brother’s righteous.”

“Good girl. And that man you killed, were his deeds righteous?”

You shake your head. “That doesn’t stop mine from being evil.”

He hums. “Cain was a wanderer, his punishment to wander the earth and wait for someone to find and kill him.”

“What does that mean for me?”

“You wandered, and you found me. You sought me out. If God thought you deserved the same fate as Cain, you’d be dead already.” He finishes the last of his drink, positioning himself behind you and putting his hands on either side of the lectern. You’re blocked in by him, but no part of you feels trapped. Instead, you feel safe with his arms around you.

He flicks through the pages again, musing until he finds what he was looking for. He taps another passage. “Read to me.”

“Timothy 2:22. So flee youthful passions and pursue righteousness, faith, love, and peace, along with those who call on the Lord from a pure heart.”

“Your heart,” he moves his hand to place his fingertips to the centre of your chest. “Feels very pure to me.”

Maybe he’s right. Or maybe he’s just choosing verses that’ll make you feel better.

His breath is suddenly hot on your ear. “Do you have faith in me?”

You nod minimally.

His warmth envelops you, torso pressing into your back after he takes a small step forward. It’s then that you realise... he’s hard. You can feel him against the curve of your ass, large and demanding.

“Father?” you ask, voice quieter than you’d hoped.

“Hm?”

“Isn’t lust a sin?”

His chest vibrates with a small laugh. “Yes, my dear. Even the best of those amongst us sin sometimes.”

“Even if it’s against the rules?”

“That’s why we repent,” his hand moves down tentatively from your chest, stopping at your stomach and holding you to his frame. Your knees begin to feel a little weak at the embrace and you use your hands to steady you, placing them on the lectern in front.

You sigh slightly, remembering the issue at hand. “But what’s the point, father? Even if I feel better, what then? My life serves no purpose as it is.”

“How nihilistic of you,” he murmurs.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean -”

You’re silenced involuntarily at the raise of his other hand. He slowly places it back down.

“You’d like me to give you purpose, is that it?” his fingertips draw circles on your midsection.

“I suppose,” you swallow.

He hums, and his moustache makes contact with the top of your ear. After the next circle, his fingers trail down your abdomen and stop when they’re in line with your hip bones.

“Perhaps,” he plants a light kiss on your ear and your breath hitches, “your purpose is to serve me.”

With that, his wandering hand travels further south and cups you, your hitched breath releasing at the delightful pressure from his strong hands.

“That’s it, let it go.”

You bite down on your tongue and tighten your grip on the surface in front as he starts to circle his fingers over you. “Father,” you breathe.

“I know,” he hums, bringing his fingers back up and sliding them under your waistband.

“What if someone -”

“Don’t worry about that,” he interrupts, “we’re only reading.”

You blink your eyes up to the still-empty room in front as he slides his fingers into your garments, making contact with the wetness that already resides there. He tuts. “You are quite the sinner, aren’t you?”

The only thing you can think to do is nod, his finger circling your clit once again and you lean back into him. You aren’t thinking about your crimes, the sinning you’re currently doing or the place you’re doing it in. Everything is hazy and the only thing you want to focus on is the fire of bliss that’s been lit in your lower abdomen.

His fingertip brushes over and you whimper as it travels down to your entrance, the cold of his ring pressing over your clit. You tilt your head to the side instinctively and his lips find your neck, sucking gently. “So good for me,” he murmurs against your skin, entering just the tip of his finger.

“Oh God,” you breathe, letting your eyes fall close.

“Using the Lord’s name in vain, that’s another sin,” his teeth latch onto your neck and he pushes his finger in to the knuckle, you whimper as his cool ring presses into your opening and his palm holds your mound. His own hips press into your ass, small thrusts that he’s clearly holding back on. If it’s possible, he’s even harder than he was before.

He curls his finger, almost reaching that spot when he pulls back out to add another and moves them in again with another curl. You moan from your chest and roll your hips subconsciously, chasing the pleasure that’s caused your skin to turn hot and moisten.

Then the fingers are gone. So is his warmth on your back and the erection that was pressing into you. Your eyes snap open to see nobody, the view of the church is enough to remind you of what you’re doing. Slowly you turn, the priest stood a few steps behind you with a few strands of his pushed-back hair now falling on his face while he tries to control the rise and fall of his chest.

You open your mouth to speak, apologise, say something when he interrupts.

“I don’t think the problem is with the act you committed.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Then what?”

He juts his jaw out slightly, swallowing before his tongue darts out to moisten his bottom lip. “You’re desperate for a purpose. You want something you can serve.”

“Is this the part where you tell me to become a vessel for God?” you huff, amused at the lengths he’ll apparently consider to increase the number of churchgoers in his parish.

He shakes his head once and steps towards you again until the warmth of his chest is pressing into you. His fingers cup your chin and he holds your head to meet his gaze.

“Not for God,” he whispers against your lips and brushes his over them.

Your eyes widen, understanding exactly what it is he’s referring to but not quite able to believe this is happening.

“But, you can’t -”

“Since I kept your secret,” he pretends not to have heard you, “will you keep mine?”

“What’s yours?”

His hands meet your hips and run up to your waist, gripping lightly at your flank. “That I’ve broken my oath.”

“You’ve broken your oath?”

“Well,” he plants a kiss on your shoulder, “not yet I haven’t.”

His head comes up to meet your gaze, eyes half-lidded and hungry with desire. He sighs slightly as he tilts his head, his breath skimming over your cheek.

“The way I see it,” he looks down at his hand which is running up and down your side, “you need a purpose. God surely won’t mind me providing you with one.”

With that, he looks back at your face to gauge your response. You chew your cheek; this is the only idea so far that’s made you tingle with excitement at the prospect of finally moving on.

And if you’ve already got a signed ticket to hell, you may as well have some fun on your way down.

Before you can take a moment to reconsider, your hands are on the sides of his face and you’ve pulled him forward to meet your lips with his. You kiss him greedily until he groans and wraps his arms around your waist, devouring you completely. He bites down on your bottom lip, demanding your mouth to open to allow his tongue to enter. Doing your best to keep up, you note how much better the whisky tastes when it comes from his tongue, accompanied by a hint of tobacco.

You moan into his mouth when he grips at your thigh, pulling it up until your leg is wrapped around his hip and he grinds into you, ridiculously hard and you know there’s no going back now.

“Father,” you moan as he kisses your neck, pushing your skirt up and you lean back on the lectern and rest your arms over his shoulders after he’s removed your undergarments.

“Damn thing,” he mutters, hitching up his own robe and pushing himself against you.

You didn’t have a chance to see it, but you can definitely feel it threatening your entrance as he twitches against you. He holds his cock with his hand, running along your slit as he mixes your wetness with his precum and all you want to do is squeal with how good it feels.

“You want a purpose?”

You nod eagerly, breath catching in your throat.

“Then serve me,” he asserts, stilling his motions at your entrance. “Think you can do that?”

“Yes, Father... please,” you whimper.

He grunts at that, pushing his cock in until you break his gaze and roll your eyes back into your head. You’re mouth-wateringly full, pulsating around him as his hand moves to hold your ass to keep you in place.

Some sound comes out of you, you doubt it’s a coherent word and more of a babble but whatever it is, it pleases him and his chest presses into you as he moves his hips back before pushing in again. His other hand moves past your shoulder so he can steady himself before he starts thrusting in and out.

“I knew you’d be worth it,” he mumbles, kissing you lazily and rolling his hips into you. “So fucking good... so warm and tight...”

You can only moan in response, hand moving to grip at his shoulder. You muse at his clerical collar, it feels like a crime to have such a beautifully thick neck covered like that. Bringing your head forward, you nip at the parts of his neck you can see. It spurs him on to fuck you deeper, bottoming out with each snap of his hips and accompanying grunts.

It’s then that you realise your cacophony of noises is echoing around the room, each slap of skin returning to your ears as the next one is generated. How can something so sinful sound so wonderful?

While you can already feel his grip on your ass starting to bruise, he angles himself differently and fucks you with animalistic desire. You throw your head back and cry out, all your nerve endings vibrating.

“Look at you,” he mutters and you tip your head forward to meet his gaze that’s watching your reactions with intent. “Serving me so well.”

The fire within is roaring now, burning you from the inside and you want nothing more than to put it out. “Father, I’m close...”

“That’s right, let it all go my dear,” he kisses you, passing the sweat from his lips over to yours.

He continues to kiss you when the burn travels lower and lower, your shoulder blades pulling together to brace for the release. Your eyes squeeze shut when you come, arms clinging to the priest’s neck and for that moment you feel as though you’re suspended in the air, no longer caring about any of your past worries. Who needs heaven when you can create your own?

His hips snap one last time and he lets out a deep moan of ecstasy as he warms your insides completely, not surprised when you feel it drip down your thighs; you were so stuffed to begin with there was never going to be any room for anything else.

Your head drops to his shoulder, the sweat from your forehead moistening his robe while his arms coil around your waist. His torso puffs as he pants, holding you while you both return to earth from whatever cloud you’d reached. He moves his hips out slowly, and it feels like a part of your body is missing now that he’s no longer inside you. He pulls a cloth from his pocket and attempts to catch the fluids, not wanting them to make their way to the floor of the holy building the pair of you just filled with debauchery.

He smooths his hair back when he stands, face glistening with sweat while he looks you over.

Somehow, you do feel lighter. Maybe you’ve just replaced your sin with a worse one but the abundance of pleasure coursing through you makes it so you no longer care. “At least neither of us has burst into flames,” you say, hoping to alleviate any worries, if he has them.

He smirks. “I’m sure if God has an issue with our arrangement, he’ll let us know.”

You nod. “It helped.”

His eyebrows raise almost comically, as though he’d completely forgotten about your prior concern and reason for visiting him in the first place. “Well,” he steps towards you and holds the side of your face, “then we best make sure we continue our practice regularly.”

You lean into his hand, the smile on your face feeling natural, unlike all the forced ones you’ve conjured since that awful day.

He kisses you and lingers there, before pulling away and dropping his hand with a sigh. “I think I have my fair share of prayers to do now.”

You laugh, wanting nothing more than to curl up in your bed for a nightmare-less sleep. “Thank you, Father.”

He nods with that same smirk again, leaving you to compose yourself before your journey home. Once his door is shut behind him, you scan the floor for your undergarments and realise they’re nowhere to be found. Eyes flitting to his door, you think you have a good idea where they wandered off to and make a mental note to return for them in the future.

Perhaps sinning isn’t so bad after all.

#dutch van der linde #dutch van der linde x reader #rdr2 #priest dutch #my stuff #writing

42 notes · View notes

pro-fangirls-unsocial-life · 3 years

Note

Could you do some soft kisses with Cody after a hard mission

Hey anon! Sorry this took so long to fill but I’m finally writing again!! School has been keeping me busy but I hope that you enjoy this nonetheless!! Also thank you to @captainrexisboo for being my beta reader for this!!!

Washing Away Memories

Cody x Reader

Warnings: Blood. Mentions of death. Nudity but nothing explicit. Injury. ANGST.

Also you can be added to my taglist here!

He had walked into your quarters without so much of a word coming from him, covered in dirt from the planet below and his posture slouched like he was carrying the weight of the universe on his shoulders. As he slowly removed his armor, you could see the small winces and pauses of pain when he moved too fast or was in an odd position for too long. His blacks were torn in some places and you could see cuts and wounds on his skin beneath them.

“Cody? Are you alright?” You stood up from your desk, slowly walking over to him as his head hung low.

He wouldn’t meet your eye, only looking down at the floor as you approached and not moving an inch since you had spoken, like he was afraid to look up at you and show you the war still raging behind his eyes.

“Cody?” You said, reaching out slowly for one of his wrists. He flinched away from you slightly, his eyes screwing shut as he angled his head as far from you as he could. You could see his lip start to quiver and his body start to tremble. Barely noticeable if you weren’t so close and if he had his armor on, but enough to make your worry spike even more than it already had.

You reach out for his wrist again, grabbing it lightly as your other hand comes up to cup his face, angling it back toward you. His eyes were still shut as the tears that he had been fighting so hard to keep from falling start leaving trails in the dirt that was plastered to his face.

You move your hand from his wrist to grasp his hand, pulling it away at the feeling of something sticky on his glove. Looking down at your own hand, you see it covered in crimson liquid, partially dried and starting to thicken. You head whips back up to look at Cody’s face, switching your gaze back and forth between him and your hand. He has his eyes closed; his face still pointed down. “Cody?” Your voice had picked up a bit of panic at seeing the substance on your hand. “Is this blood?”

The silence from before returns and you see him take a shuddering breath before finally speaking in a low, broken whimper. “It’s not mine….”

There are still tears coming from his closed eyes, falling faster now after his confession. His small whimpers now being the only thing to occupy the deafeningly quiet space.

“Oh, Cody…” Using your thumb, you wipe some of the tears from his cheek, creating a small smudge in the filth that covers him and wrapping your other arm around his back, holding him close as he starts to sob into your shoulder.

“He was just… just a kid- couldn’t have been more than sixteen biologically…” You feel his hands finally come to hold you, fisting the fabric of your shirt as he brings you closer. “Hadn’t…. Hadn’t even earned his paint yet…”

You stand there, just holding him for what feels like hours. Softly petting the back of his head and rubbing soothing circles on his back as you whisper small reassurances into his ear. “I’ve got you, Cody… I’ve got you…” Not wanting the silence to allow the newly formed nightmares to return to the forefront of Cody’s mind.

After a substantial amount of time, his cries start to quiet, his breathing becoming more even as you continue trying to sooth him.

“What can I do for you?” You whisper, still rubbing his back.

He pulls back, his eyes red and puffy and looking as defeated as you had ever seen him. He looks into your eyes for the first time that night, his jaw still trembling and his breathing still more erratic than it should be. “Just… Stay with me… Please… I don’t want to be alone tonight…”

You bring your hand up to his face, cradling it as he leans into your touch. “Of course, my love. Anything for you.” Taking a step back, you kneel down, taking off the rest of the armor from his legs before standing back up. “Do you want to take a shower, or do you just want to go to bed?”

Pausing for a moment, he looks down at his hands, seeing the dust and blood that still covered them. Every moment that led to him being covered with so much debris from the battle replaying through his mind all at once in a hurricane of terrors. “I- I want this off of me…”

“Alright,” you say, voice soft and low. “Do you want me to help?”

He nods, taking your hand when you reach out to him and letting you lead him toward the fresher in your quarters.

When you get inside the room, you have him stand, turning on the shower to let the water start to heat up. Once you have done that, you help him remove his blacks, being careful not to disturb the injuries that were littered across his skin.

You press a kiss to his shoulder before another on his lips. “Do you want to get in and I’ll join you in just a second?”

He gives you a small nod before stepping into the shower, facing the stream, and letting out a sigh as the water begins to cascade down his skin, already taking some of the dirt and blood caked onto his skin with it. Some of the tension releases from his shoulders, almost like the water is washing away some of the weight that had made its home there while he was away.

Quickly taking off your clothes, you step into the shower behind Cody, pressing kisses along his shoulders and rubbing your hands up and down his arms. “Think you can turn around for me, baby? Let me wash your hair?”

You switch places with him, standing to the side of the water so that he is getting the full spray on his back.

Bringing your hands up, you angle his head back into the water, making sure that his hair is completely wet. Then, you grab the bottle of shampoo from off the wall, squirting as much as you would need for him into your hands and threading them into his hair, tenderly beginning to massage his scalp.

A low groan comes from his chest as you work the soap into his hair, his shoulders relaxing, and his eyes fluttering shut at your fingers on his scalp. He leans into your touch, enjoying the first chance he has had to relax in weeks. The first chance he had to think about something other than the war he was forced to be a part of since his creation.

Once you finished, you helped him lean his head back into the stream, using your hand to shield his eyes from the soap as it rinsed off of his head.

You quickly repeat the process with conditioner, making sure that the water stays hot, and that Cody is still alright with your hands on him.

“You still ok?” you asked, moving your hands to massage the muscles in his neck as the last bits of soap washed off of his body. “Is it alright if I wash the rest of your body now?”

He gives you a small hum in confirmation, the tension he still holds quickly disappearing as you work your fingers over his muscles.

Slowly, you take your hands away, grabbing a soft cloth and running it under the water before gathering soap on it. You begin to delicately drag it across his skin, putting enough pressure to gather up all of the grime that had accrued on him during the weeks long campaign and wash it away, hoping that with each pass of the cloth, some of the horror behind it would be washed away as well. As you worked over his skin, you made sure to be extra careful around his wounds, trying your best to not give Cody more pain than he already had.

When you got to his hands, you made sure to be additionally tender, massaging them in your own as you cleaned the blood off of them that had soaked through the material of his blacks. As if cleaning them off would clean the guilt from Cody’s mind, making him forget the images of the little brother dying in his arms. Once they were clean, you pressed a kiss to his palms before continuing on to the rest of his body, hoping to attach his hands to at least one positive thing before the day is finished.

You turned to him once you had finished, kissing his cheek and bringing your forehead against his. “I’m gonna step out so that I can get you clean clothes and a fresh towel. Alright? Do you think you can finish rinsing off while I go do that?”

“Mhm…”

With his confirmation you step away, grabbing a towel and quickly drying yourself off. You walk back out into the room, throwing on your own clothes before making your way over to the chest at the end of your bed where you kept an extra pair of Cody’s blacks and the set of pajamas that you had bought for him the last time you were both planet side.

On your way back to the fresher, you dimmed the lights, knowing that Cody would most likely just want to sleep once he was dressed.

You grabbed a fresh towel from the shelf, stepping back inside the steamy room, the water still running as Cody finished.

When the water finally shut off, you stood ready with the towel, wrapping it softly around Cody once he stepped out and helping him dry off. He flinched, letting out a pained grunt as it ran over one of the cuts on his back, prompting you to grab all the bacta and gauze that you had in your room and to start carefully tending to his wounds.

He was silent through all of it, the only sound being the buzzing of the fluorescent light from the ceiling and the occasional wince as you patched him up.

With every wound you patched up, you pressed a kiss to it once you had finished, wanting to just give the love to Cody’s body that he had never had the privilege of possessing. You wanted to take every single bit of pain and lock it away, making sure that it could never dare to come close to the man you loved again. You wanted to make Cody forget everything he had seen and experienced and replace it with the happiness and love that he deserved. Because to you, he deserved the universe, and you were going to do everything you could to give him even a fraction of that if you could.

After applying bacta to every wound you could find, you gave him a once over, checking to make sure that you had not missed anything before helping Cody put on the soft, 212th colored pajamas that you had gotten him.

He visibly deflated before your eyes, all of his tension melting away as he let out a breath like he had been holding it for hours.

You put your hands on either side of his face, kissing every part of it that you could reach and tracing his scar with your lips before finally landing on his mouth. His arms wrapped around your middle, pulling you close to him as he pulled his lips away and buried his face in your shoulder.

“Thank you…” he whispered out, his voice being that of a man beaten down by the galaxy around him. “Thank you for everything, cyare…”

You take a step back, just enough so that you can look at his face before placing another kiss on his forehead. “Always, my love.” Taking a hold of his hand, you begin to lead him back out into the main room. “Let’s get some sleep.”

He nods, the tiredness clear in his face as he crawls into your bed.

As you settle in next to him, you wrap your arms around his body, giving him a sense of safety and overwhelming love before pressing a kiss to the back of his neck as he cuddles into you.

You feel him squeeze the hand that is wrapped around his waist, bringing it close to his chest and kissing your fingertips. “I love you, cyare. Thank you… for being here for me when I get back. You… You don’t know what it means to me.”

Giving his hand a quick squeeze, you kiss the back of his neck once more, curling in tighter to him as his breathing begins to even out. “I love you, Cody. You deserve the universe and more, and I will always be here to try and give that to you when you come back to me.” You close your eyes, feeling his heartbeat under your hand and his warmth against your skin as you fell asleep behind him. “I promise my love. I will always be here for you.”

#commander cody x reader #commander cody x gender neutral reader #commander cody #washing away memories #my writing #blood tw #death tw #nudity #injury tw

185 notes · View notes

raphaelsrightarm · 3 years

Text

Nightmare

Ok! So this is my first ever writing post on here, I am kind of nervous but I’m also pretty proud of this one. I made it gender neutral, and I didn’t make it about a specific one of our boys, mainly because I was too nervous to write for one of them. I wrote this with the 2014/ 2016 boys in mind but I guess it could really work for a lot of them! Oh, and they are all 18+ in this!

Also thank you to @tmntspidergirl and @sometmntblog for encouraging me to post this, I hope you like it!

Warnings: There are mentions of blood and injuries in this as well as hints to torture and death

He ran as fast as he could, your cries of fear and pain getting louder as he neared his target. You.

He whipped around the corner of the warehouse he and his brothers had tracked you to, he came to a sudden stop as he laid his eyes on you. You were laying on your back on the floor, your face contorted in pain. A thick metal cuff had you chained to the wall by your wrist, a pool of blood surrounding you. Some false hope inside of him told him the blood couldn’t be yours. The sheer amount of it was far too much for it to be yours. On the wall above you was the symbol your boyfriend knew all too well: The Foot Clan.

He rushed to your side, falling to his knees. You had bruises all over your face, your left eye swollen shut. Your lower lip was split and sent a small stream of blood down your cheek, which was swollen and purple. He looked you over, trying to see where most of the blood was coming from, there was a long cut across your right leg, ripping your jeans. But from what he could see, the cut wasn’t very deep and the bleeding had died down so he scanned over you once more. His eyes then fell onto the the deep stab wound on your stomach.

He reached out to you, his hands hesitant at first, not wanting to hurt you, nut also knowing you couldn’t loose anymore blood than what has already spilled on the floor that was now soaking into the fabric of his shorts as he was kneeling next to you. He placed his hands over your wound and applied pressure. You screamed, body flinching as though you were electrocuted. Your legs flailed trying to move away from him, causing the gash on your thigh to leak more blood. You attempted to push his strong hands off of you at first, just wanting the pain to stop.

“Please, y/n! Just hold still! Take deep breaths, please!” He begged. He called for his brothers, but there was no response. The rest of the building was silent. The hopelessness the young terrapin felt in this moment was a pain in his chest he had never felt before. He attempted to clam himself, knowing that if you saw him panic it would cause you to do the same, meaning you would loose even more blood.

“Where were you?” You shouted through your cries. “You said you would keep me safe!” Just from speaking, you felt exhausted. Like each word was a mile run. Tears pricked his eyes as he tried to listen for any sign of his brothers. Your eyelids began to droop and he felt his heart drop into the deepest part of his stomach. Fear, regret, and guilt flooded his body.

“I’m sorry baby, I’m so sorry. But you need to stay awake, can you do that for me?” He asked you, pressing a bit harder on your stomach. He looked down at his hands, the red liquid coating them made him feel sick. He had never been too squeamish when it came to blood, it would be hard to have the job he had if he was. But this, this was just too much for his to even attempt to process. He looked over his shoulder, and called for his brothers again. But there was still nothing. He looked back at your face, your strength was fading. He could see the fight draining from your eyes.

You took harsh, ragged breaths, but you got the point where you couldn’t even hold your head up anymore. You were dying. You knew it, he knew it.

“Y/N, no, please. Just look at me, you’re going to be ok! We’re going to figure this out, ok? Just hang on, please!” He was crying now, listening to the sickening rattle of your lungs trying to pull air into your chest. You looked at him, a weak hand slowly, shakily, reaching up to stroke his cheek. He leaned into your gentle touch, your hand was much colder than it had ever been, but he took advantage of it anyway; because in the back of his mind he knew this was the last time he would ever feel it. He was loosing you, you were dying right before his eyes.

His eyes shot open, and he gasped loudly. H =e looked around his room, his eyes adjusting to suddenly being awake. His hand went to his forehead as he attempted to catch his breath, that's when the memories of the dream he had started to flood back. Fear spiked back in his body, and his head shot over to the side, where you were sound asleep on your side.

You were facing him, and he stared at your peaceful and relaxed face for a few seconds. He slowly reached out his hand and placed it on your warm shoulder. It was soft, he didn't want to wake you up, but it was enough to convince him that you were alive. That you were safe. He then dropped his tense up shoulders and slid back down into bed next to you. Rolling onto his side so he could look at the person he had fallen in love with.

He brushed a strand of hair out of your face, then slid the tip of his face from behind your ear to cup you cheek. His thumb slowly ran his thumb over your skin as he took his time to memorize every single detail of you face. Knowing that no matter what he was going to protect you. To make sure his nightmare never became a reality.

It took him a while to truly calm down, to push the image of you from his dream out of his mind. So he continued to watch you sleep. he didn’t care if it was creepy, he just cared that you were there. Alive. Every so often he would see your eyes flick from side to side underneath your eyelids. He wondered what you were dreaming about, and could only hope it was better than his.

#tmnt 2014 #tmnt 2016 #tmnt x reader #leoxreader #raph x reader #donnie x reader #mikey x reader #nightmare

227 notes · View notes

luciusmalfoysimp · 3 years

Text

Angst Imagine: Imagine Lucius Being Forced to Watch You Be Tortured After You Take The Blame For His Actions (Part 2)

part one is right here: Part One

warnings: angst, fluff, non-sexual nudity

requested by @malfoy2424

•

You awoke to the delightful and familiar sensation of a hand lightly petting your hair. Giving a quiet and strained groan, you opened your eyes and attempted to sit up, giving a yelp from your painful ribs and slumped back down.

“I can help, love.” Your heart warmed as you heard Lucius’s voice above you. You realized your head was on his lap and you smiled internally. Your partner’s hands gingerly went around your waist as he had you sit up, tensing more and more everytime you’d give a small noise or a pained expression from the broken bones.

At last, you were upright and sitting next to Lucius, who put a hand over yours instantly. A light crackling sound filled the air, and you saw the fireplace roaring across from you. Sitting diagonally to the right from you and your partner was Tonks, who was cuddled up on the couch, clearly exhausted. Tonks noticed you sit up and smiled at you.

“Hey.” She gave a soft smile and stretched. “You doing okay?” You gave a small shrug in response. Lupin walked in to the room, a large bar of chocolate in hand.

“I probably should’ve given this to the two of you earlier.” He said, snapping off two good chunks of the bar. He handed one to you, then Lucius. “Eat. I promise you’ll feel better.”

You hesitantly bit into the chocolate, and he was right. The second the sweetness hit your tongue, you felt all of your muscles relax, your hazy mind cleared, everything just seemed warm. Your teeth ached from grinding them in your sleep, yet you ate the rest of the sweet.

A young witch approached you, dressed in wizarding hospital attire. “Hi, (y/n). I was called here, and I’ll need to check up on you. Can we go to a different room?” You looked at Lucius, who nodded.

You slowly made your way to his room and sat down. The nurse checked your pulse and blood pressure quick, then examined your cuts, and they thankfully weren’t infected. She lightly cleaned them up, causing you to wince.

“All right, I’ll need to check your ribs now.” She spoke quietly. Nodding, you took a breath and lifted your shirt. The gasp that left the nurse startled you, and it was obviously not intentional. She took out her wand, and with a mutter of a spell, the bones mended with a quick sting of pain. “Your bones are now mended, love.” There was a knock on the door, and you allowed it to open. Tonks came in, a pair of scissors in hand.

“I was hoping I could even up your hair a bit, if you’d like.” She spoke sheepishly. You tensed slightly, but agreed. The nurse moved to the side, and Tonks sat you down on a chair, her soft fingers raking through your hair.

The difference in her touch from Bellatrix’s was astounding. While Bellatrix’s long, dirtied nails had dug into your scalp, Tonks’ soft fingertips lightly brushed against your head. She took the uneven locks and snipped them, evening your hair out to a soft, lovely hairstyle. (think beverly from it 2017 or even hazel grace from the fault in our stars).

“There you are.” She walked around in front of you gave you a soft smile. “Good as new.” You gingerly got up and looked in a mirror. She definitely made you look nice, and you gave a small smile.

“Thank you.” You turned to her and gave her a quick hug. She sat you back on the bed. “I’ll go get Lucius.” Tonks went out the door, and the nurse gave a small nod before following her.

The second the door closed, you felt your chest fill with panic. The emptiness of the room seemed to fill with Bellatrix’s voice, her loud cackling as she yelled the torture curse. You remembered the feeling of her heel digging into your spine, the excruciating blast of pain from the curse, the metallic smell of her blade against your cheek...

“(Y/n)?” Your eyes snapped back into focus, and you looked up to see Tonks, Lupin, and Lucius standing before you. Lupin walked towards you and with a soft touch, grasped your wrists. You only then realized that in your state of panic, you’d crossed your arms over your chest and your fingernails were digging so deeply into your skin that you could see tiny beads of blood. Moving with his touch, you let Lupin pull your arms away, forcing them to your sides.

“You’re alright.” His voice was quiet and sincere. “We’ll be staying the night here to guard you two. Mad-Eye and Kingsley will stay as well.” He then turned to your partner, who stared vacantly at the floor. “Thank you, Lucius, for welcoming us into your home. You two should rest.” He gave you a nod, took Tonks by the hand, and walked out, closing the door behind them.

You stood up and approached Lucius, who was still staring at the floor. Lightly cupping his cheek, you lifted his face, making your eyes meet. With a staggering breath, he leaned his forehead against yours, shakily grasping your free hand and bringing your knuckles to his lips. The two of you stood like this for a few minutes in silence, trying to process everything and allow yourself to delve further into a calm and collected state.

“I love you.” His velvety voice broke the silence, and you sighed quietly, pulling your face from his to look him in the eye again.

“I love you, too.” The two of you kissed, letting your lips linger for a bit. You pulled away and gave another small sigh. “I need to shower. I look like a wreck.”

“You’re fine, dear.” Lucius insisted, but you got out of his grasp, going to your closet and grabbing a pair of comfortable pajamas. Your partner tried to protest, but you walked into the master bathroom and hastily closed the door.

You sniffed, trying to keep it together. As much as you wanted to be held and loved by Lucius, seeing him only made you feel guilty. You knew he felt nothing but utter self-loathing at the moment for his actions, but you felt the same way. You caused so much pain for him by standing up for him, yet you saved him from the physical pain you’d endured. Your head was swimming in such contradictory thoughts, with believing what you did was right, but now he’ll pay the emotional price for seeing you in pain.

Before undressing, you carefully undid the bandages on your hands, grimacing at the broken fingernails and swollen skin. Once you got that out of the way, you reached for your shirt, and your clothing dropped to the floor in a small pile as you peeled off each article. As you went to take off your bra, you looked in the mirror and felt your heart drop. Your entire side where Bellatrix had kicked you and broken your ribs was riddled in dark purple and red bruising, a sickly yellow scattering throughout the inconsistent pattern of color. You could see the small squiggled lines of broken capillaries litter across the patch, and you knew that if Lucius saw this, he’d most certainly never forgive himself. Now you knew why the nurse had gasped earlier.

Your bra and underwear joined the rest of the clothes on the floor, and you turned the knobs of the large shower, which poured out warm water in a steady stream. Taking a deep breath, you got into the marbled shower, allowing your muscles to relax under the water as you quickly warmed up. Steam started to form as you grabbed the bar of soap, running it over your shoulders and chest. Your lips pulled back into a grimace as your fingers held the soap, the awkward angles of the digits sending spikes of pain through your hand with each movement.

The click of the bathroom door opening alerted you, and through the glass on the shower door, you saw your partner gingerly come in. Sighing inwardly, you opened the shower door and peaked your head out.

“What is it?” You croaked, the humidity of the bathroom helping your vocal chords soothe a bit. Your remark must’ve came out a bit harsher than you meant because Lucius gave you a sheepish look.

“Can I join you?” He asked in a voice just above a mutter. “I figured that it’s hard for you to wash off with aching hands... and I just want to be close to you, my love.” You knew it would break his heart (and your own, in all honesty) if you said no, so you nodded slowly. He began to undress as you closed the shower door, leaning your forehead against the cold tile of the wall. All you could do was rest there until you felt the brief cold rush of air from the door opening, and then the presence of him behind you.

You expected him to reach out and touch you in some comforting way, but it never came. Confused, you turned to see his eyes fixed on the massive bruise, and you felt yourself crumble. The look of utter defeat and regret in his eyes made your heart shatter. Turning back towards the wall, you put your forehead back against the tile.

The smoothness of the bar of soap against your shoulder made you jump. You snapped your head over your shoulder to see Lucius gently lather the soap against your skin. Even though you’d just washed the area, you allowed him to gently run the bar against you. You felt him take a step closer behind you, and with hands that made you feel like you were made glass, he put his free hand on your hip. You sighed at his softness, leaning your cheek against the tile and letting yourself relax.

Even through the steam of the shower, you could feel his breath against your neck, and he gently gave it a kiss, his sud-covered hands going against your back and in between your aching shoulder blades. An exhale of bliss left your lips as your partner nuzzled his face against your neck, the hand on your hip going higher.

Lucius let the tips of his fingers ever so lightly graze the bruise, which gave a nearly unnoticeable sting. You knew he was trying to be as gentle as he could as he began to lather the skin with precise caution.

Once he finished that area, he put the soap down and turned you towards him. You looked up at his face, a few gorgeous white blond locks plastering his face, water droplets dripping off of the curve of his nose. He studied your face, examining every part of it.

At this point, the water started to feel a bit cold, and the two of you got out, drying off with extra care, then changing into your pajamas. Once you two were fully clothed, you both walked to his bed and climbed in. You laid on your non-bruised side, Lucius close behind with his arms around your waist. You two sat in silence for a bit, and once he’d drifted off, you also allowed yourself to rest.

#lucius malfoy #harry potter #jason isaacs #lucius malfoy x you #lucius malfoy x reader #lucius malfoy one shot #lucius malfoy imagine #angst

215 notes · View notes

internalsealpanic · 3 years

Text

Respectful Cannibalism

Summary: Watching mystery movie with a bunch of detective was a bad idea

A/n: While this is part 3 to my Space Case series, you’re not required to read Art Gallery Smile or Cosmonauts to understand the context to this. The only note I do have is that Dick and Steph are friends with Reader much to Tim’s everlasting horror. Special thanks to @littleredwing89 and @glorified-red for proof reading this mess.

Warnings: Tooth rotting fluff and a confusing amount of batkids in one scene.

Main Masterlist

Tim Drake Masterlist

Tim coughs, loud and ragged into the speaker. You find yourself wincing at the phone tucked against your ear. Tim sounds like he’s dying or, at the very least, he’s on his way there.

“I’m so-”

“Fucking tired of saying sorry that you decided to go skinny dipping in Gotham Harbor? Yeah. Great, I’m sick of hearing it too. Glad, we’re on the same page, Space Cadet.” You exasperate, pulling on your jeans violently enough for Tim to hear the angry shuffling of fabric.

“Skinny dipping?” Tim huffs, a fond smile playing on his lips as he drinks in the timber of your voice. Even when you were absolutely exasperated, your voice was still soothing or maybe he just misses your company. God, he’s such a sap.

You shake your head in disbelief. That was his take away? “Yes, Timmy, Buck-ass skinny dipping,” you laugh, coming out derisive and sharp. Tim groans this time filled with guilt. The first few sounds of another ‘I’m sorry’ form in the back of his throat as he runs his hand through his bed head. For once, you’re thankful that you’re nowhere near Tim because you are one apology away from decking him and you’re pretty sure that that’s a terrible thing to do to a sick person, especially one with no brain cells to spare.

“I- You were really looking forward to this (Y/n), don’t try to deny it.” You weren’t going to. He was right. You were looking forward to this date. You were impossibly, unreasonably giddy over the prospect of going to the planetarium with Tim this afternoon. WITH Tim. Sure, you’re pretty down about it but you were the tiniest bit more concerned about the fact that your boyfriend had water in his lungs and almost died of hypothermia for a hot second. You pinch the bridge of your nose, hoping that worry and murder radiate off of you in equal measure. “I was also looking forward to my letter from Hogwarts,” you sneer, pausing dramatically to look at your watch, “and it’s been roughly a decade.” You hear Tim swallow and the hairs on your neck bristle in petty satisfaction.

Tim chortles, a lively sound that startles you, then coughs but the sound comes out somehow sounding doubtful and teasing. Embarrassment flares up in you. “You were too!” you protest, hackles drawn to full height. A short breathy laugh leaves Tim and you feel the flush on your face ease into something softer and more rounded. All the sharpness in your veins dissipates as the flash of fondness for that stupid laugh takes over. You can imagine him warm under the covers smiling at the phone at your blunder. “Please, (y/n), my hopes were dashed when I was 4 and still not in the Jedi order.”

“Bullshit, you were never a child,” you snort, sharpening the grin on your face into something vicious. “I refuse to believe you were ever a child! You probably sprang out of a textbook fully formed- Wait, I’m getting off-topic. ” Tim hums innocently and you narrow your eyes at the phone, hoping he can feel the ‘I am revoking your breathing privileges’ look. “You always are.” Tim says before falling into a coughing fit.

“Sorry, Cosmo, I just keep getting lost in your eyes,” you whisper, pitching your voice rich and caramel smooth. There’s a sound on the other line. Tim is babbling you realize. You hear a shuffle of fabric and a body rising. Tim sucks in a breath, red-faced and caught off guard by the sudden shift in tone. He can practically see the cocky grin playing on your face, the light of the sun reflecting as golden flecks in your eyes. “You can’t even see them!” Tim stammers, glowering at you through the phone. You cackle at him as if sensing the venomous look he’s giving you. “You can barely open them!” Tim rolls his, very much, open eyes, falling back into an unnecessarily large pile of pillows that Alfred insisted was necessary for bed rest with a loud ‘fwoof’. “Yes, I can,” Tim mumbles, sounding young for once. You do your level best to smother a grin on your face. “I’m just really drowsy from the chamomile tea Alfie gave me.” You stop dead in your tracks, one hand half in your coat the other on the doorknob. You blink. “You’re at the Manor?”

Tim pauses, making a frustrated noise. He shouldn’t have said that. “Dick and B… insisted.” This draws another one of your sharp laughs. He says insisted as if it was ever negotiable. “Did they ‘insist’ before or after they blow-dried and hung you out to dry?” Tim squawks and you hear shuffling again. Tim tries to remember why he doesn’t hate you. “Tell me again how you found out about me getting sick? Steph? Cass?”

“Hmmmmmm, Dick.”

“THAT TRAITOR”

“Funny way to pronounce older brother,” you hum smug. You can feel Tim glaring daggers at you. “You-”

“There’s a home theater, yeah?”

Tim pauses, this time longer. “I don’t like where this is going.”

“Answer the question, Space Case.”

He sighs. “Yes.”

“Great! It’s a date then,” you say, mentally preparing a route to the Manor from the vague directions Steph told you once. You could just use the maps app-

“NO!” You freeze. Tim flinches at the volume of his own voice. He whispers an indiscernible ‘I’m sorry’. You turn it over in your mind before speaking. “No?” You ask, trying your best to sound hurt instead of amused. Maybe you should have pitched your voice higher, more shaky. “Look, Tim, I-” Tim heaves a loud sigh. “-(Y/n), you’re fine-” Well, you aren’t, you think. You bite your tongue, physically to make sure you don’t say anything unnecessary. “-It’s got nothing to do with you. It’s- It’s just my siblings...” Tim knows that his siblings have been talking about you.

“Timmy, I can take whatever shovel talk they can give me,” you say with the confidence of someone who has never been dangled over the edge of a roof top. Ok, to be fair, YOU had nothing to worry about. Tim, on the other hand, was going to get roasted alive. Maybe he can persuade you into not- Tim hears the tell tale sputtering of your bike’s engine and he feels his blood pressure spike. The engine genuinely sounds like a death rattle.

“You’ll get sick.”

You swear and he hears another sputter of the engine. “You’ll get sick,” he croaks again, louder this time hopefully over the dying engine. Maybe if your engine dies right now, he’ll be spared from a slow agonizing death via siblings. “Relax Cosmo, I have the strongest ward against whatever you got,” you say, giving the engine a light kick. Tim hears a few metallic clunks then the engine stutters to life. Tim looks up past the ceiling trying to glare at whatever cosmic being resurrected your engine.

“Which is...”

“Being broke. It does wonders for your health.”

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s how it works,” Tim says, shifting burying his head against the too soft pillows. The soft fabric makes his eyes feel heavy. He yawns. He hears the sputter or your laugh. It’s hard to tell from the sudden drowsiness making his head swim.

“I promise I’ll explain to your typical rich kid ass when I get there, Tim.”

“That’s not how it works,” Tim slurs, face pressed into a pillow.

You laugh, he’s sure this time.

“I’m-” Tim’s mind unfocuses and the words you say garble together ”-Tim. ”

Tim blinks, mouth moving to ask you to repeat that but the last thing he hears is a soft click.

On the bright side, it would just be him and Alfred at the manor.

_________________________________________________________

Batmanisfake: I heard (y/n)'s coming over😶

Nightwingingit:👀 How do you even know that?

Batmanisfake: What are you? A cop?

Nightwingingit: say that again but slowly 🙄

Batmanisfake: ...

Damian: He bugged Drake's phone. For blackmail purposes, of course.

Nightwingingit: JASON

The Cool One: Shush Dick! He's onto something

Batmanisfake: Thank you

The Adult: I for once had nothing to do with it😌

Theactualbatman: I'm assuming we're all coming home tonight?

The Cool One: I'll bring popcorn

Damian: Nonsense Pennyworth will likely have some prepared

The Cool One:😭 We really do not deserve that man

Nightwingingit: Definitely

thesaneone: We're recording Tim's face when he sees us, right?

Batmanisfake: From all angles

The Adult: You're all horrible

Batmanisfake: Please like you're not hacking into the cameras as we speak, Babs

The Adult: You have no proof👀

_________________________________________________________

Tim’s head felt thick and gooey like one of Alfred’s custards. He feels like he’s floating, like he’s in a fish tank. There’s a sickly Chlorine smell clogging his nostrils; it smells powdery and sterile and reminds him vaguely of aspirin. Tim blinks. His eyes hurt; they feel puffy and sore and hot. His vision is further obscured by a thick layer of fleece blankets Alfred had piled high over him. He shuts his eyes still feeling too overwhelmed by the low light coming from the window.

Tim thinks he hears his window open with a soft click. Tim quiets his breathing. His hearing is too muddled to process anything beyond it. There’s a soft thud of heavy boots in the room; it’s imperceptible and dreamlike the way it reaches his ears that it has him shifting under the covers trying his best to discern the sound. A dozen lighter footsteps follow it and he can sense 6 shapeless bodies hovering over him.

“Should we wake him up?” asks a voice that vaguely sounds like Cass.

There’s a shuffling sound. Leather, he thinks. “Wait, lemme take a picture.”

“Red, why? It’s not like you can blackmail him with pictures of him sleeping.”

“Because, flashlight, I need proof that Timbo sleeps. ”

“Because?”

“Ok, how many times have you seen him asleep?”

“Uh...”

“Exactly!”

Tim hears a laugh that distinctly sounds like Dick. “Does it count if Alfie drugged him?”

“Maybe?” Steph says, shrugging.

“It doesn’t, Brown.”

“Damn it.”

“Does that mean B doesn’t sleep?”

“Nope.”

Maybe if Tim keeps sleeping, they’ll go away on their own. Tim wraps the sheets tightly around himself, hoping the large stack of fleece would be enough to muffle his siblings.

“I’m pretty sure I have dibs on waking him for opening the window for you shits.”

“Red, anyone could have opened that,” Duke laughs, stepping slightly behind Cass, who at the moment was paying more attention to the moving pile of fabric. Maybe if Tim stays really still she’ll turn her attention to something else.

“Cass and Dickface would have just broken it.‘

“I would not!”

“Sorry, Cass, you would.”

“Steph, whose side are you on?”

“Why is no one defending me?” Dick sighs.

“No one cares, Dickface. And Blondie’s clearly playing for the right team-” Steph cackles. “-none of you have any finesse.”

“Not all of us can be drama queens, Todd.”

“You’re like the third to the last person I wanna hear this from.”

“Third? You’re ranking us now? Who gave you the right?”

“Alfred,” Jason deadpans, “And yeah. Bruce and Dick are first and second.”

“Hey!”

“Can it Mr. Pretty Man Down.”

“That was one-”

“What rank am I?”

“uh … fifth.”

“Fifth?!”

“Sorry, Blondie, Cass has you beat with that ballet kick thingy.”

“Ok, yeah I can accept that. What about Babs?”

“What about Babs? The woman can kick my ass six ways to Sunday. ”

Tim’s head throbs all over. There are soft pin pricks pressing on the sole of his left foot; his leg jerks involuntarily. He wants to scream. Tim swears under his breath. A gloved hand pries the covers away from Tim’s face. Tim squints his eyes open only to be greeted by Dick’s kind, but still very punchable, face. Tim takes a long rasp, pinching his features in a mix of annoyance and despair. “Why are you-” Cough! “-here?”

There’s a slight quirk to Dick’s smile.“They wanted to meet (y/n),” Dick explains in a sweeping theatrical motion of his hand across the room directing Tim’s attention to the expressions on his sibling’s expressions which were all a variation of devious scheming.

“How did-” cough. “- you even know-” cough. “-(y/n) was coming?” Tim asks, shooting up from his pile of pillows causing a couple of blankets to topple to the floor to the ground. Tim’s lightheaded. He suddenly feels a shift in his balance, a feeling of vertigo. He nearly topples to the ground, his blood not quite catching up to his movements, when feels hands wrap around his shoulders. “Woah there Baby Bird, slowdown.”

“Answer-” Cough!

“It was Todd.”

“You mutant sperm!”

“Jay, aren’t we all mutant sperm?” Steph laughs, slinging one arm over an irate Damian’s shoulders and another over a fuming Jason’s shoulders. Tim groans, sounding pained. “How much do I need to pay each of you to get all of you to go away?”

“A lifetime of IOUs,” Dick says, casually.

“NO!”

“All of your share in W.E.,” Duke says, laughing. Steph elbows him lightly, also laughing. “You’re shooting prelow there, Slick,” Steph teases. Duke shrugs still grinning. “Gotta keep it realistic, yanno?” Steph and Duke keep bickering.

“Drake, kindly, pay with your life.”

Tim scrunches his nose. “I’m already on my deathbed, you know, dying. What else do you want from me?”

“A more agonizing death.”

Jason grins, tilting his chin. “C’mon, Timbo, we can help with your little impromptu date.” Tim groans, placing his face in his hands. “Please just help me dig my own grave.”

“What would be the fun in that, Timbo?”

“For you or for me?”

“Come on, Tim, it’ll be fine,” Cass says, clearly not believing the words herself. All seven of them dissolve into another round bickering. Damian, Jason, and Steph hellbent on giving Tim an aneurysm. Duke and Cass playing at being neutral; Duke leaning on Tim’s side but laughing way too hard at Steph’s well placed jabs; Cass is only mildly siding with Tim to spite Jason. Why this time? Tim has no clue.

The string of banter is broken up by the echoing the doorbell. Tim’s heart seizes as they all fall silent, enraptured by the odd sound of a doorbell filling the hallowed halls of Wayne Manor. The chiming of bells ends with the creaking of the large oak doors in the front of the manor.

Before Tim’s sluggish brain could even formulate a thought, all of his siblings are all bounding towards the door, bouncing off the walls and flipping over obstacles. Tim scrambles, lagging, after the hoard of vigilantes barrelling towards you. Tim tries to shout after his siblings but his voice is drowned out by raucous laughter and bickering.

You stand at the door, head haloed by the pale afternoon light as the sky catches fire, flecks of snow sparkling in your hair. You tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear as you sheepishly thank Alfred as he takes your coat.

Tim struggles to breathe an he genuinely doesn’t know if it’s because of his lungs, you, or the fact that of all his siblings, Babs was the one who got there first and Tim genuinely doesn’t know if Babs is there to hold off the gaggle of vigilantes or to scare you off. From the jovial grin wrinkling your features, Tim’s pretty sure Babs just gave you some blackmail material instead of putting you through the ringer- an equally scary outcome. For your part, you don’t look even slightly phased by the fact that Babs is in a wheelchair or even by the way she’s clearly sizing you up. All of this rolls off of you with an easy motion of your shoulders as you answer her questions in the most frustratingly oblique way based off of Babs’s expression. Tim can’t help the curve on his lip as you blatantly dodge another of Babs’s questions with a smile. You spot him, winking, and the tips of Tim’s ears flush.

Your cocky demeanor fades when a gaggle of batbrats crowd you; nervousness creeps into your form, ironing out your posture into something unnatural and defensive. “Is this a bad time?” You ask through a tight lipped smile. Babs glares at them but doesn’t make any effort to hide the satisfaction at your shaken demeanor. “Don’t mind them, Sweetie,” Babs says, patting your back and guiding you away from the gaggle. You shuffle awkwardly, trying to coax your spine back into a more natural curve.

“(Y/n)!” Tim manages between gasps for air. Making a person with non functioning lungs run has to be some sort of human rights violation. His voice is louder than he anticipated. He realizes, but the apprehension in his body flits away when you beam at him-a wide cheeky smile that has his body vibrating with delight. He made you smile like that, Tim thinks, heart swelling almost enough to soften the impact of the next few words. “Hey, Duckie!” you chirp tilting your face in a cute lopsided smile.

“Duckie?” Jason sniggers.

Duke’s face passess from confusion, realization, then amusement in a matter of three seconds.“Duckie? As in ‘quack quack’?” Duke asks, pretending to still be dumbstruck.

“Yes, Duckie, Tommy Terrific,” you say, the lopsided smile curving into a playful grin. The dumb nicknames earn you a loud, surprisingly nonthreatening, approving laugh from Jason who then says “We’ll keep those nicknames in mind” which just drags pained looks from both Tim and Duke. Dick and Damian on the other hand look absolutely delighted.

“(Y/n), tell them about the other nicknames,” Steph says, grinning savagely. Your eyes widen and you wrinkle your nose, mouth twitching from side to side, trying to pretend away the heat rising from your cheeks. “Not on your life, Stephie.”

“Aaaaaw! Not even for lil ol’ me?” Dick pouts, throwing his arms around you. The familiarity of the action has Tim bristling. “Pleeeeeaaase,” Dick whines; a smile hidden in your hair, “not even for Alfred’s cookies?” You make a noise caught between a laugh and a groan. “Hmmmm… maybe? Throw in some candy.”

“Deal.”

Tim blinks. “You’d betray me for sugar?”

“Cus I ain’t getting any while you’re sick,” you cackle, grinning along with Dick who looks way too pleased with the outcome of the conversation. Tim desperately wants to melt into the floor. Looking at all his siblings who are eagerly awaiting for the litany of nicknames, Tim cuts in. “Let’s just go watch that film.”

“What are we watching?” Cass asks, leaning to look over your shoulder, clearly shoving Dick out of the way. Dick does his best to not budge.

“What do you mean ‘we’?”

“We are under a communist regime, Timbo. We’re all watching it together,” Jason says, slinging Tim over his shoulder.

“Have a heart, Drake. We only want to spend family time together,” Damian says, somehow still looking imperious even from where Tim is dangling. A dull ache starts spreading across Tim’s like his skull is being squeezed.

“Hope you guys like Clue,” you say, fishing it out of your cornucopia of unhealthy junk food. “I figured you detectives would like a good mystery.” Dick snorts taking the disc from you and reading over the contents efficiently. “Bet you I can get the ending even before any of you.”

“No, you won’t,” Jason barks, setting off a long winded argument about who the best detective is.

“Didn’t you say you would eat me if I spoiled another mystery movie for you? Are you planning to eat my entire family?” Tim croaks quietly. You scrunch your nose, twitching your mouth four times to the left and four and a half times to the right. “Technically, what I said was ‘I’ll respectfully go back to juvie for cannibalism if you spoil another movie that night’,” you hiss low, trying not to draw attention to your conversation. Unfortunately for you, his siblings have good hearing.

“And this is different how?” Tim asks, this time not bothering to control his volume.

“You’ll never figure out the ending,” You say smiling innocently. Tim rolls his eyes and huffs a ‘we’ll see’. It doesn’t wipe the smile off of your face.

As it turns out, the Wayne Manor theater is less of a theater and more of a bean bag storage closet with a large screen. Jason tosses Tim unceremoniously into one of the random bean bags in front of the couch before gracefully pirouetting into the couch. You chuckle and continue your search for something to put your Bluray in, just now realizing that you should have probably just asked for their Netflix password or something. Alfred appears out of nowhere handing Jason and Cass each a bowl of buttery popcorn and scolding Jason about manhandling his brother in front of a guest. Jason looks unrepentant. No surprises there. With a swat on the back of Jason’s head, Alfred turns to you, gloved hands extended out to you. “I can take that."

“Oh… Uh thanks- Thank you,” you stammer. To your left, Tim snickers and your hand slip, somehow the blanket Babs handed you finds its way to Tim’s face. “Shut up, Ducktective. He’s practically your grandpa and I kinda wanna make a good impression,” you hiss, cheeks warming. Tim coughs, a little dumbfounded. Somehow it hadn’t occurred to him that you were nervous about this.

Tim checks if his brain is on straight before speaking. “Relax, you haven’t physically assaulted me or any of my family yet so you’re immediately at the top of Alfie’s list.” You open your mouth to speak then curl it into a frown, looking appalled and concerned. Apparently, his brain wasn't on as straight as Tim thought. "Am I going to have to fight your exes? At some point?"

"No!"

"Yes!" Steph says, handing you a red bean bag. Tim scowls at Steph as he watches the color drain from your face. She just shrugs and goes off to annoy Dick.

“Mr. Boddy?” Damian asks incredulously, reading the box summary again. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope,” you laugh, setting your bean bag next to the one Jason dropped Tim in. Damian rolls his eyes. “This is a stupid movie. Do people really consume this drivel?”

You scrunch your nose but don’t put too much heart into glaring. Thankfully, color is now returning to your face. “The movie hasn’t even started yet!”

“Relax (y/n), the tiny mutant sperm is just playing elitist,” Steph says, plopping next to Jason and eyeing his bowlful of buttery popcorn.

“As long as it isn’t as bad as the Happening-”

“Dude, you live in a city with Poison Ivy. That thing is pretty much a documentary,” Duke says hesitantly taking the spot between Steph and Cass.

"Please, for the love of Alfie, please, talk about something else," Dick whines, plopping a bean bag next to Tim. Jason’s face twists in confusions before his eyes light up and untwists into an expression with amusement. "Is it because of the-" Dick hits him square in the face with a pillow, all the while screeching "Think of the children!"

"Where, Dickface?" Jason ask, prompting Dick to point(jazz hands) at Damian who rolls his eyes. Jason does the same, looking younger than the toughened exterior suggested. "That's a gremlin, Dickface. Not a child."

"He is-"

"SHUSH! The movie is starting!"

You giggle, curling into Tim's side and placing your head in the crook of his neck where you usually like to put it. Tim's insides shiver from the contact and his hands automatically coil around you, pressing his nose into your hair.

"Jeez, her melons are big," Babs says flatly taking another handful of Dick's popcorn from Damian. Cass snorts and Tim feels embarrassment creep into his skin. He flicks his eyes to you, only to find you smiling into his side.

"They're almost as big as Dick's," you chuckle.

"Nah, Jason is bigger," Cass pipes.

You eye Jason openly which makes the large man cross his arms over his chest. "Huh, you're right," you note with more confusion than anything.

"Bruce has moobs too!" Jason protests, red-faced.

"Son, why?"

The chatter falls silent when the figure at the edge of the room settles itself into the large leather recliner in one corner of the room. You squint your eyes to distinguish its features from the rest of the shadows in the room; only to be greeted by the solemn features of Bruce Wayne. Your breath catches and you feel your skin jump twenty feet in the air. Everyone else in the room seems to have about the same reaction even as he pulls a lever to raise the foot rest. You all follow his movements with interest.

“Is Bruce trying to relax?” Duke whispers to Cass who shrugs in response. Steph rolls her eyes, reaching over Duke to try and snatch some popcorn from Jason who just raises his bowl higher. “Shhhhh, Duke, let the B man try to play human,” she says, snatching at the popcorn til the bowl just falls on Jason’s head.

“He’s trying I guess.” This draws a startled chuckle out of you that you try to press in Tim’s neck. The vibrations against his skin has him shivering.

“B, are you ok?” Dick asks. This makes Bruce’s features move in a slightly concerned fashion which in Bruce speak is very concerned. “Yes, why?”

“Ooooh, no reason, old man.” He turns to Babs. “Yeah that’s not Bruce. Five bucks says it’s a robot.” Babs snickers, grabbing a ten from her purse. “Ten says it’s an alien.” You twist to look at them, taking out a twenty. “Twenty says it’s just Mr.Wayne.” Jason sneers at you, taking your money. “You clearly don’t know the old man.”

“Can we please just watch this film in peace?” Bruce groans, running a hand over his face, finally looking more like the long suffering single dad of eight kids that he should be. Babs looks over her shoulder, slinging Bruce an absolutely disbelieving look. “Do you even know your children?”

“Yes, father, have you even watched us bond?” Damian asks, using his free hand to do air quotes for the word ‘bond’ while using the other to try and swipe some popcorn from Cass. It doesn’t work.

“That definitely isn’t Bruce,” Dick hisses, trying to shield his own bowl of popcorn from an irate Damian.

“SHHHHHH! I can’t hear the movie!”

“It’s definitely the butler,” Dick declares. Damian scowls, throwing a pillow at him which Dick catches with ease. “Grayson, the movie has barely started.”

“It’s definitely the butler. It’s gotta be. It’s always the butler.”

“That’s very offensive to Alfred, Dick,” Cass says, grinning. Alfred sniffs poshly in his own recliner. Dick recoils but Jason piles on. “Very classist of you, Dickiebird.”

Duke snorts. “Nah, I think he’s just saying it because Tim Curry was Pennywise the Clown.”

“Why would you trust a clown?”

“Oh my god, why are you guys comparing Alfred to a clown?”

“We are not!”

“This conversation is a trainwreck,” Tim groans into your hair. “Dunno, Tim, it sounds like a success,” you laugh, pressing closer. His eyes flick between you and his siblings. “You planned this.” You look up at him, failing to flatten a smile. “Nope.”

“I say it’s Ms. Scarlett,” Bruce says, rubbing his chin contemplatively.

“You’re just saying that cus she reminds you of Selina,” Tim huff, grinning and you’re half tempted to pinch his cheeks. Bruce cuts him a scathing look that has you shrinking; the grin on Tim’s face just broadens which just makes the playful scowl on Bruce’s face deepen. “Need I remind you who pays for the internet?”

“Alfred?” Tim asks, innocently.

“Careful Tim, B man might actually do it. Hell, he’ll probably do it if he finds out what you did last Thursday.”

“Do you mean the explosion on Fifth?” you ask, turning to Steph. Steph gives you a firm nod; in the corner of your eye, you can see Bruce arching a brow. Tim gapes at you looking absolutely gutted. “What happened to snitches get stitches?” Tim protests.

You shrug, grinning. “Sorry, Duckie, I stand by my cookie dealer. Who do you think sneaks Duke and me cheetos in Western Civilization? I stand by my fellow barbarian.”

“You know Duke?”

“I pay him to-”

“Shhhhh!”

“You guys are talking too!”

“At least, it’s movie related!” Damian hisses.

You throw up your hands with an exaggerated flail. “Fine!”

“I say it’s the shifty looking lady,” Jason declares, reaching over Duke and Steph to try and snatch some popcorn from Cass. You wonder why Jason doesn’t just snatch some from Alfred since he’s closer. You try to ask Tim but he just shakes his head at you. “Ms.Peacock?” Cass asks, shoving Jason’s face away with butter covered fingers. Duke tries to snatch a few kernels in the confusion only to get his hand swatted. “I think he means Mrs. White,” he says, waving his hand. “Yeah that one.”

“It’s the butler! It’s always butler!” Dick protests.

“I will fucking riot if it’s the butler!” Steph shoots back.

“It can’t be the butler.”

“Why not, Dami? He has motive.”

Damian rolls his eyes.“Gordon, why are you siding with Grayson?-” Babs opens her mouth to answer but Damain continues before she can get another syllable out “-nevermind. He doesn’t have as much motive as the rest of them. Besides, does he really look competent enough to hold a gun left alone with a knife?”

Tim raises his chin from your head. “Demon Spawn, your standards for butlers is too high. Alfred is-”

“You say this like you have plenty of references.”

“Oh, Tommy Terrific, Duckie here is a posh bastard,” Jason sneers ruffling Tim’s hair. From the way, some of his hairs stick up you could guess that he still had some butter in his hand. Tim makes a face of disgust; you try your best to help him with his hair. “Jay, you say that but you’re like Mr. I need the correct type of wood for my bookshelves,” Steph laughs. “Just because I’m not a slob like the rest of you walking disasters doesn’t mean I’m posh.”

“Yes, it does. You lived here. Yanno with Alfie,” Dick says, pulling out another pack of snacks he’d managed to snag from your bag. You’re not gonna ask at this point. Tim gives you a look which roughly translates to ‘I am very sorry for my trainwreck of a family’. You snort at him before turning towards his sibling. “I mean look at Cass. She’s still feral.” If looks could kill, the look Cass give you would melt your bones. Thankfully, Damian opens his mouth. “They’re all feral.” You have a sense that you’ve also been insulted. You hear Babs to your right laugh derisively. “You say this like you’re any less feral than the rest of us.”

“I am-”

“Are any of you still watching the movie?” Bruce asks and for the second time that night, your body tries to divorce your soul. You had almost forgotten that yes, you are watching Clue with the fucking Batman. You shift in your seat suddenly feeling a twinge of nervousness. Before the discomfort could nestle in you, Jason speaks up. “No, Bruce, we’re just watching Cass vacuum the popcorn into her stomach. What do you think?”

“You guys didn’t ask,” Cass says through a mouthful of popcorn knowing full well that’s a lie.

“How can any of you be watching it? All you’ve done is talk over the dialogue.” You almost laugh at how exasperated he sounds. Beside you, Tim just snickers and shakes his head.

Damian just looks at his father from his bean bag next to Dick. “Father, we can talk and listen. ” Dick, like the mature adult that he is, slaps his knee laughing. “I don’t think B is capable of that.”

“PREACH” was followed by a chorus of AMENs.

"Alfred, what have I done to turn my children against me?" Bruce asks, tiredly leaning back into his recliner.

"Master Bruce, how would you like me to list it?"

"Alfred not you too," Bruce groans, putting his hands in his eyes.

"Yeah! Alfie's on our side!" Jason cheers.

"Quite."

"Alfie is always the sensible one," Cass chuckles sensibly between bites. You hear varying noises of agreement and Bruce ages from suave debonair to extremely tired single dad.

"I assume Alfred is actually the boss here."

"Yeah, Bruce is actually on the bottom of the food chain here," Tim says. You tilt your head in contemplation. "Yanno that makes Batman so much less scary."

"B-man's just a giant softie," Steph chirps, slinging her legs over Duke and Cass's laps narrowly missing the nearly empty bowl of popcorn.

Dick turns to you winking. "Yeah, just give him the puppy eyes and he'll get you anything you want in 2 seconds flat."

"Dick…"

"It's true!"

"Even a carnival?"

"Can we please just watch the movie?" Bruce says, in an almost pleading voice.

"I wouldn't hold my breath, old man," Jason chuckles, earning a glare from both Bruce and Damian. "It's not like you know how to shut up, Todd."

"Sorry, I don’t speak gremlin."

"That's bull Jay!"

"MOVIE IS STILL GOING ON! SHUT YOUR CAKE HOLES."

“I TOLD YOU IT WAS THE BUTLER.”

“Yes, yes, it has been publiced and noted, Birdie,” you giggle into Tim’s side, shaking your head. He wraps his arm around you, pressing a kiss into your hair, winking at you. “Does it count?” Tim asks over his shoulder. A look passes between him and Cass. “I don’t think so,” she says grinning.

“It so does! It’s one of the endings,” Dick protests vehemently. Jason’s mouth flattens then curls into a grin. “By that logic, the old man is right too.”

Dick thinks for a moment, tapping his chin. “Well, we can’t have that.”

“Why not?” Bruce protests.

"I'm still sticking with the butler. I'm sorry this is the only logical conclusion."

"He wasn't even an actual butler you butter brain!" Steph protests, throwing a pillow at Dick.

"I'm sorry but can we address why you're all mounting a mutiny against me?"

"Teenage rebellion!" Dick answers.

"Chum, you're not even a teenager."

"Father's right. At most, Grayson is five years old," Damian pipes from beside Dick seemingly unaffected by his brother's pout.

"Alfred, you're going to have to check my blood pressure before patrol."

"Quite, sir."

“They’re all so dramatic just like you said,” you whisper into Tim’s shoulder.

“I AM NOT DRAMATIC”

“Ah, yes, because the pretty man pose is so pragmatic.” Damian deadpan.

"That was one time, you assholes!"

"Hey, what else did Timmy say?"

"Well he- Oh wait!" You fish out your phone and Tim snacthes it away faster than you can blink. "No-" cough "-you don't." Cough.

Jason snatches it from him, snickering at the photo of Tim kissing you on the cheek. You're pretty sure Tim has a matching photo with you kissing him on the cheek. "Nice lockscreen, (y/n)."

"Oh, you should see the homescreen!"

"No. Please don't. You might need eye bleach."

"Relax Space Cadet, it’s not that one."

"Ohohoho, what didn't you want big daddy bats to see? Haaa, Timbo?"

Tim turns every shade of red before settling on fire hydrant red. "None of your business!"

Bruce clears his throat, looking at a stupidly expensive watch. “It’s time.” Dick springs up, stretching and showing off. “Is it really that time already?” Steph asks in almost a whine. Duke and Cass take the opportunity to shove her off and sadly, she lands with a loud thud and a mangled curse. You wince but laugh unsympathetically which simply earns you a face full of dust covered popcorn. You frown at her and she grins at you as Jason hauls her up by her hoodie. “C’mon Blondie. Let’s leave the love birds alone.”

“It’s not like they’re actually gonna be alone. Alfie’s here. So is Babs.”

“I’m going back to my place. You people give me a headache.”

“You say that like you weren’t having fun,” Dick teases, walking after her.

“I’ll be down in the cave if you need me,” Alfred says waving at both of you. “Will do, Alf,” Tim yawns, nuzzling into your hair.

Cass pops her head back in. “Make sure Tim doesn’t do anything stupid,” She calls back. You grin, bright and wolfish. “Don’t worry! He can’t do me while he’s sick.” You hear Bruce choke in the hall and you just know that you’ll mentally kick yourself for that later. Luckily for you, Tim physically kicks you now. “What the hell?!” Cough. “Sorry, got caught in the moment.” You huff, trying to look a little sorry. Tim just glares more. “You’re not even close to sorry.”

“Ok. Yeah.”

“I have no idea why I love you sometimes.”

“My amazing personality?”

“Sure.”

“Love you too, Tim,” you chirp, kissing him. Tim’s lips feel hot after the quick peck and he pulls you closer. “I love you but I was pretty sure my family was gonna eat you alive.”

“They would have done it,” you hum, pausing before adding, “respectfully.”

Tag list: @batarella, @anothertimdrakestan, @lucy-roo, @multifandomgirl-us, @idkmanicantenglish,@birdy-bat-writes, @boosyboo9206, @americasmarauders , @l-inkage, @arestorationofbalance , @cloudie-skay, @wunderstell @hyp-oh-critical @glorified-red

#tim drake imagines #tim drake x reader #Tim Drake #batfamily x reader #batfam #reader insert #dc fanfiction #dc reader insert #bruce wayne #Alfred Pennyworth #dick grayson #Damian Wayne #Jason Todd #stephanie brown #cassandra cain #duke thomas #batman #batfamily headcanon #batboys

169 notes · View notes

missinghan · 3 years

Text

caged in this lullaby ⤖ lee felix

❖ genre : assassin au; cop au; action; fluff; angst

❖ word count : 7,2k.

❖ warning : explicit language, mentions of blood, arson & violence

❖ summary : felix ultimately lets go of all and allows himself to drown in the ashes of bitter tragedy to see what stays. the last thing he’d expect is a stranger with his greatest secret.

❖ dedicated to @blueprint-han : a continuation of aria of an assassin. song used — the lullaby by sophism, all credits to the owner.

prologue.

Fire cares not for the time it vanishes, only that it gives the world heat and light.

The entire building burns deeply in red, orange, and yellow. The cries of the neighborhood echoes into the night with sirens blaring in the background. Your frozen figure can only watch in terror as glowing embers dance and twirl, searing through the ground, ripping through the roof in despair. Tendrils of smoke are reaching into the sky desperately as if attempting to escape the blazing inferno below.

“Kid, I wanna have Chinese for dinner today.”

“Okay, and I should care because…?”

“Because I’m housing your ungrateful ass.”

No. No!

You drop the plastic bags in your hand, your muscles move before your mind can register what’s happening. The next thing you know, you’re racing to the heart of danger, utterly unfazed about the fact that fire is the most beautiful weapon of them all. Powerful. Destructive. Heartless. In mere moments, everything you love can be reduced into nothing but sheer ashes.

“But we always have Chinese!”

“Who’s paying again? Was it you? No, I don’t think so.”

Tears blur your vision and you elect to ignore every white noise buzzing at the back of your head. Each step you take is rather a negotiation than an order. Your limbs move like they never belonged to you. This agony has an unpleasant warmth to it, eating at your stomach and searing inside your rib cage. Your body concedes to the torment, unable to bring a single thought into consideration. The entirety of your existence yearns to curl into something fetal, something primeval, and all while the pain burns and radiates.

“Officer! Stop her! She’s running into the fire!”

“Child! What are you doing?! It’s dangerous!”

But what you’re going through is nothing compared to his torment. He’s in there. Writhing and suffering alone. It must be so painful, so cold despite the enraged flames around him.

When a strong pair of arms slip around your body and every motion comes to a stop, there is a scream of the mouth and lungs, the sound of his name lingers on the tip of your tongue. Because a response is impossible, there comes a scream of the eyes and soul, the kind that bypasses the ears and speaks right to the heart.

You forget how to scream from that day on because you are either left with dead silence or punished with cruelty.

Because you couldn’t save him.

one.

The housekeeper wakes with a tight knot in her stomach. Her body topples the sheets over to reach for her nightstand, flickering on some source of light. Only silence accompanies the hard throbbing inside her chest until a loud thud comes from the hallway. Her body jolts up instantly, a hand over her chest as a soft string of melody saunters into the emptiness of the night.

“When the night is falling, and you have lost your way.”

Her quivering figure quickly exits her room with a flashlight. Her right hand clutches at her other one as an attempt to stop the shaking as adrenaline sears through her vessels. With dreaded steps, the housekeeper manages to reach the staircase, approaches the end of it, and proceeds toward the living room.

“When the rain is storming, and your world’s turned to gray.”

The voice smoothly slips through the chilling nightfall like an allure yet there’s nothing musical about it. The lullaby sometimes goes off-tune or comes out in broken waves as though whoever’s singing genuinely doesn’t care. They sound more dead than angry, more tired than irate, making her innards shift uneasily.

“When the wolves await outside, and you feel like you’ve nowhere to hide.”

“Oh, don’t you worry, just remember. Remember when I said.”

And they stop. The housekeeper musters up every bit of courage left. A breath in. A breath out.

In the darkroom, even the ticking clock has a relaxed feeling, as if it’s merely a heart-beat at rest. She feels as though the air moves like cool water and the aroma of the house owner’s scented candles infuse her far more deeply than it did in the light of day. The hollow space is etched with charcoal, the fabrics are muted hues as if they too await dawn to ignite their colors for all to see. The moment she heaves a sigh of relief, her eyes make the mistake of averting to the ceiling, unveiling a scene of unimaginable terror.

Fear floods her system, it pumps and beats like it’s trying to escape. Her heart might as well explode right now because even her jaw is shaking non-stop. Her body urges her to either run fast, away from the horror laid out flat in front of her eyes, or to stay quiet and do the right thing, calling the police. But instead, she remains where she’s standing.

There is Mr. Yuuki, the house owner she’s been working for over three years, hung upon the crystal chandelier. His limp body lets its limbs stick out awkwardly, white eyes rolled to the back of his head as blood drips to the floor, forming a dark pool. The flashlight drops to the floor, and so does her trembling gaze. She gasps sharply when a thick smear of crimson is splattered across the wooden tiles, sinking into the cracks like poison.

Her adrenaline surges so fast she almost vomits, she can taste saliva thickening in her throat and beads of sweat trickling down on her forehead. At some point, she’ll have to move and risk the chance of getting herself killed.

Just then, a shadow comes into view and her legs go weak, letting her body collapse to the ground like a crooked puppet. Incoherent pleas pour from her lips as she screws her eyes shut, bracing herself for whatever comes next. “Please! I’ll do anything! I won’t call the police! Just don’t kill me, please! Please!”

Footsteps are advancing toward her, getting louder by the tick of the clock. They echo listlessly until the sound slowly fades away, only a soft response comes afterward.

“Greetings to his boss for me.”

two.

The mansion has been his home for decade upon decade, embraced by nature on the outskirts of the city, away from all the noises, the buzzing flow of time people have signed their souls up for. It is all concrete and tall glass windows that give overlooking views of the clear horizon, a chance to relax and take in the changing of the seasons from the comfort of an easy chair.

Yet coming from the hollow building is a strange sound, a melodic voice of pain and sorrow, of heartache and loss. The tune is soft, like grass on a summer day, or the tenderness in the air in which only spring possesses. It can fill one with warmth while weaving a sad tale of indescribable, rather forgotten memories.

“Darling, close your weary eyes. Everything will be fine.”

“Let the breeze wipe away your tears. There is no need to cry.”

He’s seated at the edge with his back straight, he no longer feels dwarfed by the grand piano as he used to as a kid. His fingers are limber as they glide on ivory first and ebony after, his neck slightly bent down, tousling his hair to the front while his eyes flutter shut in serene.

“You can lay down. No one will hurt you.”

The music stand lies empty, has been so for years. He only ever reads the notes within his mind because he goes as far as playing the instrument to this day for this peculiar lullaby. Slowly, the music seems to fill the room to the brim, then spills out through doors and windows and the cracks in the walls, while at the source trembling fingers dance sweetly on.

He knows that he needs to calm down.

“Let your fears be carried by the streams. The twilight gleam watches over you.”

In his head, he reads through the music scrupulously as though he’s practicing during the old, innocent days, beat by beat, bar by bar, note by note. His fingers know precisely where to go and how each key reacts when he applies the same, adequate amount of pressure. It’s as though he can make the hammer hit each string in a way to resonate with the most beautiful of sounds.

The thought of playing as a kid eases the spike in his heartbeat and clears his mind. He can still vividly remember the first time he got lifted onto the bench on his sixth birthday, his tiny legs dangled over the edge and his figure completely overwhelmed by the mammoth-sized instrument. His arms could barely span the length of the keyboard, his feet could only do so much as graze the pedal below.

“And when the morning arises…”

He recalls the mounts of sheets cluttering his father’s old bookshelves in such ways that he himself can’t remember their initial color. He recalls the tall figure seating beside him each time, guiding his hands across the keys, ones that were unfamiliar to music and the swell it can bring to one’s chest. He recalls those starry eyes staring down at him, the outburst of laughter, and the cat-like smile that brings love and harmony to his fragile soul.

“I shall be by your side…”

Yet he never recalls a proper goodbye, only tears.

“Minho.”

The melody pauses sharply, his body stiffens at the name. Minho isn’t here.

“Minho, is that you?” Minho isn’t here, a voice inside him snaps.

A deep breath. He elects to ignore the strings that are bound to break inside his chest before pushing himself off the wooden bench. With a swift turn, he sees Mrs. Lee standing by the door with her hair in her face, her soulless eyes lighting up once they graze the sight of him. “Minho, my sweet child. You’ve come home. You’ve finally come home!” Her voice echoes in joy, a hand clamped over her mouth as her eyes brim with tears.

Minho isn’t here! His heart yells aloud, yet his mind can’t comply.

He doesn’t know what’s urging him to approach her, to let her lean on him. Perhaps, it’s guilt. Or the yearning for the warmth of a mother who abandoned him long ago. “Yes, mother, I’m home,” he sighs softly when she clutches at his shirt. “I’m never going to leave you again.”

“I’m not going anywhere. I’ll always be here.”

Hurried footsteps flood the hallway rapidly until the housekeeper barges through the door, simply breaking the agonizing silence. “Good gracious, Mrs. Lee! Goodness, she must have forgotten about her sleeping pills again.” She then hastily rushes to his side, supporting Mrs. Lee by her waist while bowing continuously. “Young Master, please, allow me.”

“It’s alright, you’ve done enough,” he waves his hands with a small smile. “I’ll tuck her back to bed, today is my day off anyway. You may go home and rest now.”

He can’t forget how much lighter Mrs. Lee has gotten, how paler her face has been. He’s afraid that one wrong movement and he might send her frail body flying to the floor. Only when she’s fully covered by her blanket, the stars come out to play and the evening takes on the aroma of a breezy night. He likes this, the softness, the quietness of the sense of resting. Moonlight is streaming through the windows yet his mind, clouded with grey, throbs uncontrollably when he realizes the sudden pang inside his chest.

It’s been fifteen years…

His phone rings. “Sergeant Lee Felix, Seoul P.D,” he keeps his voice from shaking. Suddenly, his eyes grow wide. “I’ll be there.”

And I still couldn’t do anything for you.

three.

Light fog seeps into the depthless night when Felix exits his car, throwing on his blazer in a hurry as he staggers toward a water fountain. There’s barely any vehicles operating at this hour, leaving the streets chilling and empty. He quickly checks his watch one last time. One AM on the dot. Another sleepless night.

“Lix! Over here!”

His blank expression breaks into a grin when two familiar faces come into view. “Changbin? Hyunjin? You both got called in too?”

“Yeah, can’t believe the Chief had the audacity to interrupt my beauty sleep for a simple homicide,” the taller officer, Hyunjin, has his face contorted in faint annoyance, brushing through his long locks of hair with his gloved hand.

“The night duty squad is handling another case on the other side of the city. We know the neighborhood like the back of our hands,” Changbin gives him a hard smack on the chest, only to wince quietly later to himself. Ugh, I’m so out of shape. “If anything, we have the best chance to catch up to the culprit.”

Hyunjin protests with a forced smile, “Shut up, Lieutenant, I know that.”

“Alright, let’s review,” Felix hops into the conversation, clasping his hands together in feigned excitement. “Someone dialed 911 with a murder case on the line. The culprit, escaped or not, we’re still uncertain of. But they did leave behind a witness.”

His coworkers nod simultaneously as he recaps what Seungmin told him on the phone earlier and the three of them find themselves standing right before the provided address. The house seems oddly quiet for someone getting murdered. “Right, chances are they’re still in there. We’d better-”

The front door comes flying open. A woman dressed in her nightgown collapses to the ground instantly, fear echoing through the rumble of her voice. “Help! P-Please! Mr. Yuuki! He-He’s dying! Please, I beg you! Save him!” With her face buried in her hands, a wave of laughter bubbles up her windpipe, shaking her core tremendously. “They did it again! They’ve claimed another victim!”

Changbin is the first one to step up, helping the housekeeper to her feet. “Miss, please try your best to stay calm. Everything is alright now, we’re here because you did the right thing of calling us. You’re safe with us,” he gently supports her by the shoulders, his voice soft but serious. “If it’s okay for me to ask, what exactly happened to Mr. Yuuki? Is there anyone else inside?”

The housekeeper seems to still be shaken. Tears are threatening to fall but she bites them back, shaking her head to answer the second question first. “N-No, Mr. Yuuki has a son but he’s currently studying in Europe so I’m the only one other than…”

Her voice trails off, the pools of tears in her eyes are clouded with those moments of horror she wishes she could erase forever. “It was horrible! I-I was having trouble sleeping before a strange sound woke me up completely. Someone was singing. Th-The culprit was singing. And there was s-so much blood. Mr. Yuuki was hung upon the chandelier when I went downstairs! So-So much blood. I didn’t know how- or why- I- I don’t know! I don’t know! I don’t know!”

“Miss, please try to stay calm. I won’t ask you any more questions, I am not here to interrogate you,” Changbin exhales deeply, looking over at his underlings. “Hyunjin, go check up on Mr. Yuuki. Felix, look for the culprit. I’ll call Seungmin for more back-ups.”

The two officers comply, “Roger that.”

Entering the house, Felix is bathed in a whirlwind of chilling silence and utter darkness. The smell of blood makes something inside him twitch, prompting him to look over at his friend. “I’ll go upstairs, you stay down here and handle the body until Jisung or Seungmin comes.”

The Sergeant advances up the long flight of stairs with his gun clutched between his hands. Almost immediately, he takes notice in the stream of moonlight illuminating the end of the hallway and rushes toward the wide-opened door. His figure barges into the room with caution and is met with the night breeze kissing his face and white curtains fluttering gently.

Just then, a loud bang is heard in the distance.

Felix feels himself tense up, eyes darting from one place to another in hopes of finding- there! On the rooftop from across the streets.

In a heartbeat, he picks up his transceiver and speaks, “I have eyes on the suspect. Pursuing on foot.” With his feet on the window frame and his arms on the tiles of the roof, he manages to lift himself while his muscles contract in pain. Facing forward, Felix begins to sprint.

The wind screams into his ears, his feet flying over steel and leaves. His shoes pound heavily across the hard surface, causing what’s remaining of the downpour this morning to slash up his legs. From one rooftop to another, his calves burn tremendously yet he keeps darting past houses, buildings, and trees with his eyes glued onto the shadow before his eyes.

Adrenaline courses throughout his system; he can feel his whole body working, his leg muscles running warm, a thin layer of sweat covers his nape. The cold air keeps biting at his blood and lungs but he keeps his breaths as steady as he can, pushing harder and going faster. For a split moment, his foot slips when his mind is frantic with cloudy thoughts. How is it possible for one to move this fast?

The hooded figure a few feet ahead of him speaks volumes in the silence; they’re running. They’re running like the devil himself is in pursuit. Only it’s worse because the felon is flesh and blood and means to send people straight to hell just the same way. His breathing quickens at the thought process, trying to appease his need for oxygen.

Several thuds of footfalls later, he finally decreases the proximity although fresh air now shocks his lungs, making him want to spurt and pass out in exhaustion. His body trembles from the consistent pace he’s forced himself into, yet his hands lift the firearm swiftly, his gaze shaking with the pounding inside his chest.

It only takes so much strength to pull the trigger. He shouldn’t be hesitating like this. Felix stops himself completely, regains his composure, and raises his gun once again. He elects to ignore the blood roaring in his ears, the throbbing of his anxious heart, and squeezes the trigger.

The bullet cuts through air and comes flying toward the wanted figure, missing them by a strand of hair. His face contorts in anger as he mumbles out a curse word. He missed. He shouldn’t have. He can’t miss. Missing isn’t an option.

Felix pumps his legs, gaining momentum with each push. But it feels gut-wrenching all of a sudden after a few thrusts forward—his body is giving in. He watches the culprit quicken their pace until their steps turn into leaps. Just a few more feet and they’ll jump the other side of the neighborhood.

He won’t make it in time.

Three. Two. One. The figure gathers enough strength and takes one final leap into the night. His heart immediately drops to the pit of his stomach, every movement comes to a full stop like the sudden stretch of silence within his rib cage.

“Shit!” He perks up at the scream and glass shattering. “Ow! Ah! Ouch! Ugh…” And...dogs barking?

“Oh come on!”

four.

His feet slip outwards on the wet autumn leaves as he rounds the corner, his breaths coming out in spurts, hot and nervous as he inhales deeper, faster. With each footfall, a jarring pain shoots ankle to knee, ankle to knee. Perhaps jumping off someone’s rooftop in a time crunch wasn’t the smartest decision.

“Give me a break. Do you have any idea how much time it took me to outrun those dogs?”

“I won’t let you slip away. It’s best for either party if you cooperate. Don’t do anything foolish and mercy might be an option,” Felix clicks a bullet into the chamber, gaze falling onto the hooded figure.

In the dim light that oozes through a narrow gap lies the alleyway. It's the underworld of any town: gloomy and unpleasant. Darkness is lurking in every corner inside the labyrinth of narrow passages and dead ends. Litter is dumped on the street and birds nest amongst the sprawling rot. Moonlight lights up the pathway for him, making it easier to back the felon up into the corner.

“One more step, officer, I dare you.” A warning like poison pours into his ears.

Although something seems different this time. They sound more frantic. Is there something that’s bothering them? “You just committed murder, you filthy scumbag. One more step, I dare you.”

“Oh, you’re so unoriginal,” they clutch their right arm and chuckle lightly. Felix squints his eyes with the limited source of light; inevitably, they go wide upon seeing crimson dripping to the ground. But as the second ticks by, less and less blood pour from the wound as though the muscles and skin are simultaneously closing up the seams.

What the hell am I looking at?

A smirk. “Don’t mind if I do.”

What are they... Wait, shit-

At the kind of speed he never thought humans could acquire, the hooded figure approaches him in what seems like seconds. The sudden whiplash blows the hood back and allows them to bathe in the moonlight raw.

“Say, what are you going to do with a filthy scumbag like me again?” Something sharp and shiny comes into contact with the warmth of his flesh but he can’t bring himself to register or counter it.

Your features flash before his eyes, glowing from within, leaving him in complete awe. Although you’re talking nothing but venom, pain is evident in the crease of your lovely brows and the way your lips are pressed into a straight line. Your eyes are deep pools of restless gold, an ocean of hopeless grief. There’s something so damn familiar about you. Felix almost finds himself resonating within your agony. He almost gasps.

In this growing light, your dark silhouette becomes full colors.

But why aren’t you moving? He’s completely open like this.

“You!” Your voice suddenly trembles and so do your pupils. “You-You’re-”

Snapping back to his senses, Felix leaves no time for you to finish your sentence and grabs your armed limb with one hand while striking a harsh blow at your stomach with the other. You let out a hushed wince at the impact, falling to the cement ground along with the blade in your palm. He swiftly flips you over, cuffs your hands, and puts his gun at the back of your head.

“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in the court of law.”

“Oh, spare me, Robin,” you involuntarily snort. “I’ll be gone before you can finish reading my rights.”

He nearly sneers, “Move an inch and I’ll put a bullet through your head. Your hands are cuffed, don’t you try to make your face worse than it already is.”

“I’m an Ace, darling. It’d be insulting if a pair of handcuffs and your scrawny little ass could stop me.”

His grip on the gun grows a fraction tighter, his heart starts beating faster at the name. “You work for the House of Cards?” The name rolls off his tongue bitterly, leaving a lick of fury consuming the rational side of his brain.

House of Cards—thieves, terrorists, assassins, dealers—the largest criminal organization that has been the dread of the country for decades. Just like the playing cards, the organization consists of four main groups: Diamonds, Clubs, Hearts, and Spades. The Kings and Queens lead these groups for they’re either new or incompetent for the higher ranks. The Jacks come second in commanding and are often advisors while the Jokers remain anonymous to all as messengers. The four Aces are the most trusted by the chairman and only take orders from him themselves.

“I do,” you reply flatly, a sigh going unnoticed. “Shouldn’t you be fleeing by now upon receiving this information?”

“A murder. A gunshot right across the street. A living witness,” he grits with a timid smile. “All that and you call yourself an Ace? We’ve encountered worse than amateurs like you. You’ll be rotting behind the bars before you know it.”

“I like your optimism, officer. Genuinely, it's a blessing for you to bring us light in this time of darkness,” you turn sideways, smirk, and make sure that he sees it. “Ignorance is truly bliss sometimes.”

Something inside him snaps, water overflows the cup and he instantly grabs you by your head, burying it further into dust and cement. “I don’t know who you think you are. But you clearly don’t know what I’m capable of and the fact that I will stop at nothing to bring your boss down. I will make him face justice as you’re hearing it from the news in prison. I’ve promised. I’ve sworn.”

“Oh?” You dare to glance at him again. “I never knew cops detested my boss so much. Or is it just you? Is your hatred personal? You’ve broken a protocol from the get-go, haven’t you? Is it the reason why you even became an officer in the first place?”

Shit, Felix curses inwardly as your words stab him in the chest, twisting the tip of the blade deeper and deeper as though you’re not allowing him to breathe properly. His hands start shaking; the vibration against your nape makes you exhale, drawing yet another grin on your lips. “Tell me, who did they kill?”

To hell would he ever tell you.

“A family member?” Focus.

“Your loved one?” Cover your ears.

“Or a close friend, perhaps?” One wrong move.

His shaking freezes midway, his voice comes out monotonous. “Shut up.” And you’ll die.

“Bingo,” you feign excitement before clearing your throat. “Also, I wouldn’t pull the trigger if I were you. Because I am your best asset to get to my boss. You and I aren’t so different, trust me. After all, we both want his head.”

He yelps in surprise when you twist your back slightly, swinging your arm and elbowing his jaw while disarming him simultaneously. With a swing of your leg, he loses his balance on the knees and lands harshly on his back.

With your knife pointed at his neck, your orbs bore onto his like you’re about to set him on fire. He gulps nervously, “What? How did you?”

“Listen up, I have a deal for you.”

You were injured, how could you risk tearing your wound up like that? His chest rises then falls inconsistently, eyes darting to your forearm. It’s no longer bleeding. There’s no way!

“...what are you?”

“Call me what you want. Murderer. Killer. An assassin. A monster.”

Felix squirms under your grip, spatting in aggression, “If so, you’re daydreaming if you have the audacity to believe that I will get my hands bloodied with you.”

“I’m not telling you to pick a side, officer. I’m just trying to say that I know something you don’t and you know something I don’t. If we pool our information we might actually have a good shot at capturing the bastard. If you brought me back to headquarters now, I’d escape either way and you’d get nothing from me. But if you pretend like our encounter never happens, you’ve got yourself a new partner.”

“What feud do you have with your boss so bad that you’re willing to work with a police officer like me?”

“I never considered him as my boss. I never considered the organization as a place that I belonged to. No one knows who the leader is. I’ve been tracking him down for years already.”

“...what? That’s-“

“They killed someone very important to me, too.”

five.

Chan murmurs tiredly at the knock on his door, “Who’s there?”

“Sergeant Lee’s present to report on the assassin from last night, Chief.”

“Come in.”

Chan fixes his collar as Felix closes the door shut, strides straight into his office, and collapses on the nearest armchair. Usually, he’d be complaining about the lack of sunlight in the Chief’s working space. Because like any other civil office, there are enough windows for one not to choke to death but Chan has made a habit of keeping them close. Now, he decides to open the blinds and lets the light in completely, prompting Felix to throw an arm over his eyes dramatically.

“Shut it. The lights are killing me,” he groans aloud, forehead creasing in frustration. Focus.

Chan says pointedly, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms, “But you look like shit.”

“Of course I look like shit. You should try chasing down an Ace yourself some time. Really, it’s been a pleasant distraction from my unfinished paperwork and impotent stress,” the junior officer mumbles, dropping his arm and staring blankly at the space ahead.

“Yeah, I’ve heard,” Chan sighs, sitting back. “It just makes sense, you know. Yuuki and his neighbor were moles the Yakuza planted in that filthy organization. No wonder their leader had to send one of the four Aces to finish him off.”

Felix closes his eyes for a moment, resting his arms on his knees, the muscles are still aching from last night’s incident. His fingers unconsciously reach for his bare neck, tracing the shallow cut as goosebumps bubble upon his skin. Focus. “Enough being mopey,” Chan grins and slaps something cold against his cheek, causing his friend to jolt up in surprise. “Aren’t you here to report?”

He flashes Felix a cheeky smile when the younger clenches the cold towel on his face in annoyance. Nonetheless, there’s a twinge of faint nostalgia and affection lighting up inside his stomach—the kind that comes from long-time friends. “Alright, I gotta come back to my desk before Changbin goes off about my productivity anyway.”

“Good, elaborate,” Chan whips out a pen with his crusty notebook, eyes narrowing and turning serious.

“The Ace escaped,” Felix starts, “After checking in with Yuuki’s housekeeper, Hyunjin and I went inside the house. He handled the body while I was heading upstairs. I pursued them as soon as I heard the gunshot from across the streets. I only managed to wound them from afar, but it’s not enough to slow them down. They were too fast so I was outpaced at the end.”

The Chief raises a dark brow, eyeing the cut on his throat, “I can see that you’re injured, too. Did they shoot you? Seungmin only found a semi-auto pistol next to the second victim.”

“No… I did this to myself during the chase,” Felix touches his wound again, gulping, “They only carried a knife, of all the things.” Don’t be obvious. You can’t risk getting them to suspect you.

“You couldn’t get close enough to see if we’re dealing with a man or a woman, right?” Chan then casts a meaningful look at the mountain of unfiled paperwork upon his desk, feigning interest in the light reading that awaits him for the rest of the day.

“Unfortunately, no. They have a good physique, clearly well-trained and more skilled than the little fries we’d managed to throw behind the bars,” Felix shakes his head, eventually pushing himself off the black armchair. “What about the housekeeper? According to what I’m able to recall, she did, in fact, see the Ace.”

Chan wants to scream at the mention, fingers massaging his temples. “That woman is far too traumatized to even speak a word right now. She’s been giving Seungmin headaches all morning.”

“Yeah, about that...sorry, I couldn’t be more helpful,” Felix bites his lips as he can feel his own lies suffocating the space around him, filling his lungs with water and squeezing at his windpipe. He needs to get the fuck out of here.

The Chief chuckles lightly and waves his hands, “No, no, we’re all kinda impressed, actually. No one has ever been able to propose a mere chase with them before. It’s already a miracle that you came back alive.”

His heart instantly sinks, his fists curl up unconsciously. Felix could have died. He should have died last night. But you hesitated. Why? Why would you spare him? And why were you looking at him like that? “Hey.” A hand on his shoulder snaps him out of it. “Don’t worry about it. You should take a day off today. You look unwell.”

“But-”

A figure lands soundlessly on Chan’s balcony, swiftly turning around to face Felix.

His brain stutters for a moment and his eyes take in more light than they should, still, they widen when shock riddles his senses. Every part of his body tries to catch up and his thoughts go on a dreadfully long pause. It’s you. Standing in broad daylight without anything to cover up. Distanced a few feet from his grasp.

One shout and you’ll be cuffed in mere moments. It’d be insulting if a pair of handcuffs and your scrawny little ass could stop me. His precinct has been desperate, ramming into one dead-end after another for a single lead to House of Cards.

Felix can turn you in right here. Right now. If you brought me back to headquarters now, I’d escape either way and you’d get nothing from me.

“That is an order, Sergeant,” Chan grins, not noticing how pale his friend has gotten in such mere moments. “You’ll collapse the moment you head out for patrol, trust me.”

“No, Chan! You don’t understand, I-”

“Do it,” you mouth, sealing his lips instantly.

“I just didn’t get enough sleep last night. I’ll take a nap in the infirmary.” You slap on a devilish smile at his words, wiggling your phone high enough for him to see.

As soon as Felix closes the door behind him, the spike in his heartbeat finally falls with the stiff smile on his face, his breaths short and uneven. The urge to punch something is cut short when his phone vibrates timely. A message from an unknown number: “Ten PM. The waterfall in Yellow Woods. You’ve got one chance.”

six.

Felix has underestimated the cold since nightfall. His muscles ache and shiver all at the same time, momentarily yelling at him to turn around to head back to the comfort of his family’s mansion. Yet the dark Yellow Woods seems to silence time and space, only leaving him with the urge to march forward.

He lied to Chan about your encounter, lied to Changbin so he wouldn’t have to go on his night shift, lied to Hyunjin that he’d go home and rest like his friend always told him to. Humans have been taught not to lie but deception still exists and one cannot escape its grasp. Even Felix never knew there would be a day where he’d become this desperate. Just thinking about it makes him want to vomit, utterly disgusted.

Clutching his gun tightly, he begins walking faster into the light fog.

“My my, look who it is.” His frantic steps come to a halt, his head snapping back immediately. “Someone was so hellbent on giving me a headshot the last time we met. What changed?”

Felix raises a brow in confusion. “What the- Didn’t you ask me to meet up at the waterfall?”

“The waterfall is the other way, you fool,” you jerk your head back, clearly unimpressed.

“Cut me some slack, my phone was dead! Wait, how did you- were you stalking me?!”

You can’t help but stifle a chuckle; his face is priceless. “Tracking sounds more appropriate, don’t you think?”

“You-”

“You’d better pick up the pace if you want to survive this little partnership of ours, officer.”

Eventually, he complies and stumbles through the woods with you, his feet feeling like they’re being dragged across cement. During the day, Yellow Woods is alight with the serenity one yearns for at their lowest, birds chirping and leaves rustling to one united song of Mother Nature. In contrast, it is now hollow, colorless, almost empty to a sense with all this darkness around him.

“I never said that we had a deal,” Felix says while trailing after you, cautious not to trip over any branches.

You turn around for a meager moment, giving him that sly grin of yours. “Suppose that you do, we need a contract. Some simple protocols between comrades. What do you expect from me? Keep it simple. Excessive details bore the shit out of me.”

“First, no with-holding information. If you know something, I need to know it and vice versa. Second, no personal questions. I don’t want you in my life nor do I want me getting my hands dirty with you.”

You hum in response, “Hmm, short and sweet. But I have my own as well.”

He gulps, “Go on.”

“I don’t work with dogs. I don’t care if it’s licensed as emotional support. I won’t hesitate to shoot if you even let one do so much as breathe in the same room as me.”

“...that makes way too much sense.” So that explains why-

“What about you? Afraid of the dark?”

“I wasn’t born this morning.”

To the East lies the waterfall you’ve mentioned this morning, which you lead him down a dirt road and right behind it, straight into a small cave. There are two paths diverged that catch him by surprise but there’s nothing he can do other than taking the left side, hastily following the source of light from your phone. Your final destination unveils before his eyes as a small, underground lair.

Felix suddenly feels cold for no reason. “How do you even sleep?” He scrunches his nose while rubbing his hands together.

“I don’t,” you say without looking at him, exhaling and shrugging off your coat. “Make yourself at home. I’ll go heat up some tea before you freeze to death.”

Not knowing what to do with himself, his eyes roll around the seemingly confined but commodious space in curiosity. Your working desk is as big as the one in the conference back at headquarters, mounted with an overwhelming amount of files. To the right, the wall is lined with weapons, target boards, and rag dolls; you seem to prefer blades over firearms. The whole place is lighted up with candles all around, giving it that eerie feeling like something straight out of an old movie.

Still, not bad.

His careless feet drag him across the concrete, subconsciously reaching out for the files on your desk. He can’t fight the urge, he can’t resist it. Before his mind can register and his conscience can yell at him, the plastic binder is already yanked open. Experiment #180108–Y/N, it reads. “What the hell… Enhanced strength and agility… Instant self-healing… Metamorphosis? Is this what they’ve been doing under our noses all this time?”

“No, only my parents.” Your voice snaps him out of it, prompting him to drop the files. “Your office was giving me anxiety, by the way. Thank god for home sweet home.”

“What the hell were you doing in my-“ A dagger flies past his head, missing him by a strand of hair and ending up embedding itself on the bull’s eye of a nearby target. “Daughter of a bastard,” he breathes out in disbelief, eyes boring holes on you. “What kind of tea was that?!”

“Lee Felix. Only son of the Prime Minister. Ranked Sergeant at the eighth precinct, Seoul P.D. The precious heir to one of the five great families.” Words leave you. You only stare into those bright, brown eyes burning with anger, his heart almost falling silent. “Gosh, you’ve got quite the profile. Shouldn’t you be worried about the image of your family instead of shaking hands with the devil like this?”

Felix clenches his jaw, everything is slow and warbled as he looks down, shaking violently. “And yet you still thought I’d be crazy enough to make a deal with an Ace?”

“You’re not crazy,” you sigh, grinning internally. “Just extremely desperate-“

“I am not desperate!” A lie spats out, leaving him with a bitter aftertaste. “I have no reason to be.” Focus.

A mocking shrug. “Right, you’re not desperate. You just followed me all the way here without taking out your gun or rambling on with your boring death threats. Like a little, perfect pet. Exactly what I needed.”

“Death threats don’t work on monsters,” he croaks, fists balled and eyes wide. Even so, the way you gaze darken still goes unnoticed. “I’ve seen your kind kill anyone without hesitation. Getting blood on your hands without even blinking. You, all of you, aren’t humans anymore. You’re all a complete write-off of a species.”

Felix lifts his head, pupils trembling at the sight in front of him. For a moment there, you look sad and broken. Raw, naked, and vulnerable like the rest of humanity. It makes him ponder, how can humans be so weak yet so cruel at the same time?

“...why? Why are you doing this?” he inquires shakily, head racing with a thousand thoughts. “I don’t understand. Actually, there’s a lot that I don’t understand about you.” No! Focus, you idiot!

“You don’t have to.” Finally, you speak after the long dread of silence, combing a hand through your hair tiredly. “You know. It’s funny how the same thing happened to us. And now look at where we ended up individually.”

His brain pauses and chokes up. “What are you saying?” Cover your ears. Do not be misled!

You look away, simply knowing that you won’t be able to hold it in if you’re making eye contact. “I know you’re not the rightful heir of the Lees. You weren’t part of the bloodline in the first place. You’re simply a replacement. A second option. Nothing but an afterthought-“

“No! Shut up! Just shut u-“ Cover your ears. Do not trust anyone!

“—the real heir supposedly went missing during the Eiji Station tragedy where my organization ordered a bombing fifteen years ago. It’s been over a decade and they’ve already concluded his death even though a body was never found. Am I right, officer?”

Choose the wrong path.

Felix buries his face into the palms of his hands as streaks of silvery tears burn his cheek. His exhausted shoulders shake in each rake of emotion through his frame, the fire of anger and despair boils past the seams he can no longer hold together. With his knees weak, he can only sob and drops down on his knees, screaming with all his might.

And you’ll die.

But even you, the devil itself, can’t save the man who’s drowning himself in his own tears of hell.

“Welcome to the team. The name is Y/N,” you offer him a hand, blankly eyeing his quivering figure. He finally picks himself up with difficulties, eyes glowing with tears and fury. After a split moment of hesitation, his hand reaches for yours, firmly clasped and sealing your deal.

Because he’s falling down the same bottomless abyss with you.

Because you both couldn’t save him. You couldn’t save Minho.

epilogue.

__ fifteen years ago

“Hey, Minho, you’re really good at playing the piano. Are you gonna be a musician?”

“Hmm, I do like music. But I’d rather become a police officer.

“Why? Didn’t you say that you like music?”

“I’ll become anything for my mother.”

“Then, I’ll be a doctor when I grow up! And we can save people together.”

“Okay. It’s a promise, Lix.”

164 notes · View notes

jordanstrophe · 3 years

Text

Be a Good guest, part 6

CW: Whump, parental/intimate whumper, whumpee being chipped, blood, captivity, belting referenced, angst, abusive treatment, panic attack

Masterlist

Walter was stressed out today and grumbling to himself, not even making eye contact with Gabriel, which was quite new. He wasn’t sure, but he felt like that was a pretty bad sign. Gabriel took a deep breath before approaching him as Walter mindlessly paced around the kitchen. The chain rattling behind him made his presence known as Walter went still, glancing in his direction.

“W-... Walter... Are you okay?” He asked. This was the first time he approached him willingly, or spoke first. They both froze and stared at one another, trying to read each other's mood and motives. Walter finally let off a small sad smile, taking his hand and sat him down.

“I’m alright little one... I’m just nervous, a little stressed.” He waved his hand as if it were nothing.

Stressed hmm? Maybe keeping a man controlled and locked away in his house was finally getting to him. The “smash-a-window-and-run-for-the-trees” tactic clearly didn’t work, so maybe getting him relaxed and off guard would be better, even safer.

“Why? I thought you were happy.” Gabriel tried to sound sad and innocent.

“Oh sweetheart of course I’m happy. I’m worried about you.”

What... He’s worried about me? How could he...

“You broke loose and got yourself hurt.” He mumbled sadly, staring down at his bandaged wrists he was holding. Gabriel's heart sank a little, that wasn't the only thing that hurt him last night, the red bruises crossed on his back said otherwise.

“I’m just so worried about you all the time now. What if I take your eyes off you and something terrible happens!” He cried, squeezing his hand protectively. “I feel like there’s nothing I can do to guarantee your safety."

“Then.. W-why did you h-hurt me?” Gabriel rasped, tears instantly falling down his face before he had a chance to suppress them.

“Oh no, no no sweetheart I didn’t hurt you. I corrected and disciplined you, there’s a difference, I need you to understand that. I would never hurt you.” He soothed.

Gabriel's gut twisted with horror and confusion. He was promising only love and safety, yet his actions never reflected. Walter perked up, lifting himself to his feet.

“I know what we can do, hang on.” He smiled, petting his hair as he walked behind him out of the kitchen. Gabriel’s eyes followed him out with confusion, holding his arms crossed nervously as he tried to guess what he was doing. His heart jolted when he heard the basement door open.

No.

No!

No no no no no no...!

He hadn’t even realized he had jumped to his feet, his body quaking and cringing. The house shook and rattled as Walter drug something heavy up the stairs. Each time it thunked against a step, getting closer and closer, was one step further Gabriel would take to a panic attack. By the time Walter made it up the stairs he had thoroughly pressed himself into the corner trembling, the only thing not tucked away was his one leg being outstretched by the chain that wouldn’t allow him to go any further.

Walter let out a sigh as he crossed his arms, stepping aside to show the small detailed wooden piano behind him.

“You said you liked to play, so this should give you something to do.” He smiled. Gabriel's eyes darted from Walter to the piano, waiting for a second part like “oh, and I’m also going to tie you to a chair while you play, and every key you get wrong I’m going to belt you again” but it was only silence that followed.

He nervously struggled to his feet using the chain to steady himself. Part of him was actually quite relieved and excited to have something to do. But the other part felt like any time not spent trying to get out of here was time wasted.

But...

He really missed playing. He had to sell his first piano and that broke his heart...

“Can I...?” He muttered with a hushed tone. Walter nodded with an approving smile, stepping aside to give him some space to approach. He took a wide path to get to it, grabbing a kitchen chair on his way over and setting it down. He slid just one leg onto the chair, still being cautious incase he had to jump back to his feet, but placing his hands on the smooth keys was instantly relaxing to him.

The piano was beautiful, decorated with hand carved wooden detail. It wasn’t the most well kept, obviously being locked in that forbidden basement for so long, but it functioned as well as it could. He played by ear, so he was able to quickly pick up his old habits and memories of his favorite songs. He played something calming, a slow tune with a peaceful feeling flowing off every note. Not soon after he was fully relaxed in the chair playing fluently.

Walter seemed to have gotten relaxed as well, as all the tension left. He quietly hummed along to the music as he turned on the stove for dinner. For the first time, he felt okay. He was still terrified, but he at least had something to do to keep him sane.

"You're very talented, Gabriel." Walter beamed.

After some time, dinner was on the table and Gabriel's fingers grew stiff. When he stopped playing the room grew silent as all the peaceful tone seemed to die with the music. Dinner looked like it fell from the heavens as usual, the smell was tempting and delicious. He sat at the table, Walter however, didn’t. He stayed standing, hovering near the counter with his hands resting. Gabriel looked up at him with a puzzled and expecting expression.

“Go ahead and eat, little one. I’ll be just a minute.” He smiled lovingly as always, but it was different this time... It was tilted, sad. Gabriel didn’t want to disobey or tense him further, so he did his best to shove food into his mouth as much as he could stomach. The stress still made it difficult to eat as every bite was forced down.

Wait.

Something was wrong.

Something in his view was different. He glanced over where Walter was, but was nowhere to be seen. He never heard him move, where did he-

*Clang*

Gabriel gasped, his entire body jolting as something loud snapped at his neck followed by blinding pain. He disappeared under the table, his hand covering his neck as he felt blood.

“Wh-!.. What did you do!? Aaa!” He cried out, as the sharp pain in his neck spiked higher and higher. Walter was quick to duck under the table, a small device that was in his hands clattering to the floor. He pulled him out and cradled him in his lap while he held a napkin to his neck.

“Shh, it’s okay.” He whispered, putting pressure on the wound.

“N-no it’s-s no-t okay!” Gabriel barked while he sobbed, his voice wobbling.

Walter tilted his head to the side and pressed a large band aid on his neck. He let him go and backed away to give him some space as he trembled on the floor, gasping for air.

“Wh-what did you do?” Gabriel asked, looking up at him with glossy miserable eyes.

“Imbedded a tracker into your neck.” He said, staring down at him.

“Y-you... You embedded a t-tracker... Into my neck?” He repeated back with a flat tone.

“Yep! now you can never be lost again.” He smiled, crouching back down next to him. Tears instantly poured back into his eyes as he sobbed, Walter tried to shush him and comfort him as best as he could. He eventually lifted him in his arms and carried him to the couch, covering him with a blanket while he fidget with the TV. He hadn’t turned it on in years, but he felt like Gabriel deserved something to take his mind off of things.

Gabriel just laid on the couch, wide eyes and panting, his hand still clamped around the band aid on his neck. The TV flashed on as they both jumped with surprise, Walter mostly because he actually managed to fix it. He sat next to Gabriel on the couch as he turned it to something fun and distracting, combing a hand soothingly through his hair as he eventually calmed down and fell asleep.

@alien-octopus @yesthisiswhump @lave-whump @whumpasaurus101 @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @hamiltonwhumpdump @just-another-whumper @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @approach-me-and-ill-cry @whump-it

ʕっ• ᴥ • ʔっ Thank you for reading!

#whump #whumper #whumpee #captive whump #parental whumper #overprotective whumper

146 notes · View notes

lloydskywalkers · 4 years

Note

hey idk if you’re doing requests but if you are can you give us the fluffy kai and lloyd sibling content we deserve?? like ummm maybe kai helping lloyd to do homework or something even tho they don’t go to school lmao 😂 i just need something pure :)

i am so very behind on replies but!! in my defense, i started a response for this, got about 10K words in, then realized i needed to give it an actual structure. this is not the 10K words one, but it is, technically, fluffy Kai and Lloyd sibling content? i hope it’s something along the lines of what you wanted :’D

Lloyd decides he wants his ear pierced at three forty-five in the debatable hours of the morning, which isn’t the oddest thing Lloyd has ever decided he desires at that time. But it isn’t usual, either, so Kai decides he probably does, at least, need to ask what brought this on as he begins superheating the edge of the needle so neither of them end up with tetanus, or something.

He’s a responsible brother, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to tell Lloyd no. That would require Kai pretending his own piercing never existed, which is impossible, since Lloyd was the one to help him out back when it got infected and Kai almost lost his entire upper ear.

“It wasn’t that bad,” Lloyd rolls his eyes. “You were just being a baby about it.”

“Oh yeah?” Kai shoots back. “Look who’s talking. I haven’t even touched your ear yet and you’re already wincing.”

“You’re taking forever,” Lloyd says testily. “Why can’t you just pierce it already?”

“Excuse me for trying to make it look good,” Kai says. “But if you really want an off-center piercing, be my guest.”

“No, no, make it look good,” Lloyd protests, straightening where he’s sitting across the bedroom floor from Kai.

Fortunately, they’re in the monastery tonight, otherwise they’d be crammed into the bathroom, or wherever else in the Bounty they wouldn’t wake everyone up. They’ve stashed away in Lloyd’s room, since he’s the furthest from Zane and therefore the least likely to be caught, if something goes wrong. Not that anything’s going to go wrong, of course, but you can never be sure, with them.

“Where’d you want it, again?” Kai asks, as he squints at the tiny earring stud they scavenged from Nya’s bag. He figures she’d support this as a worthy cause enough not to mind. Hopefully.

“On the right side?” Lloyd drums his fingers on the edge of his knee, a bit anxiously. “I sleep on my left more often, so yeah, the right. Just — just the normal ear piercing, for now.”

“For now, huh,” Kai mutters, carefully measuring out rubbing alcohol over the earring, before deciding to drown it in the bottle, for good measure.

“Well, I might decide I want another,” Lloyd crosses his arms. He winces. “Unless Sensei or the others kill me for this, first.”

“Lloyd, if piercing your ear is the worst thing you ever do as a teen, I’ll give you all the piercings you want myself,” Kai says. “And if anybody gives you trouble about it, just make some snarky comment, like, ah—”

“An earring is better to be stabbed with than a knife?”

“…FSM’s sake,” Kai sighs, staring at the bottle of rubbing alcohol and briefly entertaining how it’d taste. “Sure. Why not.”

Lloyd doesn’t look entirely reassured, even with his fun little jokes. “It is better than being stabbed with a knife, right?” he asks. “Like, I can do knife-stab pain, but I was kinda hoping it wouldn’t hurt that bad, you know…?”

Kai rolls his eyes. “It’ll hardly hurt at all,” he assures him, as he reaches for the little cotton balls and soaking one in alcohol. “I promise. You’re a ninja. With the pain tolerance you have, you’re probably not even gonna feel it.”

“Uh-huh, if you say — hey!” Lloyd flinches back from his hand, eyes wide in betrayal.

“Would you relax, it’s just the alcohol,” Kai frowns, going for his ear with the cotton ball again.

Lloyd makes a face, but lets him dab the alcohol on this time. “It’s cold,” he complains.

“Keep whining about it and we’re going back to the clip-on earring plan.”

“No, no, I want them pierced,” Lloyd says quickly. Kai smothers a laugh at how he attempts to appear relaxed, swiping the cotton ball over his earlobe once more for good measure. Satisfied that Lloyd, at least, won’t suffer any immediate crippling infections, Kai grabs for the needle they’re using, soaking the tip in alcohol.

“You…you know what you’re doing, right?” Lloyd asks, suddenly apprehensive now that the needle’s come into play.

“Of course I do, who do you think I am?” Kai says. “I pierced Nya’s ears when she was younger. I would’ve pierced Jay’s the first week we met, but he chickened out last minute.”

Lloyd presses his lips together, hiding a laugh. “If you’d come up to me with a needle the first week we met, I probably would’ve booked it, too.”

“I wasn’t bad,” Kai huffs, kneeing him in the side.

Lloyd runs a hand through his hair, spiking the edges up as he scowls, pitching his voice deeper. “I’m gonna be the green ninja, and none of you losers better get in the way—”

“I never said that!” Kai exclaims, swatting Lloyd across the head as he cackles. “You watch it, or I might slip up with the needle.”

“Sounds like something a green gi-stealer would say.”

“You’re such a brat,” Kai grumbles, hiding the heat rising in his cheeks by busying himself with the earring packaging. “I never sounded like that. And you’re one to talk, with that squeaky little evil laugh you used to do.”

“Alright, I’m dropping it, I’m dropping it,” Lloyd says hastily, his teasing faltering at the threat of turning the tables.

Kai smirks, shaking his head. “Alright,” he says, flexing his wrist once. “I’m gonna ice your ear so it’s numb, then do the actual piercing. You want a count down?”

“Surprise me,” Lloyd says, his hands fisting anxiously in the edges of his sweatshirt.

“Sure thing,” Kai nods absently. “So,” he starts conversationally, as he presses the ice to the back of Lloyd’s ear. “What did bring this on? And don’t give me the teen rebellion thing — seriously, this time.”

Lloyd hesitates, then sighs. He bites his lip, his eyes staring somewhere beyond the ceiling. “I dunno,” he mutters. “I just remembered, the other day, that I’d thought they were super cool as a kid.”

Kai stifles the urge to remind him that he’s still a kid, and continues to listen instead, nodding at him to go on.

Lloyd makes a face. “I don’t know. The mission today was — it was dumb, and I didn’t like how I felt afterwards, so I guess I wanted to do something stupid.”

“Ah,” Kai exhales quietly. He’d had a feeling it was about the mission, but he couldn’t be sure. It hadn’t even been that bad, on the whole, but the sound of Cole’s head cracking against the floor was enough to escalate it right into terrible territory.

Kai’s still thanking his stars that Cole’s got such a thick head. Concussions aren’t fun, even when they do have the chance to treat them immediately.

“I just…I thought maybe it’d be nice to mess up on purpose, for once,” Lloyd continues, his voice quiet. “When I wasn’t trying not to.”

Kai’s frown deepens at that one, his hand hovering where he’s caught the edge of Lloyd’s ear, his thumb pressed against the end of the needle. His sudden concerns over Lloyd’s potentially earring-destroying, Oni/dragon blood are swept away by the plaintively depressing tone Lloyd’s using. He opens his mouth, then shuts it, hesitating.

He understands the sentiment, of course — probably too well to really put into words. Kai’s not exactly a stranger to messing up. He’s definitely not a stranger to beating yourself up after you mess up, either. He also understands, too well, how it can all build up sometimes — the constant fear of failure, the pressure not to mess up.

Sometimes you’re just struck with the irrational desire to mess up on purpose out of pure spite. Kai gets that. And Lloyd’s at least rational enough to pick something that won’t hurt anyone, and is more likely to get a laugh out of them all, if anything. Kai tries not to roll his eyes fondly.

Plus, Kai would be lying if he said it doesn’t warm his heart that Lloyd’s come to him for it. Which he should, of course, Kai’d better have first dibs on Lloyd’s first piercing, but still. The sentiment, and all.

“Well,” Kai finally says, realizing he’s left Lloyd hanging. “I don’t know about messing up, because this looks pretty rad. But it was definitely your call, so remember to tell Sensei that when he sees it.”

“Yeah, sure.” Lloyd takes a breath, squeezing his eyes shut. “Okay, I’m ready. Stab my ear, Kai.”

“I already did, moron. Did you miss what I just said?”

Lloyd’s eyes pop open, and he blinks. “Huh? For real?”

“Told you,” Kai snorts. “Ninja pain tolerance. Ear piercing’s got nothing on Cole when he scores a hit on you in practice.”

Lloyd’s frozen for a moment, then he scurries over to the mirror, brushing his lengthening hair away so he can get a proper look at it. Kai hovers behind him, suddenly slightly anxious.

“Do you, um, do you like it? You can always take it out, if you don’t. It’ll close over on its own, and you can like, get an actual professional to do it—”

“Shut up, Kai, I love it,” Lloyd beams, tracing his finger over the little silver stud. “I look cool.”

Kai lets out a tiny breath of relief, smirking in satisfaction instead. “As close to cool as you can get, beansprout.”

“Whatever,” Lloyd rolls his eyes, before returning to admiring himself in the mirror. “You’re just jealous I have a super cool piercing, and you don’t.”

“Hey, I gave you that piercing,” Kai scowls. “Just wait until my ear finally heals, I’ll show you cool.”

“Gee, yeah, I can’t wait to see what cheap skull earring you infect yourself with this time.”

“Alright buddy, you’re toeing it dangerously close to the line,” Kai grabs Lloyd in a headlock, digging his knuckles into Lloyd’s thick hair as he yelps, struggling to pull himself free.

“Ow, hey, Kai, watch my ear—”

“Little jerk,” Kai finally releases him with a huff.

“Too bad you’re stuck with me forever,” Lloyd replies, making a face as he brushes his hair back into place.

“Plenty of time to watch you make more mistakes, then,” Kai replies, easily.

Lloyd briefly tenses up, his expression working. Kai slings an arm around his shoulder, briefly squeezing.

“It wasn’t your fault, Lloyd,” he says, gently. “Cole’s gonna tell you the same thing, ten times over.”

“Y-yeah, okay,” Lloyd murmurs, staring at the rug. “I got it.”

Kai eyes him for a brief moment, then shakes his head, carefully flicking the edge of his ear. “This, however? Is definitely your fault. So don’t go selling me out when Sensei bites your head off for it.”

“I’m not a sellout,” Lloyd huffs. “This’ll be nothing. Wait ’til you see what he says about my tattoo, that’ll be the real meltdown.”

Kai barks a laugh out at that, sweeping the cotton balls back into the bag. He then pauses, Lloyd’s word choice hitting him.

“Hey, what do you mean, your tattoo.”

“Oh, would you look at the time—”

“Lloyd, I swear to FSM, if you went and got a tattoo without me—”

#answered #ninjago #lloyd garmadon #kai smith #tumblr pleASE format this right for once #my fic #bees-go-buzz

428 notes · View notes