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nebbyy · 1 month

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King Baldwin IV x reader - I’ll be waiting for you

A/N: Well, how could I not make another fic for King Baldwin when the other one I made is my most liked post yet, so I decided to write this little pieceee. Sooo I guess I should warn y'all that this one will be a little less historically accurate (not that the first one was that great of a historical piece but you get the idea). Oh and as usual, this fic came into my mind the moment I saw the painting just below (which is "the Reconciliation of the Montagues and Capulets Over the Dead Bodies of Romeo andJuliet" by sir Frederic Leighton)Now enough chatting, more King Baldwin brainrot.

Summary: in a desperate attempt to protect his kingdom after having punished Reynald de Chatillon, the king is exhausted and the long ride has increasingly worsened his already wary condition. Once he’s escorted back to the palace, his loving wife wastes no time to reunite with her beloved husband.

Warnings: kinda angsty (no happy ending tbh), vague descriptions of Baldwin’s illness related wounds. Also, reader specifically described as female.

Word count: 3209

You sat on your throne, high and proud like the royalty you were. But under the facade of your noble confidence, you felt small. Smaller than ever, actually, as the yelling of all the men in front of you filled the air and rose up to the open sky. With a simple, reckless act, Reynald de Chatillon and Guy de Lusignan had just screwed years of efforts that King Baldwin had spent trying to maintain that delicate peace that required so many lives and time to build. All washed away from the raging river that were Reynald and Guy.

While the two men tried to defend their senseless attack, backed by a substantial group of men, another opposing group shouted at them, berating them for the offense they had given not only to Saladin but also to Jerusalem itself.

You sigh, fighting the urge to cover your ears, and curl into your own body; you opt to just turn your head and look at your beloved husband. He looked to be in a similar state as you were: although his face was now fully covered -a means of hiding the decaying state of his leprosy-ridden body- his head was bent with weary alertness, like a hawk watching its prey from a distance. You watched his body, languidly seated on his much larger throne, the only sitting position that brought him no discomfort, though it looked almost more like he was about to lie down.

It broke your heart to see how that disease had ravaged Baldwin's body, in recent years more and more. To see him there, on the same throne on which he once sat tall and proud, while now he barely had the strength to stay upright. And you knew he was thinking the very same thing.

You were about to open your mouth, whisper something to him, anything, in order to shake him out of his thoughts and that chaotic situation, but you were interrupted in your actions by an official, who rushed to the king's side, handing him a scroll. His bandaged hands clumsily opened the scroll, and you found salvation from the noise of the room by concentrating on watching Baldwin read carefully. You watched his eyes, blue as the sky and like the waves of the sea that brought you to the Holy Land, now covered with a pale glassy glaze.

You frowned when you heard Baldwin freeze in place, even his sitting became more erect, as if a cube of ice had slid down his back. With his gaze still fixed on the words written in that letter, he merely raised his hand slightly, a clear sign of his will.

"SILENCE!" his guard's shout resounded through the hall, overpowering the furious shouts of the men who had been barking at each other for hours now. They all turned to look at the king; their faces, a few moments ago darkened and wrinkled with anger, were now smooth and relaxed, their eyebrows raised in astonishment at their king's order. Funny, you thought, how these men because of your husband's condition sometimes simply forget how much power he possessed over them. Before it was as if he wasn't even in the room, and they were all playing at being great leaders, now there they were, staring at him, motionless as statues, submissive as ants. You curled your nose discreetly, your face a mixture of disgust and contempt. Pathetic, you thought.

After what seemed like an eternity, Baldwin finally looked up at the crowd in front of him, finally revealing what it was that had shocked him so much. "Saladin has crossed the Jordan with 200000 men," silence fell, and you felt your body going numb. Your ears seemed muffled, you could barely perceive what was happening around you. At that moment you felt so much fear for your kingdom, and concern for Baldwin and what this impending attack would cost him.

And anger, against those two fools who out of sheer vanity had endangered the lives of all the inhabitants of Jerusalem. They had put Jerusalem itself at risk; they had put Baldwin at risk.

I was brought to attention by Baldwin, who was struggling to pull himself up from his throne, walking toward his most trusted man. "We must meet him before he reaches Kerak. I will lead the army," your husband's voice was hushed and soft, so that only the man in front of him could hear. But it did not escape your ears, the implication those words had: Baldwin wants to stop Saladin, and he wants to do it himself. But this could cost him his life.

You couldn't stop yourself; you jumped up from your seat, eyes wide in an expression somewhere between fear and surprise. Baldwin turned to look at you, the woman who always took his breath away at the mere sight of how beautiful she was. You did not fail to have that effect on him again this time, but not because of your beauty: in your eyes he saw your terror, that this was the last time you would see him alive. They hypnotized him, and begged him in a silent prayer not to leave, to give up this plan, have an ambassador sent, anyone else. Hell, let him send Guy himself to intercept the Saracen, let him be beheaded and his murder settle the account that he himself opened. But the storm of emotion in your eyes contrasted with the gentle stream of emotion flowing from your eyes

But the storm of emotions in your eyes contrasted with the gentle stream of emotions flowing from Baldwin's eyes, barely visible because of the cover concealing his tortured face. He too, through them, was silently pleading with you: but he was asking you to trust, to let go and follow his plan, to try to forget for at least a moment all the warnings the Physicians had given him over the years.

Eventually, you relented, turning your gaze away and opting to stare at a random spot in the corner of the room. Baldwin gave a silent sigh and closed his eyes for a moment, a sign of gratitude, although you could not see it. He turned to the men of his court, and with the little strength his body afforded him, he spoke in a loud, determined voice: "Assemble the army and protect the city."

All this reminded you of the last time Baldwin fought Saladin: he had barely completed his seventeenth year, and young and still full of life, he was ready to ride against the invincible Saracen king. But on that day God had been more merciful. He had granted you, if nothing else, one last night to spend with your husband, had given you the gift of a minimum of time to ensure that you bid Baldwin a proper farewell before he met what could well have been his end. Instead this time, you barely had time to briefly remove the thick veil from his face to give him a fleeting kiss and exchange a handful of words. You fought back the tears as you looked at him, opting instead to bring your hand to his cheek, the flesh of his lip having receded and decayed to such an extent that it had receded down to his cheek, eventually turning into a long scar that protruded down to his cheekbone.

"Let me go with you, I will wait for you at the castle of Reynald de Chatillon-" "No. It is too dangerous. If things go wrong with the negotiations, I don't want you or my sisters anywhere near that man." It was not often that Baldwin interrupted you while you were speaking. He respected you too much to not allow you to finish your sentences, so the fact that he did just now spoke of how important this was to him.

"Then promise me you’ll come back to me. Safe and sound." He snorted softly, giving a hint of smile before copping his face with his hardened hands, "You know I can’t promise it." You know that, but that blatant honesty of his, which you always loved so much, was not what you wanted at the time. No, you wanted reassurance, no matter how truthful, no matter how worthless his promises may be at the end of the day, You need that fleeting distraction that mitigates the fear that’s been eating you from the inside since Baldwin put on his armor. May you risked never seeing him again.

"Please just say it." Your voice came out much softer than you meant, almost less than a whisper, perhaps because of the knot in your throat, which threatened to break free carrying a river of tears. For a moment he remained silent, turning suddenly his face towards the voice of a nobleman who called him from the entrance of his room, but did not even dignify him with an answer. After all, his attention was completely turned to his world. To you. Before I answered you, I drew your head to his with my hands, so that I could place his forehead against yours. Finally, he spoke softly, in that loving tone that he reserved only for you: "Then I promise you that I will return to you in no more than three days, and when I return I will be victorious, and I will be riding."

After that, that moment between the two of you, which so much looked like a heartbreaking farewell, lasted just before Baldwin had to go to his horse to guide his men to the enemy.

And it wasn’t long before the harsh reality became clear to you: he had lied to you. Not maliciously, of course, you were the one who begged him to say those words after all. But the fact is that three days became four, that news of the army of Jerusalem had not come any more, that the last thing you heard of your husband was that only the ride had already tried his weakened body.

Another day passed, then another, and at the dawn of the fourth day since his absence you felt your heart sink. Had something happened to him? Had the negotiations failed? What if his illness had suddenly got the better of him? Or worse, Saladin and his men had shot him, stabbed him, or yet again captured and publicly executed,…

Your mind began to spiral into an ocean of possible reasons behind this delay, and you swore that your breathing had finally stopped once and for all when a messenger on horseback arrived at the palace, frantically dismounting from his steed to rush into the throne room and bring you the message: "The negotiations were successful, but the king is in critical condition! He is returning to Jerusalem on a canopy," you dismissed the man with a slight wave of your hand, so weak that you almost looked numbed; Baldwin's advisors began to chatter, but the background murmur of their murmurs did not seem to reach your ears. No, your attention was elsewhere; it was entirely on your husband.

You took your leave of the court, hurrying to your rooms. There, like a hawk waiting impatiently for prey to feed on, you perched on the balcony overlooking the city below you, on the walls from which not many days ago Baldwin had emerged leading the army.

It was there that you began to think again, this time with a clearer mind as you knew that at least Baldwin was alive and on his way home. On his way to you. Still, this whole situation reminded you of when you were only sixteen years old, and you stood on that balcony as you do now, waiting to see Baldwin return on his horse. And on that day, when he was visible to the naked eye, and your eyes met, you saw all the life and strength of one who had just defeated the greatest enemy of his time. At that moment, he seemed almost immortal to you: he looked like a god riding proudly, leading the thousands of men behind him towards their home.

How unfair fate is, to cut short his life so early. His physicians gave him no more than thirty years, but that time seemed to you to be shortened even more when you finally caught sight of his canopy. There he lay, sprawled and motionless like a dead body, surrounded by the soft cushions and riders on either side of his transport.

Just two years ago such a journey would not have fatigued him in the least; now he was risking his life just by riding a horse. Your eyes threatened to fill with tears thinking about how much he had loved riding a horse, and now he found himself bedridden, unable in his passions. You wasted no time running through the palace corridors, eager to reach your beloved as soon as possible.

One turn to the right, then another, then down the steps, and finally straight to the palace doors, where the finely decorated canopy led the love of your life.

You rushed to his side, gently taking his mutilated hand in yours while the other stroked his masked face. He breathed faintly, his eyes closed as he tried to regain his strength after his disease had dealt him this last bludgeon. Feeling your gentle touch, Baldwin's eyes fluttered open, his glassy eyes the color of heaven meeting yours.

"You've been reckless, my love. Putting your life at risk just to do the job of a messenger!" you scolded him, but Baldwin only smiled fondly at your words. "I promised you I would've come back. And that I did, alive too." Although his voice was so weak that it sounded more like a huff of air rather than a sentence, its tone was still laced with playfulness.

It made you unable to resist the smile that was threatening to form on your lips; you did not grace him with an answer yet, opting instead to move your hand to remove the silver mask from his face. You could see his surprised and relieved expression, as he was now finally able to breathe more freely and to look at you properly. He breathed in the sight of you, almost as if trying to take in as much of you as he could. "I can't tell if it's the travel or the sight of you that takes my breath away."

You just smiled bitterly and shook your head at his silly declarations, "It must be the ride, it has tired you so much that it's making you speak nonsense." he giggled weakly, much more tiredly this time, almost as if he was about to doze off. But he fought the tiredness nonetheless, opting to just shake his head and admire you with a lovestruck look. "Maybe I am hallucinating, I think I'm seeing heaven above me."

It was supposed to be a compliment that would've made you giggle and blush, like the ones that he showered you with daily. But instead, it made your heart clench at the bare idea of it. The idea that this would be his last moments before the energies spent for this expedition would be too much for him to handle, and God will reclaim his most virtuous man. It made your throat tighten, and your lower lip tremble.

You tried to hide your troubled state, moving your hand quickly to the curve of his neck. There, you placed a soft, butterfly-like kiss on the little places of skin that haven't been mutilated and bloodied by the leprosy. You kissed him one more time, then another, and another again..

In the end, you lost count of how many kisses you had given him, in a desperate attempt to mend your premature grief, to ground yourself in the feeling that Baldwin is there. He is alive. Yet the feeling of his skin against yours, of his chest rising up and down and his arms weakly holding your soft body, it wasn't enough to stop the tears to start flowing down your cheeks.

And that didn't go unnoticed to Baldwin, who mustered all his strength left to hold you just a little tighter. "Have my words upset you?" you sniffled, trying to recollect yourself before lifting your head to look into his eyes. "No, my dear, you could never. I just-" you stopped for a second, trying to swallow down the lump that had formed in your throat, "promise me this is the last time. Please, tell me that you will stop this nonsense. Let your trusted men handle these matters, command your man like a king not a general!" your hands had moved to his arms, a gesture to both ground yourself and to accentuate just how desperate you were in that moment, only wanting him to just listen.

"I beg of you, my love, stay here. Where you can rest. We both know that you don't have much more time left to live, so stop doing everything in your power to shorten it anymore." A sob slipped from your mouth at the last part. It truly astonished you how careless he seemed about his own condition, almost as if he forgot that any move could be the death of him.

He frowned and sighed at your words, squeezing your forearms softly before he spoke softly. This time though his tone was clearer, less weakened by the outcomes of the past days. "I already spoke to the physician about this: I have no choice, my angel. I'll be bound to my bed until a miracle will better my condition, or until death will take me."

You shut your eyes in relief, resting your forehead against his and sighing shakily, trying to recompose yourself. "I can't live in a world without you.."

"God will give us more time. I promise I won't leave you as long as I breathe on this earth. And. when my time will be over and there will be no future for us in this life, I'll be waiting for you in heaven, if I'll be granted the blessing of a place next to you there."

Not too long after, the physicians that Saladin had promised him arrived at the palace, and you were assisted as they tended to Baldwin's many wounds caused by his sickness. More than the sight of the gruesome pieces of open flesh, what appalled you was just how numb his body had become, so much so that he did not even feel their hands and tools working into his skin. It made you wonder wether or not he even felt your kisses from before.

And you make yourself that same question months later, when you place one last kiss into his forehead as he slept soundly before going to bed yourself, only to wake up to a cold body beside you. You wonder if he ever got to feel that last gesture of love before God had finally claimed him.

You only found solace in the thought that Baldwin would be resting in the realms of heaven above your head, contrary to what the Saracens believe.

A/N: Wowww this gets more fun by the day!! King Baldwin will probably always be my favorite character to write for. He’s my muse. As always ill be waiting for your feedbacks!!!

Oh and also, be prepared in the future for more fics waiting to be posted, I’ve got about ten that are just waiting for the right time to come to light, and many more will come in the future since I’m really finding it therapeutic to write.

#writers on tumblr #angst #fluff #my fic #king baldwin x reader #kingdom of heaven #king baldwin iv #reynald de chatillon #guy de lusignan #reader insert #f!reader #historical fiction #fanfic #x yn #x reader

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waynewifey · 10 months

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aftermath — b.w

part one - ‘dear mr. wayne’

part two - ‘aftermath’

part three. - ‘aporia’

summary: you escaped that warehouse, but part of you died in there. now, your husband helps you grief your own loss while trying to not murder your relationship.

pairing: bruce wayne/battinson x reader

genre: drama & angst romance

warnings: mentions of sex and alcohol; mentions of ptsd, anxiety and it’s symptoms; hospital setting; dubious science; dubious law enforcement

word count: 2.9k

A/N: thank you for all the positive feedback on part 1! there will be a part three because this post would get too long, so let me know if you’ll like to be tagged in that. my biggest challenge writing this was trying to give bruce the start of a redemption arc, please tell me if you think it worked. comments and constructive criticism is appreciated!

gotham, USA.

the continuous beeping sound wakes you up.

your eyes are still closed, blocking the intense light over your head. your senses are taken by the familiar scent: sandalwood, cinnamon and lemongrass soap. it almost feels like you're home.

but your feet are senseless from the cold and the bedsheets faintly smell like chlorine. there's a pinching ache in your arm and the scenario is complete. oh how you hate hospitals.

"how are you feeling?" back at home, bruce had learned the difference in your breathing as you woke up, which made pretending to sleep hard enough for you to give up. you open your eyes, finding yourself in a luxurious room. if it wasn't for the IV on your left side, it could easily be mistaken for a five star hotel.

bruce sat at a large light green armchair, about four feet from your left hand. you couldn't tell by his voice, but he looked exhausted. for once, he's wearing sweatpants. the puffy face and swollen eyes show he hasn't had much sleep. you, on the other hand, feel like you've slept for a thousand years.

"i have no idea. what's up with me?" his sigh has your heart racing and the fear of being a liability falls over you. a comforting hand lays on yours, his warms fingers grounding you to remember the last time you were awake. it felt like a nightmare and you desperately hoped it was. instead, the pain comes in flashes, the image of your husband being shot and the feeling of hitting ice cold water do too. it's all just so horrible you wish it wasn't real.

"they told me you were going to be fine, but i don't know." bruce feels as if a burden has come off his chest finally seeing you move. the last couple of days have been a torture of expectation and blame for him. "the doctor had you in an induced coma. you had a concussion on the river. your stomach was stitched up. he said..." he stops for a moment, this is obviously way too hard for him to go through again. bruce hasn't left the room ever since he was discharged. everyday, for two weeks, he kept overthinking the night before and the day during. if he had stayed up and talked about your relationship, you wouldn't be in that bed. if he looked for you in the morning, if he noticed your absence at work, if he hadn't put his phone on silent mode... there were a million of things that he could've done different so the most important person in his world wouldn't have gone through all of that. "he said the ptsd would worsen your recovery. this morning the nurses told me you were better, so i have to believe them. that's my only hope."

you need a moment to take in the words, finally deciding that you didn't want to discuss your health. there were way better people to pay attention to that in the building and it would only make you anxious. you can't help but stare at his eyes, your mind bringing up the image of your husband choking the man that kept you hostage.

"you almost killed him." the tone is of disapproval, bruce couldn't be any more confused. he frowns. bile arises from his stomach leaving a acid taste to his mouth.

"i would've, of course i would. y/n, you had no idea what i would do for you. i would fight the devil himself if it meant keeping you safe. that's why i do what i do. the batman, the politics, it's all for you. if i can make this world 1% better for you, for our children, to live on, it's worth it." his gulp is loud, adam's apple going up and down, showing how dry his throat was. the following words have his voice shaking, almost disappearing. "but fate keeps telling me that i'm not enough. no matter what i do, you keep getting hurt and i just-" bruce stares the floor. that's something he always did when saying harsh things, avoiding eye contact and not letting tears slip away. however, this time it doesn't work at all. he can hear his heart tearing up with every syllable, the physical pain striking his chest. he wants to beg you to forgive him, but there is a noble thing to do. his words are cut off by the creaking of the door and the doctor's footsteps. he's smiling, like this isn't hell. bruce shrinks into the couch, making himself ignorable.

"so... i have good news!" the blonde says, clipboard in hand. "we need to run some other tests and an x-ray, but you seem to be healing pretty well. we'll hold you in for a couple of days just to make sure there aren't any complications with your body and then you can go home. how are you feeling so far?"

you're surprised by the sudden change in the conversation and your brain needs a moment to think about something helpful. you do a body scan trying to identify any pain, but overall you feel good.

"hungry. like, starving." the doctor smiles, saying he'll get you a meal as soon as possible. he warns you that you may not be able to eat much just yet, something about your stomach shrinking. you nod, already feeling irritated by the recovery process. then he leaves and there's a loud silence until you get back on the previous topic.

"you just what?" you expect bruce to sit correctly again, but he doesn't. he looks so small in the shadows, so comfortable. you really don't want to talk about that anymore, but curiosity takes over. he doesn't respond immediately, so your heart pounds over the anxiety of hearing bad news. suddenly you feel so tired, you want him to take over all the decisions like he usually does. today, though, he seems open to suggestions, like his own ideas weren't suitable. how could you know someone so well but still have no idea what's on his mind?

"i think maybe you shouldn't be associated with me. any part of me." the world stops with your breathing. bruce wishes he could take it back. going over this conversation in his head made it seem easier to say out loud. you've been married for three years. you knew his ambitions for even longer. you chose this life and he has no right to take that from you. still, the ring on your finger weighs you down.

— DENIAL

you've learned to appreciate the winter winds. at the top of the wayne tower there were barely any, but tonight they caress your face with the gift of numbness. breathing in is both refreshing and painful. the scratched teacup warms your fingers, a small memoir from your childhood home, from times that won't ever come back. you used to be down there, frightened by dark alleys and gunshots. now you're on top of the world and nothing, not even that psychopath, can take that from you. you did relearn discomfort. ache. cold. it all made you appreciate life even more. in fact, the month that followed your hospital discharge was pure bliss. something about renewal, about rebirth.

bruce watched you from the living room, the wrinkled glass distorting your silhouette in the balcony. that was a good representation of how he currently saw you, slightly blurred and shaken. his cup would usually hold whiskey, neat, but it holds coffee instead. you keep saying you're fine and waking up screaming in the middle of the night. then he would hold you and you would be actually fine. so now he's staying awake through the night, sleeping three or four hours during the day while alfred takes care of you. of course they don't let you know, because you've denied every explicit help. as you get ready to sleep, bruce gets ready to stay in bed through the night, alone with his thoughts. part of him was scared to sleep. he was sleeping when you were taken, there's no way he would let that happen again.

it has been almost a year since he stopped patrolling the city. the news cover murders and robberies every day. alfred makes sure to come up with something for both bruce and you to do at those hours. he's taken a pause in promoting his candidacy, he couldn't handle the public eye for now. still, the marketing team insists that your kidnapping was good media, even though he never officially spoke on it. they publish notes about being away, about taking care of family. he can't see how that could be good in any way.

you open the glass doors, flashing your husband a sweet smile. you're in a red silk robe and your hair is still perfectly done. perfectionism was one of the side effects, as one may call it, of the trauma. you visited a psychiatrist about a month ago, since bruce insisted on it, and he marked all of the habits that made you happy as unhealthy. you never told bruce what was said in that appointment in hopes that he'll get over it. him treating you like a porcelain doll made you nauseous.

"ready for bed?" you ask, standing behind the couch and hugging his shoulders. you breathe in his scent, remembering the day you met. you were an executive in an overseas wayne enterprises headquarters that had just gotten transferred to gotham. they offered you six figures to take the second in command position, so you obviously got to know the first in command. in the beginning, you honestly thought he was an entitled brat that didn't work at all. overtime, you realised how much he cared about the company and how much he was pining over you. you gave him an opening and he asked you out. six months into the relationship, he told you about batman. he knew, somehow, that you would be forever.

he sets in bed while you're touching up in the bathroom. the night had to be perfect. you've hadn't made love ever since the fight and ovulation week had gotten you a little crazy. you check yourself in the mirror, thanking the hormones making you sexy. you crawl into his side, slower than needed, hair falling over the shoulder. "hi" you whisper, sitting diagonally from him and cuddling a bit. he says hi back, with a chuckle. you give him a little peck, which is all you've been doing for all of this time. he stays still, not pulling back but also not doing anything either. you try to take it as a good sign. your lips then reach his jawline and neck, leaving wet kisses all over his skin. your hands touch his shirt and go underneath it, tracing your fingers along his defined abdomen. a hand holds your arm, pushing you away. your smile fades and you frown your face to him.

"touch me, bruce" you not so much ask, it's more like a plead. he sighs, channelling all his will to stick with his decision. he puts a string of your hair behind your ear and you think he's going to properly kiss you.

"i don't think we should do this. you're not well enough yet." he doesn't sound so certain, but it hits you like a hard brick wall. this is harder for him than he lets it show, he's a man after all. even so, he can't see you like that for the moment. he sees you scattered and feels like it's his responsibility to assemble you again.

"i'm perfectly fine." you state like a grumpy proud child who's just lost a soccer tournament. he sees right through it.

"you're not, you're in denial." that simple word makes your mood swing: denial. it's the same thing the stupid psychiatrist told you. you can even hear his smoker's voice echoing in the office. it isn't true. you got over it, that's all. maybe some people take more time to do so, but you did just like that. you had a life to get back to.

you get off the bed and pull your robe tight again. "i'm sleeping in the guest room. good night." he doesn't follow and lets you be. in all honesty, he didn't know if he would have the strength to turn you down a second time.

bruce tries to fight the tiredness. even with caffeine running high in his blood system, he falls asleep for a while. the guest room is far enough that he doesn't hear the muffled sobbing. he wakes up not so long after with screaming. his heart races as he runs down the stairs, following the sound of your voice. his mind starts thinking the worst, but he finds you only having nightmares. he crawls in bed with you, without being kicked off. he lets you lay on his chest, one arm over your shoulder. his body warms yours up and you finally stop spasming. it doesn't take too long for both to fall asleep.

— ANGER

the penthouse is quiet. the winter is almost at it's end, so the pre-spring rays lighten the living room bringing warmness to your solitude. you sit uncomfortably, unknown to this feeling of absence. you don't feel him in the tower.

bruce said there was a non deniable meeting with his press team, because eventually he would have to go back to promoting his election, which would take place in the fall. you acted unbothered. yet, he's barely been gone for an hour and you can already feel the anxiety crippling. you only left the apartment for doctors appointment, still too scared to walk on the streets. and he was always there, too, holding your hand. so this is different.

alfred is downstairs upgrading the batman suit with a new technology he created. he invited you, but the darkness of the cave was definitely unrequited. that's how you end up lounging, in silence, staring at window. finally, you decide to try to watch something. you shouldn't really do that, because something could trigger a panic attack. but you're fine, you really are. enough with this nonsense.

shuffling through the channels, nothing gets your attention until there's a juridical show on. the judge is talking to the prosecutor, apparently, announcing the next witness to testify. the camera angle changes to the courtroom and expectant eyes turn to the wooden door. it opens slowly to reveal a knight in dark armour. you hold your breath. the jury buzzes and the room gets loud. heavy steps make his cape swing behind him, as he makes his way to the stand.

bruce had to make a tough decision. while you and him had been cleared from the trial, you with the psychiatrist report on PTSD and him with the marriage, the lawyers mentioned that the batman's testimony could be decisive for the accused to be found guilty by the jury. the public respected him. either they loved or feared him. so, even though he's never made such a public appearance, less even speaking, he had to go to that trial. he owed it to you. but you could never know. he didn't want to spark your interest in the case, you shouldn't have to go through it again. he lays his hand on the constitution and swears on it.

it doesn't feel real until you hear the judge.

"members of the jury, i present to you the batman."

it feels like a dagger has gone through your chest. there's a mix of feelings that have you almost throwing up. you feel like screaming and crying and blowing the fucking world up. how could he do that to you? that was your case, your life. you stand up only to find your legs trembling. you want to run there and testify. you want to tell the world the horrors you've been through and show them, including your husband, that you had overcome it. he was calling you weak right in you face and you couldn't bear the feeling of being chained up again. you're stuck in this hell of a tower like some futile damsel.

you stomp your way to the elevator, your mind set on leaving the building. but your heart stops you in your tracks pounding and almost vomiting itself out; you feel your toes numb and your legs can't stop shaking. the baritone voice still sounds in the apartment. you run to it and scream at the TV. you throw a pillow on it. that doesn't cool you down. your body is in motion while all you can see is red. you knock the coffee table down, shattering the glass and scattering like ashes the books that were on it on the floor. the noise still doesn't muffle his voice and you can't find the fucking remote control. you stumble across the room, throwing lamps and vases around. everything is falling down, in every sense. you grab a candle and let out a scream when you hit the TV with it, the screen going black and the noise finally ceasing.

alfred finds the room trashed, with you kneeling on the broken glass. there's blood on the floor. your body trembles with every sob. he cautiously steps towards you. you feel out of breath, tears burning your eyes. he holds you like a mother does.

"i'm sorry- i'm so sorry," he shakes his head, saying it doesn't matter. you wanna say it does, but there's simply nothing leaving your mouth apart from "i'm so sorry"

part three - aporia

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signedkoko · 4 months

Note

Yoooo are requests still open or did I miss the window? If I did, just ignore this lol! In light of the season finale, may I request a Husk/Reader (headcanon or whatever you feel) where the two of them spend the night before the extermination spending time together? Maybe taking about how they're both scared but will do each other's best to protect one another (and their new friends 🥺) and cuddling for comfort? Drown me in whatever fluff you got 💖💖

Husk X Reader [Comfort]

In which extermination is just a day away, and the only thing in the world that matters to him is you. Reader is genderneutral.

Being together was the single thing he looked forward to in all his time in hell

And to think it may all end in a single showdown tomorrow, to say he was terrified was an understatement

You'd both decided to stay and fight for the hotel; it was the only place that had ever welcomed you both without a list of exceptions and clauses

Well, Husk had been forced, and where Husk went, so did you

But you'd taken kindly to calling it your home

His wings were folded around you, bubbling the two of you in a cacoon that included your comfortable bed and warm sheets

The hotel was eerily silent, as everyone had resigned to their own spaces to do whatever they felt they needed to, mostly to say goodbye in case they didn't get the same opportunity later

Husk was far from the emotional type, but recently he''d found himself letting his walls down

And who got him at his least defensive except for you?

Seeing you curled into his grap, he couldn't help but trace his claws along your arm, hoping to soothe you further

He knew you were scared; you'd gotten along so well with most of the patrons—hell, you got along with almost everyone he ever saw you meet—and he was sure you were more worried about others than yourself

His gaze is sombre, best described as lukewarm, as he shifts from the cold thought of losing you and the warm thought of seeing you wrapped up in his wings like a present

" Husk? "

" Mmh? "

" You're sad. "

" Well, Ive seen a lot in my life, but I don't think anything prepared me for tomorrow. "

His gruff voice was just as tired as yours, almost exhausted by the idea of what tomorrow might look like

The way you pushed your head further into his chest told him you felt the same, too

He didn't believe in Charlie's plan, but he hoped that if anything happened, you'd be forgiven by the heavens and let in on his behalf

Author's Note - This feels like such a sweet and salty mix of emotions but I still hope it's what you were looking for! I'm glad I got to another request of yours xoxo

#koko writez #hazbin hotel #helluva boss #hazbin hotel x reader #helluva boss x reader #reader insert #x reader #husk #husk x reader

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python333 · 9 months

Text

duckling — python333

— — — —

synopsis you have trouble sleeping most nights, luckily gaz is there to help you sleep and does so with cuddles and the least amount of banter ive ever written before with him!! :3

relationships platonic!gaz & gn!reader.

characters gaz.

word count 1.05k

warnings 2nd person pov [you/yours/yourself], no usage of c/n [you are exclusively referred to with pet names].

note i have no motivation to write anything but short drabbles like these rn :( thank you to everyone who's sent me any reqs, i'll get to them as soon as i get the motivation to!! which will probably be by tomorrow or the day after that, but i still kind of feel bad :< i hope you guys enjoy it anyway tho, it's all fluff and sibling dynamics with gaz!!

You really had no choice but to go to his room.

You’d been tossing and turning in bed, the sheets ruined by all the rustling, and with a final groan of frustration you’d thrown them off of your body and gotten out of bed.

You paused for a moment before grabbing the blankets and wrapping them around yourself, then grabbing your pillow, holding it tightly whilst you walked towards and out of the doors of your sleeping quarters.

Right now, you’re trudging along the hall that leads to his sleeping quarters, yawning into the palm of your hand as you do. Your blinking is slow as is your breathing, and you feel—and probably look—like a zombie.

You’re well aware of the dark bags hanging under your eyes, and of your messy hair, but you can’t bring yourself to care at the moment, more focused on getting to his room so you can finally sleep.

Gaz, months ago, after hearing about your tendency to just get up and walk laps around the base until you were too exhausted to go on just to sleep, had told you that if you ever felt the need to do that again you should just go to his room and he’d help you sleep.

Of course, not even two days after that conversation had taken place, you found yourself still awake at three in the morning, so you decided to listen to Gaz for once and headed to his room.

By helping you sleep, he apparently meant moving over on his bed and letting you sleep beside him. Which made you skeptical at first, because you weren’t five, you didn’t need to be cuddled to go to sleep, but you still gave him a chance and crawled into bed next to him.

And you were proven wrong the moment Gaz put an arm over your midriff and gently rubbed his thumb up and down your side, the small action lulling you to sleep almost immediately. He woke you up just three hours later, at six in the morning, so that you had time to get back to your own sleeping quarters so that nobody suspected anything.

You can almost feel yourself getting more tired just from the memory of it—not tired enough to sleep, of course, because nothing could be that easy, but still tired.

So then, after that initial night, you came to him more and more often. He became more and more concerned each time you knocked on the door of his sleeping quarters, but never directly told you that, instead simply opening the door and letting you get into bed with him.

Slowly, you became more comfortable doing it, and it soon became your instinct to go to Gaz’s sleeping quarters whenever you couldn’t sleep.

So now, as you walk up to the door of his sleeping quarters and knock twice, it’s no surprise how quickly he answers. He opens the door almost immediately and steps to the side so that you can walk in.

You do just that, walking into his sleeping quarters and heading straight for his bed, pushing his pillow to the side so that you can put yours right beside his, on the side closest to the wall, and you crawl into bed.

You hear him close the door and pad over to the bed, waiting for you to climb under the covers and put your head on your pillow before crawling in behind you. Once he’s fully under the covers, he wraps a gentle arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him so that he can properly spoon you.

“You don’t have to bring your own blanket, you know,” He mumbles as he puts his head on your chin, “There’s always gonna be one here.”

“I know,” You simply hum, grabbing Gaz’s hand from where it lays casually on your stomach and holding it with your own, “But it’s colder in here at night. I like having both blankets.”

Gaz stays silent, instead responding by simply squeezing your hand and rubbing his thumb over the back of it.

“I’m sorry, is having a whole ‘nother person here not warm enough for you?” Gaz finally responds, voice full of snark.

“Not at all,” You murmur, squeezing Gaz’s hand back, “Body heat and a single blanket isn’t enough. I need another blanket or else I’ll get hypothermia.”

“Whatever you say, duckling,” Gaz sighs.

“I still don’t get why you call me that.”

“Don’t act like you don’t follow me everywhere around base like a little duckling.”

“It’s not acting,” You grumble, making Gaz huff out a laugh, “I just don’t.”

“Oh, but you do,” Gaz coos, before pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head, “You don’t have to be embarrassed. It’s not like it’s a secret.”

“I’m not embarrassed,” You deny, lying straight through your teeth, “I just don’t follow you around. At all.”

“You’re only convincing yourself, duckling,” Gaz mumbles, putting his chin on top of your head again, right over the spot he’d kissed, “Now go to sleep. You need it.”

You don’t respond verbally, instead simply relaxing your shoulders that you hadn’t even realized were tense, and letting out a tired sigh. Gaz was wrong, you weren’t even convincing yourself.

You knew that you followed him around everywhere, like a pestering younger sibling that was desperate to copy their older sibling, but he didn’t need to know that you knew that.

And he definitely didn’t need to know you had no real problem with it.

Soon, like you had never had sleeping problems to begin with, you were fast asleep. Gaz, however, continued his ministrations of rubbing his thumb over the back of your hand, as well as loosely holding your hand in his.

Eventually, his thumb slows and he drifts asleep as well, and when he falls into a deeper slumber his thumb eventually stops its movements. But throughout the night, his hand continues to be held in yours, and his arm remains where it is, keeping you close to him the entire night.

The next morning, when he wakes up and sees you still peacefully asleep, he can’t find it in himself to disrupt your sleep, so he simply closes his eyes and acts as thought he had never woken up.

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sevcasejay1chicago · 5 months

Note

This is probably going to sound weird, but if you’re still looking for requests, I have an idea since I’m currently sick.

Jay, Matt and Kelly x emetophobic reader who wakes in the night anxious because her post nasal drip makes her feel like throwing up.

If this is too weird, feel free to pass by.

Babe. I totally get it cause IVE BEEN THERE.

Here’s a little short blurb to get you through! ❤️ Feel better soon my love!

Everything��s gonna be alright- Matt, Jay, and Kelly

Warnings: cold/flu symptoms described, anxiety attacks, alludes to vomiting (includes gagging and the feeling if vomiting) but not actual puking.

———————

The boys have been nothing but patient and loving since you have been home. You attempted to make it through the work day, but ended up having to call Jay for a ride home. He purposely stayed near or at the station, having seen this coming, but knowing you wouldn’t back down without a fight.

Matt met you and Jay at the door. You had finally been overcome by your fever and could not take a step without feeling like you would pass out. Matt immediately gave you orange juice and some flu medicine in hopes that you would feel a bit better soon. Kelly waved from the kitchen where he was making April Sexton’s mom’s famous chicken noodle soup. Kelly let out a little chuckle as Jay walked up the stairs, you waving pitifully over his shoulder like Nana from Peter Pan.

After Jay got you changed into Matt’s sweats and his army hoodie, he carried you back down the stairs and plopped you down on the middle of the pullout couch, which was now holding at least 8 pillows and 10 blankets. Matt handed you the remote, which then started a (favorite genre, movie series) marathon. You slept through most of it, but nobody bothered changing the channel.

At some point, Kelly woke you up to eat dinner and take more meds as Jay and Matt snoozed beside you. You briefly noticed it was dark outside before you broke into a coughing fit, effectively waking Matt and Jay from their slumber. Matt’s arm thwacked Jay in the chest as he reached over him to get to you. Jay placed a hand on your leg, not able to sit up as Matt practically pined him to the mattress.

“Okay baby. There you go. Cough all that stuff up.” Kelly encouraged, handing you a wad of tissues as he patiently waited for the fit to die down, rubbing your back.

You nodded, coughing into the tissues. Nothing seemed to want to come up. Eventually, the coughing died down and you were left with tears rolling down your face from the effort and the chest pain. You blew your nose before tossing the tissues in the trash can Kelly offered. Matt reached over and handed you your inhaler, encouraging you to use it. You hardly ever use it anymore, but you need it the most when you’re sick.

After that episode, you were left exhausted and told the boys you were ready for bed. Kelly carried you upstairs to bed while Jay and Matt cleaned up downstairs. By the time they got into bed, you were snoring on Kelly’s chest.

Around 2 am, you woke up shaking violently. You were freezing. You couldn’t breathe and you were honestly starting to freak out. It took you a moment to realize that you felt nauseous on top of it all and you immediately shook the person closest to you.

Kelly groaned as he felt someone shaking him. “Wha?” Kelly mumbled, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

You whimpered, folding in on yourself to try and stop the shaking. You could swear that your bones were literally rattling. You swallowed convulsively as you tried to keep your stomach at bay.

Kelly quickly sat up when he finally processed what was going on. He flicked on the light as he reached over the bed for the trash can he left there for your tissues. Once he had that emptied onto the floor, he reached over you to shaking Matt awake. “Shhh baby. It’s okay.” Kelly soothed, rubbing your back as Matt got his bearings and then woke up Jay.

“Whats going on?” Jay groaned, flipping over and observing the situation.

“She on fire.” Kelly said, hand to the back of your neck. “Baby? You feeling sick?” Kelly asked, pushing the covers away from you as he slid behind you.

You nodded, clutching his legs once they were around you in an attempt to ground yourself.

“It’s probably the phlegm.” Matt stated, rubbing your back. “If you gotta be sick, it’s okay. Everything’s gonna be alright Angel.” Matt cooed, kissing your shoulder blade.

Jay, who had gone to the bathroom for the thermometer and a washcloth, stuck the thermometer in your ear. When it beeped, he whistled lowly. “103.4” he quietly announced before placing the cloth on the back of your neck.

“Call Will. Ask when would be the time to take her to Med.” Matt instructed. He wanted to take you now, but he didn’t want to scare you further.

You jolted slightly, gagging into your hand. You allowed Kelly to place the trash can in front of you, though you tilted your head back against his shoulder. You had tears streaming down your face as one hand stayed planted over your mouth and the other rested on your chest.

“Baby girl. Just let it happen.” Kelly said, holding the trash can closer and pulling your ponytail back.

You worked to steady your breathing, swallowing against the feeling of snot running down the back of your throat. You were not going to throw up. You just weren’t. You kept up with your breathing exercises, barely containing a few gags as Matt patted you down with another damp cloth that Jay had brought in. Eventually, you calmed enough to risk a few sips of water and a couple NyQuil.

“Will said to bring her in if she hits 104 or can’t keep anything down.” Jay informed, gently sitting back down on his side of the mattress.

“She’s cooling down some.” Kelly said, reaching for the thermometer. “Yep. 102.7.” Kelly announced, gently pulling you to recline back on him.

“Wanna sleep.” You whispered, finally calming down as the nausea began to settle.

All three boys hummed and laid down. Kelly made sure that you were propped up in between his legs and on his chest before closing his eyes. Everyone whispered their good nights as Jay set his alarm for your next dose of medicine and Matt settled in to watch over you for a while longer before he allowed sleep to overtake him.

(This was not edited)

Tag list:

@treehouse-mouse

@shadowmeadowsworld

@sorry-i-spaced

@zephyrmonkey

@allisonargent144

@amie134

@lane-rodgers-barnes

@pensfan5871

@dumb-fawkin-bitch

@marvel-and-chicago-fan

@daggersquadphantom

@stellakiddsblog

@100yroldteenagers

@senjoritanana

@celtic-shadow-wolf

#one chicago #one chicago x reader #matt casey #kelly severide #jay halstead #fluff #matt casey x reader #comfort #jay halstead x reader #kelly severide x reader #nausea #flu

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catgirlredux · 10 months

Text

Technosymbiosis

Here's another mech story, inspired by/a continuation of this one:

I was the only one to figure it out. None of the others ever bothered to pay attention; between the natural casualties of war and the constant switching out of pilots, it didn’t make much sense to get too involved in each other’s lives. But something about Pilot Grieg, fellow member of Hoplite division V, captured my attention from the moment I saw her. While most of the other pilots were either frightened or overconfident on their first day (I nearly pissed myself from the anxiety), I could see nothing in her eyes but a fierce, powerful hunger. She stepped into the cockpit of her Hoplite and didn’t even flinch when the nanofilament harness closed around her chest.

I was entranced by her piloting skills and her determined, nearly emotionless behavior. All pilots tended to be a little cold, rumor had it that recruitment intentionally selected soldiers who scored lower on the EDEs due to the nature of some of our missions; but she was something else. Her face never changed outside of that cockpit, and she walked around with an ungainly clumsy stride, her gait resembling that of a much larger being. But when the mesh closed around her and the interface cable plugged into her neck, I swear her eyes sparkled brighter than ever and she sometimes even smiled. In the midst of battle, among dozens of rookie pilots disoriented and frightened by the steady flow of their mechs' peripheral data, Grieg maneuvered the battlefield more capably and calmly than anyone else. She was like the eye in a hurricane of titanium and lasers. She seemed to take to piloting so naturally.

It was a bit of an obsession for me. I never wanted to join the army, but at my family's civvie status it was either that, or spend the rest of my life working the same scrap hauls as my father and his father before him. I'm not sure I made the right choice: piloting was a lonely job, and our orders were always changing. The war had been going on since before I was even born and now that I was a part of it, I felt like it wasn't going to end anytime soon. I didn't even have anyone to confide in: between missions, I knew no one and no one bothered to know me. Still, a good soldier follows orders, so I took solace in what little consistency I had. Every time I suited up I kept an eye out for Grieg, hoping that we would get deployed together - that I would get another chance to study her.

That's why it didn't take me long to figure out - she was always there. Pilots were supposed to take regular breaks from duty to avoid excessive neurolink buildup, and these breaks were usually staggered within a division. I rarely flew out with the same Hoplite squad two weeks in a row. Yet every time I got ready for a patrol, I caught sight of Grieg skulking around the locker room already prepped. She usually looked like she hadn’t slept in days but she hopped into her suit with an eagerness unlike any other soldier in our division.

I really have no clue how nobody else caught on. I mean, it didn’t take a genius to figure it out: her constant presence, her aggressive combat tactics, her clear exhaustion versus her eagerness to pilot - Grieg was addicted to battle. Or something like that. I wasn’t sure whether it was the speed, or the action, or something else entirely. Maybe it had something to do with the depressant α-IVs - after my first time in the cockpit I spent a week throwing up. Maybe they did something weird to make her dependent on the mech?

Not that any of that mattered. Somehow she had managed to fuck with our shifts so that she was always on duty, strapped to a giant death machine. Her link was probably through the roof - god only knew how close she might be to terminus. I still remember the video they had showed us in training. A squad of pilots traveling in formation, when suddenly one of them lets out a bellowing screech and starts flailing around. The other units immediately try to suppress it but it fights like a beast, blasting and tearing at all who come near until finally it’s taken out with a TAC-beam to the core. It was terrifying - a team of twenty-one pilots reduced to just four, all because of a single terminus incident. The video ended on a close-up of the rogue pilot, emaciated limbs pinned down with thick nanomass cables, fluid flooding his throat and rivulets of blood trailing down wires that burrowed straight into his eyes. Pilots were taken off of active duty for a reason.

I decided to confront Grieg about it. I probably should have reported her to the division leader but something stopped me - curiosity perhaps. I had to know.

I stopped her in the locker room before a patrol.

“I know what you’ve been doing.”

She looked fucking exhausted. Her eyes were even more sunken in than when I first saw her, her lips were cracked and her hair was an oily mess. She smelled strongly of sweat mixed with the metallic sweetness of vitrofluid. Jesus christ, did she sleep in her mech? But her eyes still shone with that hungry anticipation, and she fucking smirked at me.

“I thought you’d catch on. I know you’ve been watching me. She told me.” Her voice sounded harsh, throat scraped up from constant alternation between air and vitro.

“She? She who?”

Grieg reached up and brushed a hand against my face. She wasn’t wearing the fingerless gloves that came standard with our uniforms. “How high is your link?” Her touch was cold. She had a look on her face like she was trying to read my mind.

“43.7. Well within safe limits.”

She laughed through her teeth. “Khh-kh-kh. Safe limits - of course, of course. Safe."

"Yes, unlike you." I brushed her hand away and she shivered. "Grieg, what the hell are you doing? You've attended the trainings, you know what happens when a pilot is deployed this often. Do you want to die?"

The smile she gave me was chilling, sympathetic but without her eyes changing emotion. "Terminus... you still believe that shit. Why wouldn't you? It's frightening, isn't it? The melding of pilot and machine, flesh mangled and twisted and mutated. Frightening... Say, have you ever spoken with your unit before?”

“Spoken? I’ve interacted with the situational matrix, yes…” All Hoplites possessed an AI of sorts designed to help pilots make split second decisions in the midst of battle. But I’d never really considering it “speaking”, any more than you would speak with a dog. It didn't have the capacity for conversation... right?

“No, no I mean speak. Have you ever listened to your unit, spoken with her, let her take the reins? No, you- of course you haven't. They're all just numbers on a screen to you, aren't they? Just another crazy killing machine for you to puppet around.

"Think - how many times has your Hoplite saved your life? How many deaths would you have died by now if it weren't for that protective, loving embrace of mesh and steel? That's what it really is. They love us. They need us. You never listen, you all never listen, but they love us. I complete her as much as she completes me. Don't you feel strange when you have to leave her? Doesn't it feel wrong - backwards?

Grieg pushed closer to me. I tried to back away but she pressed me against a wall and leaned in to whisper in my ear. “We're almost complete. Our link is at 99.7 percent.”

My heart beat in my chest like an autocannon. Grieg wasn’t just at risk - this bitch was about to fucking explode!

“I - I - you can’t. You’re going to - you’re going to kill everyone. I-”, but she placed a two fingers, rough from countless wire insertions, against my lips.

“Please. You don’t need to tell anybody. We don’t want to hurt anyone… we just want each other. We don't want to be tools anymore."

I was sweating in my suit. No Hoplite is that smart... right? Surely someone else would have been able to talk to theirs - Grieg’s must have had a glitch. A unit gone rogue; the thought was terrifying.

“S-snap out of it Grieg - please. Your suit... it's clearly wrong. It's bugging - w-we can fix this. You're n-not in control here.”

She just smiled. “Neither are you, hm?”

I shivered. She wasn't wrong... I hated the missions they sent us on sometimes. I followed orders because, quite frankly, I didn't want to go back home. I didn't want to live the rest of my life as an E-class, scraping by on small NDs and living in fear of police quota checks. In a way I guess I did take solace in the time I spent in my mech, time spent not worrying about my family I left behind or shyly observing other soldiers, worrying about what civilian encampment or occupied city the higher ups would send us to raze next.

Fuck. She had me all figured out, didn't she? Did she feel the same way? Did my Hoplite really complete me like that, and even worse, did I complete it? I felt lightheaded - this was too much. I should have reported her to our captain... but what if...

What if she was right? What if the Hoplites really could think and speak - really did want to connect with us? What if I... god, I couldn't believe I was thinking this, but what if I bonded to mine?

I could barely look her in the eye.

"P-please... just don't hurt anyone."

Grieg stared at me for a moment, then pulled me into a tight embrace. I didn't resist. She smelled good.

"We'll try not to. No promises."

*****

They say she left in a hurry, blew the doors right off the hangar and flew west. No casualties, but they want to stop her before that changes. As one of the pilots on duty, I’ve been summoned to join the hunting party.

My suit feels too tight - too clingy. I leave off my gloves and unzip the front. No one tries to correct me; they're all too busy prepping for the chase.

Setting foot inside my mech, Hoplite unit HE-2729, I feel its hard steel with my bare hands. The harness wraps around me; it feels warm against my chest, vaguely pulsing and humming as the machine comes to life. I plug in and brace for the influx of peripheral data from its many sensors, but it's softer this time - gentler.

I can't believe I'm doing this. I bask in the flow of data: a cacophony of sight and sound most of which I can't even process, but I let it wash over my mind and surround me. Piloting usually makes me so tense, but right now I feel calmer than ever before.

I take a deep breath.

“Hello?”

#cheetah writing #empty spaces #mecha #mech #cyberpunk #robotgirl #scifi #scifi story #original short story

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court-jobi · 8 months

Text

Screaming Color

Gif credit by @ahsokastars Divider credit by @saradika

Pairing: Din Djarin x reader (no use of y/n)

Words: 3,062

Rating: Teen+

Warnings: tw: hospitals, minor descriptions of injury, descriptions of anxiety, resolved angst, worried Mando is worried, but extemely gentle. crying, feels w/a happy ending, gn reader

A/N: Back from an accidental haitus! Fortunately, I have a few fics to crank out at a hopefully quick pace, so enjoy a bit of Mando comfort! Had a piercing headache while writing most of this, so tis fitting~

Summary:

It's clear by the sounds and smells; you're in a med ward, likely still on Londor somewhere. It's drafty and deathly quiet, so you doubt even the heat is running in these rooms. As your memories seep back in from the moments leading up to the accident, there's much you don't recall at first. Last you remembered was suggesting to switch roles: bounty hunter and getaway driver swapped between your Mandalorian's expertise and yours for this job. It'd be worth it, surely, since you were in a rare position to come through with a good contact and 'you could handle it, just this once'.

Until you've wound up here: you with a round of rushed stitches and your Mandalorian resting next to you in full armor-- and he’s holding onto your hand in sleep.

The lights of the room finally come to life after you wake from your black-and-white dreams... once you will your eyes to open up to your Beskar Getaway Driver.

For my Star Wars | Mandalorian Masterlist, check it out here!

Read on Ao3

There's few weirder feelings in the galaxy than coming out of a forced subsonic sleep.

Rather than remaining blissfully suspended in a bacta chamber, worlds that couldn't afford those tanks used this: pacs of portable, bubbly liquid that quick-started healing through an IV bag, the old fashioned way. It's effective, for the most part. Only it’s thick and cold, like you could feel it enter and sift through you with every ebb of your pulse...

When you opened your eyes -only a moment, mind you- you only barely caught the blurred color— purple. But this exhaustion, it was bone deep. Your eyes fell shut as quickly as they'd opened. The very lashes of your eyes felt like they were sticking together uncomfortably by some Force: tempting you with 'five more minutes' while your will screams to 'wake up already'.

It's clear by the sounds and smells; you're in a med ward somewhere. It's drafty and deathly quiet, so you doubt even the heat is on in these rooms. A grace that there is a blanket atop you, this you can tell only by the feel of it weighing down your arms.

By each of your senses, you gather this is not a standard hospital. Mando swore off those quick-service med stations, because they-- no, surely--

All at once, your gut sank. A heavy thickness rose in your throat, the nausea flared within you. It's right at your mouth now, as you remembered:

You and your stupid ass ideas.

You remembered through the fog of these drugs, the ones that matched the stuffy feeling in your ears; the bits of the last few hours that echoed in your chest in synchronized, double beats.

Thought you had a great idea, did you? Your mission pitch? Switching roles: leave your Mandalorian to sort out the getaway ride and meet you at the extraction rendezvous.

This has been an exercise of trust already, suggesting this job. He deferred to you as the lead on this one, for the connections inside the complex were yours to begin with– which prompted the idea of trading responsibilities, too. In every way, this was as good a time as ever for you to try your hand at bounty hunting and make off with the pay grade since it was your intel. You held the cards– a winning hand with this plan.

You hazily recalled that it went well, at least up until the very, very end where you needed the fast exit and didn’t have the luxury of his muscle as backup. No, he was practically spinning his wheels at the pickup point, waiting for you to hurry it up, for once.

You remembered holding onto your Mandalorian partner-in-crime for dear life and having to intervene as a backseat driver. You remember thanking the Maker and every celestial god out there that there was too much electromagnetic activity surging above you in this energy depot for anyone to be foolish enough to follow and shoot at you.

But this, the last part of the plan, you remember all too well.

The nagging itch of your nerve’s warnings and hypotheticals you'd covered over the rec table in the hull of the ship? It came to the forefront with a guilty vengeance. You remembered Mando’s initial doubts and how you turned the tables by making this about trust and reciprocity, and nearly challenging him. You can vividly see him bristling back, and your smug-as-hell words that ‘riding a cinder-fuel bike was like muscle memory that you could never forget’, and that he’d be just fine. You remember the elation of getting your way, and earning the chance to call the shots.

You remembered…

One lane change from the projected route, Mando took a reasonable detour without asking first. You might have warned him against it had you not been watching the rear mirrorcams. But where that turn took you both was just one ill-timed jump, slamming the brakes -ah, yes- just a moment too soon before you could warn him about the auto-stall function of the speeder bike that would send you both flying off the tarmac entirely…

Mando’s quick thinking is typically invaluable in the zero gravity of space. But here, making those hard rights will make you crash: and that’s why you’re usually the driver on the ground. Always.

Accidents. Too-close calls. The kind that's gonna get you killed– or near to it.

You will never be doing that again.

‘Stick to your lanes’, he said, likely unaware of the apt wordplay; ‘--Now’s not the time to start switching things up just because you’re bored.’

Only now you could only manage one thought–

Not 'how bad is it' or 'where the kriff am I' or 'please tell me I have all my limbs attached'. Not 'can’t they play some music in this place' or 'am I dead right now'.

Where is he. Where is he, where is he, where is he.

You need him. Your Mandalorian. Good god– if you crashed, he would have too. He would have hit the ground right after you, and his feet were set in the metal guards prior to spinning out, meaning he would have been sealed to the deathtrap, if he didn’t release in time.

Fear brought your eyes to squint open, and you found the ashy purple fluid pac in its fullness hanging in suspension above your cot. You didn’t process the shiny quality of the bag earlier, but rather, how it looked in its reflection: the sight of it on Mando’s helmet as it laid on the bed, by your side. That vibrant color shone against the curve of his chromed helm in a vague copy of the original.

Your Mandalorian rests next to you in full beskar, and he’s holding onto your hand in sleep.

While the visor is turned to face the monitor high over your shoulder, you know he can’t be awake. His breaths are deep and long– you can watch it over the bump of those broad shoulders. Should you take a look across the expanse of him, all across where that brilliant armor shines, you take in all the colors of the room.

Emergency lights casting their gold glow, the odd dotting of red from the distorted curve of a heat lamp, the purple of your medicines, the electric teal of LEDs bringing inspection light to the space, and of course the harsh, medicinal glow of white– the bare minimum to see your steps along the floors. Why bother looking at your surroundings and moving your hurting neck, when looking at him can tell you everything you need to know?

It’s your not-so-secret way to take in the flurry of hyperspace, too. All these months, you’ve watched the streaks paint his helm and chest plates. The wonders of your galaxy -big and small- all reflect in him.

If he’s here, you wonder with renewed worry, then he must not be hurt. But– what happened to him then? And where’s the kid?!

Your thoughts clearly rang loudly through whatever aether those stories of the Jedi referenced, because the surprised chirrup of the little green Child you’d made space in your heart for cried out in the dead silence– and subsequently popped Mando’s head up in an instant. His visor shot over his shoulder, in which you saw the Child stand up in his pod and wave at you with a big smile on his face. Without turning much, you made to wave your free hand up so he could see your response.

The mere attempt to smile shot a searing sting back to your face on one side, and brought a moan from your still-thick throat. Unseen by your wince, Mando centered back to you in that moment of shutting your eyes against the flare of pain.

He calls for you in a whisper, but it’s shaky. Wet.

The Child bounces in the pram making happy, enthused noises as he expresses his relief that you’re awake. His performance aims to try and get his Carer to come pick him up and to get a closer look. Mando says something to abate him for the meantime and instead straightens himself, rolls closer to you from the stool he’s seated on.

“Hey-” Mando welcomes you back to the land of the living, “Hey, you.”

You don’t answer. The pain starts pounding and is not letting up.

“Easy now, relax-” Mando’s instruction reaches you, “Don’t tense– we don’t want those to open.”

Those?

With a new sink in your chest, your very core muscles fluttered from creeping anxiety. They tensed and shook already, so there was no prayer in willing yourself to make a move to sit up yet. Taking a deep enough breath would cause them to sieze, certainly. The numbness, next, became apparent to all your limbs. ‘Til now, these drugs kept you asleep and impervious to the pain in your–where is it, your face? Neck? Your helmet had stayed on, but now it was off. Your worry mounted, since the data chip you’d recovered was supposedly safe in its hiding spot you’d kept along the back charging compartment. With it off, you panicked that it was gone now and all this had been for nothing.

Maybe something broke inside and tore past the padding, and that’s why it cut up your face. Dammit, you liked that helmet. Mando made all those custom adjustments for you…

A terse exhale out, and you can feel how tight your lips are.

You squeezed your eyes tight for a beat, then your brows. You wrenched your mouth to the side until you felt tightness. Sting. There it is, on your cheek: curving up along your hairline, to your temple where you know you've felt Mando kiss you in the dead and dark of night.

There are stitches laid there now where his affections once made their home. After the pull of pain, there was a faint tickle, meaning the artificial seams were quickly done and left finished in a rush.

Trying to speak on your confusion, a little, pitiful noise left you.

“Wayy– m’helmt…”

Mando pieces together your words, seamlessly on track with your concerns.

“I have it,” he readily assures you, “The faceshield shattered when you fell, and bashed in one side– only the outer plating of the chip cracked. The rest is fine.”

It’s a quick summary, but gives you that small peace of mind. Buckets can be replaced. Though your cheek– that’ll take a bit longer to repair, nature’s way.

“It’s okay, kid,” Mando answers the nervous gargle of the Child, “Just try to–; no, wait there.”

His hand left yours and while the meds still left you feeling drugish, you felt the loss of that heat source and your nerves faltered. Just that subconscious warmth soothed you like nothing else in this room would, save maybe for the feel of the little munchkin curling up on your chest like he does in the cockpit.

You wish you knew his name. Something beyond ‘sweet boy’ and ‘lil bub’.

You wish you knew his, too. Whatever language it’s in, however short or long it falls off the tongue. Just anything. Something more tender than ‘ace’ or ‘boss’ or ‘honey’.

The way he moved, quick and at the ready, the Mandalorian must not be injured at all. Perhaps there was something to being encased in armor at all times…

“--n’okay. w‘ll do bubblewrap.”

“--what?” Mando turned down to you with absent confusion.

With a funny, tired smirk, you reiterated, “N’think I need a suit of bubblewrap. Yknow– like y’do for vases and shit? Make a living off tha’idea, if no one’s done it yet..”

Despite the circumstances, a huff of air left him- something close to a chuckle.

“How about we work on getting what’s under the bubblewrap better for now? We’ll workshop your side hustles later.”

You savored his laugh and agreed, “Fair ‘nuff.”

The Child’s coos were louder now. Mando must have brought the pod over with that little remote he kept in one of his million secret pockets. Just that tune made you feel infinitely better in this strange setting; like you were simply dozing off in the cockpit with their exchanges -back and forth- as your ambient noise. Of course you wished this attention were under better circumstances, but judging by the constant beeps overhead, you’ll clearly live.

Though not without its scare, it seems. Mando ran his fingers up and down your forearm,

“Outta run a test on you for brain function, too.”

He had to be mad. No matter how softly he spoke, his disappointment was palpable.

“M’sorry,” you offered sadly, just staring off at the beskar design on his chest.

But Mando surprised you once again. After a solemn quiet, even though he had every ground to say a firm ‘I told you so’, he offered a balm to your hurt pride.

“I’ve had my share of bad ideas.”

While not a full acceptance of forgiveness, it wasn’t cruel. You’d take it. After all, your stunt ended up with you in a medward– likely at his expense, which couldn’t have been cheap to come by in these parts. A swallow and a slight shiver reminded you just how uncomfortable that stim made you.

“At least yours was thought out..” Mando continued more gravely,”– mine is what got you almost killed.”

You perked up at that. What, the jump? “No you didn’t…”

“I should have waited. You know the roads, I should have asked you about the turnoff.”

“There was an overhang. Vis woulda been low for anyone, ev’n me-”

“You’re my partner,” Mando landed firmly, “The responsibility is mine when I’m in the seat. If something happens to you, I am at fault.”

These were testier comebacks than you typically heard from him. Emotions were clearly coming out in droves, and that, too, took you by surprise. Not the fact that he was acting caring -you knew he was, by nature- but that he would blame himself to this extent? That seemed unfair. You could go back and forth on which step of this plan’s failures could have been anticipated. In the end, none of that would help you in the present.

You tried to ease that guilt, as succinctly as your drug haze would let you.

“Goes both ways,” you countered gently, fatigue dragging your words down, “We both know that. Accidents happen; s’pecially in this line a’work.”

You flipped your palm over; he laid his inside. You just wanted him.

“Please don’t beat yourself up for this. Heck, I’m beat up enough for both of us.”

You tried at a joke, but it did little to fall on receptive ears.

Even though you gave an empathetic look as best as you could manage, it seemed to only make him more alert. He sat up and squared up, evenly set to keep your attention. Careful of his reach -shaken by nerves- your Mando ever so gently cupped the uninjured side of your face.

“You and this kid are holding what little heart I have left.” the Mandalorian begged of you softly, “I really can’t lose you now.”

The monitor’s beep increased– though by the look on your face melting into fondness, your protector wasn’t worried about the noise.

Sentimental metalhead, you preened at such talk. Knowing he let loose this deeper side of him free while he was with you warmed you through.

A sensor still lays tethered on your finger for monitoring, but you brought it up anyway to hold his wrist still… to welcome his touch. All you could really manage was a small, borderline kiss to his thumb that was close enough to the corner of your mouth to try reaching with minimal movement.

As you recentered to his visor, the staticky noise from his vocoder returned, and with it, the jostle of his shoulders.

Your eyes stung,too. “Are you–? You ok?”

The Mandalorian forced back a brave sniff. Steeled his voice and his nervous throat.

“This was a close one,” he warned. “I don’t like close.”

Despite clear feelings staining his throat, you didn’t have the luxury of knowing if his face matched the shakiness of his speaker… but you had a good idea. When your eyes fail, music speaks. Your music was the language of his voice– when it’s clipped and raw with emotion, happy and drawled out with laughter, slow and easy when at the edge of exhaustion. Its melody is one you’ll take over sight, even now.

“This was a close one,” you glanced to the rack of more screens and illuminated bone scans beside you: proof of your current state. For the sake of his composure (and yours), you decided to remain optimistic. “Not to be repeated.”

And to deflect the edge of crying in your voice, you deflected-

“We’ll fail differently next time.”

A little shake of that gorgeous chrome showed Mando’s good nature, “Yeah.”

Another stroke of that kind, inner heart brought him down to give your forehead a kiss- as much as he could with a barrier between. He simply mimicked the motion as one would with a gentle touch and even though the beskar’s edge stung with could, it might as well have been a hot brand that seared straight to your heartstrings.

Detangling the hand that had subconsciously entwined with his, you offered up a sole finger to him.

“Pinky promise I’ll stick to my lane? You stick to yours?”

A cut to you hand then back up to you in a huff,

“Why do the weirdest things leave your sweet mouth…” Mando snarked with a shaky laugh.

“Its’a custom on other planets!”

“Yeah right.” your assurance falls on deaf ears once again. “We’re calling the doc in here.”

He evidently meant that, as he pressed a little com button that lit up the panel on the door, requesting assistance. The Child, seemingly chuffed to sense the somber air of your waking has lifted upon hearing his carer happy again, has begun to make more noise. His little arms are all but stretching in your direction, and fussing at Mando for backup to his wants.

You pointed with the waiting hand, “He gets it~”

“Yeah, he does,” your Mandalorian acquiesces, and links pinkies while looking back at the little green buddy in his pram. “Takes after you.”

#the mandalorian #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian fanfiction #mando x reader #mando x you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #star wars fanfiction #din djarin fanfiction #starwarsficnetwork

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whumpshaped · 7 months

Note

I know you just wrote one but I would love another sickfic out of you! Maybe illness affecting the taste of the blood or something?

how abt a mild infection beck is deathly scared of.. (ive had that on my list and i think itll fit the bill but we'll see)

masterlist

tw gross infection, sickfic all the way through, conditioned whumpee, aftermath of punishment, emotional whump

Beck woke up to an immense amount of pain radiating from his neck. He groaned and tried to move in a way that would lessen it, only to find that turning his head at all was a monumental task. It hurt. The whole area felt... swollen... too warm.

Was it... was it infected?

He stumbled out of bed and into the bathroom, horrified to see the damage Helle had left him with. His neck looked disgusting. His skin was flushed starting from his face all the way down to his collarbones, and the bites were... leaking. He stepped away from the mirror and covered his mouth, trying to keep the nausea at bay.

This was bad. This was bad. This was bad.

He texted Christie with shaking hands about an 'infected dog bite', then tried to ignore her dumb joke about him being a chewtoy for more than one species. Should he go to a doctor? He should at least look up how to treat it at home. Was this the way he'd die? Not even from a direct attack or Helle's sadistic whims, but an infected wound?

No, first and foremost, he needed to clean it all out. He used a generous amount of water and his special antibacterial soap, scrubbing down the entire area despite his body's protests. Then came the ointment and the bandages, and he very quickly realised that his neck and shoulders were a very awkward place to try to patch up. Nonetheless, he persisted.

Would Helle be mad at him for not taking better care of the bites? They could still drink from his wrist! Right..?

He looked into the mirror again, relieved to see most of the gross parts covered. He lifted a hand to feel his cheeks, not too happy to find they felt warmer than usual. He probably knew way too much about infections, but even if he hadn't, the average person could deduce that a creeping fever was a bad sign.

Every medical paper he could find agreed that vampire bites were distinctly different from that of an animal's. First of all, there was no chance of them being rabid. Second of all, it rarely ever resulted in death, at least in patients who attempted to treat it. Well, he was definitely trying.

Still, a doctor's visit was in order. Not right now... not when he was still so tired... but after a quick nap, maybe.

Unfortunately for him, his pillow was full of stains, blood and... whatever that was, he stuff that was coming out of the infected bites. He really, honestly tried not to be too grossed out. He tried not to cry at the thought of having slept in that. He failed.

He needed to change his bedsheets right now, even if moving around was a fucking agonising ordeal. He needed clean sheets. He wasn't going to lie back down in fuckig filth.

By the time he was done cleaning up, his neck felt entirely stiff. Even moving his arms was a challenge, given that all the motions started from the shoulder muscles, the ones that were now in an incredible amount of pain. But maybe sleep would make it better. Surely, if he let the ointment work its magic, he would wake up feeling better. So he crawled under the blankets, exhausted and shivering, and prayed he wouldn't wake up to being bitten.

The pain was so much worse the second time around. The articles all warned about the dangers of venom in an infected wound, but Helle didn't use venom, and apparently no one had studied raw vampire bites. This wasn't a case of 'the patient might be inclined to leave the infected area untreated due to an altered state of mind, in which they respond positively to the pain that comes with it'. This was a case of pure 'I can barely lift my body to get out of bed, I cannot walk or drive like this'.

He just had to ride it out. Vampires didn't kill via infections. They didn't. He wasn't going to die. He was just... going to be in some pain, is all. He just had to whimper and whine his way through it, through the fever and nausea, through the debilitating fatigue and thirst. It would go away. It was going to go away.

The next time he woke up, the pain was a little less intense. It was more of a dull ache rather than an all-consuming, burning fire under his skin, and he took the chance to go change the bandages. The wounds looked... better. They weren't... healed, or even healthy by any means, but... better.

Soap. Ointment. Bandages.

He downed a bottle of water on his way back to the bedroom, and put a full bottle on the nightstand. The plastic clinked against the pile of jewellery that he still had there, and he froze. He needed to put those away, immediately. Where was the box his mother had them in? Oh god, he had no idea.

He walked back out into the living room, looking on every surface and in every drawer until he finally found it, hidden away nicely so Helle wouldn't question it. He quickly rushed back to the bedroom and threw all the silver in there, hardly caring about the necklances and bracelets getting tangled for now. He would untangle them before giving the box back.

He collapsed onto the mattress again and took a deep, calming breath. He had to stay up tonight, to ensure Helle wouldn't try to bite into bandages this time. He was pretty sure they would be pissed about it. He had to stay up and explain the situation, apologise, then offer his wrist as an alternative. He had to be polite about it. Respectful. Good.

Maybe they would be forgiving, if he was good. Maybe they would absolve him of the sin of causing a mess and getting sick from it.

Or maybe they would reprimand him further. Kill him off because they had no use for a disgusting, dirty bloodbag like him.

It was a coin toss. Beck could only hope.

taglist: @whumpsday @the-scrapegoat @hidden-dreamland @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @delicateprincepaper @whumppmuhw @florissimps @nicolepascaline @oliversrarebooks @the-cyrulik @pirefyrelight @there-will-always-be-blood @pigeonwhumps @echo-goes-mmm @whumpycries

#at my beck and call #whump #whump writing #beckett #sickfic #conditioned whumpee #aftermath #emotional whump

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xiaosspear · 2 months

Text

an eternity without you || part IV || xiao x reader

Under the soft glow of Liyue City's lanterns, Lumine and Y/N strolled side by side, their steps synchronized as if they were dancing to the rhythm of the night. Lumine's gaze wandered over the bustling streets, but her attention soon turned to Y/N, a gentle smile gracing her lips. "Y/N," she began softly, "I'm grateful for you. In a world where everyone seems to demand something from me, you're the one person who accepts me just as I am." Y/N's eyes met hers, reflecting understanding and warmth, a silent promise of unwavering support amidst the chaos of their journey.

"I'm glad you feel that way, Lumine," You replied with a tender smile, your voice carrying the warmth of genuine friendship. "You're my best friend, and I wouldn't have it any other way. I'll always be here for you, supporting you through everything."

Lumine sighed wearily, her voice tinged with exhaustion as she lamented, "I'm drained from these endless side missions. All I want is to find my brother, but every day is a relentless cycle of battling, assisting others, and traversing through lands. It's taking a toll on me."

Her exhaustion was palpable, evident in the heavy bags under her eyes, a silent testament to the weight of her weariness.

"Lumine," Your voice softened with sincerity, "if you ever need my help, I'll be more than happy to assist you. Just say the word, and I'll be there by your side, no matter what."

"I... I don't want to trouble you," Lumine murmured softly, her gaze filled with concern.

"Lumine," Y/N replied with a reassuring smile, "you could never bother me. Your well-being and happiness are important to me, so please don't hesitate to lean on me whenever you need."

"If you could help me with commissions, i would be the most grateful," Lumine expressed, her tone hopeful. "I have one from Katheryne. I need to fight some Lawachurls in Jueyun Karst."

"Consider it done! I'll take care of them right away," Y/N responded eagerly, her determination shining through. "You go and rest, Lumine. You need to eat and recharge. I'll handle everything."

The commission atop the rugged mountain proved to be no big deal for you. With every step, you faced treacherous terrain, the path demanding both physical endurance and mental fortitude. Battling through a horde of Lawachurls, your muscles strained with effort as they fought valiantly to overcome the challenges in your path.

Exhausted, you sought respite upon a narrow ledge, the cool mountain air offering a brief reprieve. Yet, amidst the tranquility, an eerie flute-like whistling pierced the silence, sending shivers down your spine. It was a sound that seemed to emanate from the very heart of the mountain, carrying with it an ominous presence that stirred a sense of unease within your soul.

("Bird call from afar" from the genshin soundtrack, if you're confused! :) , it's said that it is xiao calling out to his dead friends)

As the haunting melody lingered in the air, you were suddenly engulfed by a cascade of memories that weren't yours, each one more disorienting than the last. Your head throbbed with intense pain, as if a thousand needles were piercing your skull, while your heart felt constricted, as though gripped by an invisible vice. Gasping for breath, your vision began to blur, darkness encroaching upon your senses.

In that moment of despair, all you could recall was the relentless pounding in your head, a symphony of agony that drowned out the world around you. And then, as swiftly as it had begun, consciousness slipped away, leaving you adrift in a sea of darkness.

As you began to stir, your senses gradually returning, you were greeted by a persistent ringing in your ears, the aftermath of whatever had just transpired. Your head throbbed with lingering pain, making it a struggle to even crack your eyelids open. Yet, amidst the haze of disorientation, you felt something gentle and plush brushing against your face, a sensation both comforting and perplexing. Unable to fully comprehend what it was, you reached out tentatively, fingers grazing against the softness as you tried to piece together the puzzle of your surroundings.

Through the persistent ringing in your ears, a muffled voice pierced the haze, calling out urgently. "Y/N, get off her, come on," it urged, the words barely audible yet filled with urgency.

Your mind struggled to piece together the fragmented puzzle of consciousness, the voice stirring a sense of confusion within you. Slowly, you forced your heavy eyelids to open, squinting against the dim light as you attempted to make out your surroundings. The sensation of someone beneath you registered, prompting a dawning realization that you needed to move. With a concerted effort, you pushed yourself up, disentangling from whatever—or whoever—you had unwittingly been resting upon.

As your senses slowly returned, the delicate scent of Qingxin flowers filled the air, their fragrance permeating the dimly lit space. Blinking away the remnants of disorientation, your vision gradually cleared, dispelling the black and purple circles that had clouded yoursight moments before.

"Verr Goldet? Where am I?" you questioned, your gaze settling on the figure before you, whose presence had only just become apparent.

As consciousness gently embraced you, you found yourself greeted by the warm smile of Verr Goldet, a seasoned adventurer with eyes that shimmered like molten gold. With a graceful motion, she delicately placed a fluffy cat onto the ground before extending a hand to help you rise from the bed. "She's awake!" Verr exclaimed with a sudden burst of excitement, her voice echoing through the room like a call to arms.

Not long after Verr Goldet's outburst, a mysterious puff of teal and black smoke materialized before you, unveiling none other than the vigilant Yaksha of Liyue, Xiao. With a stern expression and a powerful aura surrounding him, he stood before you.

"You're okay.." Xiao stated with a hint of reproach, his normally impassive expression clouded with a hint of anger. "Why were you even all the way up there?"

"Uh," You stammered, meeting Xiao's gaze with a sense of apprehension. "Lumine asked me to help with a commission that happened to be there."

Taking a moment to survey your surroundings, you couldn't help but feel a pang of disorientation. "Where am I?" You inquired, your voice tinged with uncertainty.

"You don't need to concern yourself with that," Xiao's voice softened, a touch of worry underlying his words. "Just focus on resting. You took quite a hit to the head."

"Xiao, were you the one that got me here?" you asked, your voice tinged with uncertainty as you searched the enigmatic Yaksha's eyes for answers.

Xiao's voice, soft and barely above a whisper, resonated in the stillness of the moment. "I did," he confessed, his gaze steady yet somber. "I heard the cries of help echoing from within your heart."

You let out a soft chuckle, shaking your head slightly in disbelief. "I don't remember calling for help," you remark, your voice tinged with bemusement as you meet Xiao's gaze, a flicker of curiosity dancing in your eyes.

Xiao furrowed his brows, a subtle crease forming on his serene countenance as he closed his eyes for a fleeting moment. "Be grateful that I saved you, mortal," he intoned, his voice carrying a hint of solemnity. "Who knows how long you would have lain there unconscious without my intervention."

You giggle lightly, finding your footing as you stand up, albeit with a slight stumble. With determined steps, you make your way over to Xiao, a grateful smile gracing your lips. "Thank you for saving me," you express sincerely, your eyes reflecting genuine appreciation. "I really appreciate it." You continue smiling, though a sense of urgency tugs at your thoughts. "Anyways, Lumine is probably worried, so I should get going," you add, a touch of regret lacing your words as you prepare to depart.

As you turn around, ready to take your leave, Xiao's voice cuts through the air, halting your movement. "Wait," he calls out softly, prompting you to face him once more. "You're leaving?" he inquires, a subtle hint of reluctance evident in his tone as he meets your gaze with an unreadable expression

You turn back to face Xiao, a hint of confusion creasing your brow at his question. "Well... yeah," you reply, a touch of uncertainty in your voice. "I don't want to bother you any longer. Don't you have, like, a city to protect?" You add a touch of sarcasm to your words, accompanied by a wry smile, attempting to lighten the mood.

Xiao's expression remains unchanged, his demeanor serious and composed as he addresses you. "I have no wish to spend my free time with a mortal like you," he admits bluntly, his tone unwavering. "However, there are matters we need to discuss, for your..." he pauses momentarily, his voice lowering to a near whisper, "...or my safety." The gravity of his words hangs heavy in the air, underscoring the importance of the conversation ahead.

Intrigued by Xiao's words, you turn around and walk back to the bed, taking a seat and patting the space beside you, gesturing for Xiao to join you. Your curiosity piqued, you await his next words with a mixture of anticipation and apprehension.

Xiao's expression remains inscrutable as he observes your invitation, but eventually, he takes a seat at the end of the bed, keeping a noticeable distance between you. His posture is rigid, his gaze focused ahead as he prepares to discuss the matters at hand.

Breaking the tense silence, Xiao speaks up, his voice low and serious he mimics an expression of slight cringe. "This whole my blood in yours thing...," he begins cautiously, "you need to be careful about it. If anyone finds out, especially the Harbingers, they will stop at nothing to capture you. You'll become like a lab rabbit, subjected to all sorts of experiments." The gravity of his warning hangs heavily in the air, emphasizing the dangers that lie ahead.

You nod in understanding, recalling the interaction with Childe from the other week. "Oh, I see," you remark, the implications sinking in. "So, they'll try to capture any of us, just to conduct tests on what my blood and body are capable of?" The thought sends a shiver down your spine, realizing the extent of the danger lurking in the shadows

Xiao nods solemnly. "Indeed," he agrees. "However, it might only be you. They know they can't just take me." His words carry a weight of inevitability, underscoring the disparity in their vulnerabilities within the realm of Teyvat's intricate power dynamics.

Xiao's gaze softens slightly as he continues, his voice carrying a rare note of sincerity. "If that were to happen, or if you're in any danger," he says, his tone unwavering, "just call out my name. I'll be the first one there." The promise of his protection resonates with unwavering resolve, offering a glimmer of reassurance amidst the looming shadows of uncertainty.

As Xiao's words sink in, you can't help but wonder about his true intentions. Does he genuinely care about your safety, or is he merely fulfilling his duty to protect Liyue and its inhabitants? The Yaksha's stoic demeanor makes it difficult to discern his true feelings, leaving you with a sense of ambiguity as you contemplate his words.

Xiao's voice carries a hint of melancholy as he speaks, his gaze momentarily dropping before meeting yours again. "I saw... your fighting abilities back there," he begins, his words tinged with sorrow. "They're quite similar to mine... to... theirs." His mention of "theirs" hints at a deeper connection beyond mere combat prowess.

He pauses, then continues, his expression troubled. "How come you have a hydro vision, not an anemo one?" he asks, curiosity mingling with the sadness in his eyes. The question hangs in the air, laden with unspoken implications about your past and the mysteries surrounding your existence.

"Should I have obtained an Anemo vision like yours after everything happened?" you question, a sense of uncertainty threading through your words. The query hangs in the air, revealing your curiosity about the nature of visions and their role in your own journey.

Xiao nods slightly once more, his expression grave as he rises to his feet. "You have the potential to be like me, a protector of Liyue," he acknowledges, his voice tinged with caution. "However, if anyone takes notice, word will spread, and that could prove to be dangerous." His words carry a weight of warning, underscoring the delicate balance between wielding power and attracting unwanted attention in the realm of Teyvat.

"Don't worry," you assure him with a warm smile. "I'd love to help you, and I'll be really careful, I promise!" Your sincerity shines through as you offer your reassurance, determined to navigate the complexities of your newfound abilities with caution and diligence.

As you express your willingness to assist, Xiao's thoughts drift, contemplating your resolve. "She's the same, just like back then..." he thinks to himself, a glimmer of emotion flickering in his eyes. He struggles to comprehend why you would willingly put yourself in harm's way night after night, solely to aid him. The enigmatic Yaksha remains silent, his thoughts shrouded in a mixture of gratitude and concern for your well-being.

Brushing off his fleeting emotions, Xiao adopts his usual stoic demeanor and bluntly states, "I don't need your help. Do you think I won't be fine alone?" His words carry a hint of dismissiveness, revealing his reluctance to rely on others and his unwavering confidence in his own abilities.

Your smile falters momentarily at his rejection, but you quickly regain your composure, refusing to be discouraged. "Hmm..." you muse, a determined glint in your eyes as you offer a solution. "Okay then, how about I just tag along? You could teach me, you know, about all of my abilities, since you're the experienced one here," you suggest with a playful roll of your eyes, attempting to lighten the mood with a hint of humor.

Xiao's arms fold across his chest, a reluctant acknowledgment in his tone. "Fine, if you're insistent, you can accompany me," he concedes, though his expression remains guarded. Turning to you, he fixes you with a stern gaze. "But on one condition: you follow my instructions and refrain from acting recklessly," he insists, emphasizing the need for caution and obedience to ensure both of your safety.

You spring from the bed in excitement, a grin spreading across your face. "Okay, boss," you exclaim eagerly, your enthusiasm palpable. "Do we start tonight?" Your readiness to embark on this new journey with Xiao shines through, eager to prove yourself and learn from his expertise.

Xiao observes your excitement with a hint of confusion, his understanding of human emotions limited. Despite your enthusiasm, he remains focused on the gravity of the situation, unable to comprehend why you would be eager to embark on such a dangerous thing. His expression remains impassive as he processes your excitement, his mind calculating the risks ahead.

Xiao proposes, "We should leave now. It's getting late, and the monsters will soon be active." His stomach rumbles unexpectedly, causing him to visibly startle. You chuckle at the sound and quip, "Looks like someone's hungry! I am too. It's best to head out on a full stomach. I'll cook. Anything specific you'd like?" Your cheerful demeanor and offer to cook reflect your eagerness to ensure both of you are well-prepared for the upcoming journey.

Xiao scoffs, his skepticism evident, yet he's intrigued by your offer to cook. "Mm, I doubt you could make it as good... or not burn the kitchen down," he retorts, his tone laced with doubt. Despite his teasing, there's a hint of curiosity in his eyes, as if he's willing to entertain the possibility of your culinary skills.

You take in Xiao's remark, realizing that the usually serious Yaksha just made a joke. A laugh escapes you as you playfully respond, "Oh, come on, I bet I'm way better than you!" With a mischievous grin, you turn around, heading towards Yanxiao's kitchen with determination. But before you leave, you glance back at Xiao and add, "One plate of almond tofu coming up!"

Before you could turn back around, you swear you catch a glimpse of a subtle glimmer in Xiao's eyes and a faint curl of his lips as you mention almond tofu. Intrigued by his reaction, you proceed to the kitchen, with Xiao following behind. He looks puzzled as he asks, "How do you know I like that?" His curiosity piqued, he awaits your response.

You respond with a playful smirk, "Zhongli told me that's how I would get you to talk to me, but it looks like you did that already." A mischievous giggle escapes you as you revel in the light-hearted banter, enjoying the unexpected turn of events.

"Tch, of course he did," Xiao responds with a hint of resignation, taking a seat on a nearby table. Meanwhile, you take charge behind the counter, scanning the ingredients with determination as you begin to prepare the meal. With focused intent, you set about gathering everything you need to create the almond tofu, your movements efficient and purposeful.

You start by measuring out the appropriate amount of almond milk, ensuring it's smooth and creamy. Next, you carefully dissolve the agar agar powder in water, heating it gently until it forms a clear liquid.

While the agar agar mixture cools slightly, you turn your attention to the almond flavoring, adding just the right amount to enhance the tofu's delicate taste. With precision, you mix the almond milk and agar agar solution together, ensuring a smooth and even consistency.

Once combined, you pour the mixture into individual molds, allowing it to set in the refrigerator for at least an hour.

During this time, you take a moment to clean up the kitchen, your movements efficient and methodical, while also talking about everything with Xiao, you were surprised how he was way more talkative than you've ever seen him be.

As the almond tofu sets, you prepare the sweet syrup topping, blending together sugar and water in a small saucepan. With a gentle simmer, you cook the mixture until it thickens slightly, infusing it with a hint of vanilla for added flavor.

After the allotted time has passed, you carefully unmold the almond tofu, marveling at its smooth texture and delicate aroma. Placing each serving on a plate, you drizzle the sweet syrup over the top, creating a beautiful and enticing presentation.

With a wide smile and a hint of nervousness, you serve Xiao the almond tofu, carefully presenting the plate before him. You watch intently as he reaches for a piece, anticipation building as he takes a bite, awaiting his reaction with bated breath.

As Xiao takes the first bite, you observe him, his eyes immediately light up with surprise, a flicker of delight dancing across his features. A slight tint of pink colors his cheeks, betraying the unexpected pleasure he finds in the flavor. Your own smile widens at his reaction, heartened by the evident enjoyment he derives from your cooking.

You ask eagerly, "Well, what do you think?" anticipating Xiao's response with excitement.

Xiao ponders silently, impressed by the flavor. "The flavor is amazing... This might be the best one I've had yet," he reflects inwardly.

"It's alright, thank you." he says aloud, continuing to eat at a rather brisk pace, though his subdued tone belies his true feelings of appreciation for the dish.

You smile, content in the knowledge that Xiao enjoyed the almond tofu. As you make yourself a less aesthetically pleasing plate with the leftovers, you join him on the counter. Together, you eat in comfortable silence, savoring the simple pleasure of each other's company and the delicious meal you prepared.

With your stomachs full of delicious almond tofu, you and Xiao walk in silence towards your destination, your senses alert for any potential threats lurking in the shadows of Liyue. The chilly night wind brushes against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine as you navigate the darkened streets with vigilance. In the quietude of the night, the bond between you and Xiao strengthens, forged through shared experiences and a mutual determination to protect Liyue from harm.

Breaking the silence, you address Xiao,

"Hey Xiao, do you ever call someone's name too, expecting them to come?"

#genshin #genshin impact #fluff #genshin xiao #slow burn #xiao #xiao x reader #childe #fanfic #xiao x you #liyue #zhongli #lumine

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selfawarecobalt · 2 months

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bro that fight was absolutely ridiculous! I love Gray but that was clearly main character syndrome. when Freed said that the rune won't cancel every magic to give Gray a chance I knew this was the first excuse to have the Raijinshuu lose. if serious, Freed could've just cancelled everything and the fight would've been over before it even began. then the Gray doesn't feel the torture rune excuse out of nowhere and the fact that Gray won against Evergreen Bickslow AND Freed with all ridiculous reasons and then struggled against an injured and exhausted Mirajane afterwards while Freed was holding up great against an emotional-overdrive, rage power Mira in the fight with her, it's all just so badly written. I would've given Gray the advantage of using devil slayer magic against people like Mira and Freed but at least make it a damn good and difficult fight because not only Mira is a power to be reckoned with, Freed has been set up to be too. then there are Ever and Bickslow qith their eye magics as well, and how they were knocked out was a joke too. I dont want this animated.

EXACTLY. I’ll be the first to admit gray would be powerful enough to defeat individual members of the thunder legion (that main character power boost) but that was an utter piss take. gray still struggled against just bixlow during their first fight, even if he couldve beaten him. that “um actually gray cant feel pain in this form” was completely stupid. ive seen a lot of awful things from modern fairy tail but that was undoubtedly the worst. also that “omg of course i feel pain i was hitting my comewades :((((“ INFURIATED me. didnt have that energy during what i assume was meant to be a “comedic” scene of him just beating the shit out of freed when he was already down. also the whole “lets rip the clothes off the only girl!” thing made me want to barf. i genuinely believe it would’ve been better for their characters if the thunder legion had been killed in the tartaros arc.

also YEAH THE WHOLE “struggled against an exhausted and injured mira” genuinely gave me vertigo after i finally escaped from having it shoved down my eyeholes. like yeah mira was rusty during her fight with freed but she was absolutely rage filled, and it was really emphasised just how powerful she was, and it was STILL a tough fight. against just freed. the whole thunder legion vs gray shouldve been a sweep in the other direction. weve seen they can all work together, using their unique magics to complicate things for enemies.

cant think where else to put this so im slapping this in here. EVEN THOUGH GRAY HAS DEMON SLAYER MAGIC NOW FREED HAS A FUCKING SWORD. also that stupid “gray teleports behind evergreen and bixlow” thing? WHAT KIND OF DEMON SLAYER MAGIC IS THAT. all fairy tail main characters are the worst type of mary sue. and i LIKE mary sues.

evergreen can turn people to stone and fire hundreds of BULLETS and explosions. bixlow can use his babies to beat the shit out of long distance targets and take control of their bodies (NOT TURN THEM CHIBI. HIRO.). FREED CAN FUCKING TURN INTO A DEMON AND ALMOST INSTANTLY TRAP PEOPLE AND DEPRIVE THEM OF OXYGEN, AND CUT A GODDAMN TORNADO IN HALF. THESE ARE VETERAN FIGHTERS WHO WERE ONCE ABLE TO DAMN NEAR TAKE DOWN THE ENTIRE GUILD. now theyre just a joke. their personalities have been completely erased and replaced with “omg laxus!!”. im going to hurl

if you HAD to make up an excuse to weaken them, sure you could make up some shit about “oh the barrier particles damaged their magic containers” BUT EVEN THEN THEYRE STILL SMART ENOUGH TO WORK TOGETHER.

seriously. this was the most blatant case of main character nepotism ive literally ever seen. i genuinely despise 100yq, it always felt so lazy and uncreative. uhh yeah actually surprise theres four more acnologias but more powerful. yeah theyre were never mentioned before so what. every character looks the same now. the lucyification of the fairy tail girls needs to be studied. this infection is taking away every single character and the only reactions im seeing to it are “omg glow up!!”

(also i HATE seeing people talk about the spinoff characters like “omg so cute its like an alternate universe” NO ITS JUST LAZY. HE ONLY KNOWS LIKE 4 CHARACTER TYPES AS MAIN CHARACTERS AND IM SICK OF NOONE ACKNOWLEDGING IT)

#theres definitely more i could say but id have to wade through the depths of despair in my mind to find it #but anyway youre so right. im so mad #fairy tail #freed justine #evergreen #bixlow #bickslow #gray fullbuster #bitta benter #100 years quest #ft

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hanasnx · 2 years

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Love how you portray Ani with your writing 👀 I was wondering about what your thoughts are on Anakin and Jealousy? I was thinking about how Ani might get insecure more easily but the reader wouldn’t really catch on cause they’re genuinely not interested in anyone but him… or I could imagine this in reverse too tbh but maybe him maybe being a lil but cocky about it yk (and I imagine that this could lead something a bit more steamy if you know what I mean)

hi you’re gorgeous i love jealous anakin i love toxic anakin i’m here for both concepts.

these were my thoughts on anakin’s jealousy, and a little bit about how reader handles it. some of it is a little bit “crack fic” material maybe, or maybe not who knows. i just had a lot of fun using some of my notes :) suggestive stuff and established (fwb?) relationship ahead—

anakin has always had a warped relationship with jealousy, i imagine, and it would start of with things like getting jealous over obi wan patting the head of another child padawan instead of anakin’s when he was a young boy. obi wan would never have showed any favoritism, but to anakin he doesn’t quite grasp why obi wan doesn’t give him more attention that he already does.

of course he cant talk to obi wan about that.

as i’ve seen in TCW— which i felt like was pretty in character for hayden!anakin— was how anakin walked in on rush clovis trying to kiss his wife padme, and he beat the shit out of him without thinking another thought.

it’s always 0 to 100 with that kid.

i think that at first, you think it’s hot that anakin gets jealous. how adorably possessive. but when you have to get in the middle of a bar fight it’s exhausting. you’d quarrel with him about it, because all the guy did was touch you, but to anakin that means permission to step in. and when anakin steps in, it’s like when a bull sees red.

it’s not something we see him grow out of, because in episode 3 he’s yelling at the council for not making him a master, which i think stemmed from a place of jealousy. how his vast accomplishments and power should’ve earned him the seat, and that he deserves one as a master jedi. and then ofc the whole “i saw you with obi wan, padme i’m gonna choke you now” it escalated in seconds just from seeing them together and jumping to his own conclusions.

hes a real “you’re the most jealous man i know” “you know other men?” type (like that meme djksdj)

now that ive gotten my info in order, lets get to the good bits

☥ anakin and you would have a secret relationship. whether it was fwb, or more than that, it’s not an excuse you get to use often as a fail safe if a guy can’t take a hint or take the answer no. there are other times, where you lean into the conversation, let him flirt a little cos you think he’s cute (especially if you and anakin have labeled your relationship as an fwb). you wanna get out there more, and this guy seems nice enough.

now anakin, who can’t let you know he’s jealous (because youre either fwbs or just romantic partners, and he cant have his sense of urgency giving anything away to you or to bystanders), decides to make it your problem that youre flirting with someone in his vicinity. so he squeezes in. in between you and this guy. stands in between you, faces you entirely, to ask you a question. as innocent as ever.

“where’d you stash those power converters?”

“ani, i’m a little busy right now,”

“so tell me and i can get out of your hair.”

“ugh, um, i think in the storage in the west wing.”

it’s the fact he asserted his dominance that leaves him satisfied to leave. (didn’t acknowledge the guy you’re with, faced you entirely, and cut in between you two). however, as time goes on, and you get more bold with whoever you decide to flirt with (or let flirt with you), anakin does the same.

☥ if he sees you with someone new, especially if you’re smiling and hes around your age, anakin will talk to you about it after. “i don’t like the way he was looking at you.”

“he was cute,”

“he looked like a murderer.”

“stop making up reasons for me not to go out with somebody, i deserve happiness.”

“his eyes were too close together, that’s how you know he’s a murderer.”

it’s almost comical.

☥ you mention a new guy in passing and anakin’s first thought is “Is he trying to sleep with you?” and you tilt your head at him with a sort of :/

“ani, darling, just because you wanted to bed me the second we met doesn’t mean everybody does.”

“i want you to know, (y/n), my senses are fine tuned when it comes to you and anticipating the intentions of those around you.”

“you’re guessing,”

“i’m guessing.”

☥ if he saw you at a bar, and a guy managed to worm his way into your interest, anakin invites himself in. and whispers dirty things in your ear before you realize what he’s doing.

just loud enough for the stranger to hear, “i can’t stop thinking about last night. you’re so experienced, it was unlike anything i’ve had before.” and he straightens, “call me.” and grins at the guy you’re with before he leaves. the guy is now getting up to leave—

i wrote some notes about this particular subject ill just plop here hehehe:

☥ im absolutely here for anakin struggling against his jealous and possessive behavior bcos you and him arent “together”. having to stay unattached means he had a very hard time letting go of the fact you liked it when some other guy had his hands all over you trying to show you how to shoot a blaster

you were born with a blaster in your hand, your dad was a hunter and taught you how to use one to kill and then how to skin the animal, your whole life you’ve had one on your for emergency purposes in your criminal line of work, you know how to take any model apart and put it back together, modify it to fit your needs, use them in the war you fought in alongside anakin

and some guy is behind you, correcting your stance and wrapping his arms around yours, showing you where to aim and youre letting him. giggling at whatever he’s whispering in your ear

and anakin is watching from afar.

☥ “what’s she doing?” he asks rex

rex glances at you, “oh, it looks like she’s getting acquainted with our new bombs expert, sir.”

“and why would she be doing that?” anakin gestures to your scheme of pretending not to know how to aim

“he gives us better deals, sir. especially when he’s in a good mood.”

“i can put him in a better one.”

anakin strolls over and tells the bombs expert to show him how to use a blaster. when the guy starts moving his arms for him, anakin is like “no no. like you showed her,” and points to you. and the guy stands behind him (shorter than anakin btw so hes gotta lean over to see past anakin’s shoulder) and you’re behind them literally struggling to not laugh out loud.

you’re red in the face. hand covering your eyes which are tearing up from laughter. smile plastered on your lips bcos you can’t control it. you peek out at anakin letting this guy struggle to show him how he was showing you KSKSND

☥ you elbow him while you’re hiding your face but he can see how red you are. “what? what’d i do?” he asks, completely innocent

“why’d you do that?” you say through your snickers

“i wanted him to see how stupid he was being.”

“you’re lucky it was fucking funny. hopefully he’ll still call me.”

“oh, in that case,” anakin turns to go back and you gotta grab his arm

☥ “you know how to use a blaster.”

“i just liked how excited he was to show me.”

“why?”

“you didn’t see him? he was tall, handsome—“

“i’ve heard enough.”

“why are you pissed off?”

“because i didn’t like it.”

☥ however you don’t mind the hard jealous sex you get from anakin after—

☥ “i like it when you’re jealous,” you say as you take off his clothes

anakin, through gritted teeth, “yeah. and i’m getting real tired of it.”

i always love having somewhere to put some of my notes, hopefully this wasnt too ooc for anakin i get pretty anal about that sometimes cos im obsessed with him. feel free to ask me to explore this idea more!!! ty for the message!!

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grippingbeskar · 1 year

Text

chapter twenty three - selfish

frank castle x fem! reader

warnings: canon typical violence, graphic description of injuries and general gross stuff, needles?, bobby bein a bit of. a creep again ugh.

a/n: there is so much happening in this chapter. please god make it make sense.

[series masterlist] [previous chapter]

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Wake up.” A hand slaps you across the face, and you squint as your eyes manage to open. “There you go.”

You were still here. It had to of been… hours now. That’s what it feels like. Really, it feels like you’d never left. Everything’s the same, and you feel just as small. Just as alone as you always did. Except for him, leaning over you, observing your every movement. You tried to open your mouth, but your jaw was so stiff it felt wired shut.

“I’ve got a lot more work to get done before you leave me again. You with me now?” He says, grimy hands dragging along the inside of your wrist. It’s only as you look down, feeling the urge to tear that hand from his arm, that you see the IV stuck in your vein. Blood. He was taking your blood. He turns his attention back to a small screen. “Such a beautiful signal you get here. See this? Your father would love to see these numbers.”

“Shut your… fucking…” Exhaustion burns through you, eating at every nerve and cell, screaming at you to drift off into that dark bliss. If you closed your eyes, you could see him. Maybe he’d show up on the water bed again. You don’t know why that memory, of all the ones you had, came to you, but you’d cling to it anyways.

“Shh. Save your energy. Can’t have you dying on me.” He pours something down your throat, and you cough and splutter for a few minutes before anything goes down. You hate that it helps. It’s water. You want to throw it up out of spite, but your body hauls it in before you get the chance.

He’s no longer wearing the gas mask, and the air tastes clean apart from the metallic tang of blood still settled in your mouth. Your feet were bare, and the floor underneath was ice cold. You tried to lift them up, but the metal cuffs around your ankles didn’t let you.

“Never worked for three years, yet you still try it every time. You think I would ever let you go now? Over something as silly as reinforced cuffs?” Bobby hums, pressing his hand into the needle under your skin as his touch grazes over it. You wince, yanking away as much as you can. “I’ve had a lot of time to practise. To perfect keeping someone like you in containment. Keep you hidden.”

“What are you…talking about?” You manage with the water now settling in your stomach. Keep you hidden. How could you ever be more isolated than you were here?

“You may have been my first— and a special one at that, but you were not the first.” He takes the needle out of your skin with faux sensitivity. Like he almost cares if it cuts you now. “It’s a changing world out there. Super Soldiers, Gods raining from the sky… money can buy most things, but it hasn’t been able to buy me enough strength. Until now.”

He stands, walking around and grabbing the back of your chair. He drags you to the left, where you can see down the hallway. The door to the stairs you climbed down was wide open now, and a man was standing at the end of the hall.

“You see, I was investing in the wrong things. Training, guns… you name it. Until your father showed me the error of my ways. Science is where the real strength is.” Bobby crouches behind you, his hands holding your shoulders too tightly. “Of course, it’s been harder to master since your father passed. I haven’t been able to make the change permanent as he did— but I believe Ive found a way to increase its potency. Did you study much science with your father?”

The memory of him makes you want to cry. You wish you just had more time with him— you were going to fade away here and all his memory would go with you. You never even got the chance to tell Sam about him—

“Answer me.” He shoves your head forward, pain shooting up the back of your neck. You grit out a ‘no’ and he sighs. “No matter. Your father perfected the formula for your cell chemicals to shift and heal over. Only, the replenishment of those chemicals in other bodies is a little harder to grasp. Making it specifically for your DNA, and as much as I would love to have a million versions of you to play with, I need it to work for everyone.”

He brings over a bag of your blood, and clicks his fingers. The man at the end of the hallway moves toward you, standing at the entrance of the cell.

“Now, if my theory is correct…” He hooks up the IV again, but instead of attaching a new bag to your arm, he leaves it attached to your blood bag, and then stabs the man in front of you right in the divot of his elbow with the needle. “Even though we want to heal bones and organs, the most important part is the platelets and plasma. Tell me, sunshine, where is it that you find those?”

“Blood.” You spit, feeling some of your own drip down your chin.

“Good. Very good.” You both watch as the blood starts to disappear from the bag, going straight into the man’s veins. “This isn’t so bad, is it? Almost easy, I would say. You just have to listen, and do as your told.”

You recognise him— one of the men who used to stand outside your cell on days you needed to be guarded. Never speaking to you. Kicking your food through the gap in the wall. He looks almost asleep, and you think he might be under the effect of that gas from before— eyes half lidded and his knees weak.

“So, giving someone the proteins from your enhanced blood, theoretically, of course, should aid in the enhanced healing. Mix that with the incredible red and white blood cell counts you show, and you can create a virtually unstoppable force. For however long the shot of blood stays in his system. I had some stored from our previous years, but I have a feeling it’s effects will be more… productive, with a fresh supply.” The bag is half empty when he rips the IV out. The man doesn’t flinch, but now his eyes are wide and his knuckles white with how hard he’s fisting them at his sides. It’s almost like he’s hyped up on adrenaline, pupils dilated and staring at you. He takes a step forward, and you think Bobby is going to let him beat you to death. Instead, he pulls out a gun and shoves it into the man’s direction.

“Take this.” He says, and he does it immediately. “You see, the fresher the protein, the faster the recovery time. The guys downstairs, they have your blood in their system, and boy— does it make them pack a punch. But, their system doesn’t regenerate as easily. Some of that blood is months old—years. They die easier. Today, we’re going to see if your dear old dad was onto something. Getting blood straight from the source. It’s why I need you around. Might even let you test one out yourself like old times… but enough talk; back to our test.”

Bobby stands, walking around from behind you and controls the man’s movements, positioning him however he pleases. The man is obedient, moving without resistance, his eyes stilling on yours.

“Shoot yourself in the head.” He commands, and then the man clicks the safety off the gun and pulls the trigger.

You don’t make a sound, but you feel the hot splash of his blood across your face and arms, and then the dead weight of his body as he falls forward into your lap. A tear falls down your cheek, not in sympathy, but just pure shock.

You do scream now, because the man who’s brains paint the wall behind you stands up, pushing himself off you with ease. He sways slightly, like he’s drunk, and then blinks a couple times before returning to normal. He’s not hazed anymore— and even though his blood was still dripping down your face, still hot… he turns his head to Bobby, and the bullet wound is completely healed. Gasping for air, your head spins to Bobby, who was grinning.

“What the fuck have you done?!”

“I made him perfect! Like you!” He takes the gun from the man’s hands, who was still staring at you. “It worked even faster than I thought. Fresh is better, as they say.”

He hooks you up to another IV before you’ve come back to yourself, not even feeling the prick of the needle as the clear tube near your head turns a dark red. He was taking more…

“You—“ He snaps to the swaying man, who breaks his gaze from you. “Load these syringes and take them down. I want as many of them filled in the next twenty minutes. Don’t worry if she passes out… she’s a resilient one.”

The man moves quickly, opening a briefcase filled with long silver tubes, all ending in sharp points. He empties the rest of the first bag into three of the needles, then waits for the next to be filled. Everything gets fuzzy as he takes the next bag down and attaches another, and your hands go numb. You stare at them, making sure they’re still there. Bobby grabs your jaw, pulling you to face him.

“It’s good to have you back. I have to admit I had missed your… presence. My offer still stands, you know. It doesn’t have to be this way. We can work together. Build our own—“ All you can conjure up is the energy to spit in his face. He growls, grabbing you harder. “Fine. Have it your way. Once I’ve taken care of your little toy downstairs, I’ll be back. And I won’t be so withholding this time.”

More blood leaves your body, and you watch him walk away. You were losing so much so fast, you know you were about to pass out again, and you should be worried about that, but all you can manage to hold on to is the fact that Frank was somewhere here, and you couldn’t get to him.

It has to have been hours. Maybe even days. You have no idea. You hate it. You always lost time down here.

Your heart was as icy as the ground under your toes, and about as cracked and stained as the patch you were sitting over. The man next to you continued to sort through vials and tubes, and you drifted back to that sweet darkness, Franks voice nearly calling you if you dove in to it hard enough.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“That all you got?! Fucking puss—“ He’s cut off by another groan. His own, but he hardly recognises it by how high pitched it is. Another fist flies at his face, and he can feel the bone crack. He tenses, preparing for the next hit.

He needs to stay awake. He needs to stay awake enough to get to you. He saw everything— that whole fucking display, and even if he didn’t get any sound or words, the minute that piece of shit laid a hand on you, Frank snapped out of his haze. Doesn’t matter how much of his blood and guts covered the floor, he would drag his shattered leg behind him if he had to. He’d get to you.

Antagonising these guys in here had been easier than he thought. At first they were in some kind of trance, but when the loud bang of Bobby’s shotgun went off, the bullet just missing him— taunting him, they snapped. Now, it’s been…he’s got no idea how long, but they have to get tired soon. Get a little slower, get distracted, and then Frank will make his move. Maybe he’ll just get numb. He knows he’s cracked ribs, every time he breathes in something sharp stabs his side. He has to keep going.

Breathing in, the men surround him— and even Frank turns his head when there’s a knock at the door.

The guy who walks in is covered in blood, and he’s holding a briefcase. It’s the same one he thinks he saw when he was watching you, but his eyes are so blown up that he could be seeing things.

“Boss wants these distributed.” He says, and the three men hover around him as he unlocks it. They’re whispering something, and seemingly forget about Frank for a second.

Their mistake.

He’s slowly but surely working himself free, knowing he’s going to have to dislocate his thumbs to get out. He’s fought with worse injuries, but with how much blood he’s lost, he needs something. An edge. Something that will just get him out of this room. He knows there’s guns outside, and the slick of his blood makes it easier to slide out. He just needs one damn thing to go his way today…

“Is that really it?” One of the men hold up a needle. It’s bright red, with the biggest point Franks ever seen on the end.

“What’d you expect?”

“Hulk had green blood. Something like that, I guess.” Another man says off handedly, never looking back at him, and fuck— they were asking for it now. Franks right hand tugs at the cuff, and he squeezes his eyes shut, biting down on his lip so hard it bleeds. Not that he’ll be able to tell what’s bleeding anymore. Bone pops as he tugs the rest of the way, in one sharp movement he’s got a free hand.

He doesn’t wait.

Whatever’s in that syringe is important. Important enough that the guy who shot himself in the head got back up and walked down four flights of stairs. It does… well, Frank doesn’t know what the fuck if does, but if it heals a bullet to the head, Franks betting on the fact it’ll be enough to get him out of this room.

He lunges, throwing his body toward the syringe dangling in the man’s hand. The briefcase splatters on the ground and a multitude of curses ring through the room. One breaks, another falls right next to Franks head. He turns, only to see it kicked away. He pops his left hand out of the cuff in the shuffle, hoping they don’t notice it’s free.

“I thought he’d be better. Look at him.” They peer down at him on the floor, still cuffed by his feet, and from their view, still one hand, too. It’s why they don’t realise him reaching behind, grabbing two sharp points and dragging them over.

“Guess he’s past his prime. Clean this up, and don’t finish him off just yet. Boss wants round two.” The men laugh, turning their backs for a final time.

Frank stabs himself in the back with two needles. He feels it instantly— like the time he got shot up with adrenaline. Everything is turned to ten, and he groans and thrashes on the floor. The men turn around to look at him just in time to see his two free hands, but by then it’s too late.

Frank’s broken the chain on his legs, one giant whack of it against the concrete sending the links off in shattered pieces. He rolls, not feeling any pain on his sides. He stands, easily. Way too easily. He should be hunched over, fighting for consciousness.

He’s never felt fucking better.

He lands a punch on the advancing man, the one who broke his ribs. He grabs him by the head, feeling his skull bone crack under his grip.

He doesn’t have time to think about it, because the next ones already coming. He throws himself at him, tackling him to the floor. He beats him— over and over, so hard his hands meet concrete after three blows. He went through him.

One man’s on his back, arm around his throat, and he easily rips him over his head. These guys were fucking nothing now. He felt like he’d been shocked by some kind of electricity, except this was the kind that felt fucking amazing. He belted the man in front of him, then slammed his head into the wall. Blood and brain covered the only clean part of the room, and one man was left.

The man who shot himself.

“Stop! Wait!” The man says, holding the briefcase up. “I can tell you what he’s doing. Where she is!” Frank takes a few breaths, not even feeling winded.

“You work for him?” The man nods. “Where?”

“S-security.” Frank towers over him, and he goes for the handle of the door, but Franks too fast. So fucking fast he doesn’t register that he’s got the guys hand tight in a fist until he hears him scream.

“You know she was down there? All that time, huh?” The man looks up, wide eyed. Frank cracks the bones in his hands.

“Fuck! Yes— yes, we knew but I swear—“ Frank doesn’t care what the rest of the sentence is, because he picks up the briefcase, and uses the end of it to cave his head in.

He keeps hold of the case as he kicks the door down, swiping the shot gun Bobby abandoned. Then he takes a chance, testing his durability, and jumps over the railing of the two story platform.

After the beating he received, he should be struggling to even walk— but he lands it easily. He doesn’t even have that kink in his neck from this morning. Spent so much time staring down at you sleeping next to him. Not even that. No blood coming from anywhere, and he could see for fucking miles in front of him. No swollen eyes.

He was healed. Completely. Strong, too. Stronger than he fucking should be. He doesn’t know how long he’s got, but he knows he’s not wasting another second of not having you safe. He takes the stairs up four at a time, never needing to catch his breath.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Frank’s arm was around you, holding you tighter than you could ever remember. You weren’t shivering anymore, the effects of the ice cold water long forgotten the minute he pulled you to him under the covers.

It was nearly morning, and you were still hazed with sleep. The embarrassment and pain can’t reach you here, not when you are so close to drifting off. Another few hours of sleep would do you good. Just letting your eyes flutter closed. You blame it on this nearly-asleep-half-conscious state that you turn over, seeking more of the warmth his skin offers. He tenses next to you, feeling you shift, before accepting the new position and letting your limbs tangle with his own.

It’s about as safe as you have ever felt. Frank on all sides, something that should make you feel boxed in. He’d let you go with one word, but you can trust him not to. You don’t want him to. Frank’s arms tighten around you as you settle your head just below his, nose brushing against his collarbone.

“You okay?” His voice rumbled through your head, all the way down to your toes. You didn’t answer, wanting to linger in this state a little longer. Your breathing was even, and you all but melted into him with one last, long sigh. “What the hell are you doin’ to me, huh?”

His lips touched your forehead before one hand tangled in your hair. He doesn't brush past this time. This time, it’s purposeful and practically permanent. He scorches your skin, kissing you softly, right on the little scar above your eyebrow.

You feel him tug you closer, your leg nearly on top of him now. You can hear his heartbeat in your ear, racing when your hand slowly brushes up his side, stopping under your head. Then it slows, and he kisses you one last time before you’re asleep again…

You can hear something. Maybe. Theres a beeping sound coming from the monitor, but that’s not what it is. This place echos everything. The walls nearly savour the sounds, sending them back to you so loud, that if you close your eyes you could swear it was happening right next to you. This is different, though.

It’s screaming. Someone screaming.

You force your head up, slowly blinking your eyes. There’s spots in your vision, but you can see people. People, flying around the tight space of the corridor. Flying… you swear they were moving through the air, limbs whacking around in un-natural directions. Something loud cracked, and then a loud, male groan. Almost a scream, but this wasn’t in fear, or pain. Someone was coming, and they weren’t stopping until they got through.

You only knew one person who would fight for you like that, but as much as you tried to fight against it, sleep dragged you down into the dark. This time, Frank was getting further away, and you weren’t so sure you could pull yourself back up.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It was pitch black, but all Frank could see was red. Dark, thick red, blood that can only be from deep, hidden parts of the body. Blood gets thicker the further in you go, and Frank was tearing right to the centre.

He found more men on the stairs, using the shotgun and the pulsing strength scorching through his body to take them out. He admitted it felt good— fucking easy, tearing through these guys. They had the higher ground but he had every advantage. He couldn’t help but feel like something was off about it, though. He has no idea what he gave himself, it just had to be enough to get to you.

When he finally makes it up to the door, he’s sprinting. More faces blur past his hands and bullets, but he can only focus on one. You, your head down, eyes closed. He throws someone with one arm as far as he can manage, and he doesn’t see the guy get back up. He’s still looking for Bobby, but all that was on the back burner now. Now, all he could focus on was you.

The bodies stop dropping, and he realises there’s no more coming. No more footsteps as he reaches the door to your cell, no more gun shots. Not even a breath that wasn’t his own.

You weren’t breathing.

He drops the case he’s still managed to hold, ignoring the slow beeping of the monitor. He rips at the handcuffs, but even with all this stuff in his body he can’t manage it.

“Come on. Hey! Come on, wake up…baby, fucking wake up.” He could hear the horse crack of his voice and he was pulling so fucking hard and it wasn’t enough. He’s shaking you by the shoulders, then he looks down, seeing the snapped locks of the briefcase.

There’s still four or five syringes in there. He doesn’t know what it does— he can hardly tell if he’s gonna live when this feeling dies down. He’s still staring at them, though. Reaching for one.

He could do it. It brought him back, healed whatever those assholes did… and your a hell of a lot stronger than he is. He needs it to work. He needs you to open your fucking eyes, but is it worth the risk? Was it worth it if it backfired? Was he that selfish, that he’d take the risk— the risk of you dying because of what he did, just so he wouldn’t have to live without you? He’d take you down with him if he did this— fuck knows what Bobby put in these things. It could be anything. But he couldn’t let you die in this room. Couldn’t let you go.

Frank Castle knows he’s selfish, but it’s like his body has already made up its mind. His hand is fisting on of the vials, hovering over your thigh. The beeping’s getting slower, and you twitch in his hold, the last signs of life fading from you. For a second, he thinks he shouldn’t do it. That he shouldn’t take you down with him any further than he’s already done. But he can’t see you die. He couldn’t.

“Please. Just— need this to work. Please.” He drops his head and plunges the needle into your thigh without another thought. Almost instantly, your eyes crack open and your heaving air back into your deprived lungs. Frank holds you upright, trying to make sure you don’t fall backwards, but he can’t see past the tears forming in his eyes.

He doesn’t remember the last time he cried like this— like a knife was tearing it’s way through his chest, nearing his throat and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to stop it. He didn’t want to stop it because you were fucking here— covered in blood and dirt but breathing. He chose right. Did right by you, for fucking once. Looking around the room terrified, you say a word, and he feels like the luckiest guy in the world because the first thing you think to say is his name.

“Frank!” You scratch out, shoulders still heaving with the effort of taking in air. “Frank— we have… you have to get me… please I can’t be in here anymore—“

“Shh. Shh— you’re okay. I’m gonna get you out, just like I promised, yeah?” You stop spinning your head around and stop your thrashing when your eyes meet his. He feels your hand go to lift up and touch him but you can’t move. “Fucking hell. I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

“You’re crying.” You say softly, and Frank shakes his head, laughing out of pure exhaustion.

“Yeah, I am.” Your head tilts, and fuck— he can’t help it. He shuffles closer, holding your head in his hands. You look wrong in his hold, like something precious and way too expensive, something he’d never earn the value of in his lifetime. You press into his touch, and he just can’t let you go.

“You came.” Wet tears stream down your face, and he wipes them away with his thumbs. “I thought you were— I thought you might not make it here.”

“I promised.” It’s all he has time for right now. He has a hostage he needs to fuck up. “Where’d he go.”

You flick your head down in the direction of where he came.

“He has the keys. You gotta— once I’m out I can help you.” You blink a few times, and it looks like your seeing his face for the first time. “You… how did you get out?”

“He’s got these guys— strong, like you, nearly beat the shit out of me. Injected myself with that.” He looks over at the briefcase. “Never felt better.”

“You aren’t hurt.” You say, and it should be a good thing, but Frank starts to worry because you look uneasy.

“Not anymore. You know what it is?”

“Yeah.” That fact that you don’t say it right away makes Frank think he doesn’t want to know.

“I gave it to you, too.” You shake your head, and his worries evaporate. A simple move from you, and he’s easy. Fuck— he was glad you were here.

“It’s fine. It won’t kill us. You need to go. Get the keys, get me out. Bring him with you.” Frank nods, taking another second to look at you. Just making sure— your eyes were wide, a little fearful but alive and bright. Open. Skin was warm. You were okay. “I don’t want to be here anymore. Please.”

Something crashes behind Frank, and he turns and leaves before saying another word. He was going to drag that cunt back here kicking and screaming. He had to be alive— but Frank has learned a thousand ways to make a man wish he wasn’t.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Six minutes.

You counted it.

It took Frank six minutes to track down the country’s biggest gang leader, the man who has evaded the FBI and CIA for years, the man who had built an entire, intricate network of tunnels and bunkers to avoid being caught. Without his men, that Frank also took down, it took him six minutes to beat him bloody and drag him back to you.

You used to be so afraid of him. He was the man who haunted your nightmares, a face you’d see every time you closed you eyes. Almost a bogeyman. Seeing him here, on his knees, eyes swollen shut while Frank rips the keys out of his back pocket… it’s surreal almost.

“You w—“ Frank kicks him in the stomach, whatever words he was going to say lost in the burst pain. While he falls to the ground, breathing slow, Frank unlocks the handcuffs and you stand way too fast. Your first steps are the three that gets you out of this fucking room.

Frank sees you bolt outside, back pressed against the opposite wall. Then he turns, punching Bobby in the face before grabbing him by the leg and dragging him out and down the hallway. He’s groaning in pain, trying to say something but Frank just keeps dragging him. You walk behind, a sick enjoyment bubbling through you at the sight of him so… weak.

“How are we getting him up the stairs like this?” You ask once you’ve stopped at the base of the giant staircase. It must of taken you an hour to come down here, and your head was still a little fuzzy from the blood loss. Your own blood doesn’t heal you as well— fucking figures.

Frank doesn’t say anything, just starts dragging him up the stairs like a sack of flour. His head bangs against the first step, and Bobby shouts and wails like a kid. Similar to how you would of screamed for him to stop when he cut you open—

“Frank.” You say, and he stops. You look down at the man, wondering what Frank did to him in those six minutes in the dark that made him look so deformed. His arm was broken, the strange angle it was at made it obvious. One of his eyes was less bruised than the other, and he used it to lookright at you.

Maybe he thought you’d tell Frank to stop. That you’d taken pity on him. That you’d feel sorry for the way he looks. He’s still staring at you when you see a small flash of his teeth, something that could be a smile if he wasn’t missing so many teeth. You let him hold the hope for just a second.

“Make sure he’s still alive when we get to the top.” Frank huffs, like it’s an imposition, and you walk ahead, letting the pained cries of the man behind you bounce off the echoed walls. He deserved to feel what it was like to have hope it would stop, only for it to never end.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

When you finally reach the outside of the building, Bobby has passed out from the pain four times. You counted. It won’t be enough. You had twelve years of that shit. This was mild— you had a thousand days like this. It should be therapeutic to see him miserable and begging but all it does is make you angry.

Frank throws him in the back seat of the car, using rope and the seatbelts to tie him down so he can’t move. Then he ties something around his mouth, saying something to him you can’t hear. When you get back in the car, Franks hands are stained with blood.

“I’m hungry. You hungry?” He asks loudly after a moment of silence, his hands so tight on the steering wheel you can see his forearms start to shake. “Fuck. I could sprint a mile right now.”

“You feel okay? Good?” You weren’t a hundred percent sure about the effects your blood could have on him— or, the concentrated version of your blood.

“Fuckin’ fantastic. Don’t know what was in that stuff, but I haven’t run it out yet.” You can tell he feels uneasy about it, but the rush is almost overwhelming, even if he has burnt through some of it.

“It’ll be a while before it’s out of your blood system.”

“Yeah? How you know that?” His head moves a little too fast, and you wonder weather that’s how fast you move. If you look this… creepy, really. It’s fucking creepy.

“Because it’s my blood. It’ll pass through in a while, you just have to wait. He— Bobby said it wasn’t permanent.” At the mention of his name he stirs in the back and Frank reaches around, punching him in the gut while keeping his eyes on the road. “Maybe I should drive.”

“I’m good. Tell me about it— the blood shit. Help me focus.” Hoping to calm him down, you spill every little remnant of information you can remember. It’s technical, trying to explain how the plasma in your blood can be modified to heal bones and gunshot wounds, but he listens. “So why’d it work on you? If it’s your own?”

“It’s more concentrated. Based around the healing parts of my blood. He must of found a way to extract only the parts that make me strong. I lost a shit tonne of blood back there, so maybe the shot kicked my own healing back into gear.” You flick your eyes back to where Bobby is passed out again, his blood staining the seat. “I doubt I’d get it even if he explained it himself, but it’s a version of what they did to me. Only lasts a little while, but it makes you stronger. Faster. Heals you more easily. And apparently makes you jumpy as fuck.”

“I ain’t jumpy.” He grumbles, the sound sounding so much like Frank that you settle back a little, relaxing at it. “When you were in there… I uh— saw what that guy did in front of you. That kind of thing would be… if Madani found out about that, or any of those guys at the CIA. What your blood can do…”

“I know.” They’d want it. It was the edge they have been looking for. Like Bobby said, America had been fighting Gods and Super-humans for years, and they wanted something of their own. You, or your blood, would be it.

“Don’t say anything about it. Far as they know, we were in and out.” Frank looks in the review mirror, gaze hard as he checks Bobby’s positioning.

“He might say something. What if they ask him about it?”

“Can’t talk without a tongue.” You look at him, trying to figure out if he’s joking or not. He looks serious. Very, very serious. “What?”

“You— nothing. I just want to go home.” You breathe heavily, your eyes shutting for a second. Everything hurts, and your body isn’t healing as fast as Franks did with the lack of blood in your system. Now you know why you didn’t heal fast after you were shot. You must of lost too much in the water.

“You mean back to New York, yeah?” When he says it, the words confuse you. Of course you’d be going back to New York. You don’t have anywhere… well, you don’t have anywhere. You don’t have a place, now you think about it. The only house you ever lived in is owned by someone else, but that hasn’t been home for a while.

When you said you wanted to go home, what you really meant was you wanted out of this car. You wanted to go back to somewhere warm, and safe, and somewhere you didn’t have to think about any of this. The only place you’ve ever really been able to do that, have any of that is when you were with Frank.

“Sure.” Is all you managed.

“Sure? What’s that mean?” He turns the car a little too hard, and Bobby whacks against something in the back.

“It means that— well, I don’t exactly have a place there, do I? I mean, I know Matt said we could stay until—“

“We’re not doin’ that again.”

“I didn’t think it was all bad.” You say absently, but Franks eyes catch yours in the mirror and his hands grip the wheel even tighter. “But I don’t have a house.”

“Stay with me.” Even after everything you’d done with him, been through with him, he still managed to catch you by surprise.

“Really? You’d want me to live with you?”

“Why? You got a bunch of cats you need to move in or something? You snore?” You don’t want to smile, not with who’s behind you, but he’s impossible not to smile around. “Course I do.”

“Gotta dump the baggage first.” Frank grumbles something under his breath at your words, then turns the car again, too hard. Even you struggle to stay upright. He’s still fighting off the rush of energy he’s feeling running through his veins. “Maybe we should call someone. Go to a doctor, or call Curtis. You’re still jumpy.”

One of his hand’s dropped from the wheel, and after he checked the rear view mirror one more time, confirming Bobby was passed out, his hand landed on your thigh. He did this a lot while he drove, his hand nearly covering the entirety of your thigh. Fingers absently wandering, like he had all the time in the world to tease you, even if he didn’t mean it. This time, he definitely did. His thumb was drawing circles on your skin, his palm slowly dragging the rest of his fingers up.

“Just got to work it out of my system, yeah?” You swallowed, the simmer of heat in your stomach bursting into flames at the horse growl of his voice. He dipped his hand over further, the sensitive skin of your inner thigh twitching in anticipation. You weren’t sure if it was because he was half high on…you, or what he exactly was planning to do, but as his hand gripped you tighter making you jolt in your seat, you sat a little wider. Giving him access. He swore under his breath.

“Yeah. Maybe you should g-go on that run. Work out or something.” He smirked, and held his hand there while you held your breath. He was toying with you, fucking with you, for sure… was he really going to…here? The tip of his fingers were so close, and you were practically sweating now, heart thumping in your ears.

“I think I got a better idea.” He looked at you quickly, his eyes nearly completely black, pupils blown out. Your eyes squeezed shut, at his mercy completely.

Then, his hand slid down slowly, resting where it usually did when he drove. Much lower, and much further away from where you fucking need him right now. When you open your eyes again he’s still smirking, a smart ass look on his face like he knows how worked up he just got you, even when he’s the one with all the extra energy.

All of a sudden, like Frank often encouraged in you, you forgot about everything else except how long this car ride was. You said you wanted to get home, but the more you thought about it, it was less about a destination and more about him. Home.

[next chapter]

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

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