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spookiekewchie · 3 years

Text

⛓kinktober 2021- cum marking⛓

—as long as you know who you belong to...

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Characters: Frank Castle x woc!reader

Summary: The one where mouthing off at Frank has consequences.

Word Count: 3k+

Warnings: language, frank grabbing reader by the throat, name calling, unwanted touching (not from frank), dry humping?, orgasm denial, cum marking, implied future smut

A/N: Day two of kinktober is going out to all my Frank hoes out there. Hope yall enjoy this filth lmao. Pardon any errors or typos please. The divider is by @firefly-graphics

DO NOT repost or translate my work anywhere. Reblogs are always welcome, and let me know that you enjoy my fics.

The sound of a vase crashing to the floor in your living room tells you that you have an unexpected guest. Judging by the grunts and grumbled curses coming from a man, you already know exactly who it is. You sigh, not pausing as you finish fastening the ankle strap of your heel in place before you grab the gun from your dresser and wander into the living room to confirm your suspicions.

Frank Castle is standing in your living looking irritated at the broken vase. Any other day you might have been excited to see him, but not tonight. Not when it’s been three weeks of radio silence and you’ve had time to reevaluate the relationship...if you can even call it that. For all you know it could just be sex with him, but you’re not even really sure about that on the worst of days. It doesn’t help that when he’s with you, whether it’s a week or month at a time he does everything a lover should. It’s hardly fair you think, you don’t know where you stand, you just know that you want him...wanted. You remind yourself that three weeks is too long and you’re pissed about it. Especially when you think about all the times you let your social life suffer because you were more concerned with waiting around just in case Frank showed up. Well you’re determined to put an end to that, your friends want to go out tonight and you already promised them that you’d show.

Unless Frank was hurt and needed your help, pissed off as you are you know you won’t leave him bleeding and injured.

Judging from the lack of stab and bullet wounds Frank isn’t hurt. “What do you want?” You know what he wants, and when he looks at you with a gun in your hand, and wearing a tight little dress that is almost a touch too short, and showing off more of your warm brown skin than he likes, it cements it. The man damn near swallows his tongue at the sight of you, and briefly you smirk. You still got it, and it’s fueling the petty desire to rile him up before you leave him to go see your friends.

“Actually, don’t answer that. I know what you want Frank, and I’m too busy for you tonight. I have plans.” You tell him, picking up your purse and slipping the small handgun into it. A gun that he insists you carry with you when you go out, for your own protection. Maybe he does care. A little voice chimes in the back of your mind before you quickly silence it.

“You wanna tell me what this attitude is about?” Frank questions, clearly not pleased and doing his best to not show just how easily you get under his skin. God that question just makes you light up with anger and before you know it you’re laying into the man.

“Three weeks Frank!” You snap, and when he doesn’t react or say anything it just sets you off more. “Three fucking weeks, you could have at least let me know you weren’t dead in a fucking ditch somewhere. God it’s like you either show up here half dead, or just to get your dick wet.” You know that’s not entirely true, but you’re mad so the facts are a little blurry. Still he says nothing, and you show no sign of stopping your tirade now that he’s got you going. “You fuck me, then you leave me, then you don’t even call and just expect me to welcome you back like it’s nothing? I don’t know if anyone’s told you lately but you’re too fucking old to be acting like a fuckboy Frank.” You spit out, and you can see the deep calming breath that he has to take to likely keep from crossing the room and yoking you up.

“Yeah but I’m not too old to fuck that attitude outta you.” He finally replies, voice gruff and barely hiding his displeasure at how you’re choosing to speak to him. Of course you scoff, doing your best to ignore the wave of heat that rushes to your core. You huff, petulant and bratty because acting out is easier than admitting you feel played.

“Whatever Frank, you wanna stick around and wait up, then fine. Do you, but I’m going out with my friends. I’ve spent one too many nights sitting around like a damn fool waiting for you to show up like I don’t have other options I could have been entertaining.”

And just like that Frank’s on you, a hand around your throat and the back of your legs bumping roughly against the arm of your sofa. “You wanna run that last part by me again?” The words are more of a growl than anything, and you know you’re toeing the line of setting the man off. Still, you just can’t help yourself, even when you feel the way your body trembles slightly in his hands.

He needs to know that he’s not the only one interested, maybe then he’ll put in a little more effort.

“I said I have other options, and if you can’t be fucked to at least text and let me know you aren’t dead in a ditch somewhere then clearly I should be paying more attention to them.” You spat, breath catching in your lungs a second later when his grip tightens. You think to yourself that you’ve done it, you’ve riled him up and he’s going to bend you over the back of the sofa and rail you until you can’t see straight.

Frank just lets you go, scoffing to himself as he shakes his head and steps back.

“You and I are going to have a conversation about this when I see you later.” Is all he says before he’s stalking his way into your kitchen to fish a beer out of the fridge. Men. You think to yourself, so God damn entitled.

If you were thinking clearly you would have known that Frank was plotting something.

It's a little over an hour later when you realize that you should have suspected Frank to be up to something. He appears in the upscale little bar that your friends had invited you out to, at first you think he'll come over and drag you out of the bar. Especially when some guy decides to buy you a drink and flirt with you. Your gaze drifts over to Frank, wary and unsure now that you aren't feeling as confident as you were earlier in the evening. Accepting the drink you sip at it, half paying attention and half keeping an eye on Frank. It's not until you feel the guys hand on your ass that you give him your full attention.

You jolt out of the barstool, grabbing your purse as the drink in your hand tips forward to spill into the handsy idiot's lap accidentally while you apologize profusely. There's chaos, the man is not happy and makes a grab for you before your group of friends descend upon him and shove you towards the back and out of harm's way. It gives Frank just enough time to slide an arm around you and walk you towards the empty restrooms. You say nothing, watching him check that the stalls are all empty before he returns to the door to flip the little lock in place.

"You aren't going to hurt that guy are you?" You question quietly, knowing Frank well enough to know that even though he looks calm now he's not happy at the thought of someone trying to touch you against your will. Frank's methods of dealing with that usually involve violence.

"Might break his hand later, teach him not to get grabby with people." He answers, and you have no doubt that might means he absolutely will. That has your panties damp, but you say nothing of it as you watch Frank as he finally rounds on you.

Neither of you say anything for a moment, but you can tell by his tense movements that he’s still not happy with you. All your earlier bravado is gone, you know you fucked up earlier with how you spoke to him. You’d been too prideful to just tell him that you had spent all that time worried about him, and that you’d missed him. “Look about earlier…” You start, pushing the strap of your purse up on your shoulder and watching as he stalks his way back over to you. Words falter when he cages you in by pressing his palms against the wall on either side of your head.

“Yeah, you wanna tell me what the fuck all that shit was about?”

You chew your bottom lip, hesitantly reaching out to wrap your arms around him. “I was upset because you hadn’t reached out for three whole weeks.” You admit, and briefly you can see the way his gaze softens for just a second. He knows he should have at least sent a text, it’s not like you’re just some casual fuck that he keeps around. You're one of the few people left in the world that he'd go on a warpath for if something happened to you. Clearly he hasn’t shown that to you, not that it’s easy for him to open up in that way.

That doesn't mean he can let you get away for your earlier stunt. Frank doesn't encourage bad behavior, and letting you go unpunished would be doing just that.

“So that’s what had my good girl actin’ like a fuckin’ brat, huh?” He grabs you by the chin and you can’t help the way your glossed lips form into a pout. “You know that pout is real precious, but it ain’t getting you out of your punishment.” He tells you, leaning in like he might kiss you only to pull back and leave you whining as you try to chase his lips. Frank just laughs at your efforts before he’s pulling your arms from around his neck and spinning you around to face the wall. He doesn’t even have to say the words, you already know what he expects and trying to be a good girl for him you press your hands flat against the wall and arch your hips back until you feel the round globes of your ass pressing against Frank. He stays put for the moment, watching as you fight to stay still and not grind back against him.

Ever so slowly he slides the tight dress up over your ass, hissing at the black lace thong that’s just clinging to your slick cunt. “Fuck, you always were such a good little slut. Too bad you had to act like a god damn brat tonight. Might’ve filled this tight lil’ cunt with my cum ‘stead of havin’ ta punish you.” His words bring a defeated whine to your lips, but if you know Frank once he’s sure that you’ve learned your lesson he’ll indulge...at least you hope. You expect him to spank you, but instead you hear the zipper of his jeans coming down and the rustle of fabric as he pulls himself free. When he rips the waistband of your thong in two and pulls it away from you, you think for a moment that he’s changed his mind, but then he quickly douses that dream when he presses his cock between your pressed together thighs and you can feel him dragging against your damp folds. He’s so close to being exactly where you want him, but he makes sure to only tease you with the possibility of his cock slipping into you. You can’t help but whine and throw a pleading look over your shoulder at the man.

“What? You thought I’d change my mind?” He scoffs, and you’re too embarrassed to admit that, yes, you thought that maybe Frank would just fuck you and give you what you wanted. This was worse than his rough palm spanking your ass raw and red, this was damn near torture when all you want is to feel him splitting you open and making you scream out for him. When you don’t answer him he lays a sharp slap against your mound, and then another until you're tripping over your words to admit the embarrassing truth.

“Y-yes, sir!” You stammer, and you can hear the dark chuckle from Frank. He grunts softly, leaning down to press a lingering kiss against the buttery smooth brown skin of your exposed shoulder. Never once does he lose his rhythm as he teases his cock through your folds. His rutting against you makes you want to sob, because he’s so close that all it would take is a slight angle change and he’d be pushing into you just like you need. But Frank is careful to avoid doing just that, and you can’t do anything but stand there sniffling and squirming each time you feel his thick cock slide back and forth between your thighs while he teases your sex, and lets your slick coat his length.

“You think you deserve to feel this fat cock splitting you open?”

You moan at that, squirming as you clench your thighs together tighter and draw out a hiss from Frank. Just the thought of him inside you is enough to make you clench around nothing and you’re quite sure that he’ll be able to make you cum just like this without even being inside you. “Please, I’ll be so good for you. I’m sorry about earlier, I won’t do it again...” You’re begging and pleading with him, and you can tell it's getting to him when you hear that growl of his from behind you.

“You’ll be good for me, huh? My good little slut?” He grunts out, the tip of his cock bumping your clit when Frank slides his length forward and you keen in pleasure. “You’d do anything to get my cock in you right now wouldn’t ya?” He taunts, a hand gripping your curls into a tight fist as he yanks your head back. You can’t speak, not trusting your voice just now so you give a strained and jerky nod to answer him. You feel it again, his cock rubbing against your clit and you’re so worked up that you know it’ll make you cum if he does it again.

Frank knows as well, and pulls himself from between your thighs, you’re so frustrated that you could cry and you know that’s exactly what Frank wants. “Don’t move.” He orders, and you just huff out a choked noise but do nothing else to voice your displeasure. You want to peak over your shoulder to see what he’s doing, you can hear him and you can see how one of his hands has drawn away from the wall. You can only guess he’s taking care of himself, and your suspicions are confirmed when you feel his hot spend being shot against your lower back. You bite down on your bottom lip, whining in defeat as you feel him give your ass a pat.

“Have fun entertaining those other options with my cum staining that pretty ass.” He tells you, and you can hear the amusement in his voice as you carefully force the dress down over your ass. You’re just glad that the dark fabric won’t show the wet stain that is likely to be there.

“I wanna go home, Frank.” You mutter, pouting up at him as you turn around to face him. You don’t even want to go back out there to finish enjoying drinks with your friends. You just want Frank, and he knows it just as well as you do. He doesn’t stop you when you step forward and slide your arms around him so that you can bury your face in his chest and inhale his scent. You really are glad that he’s okay. He returns your embrace, even dropping a sweet kiss to the top of your head. It’s a soft moment, but you know this isn’t the extent of your punishment for how bratty you’d acted earlier in the night.

“One hour, and then you better have your ass back to your car and ready to leave. Gimme your keys.” He orders, and you don’t hesitate to reach into your purse to pull them out and place them in his waiting hand. “We still gotta have a conversation later.” He reminds you, and you nod before moving to check your appearance in one of the restroom’s mirrors before you heave a heavy sigh and walk out. Frank carefully slips out moments later, and no one is none the wiser thinking you had just slipped away to get yourself together after the jerk earlier had tried to grab you.

They don’t even see Frank’s eyes zero in on the creep who glares at you from the back door of the bar before he slips out the back. Frank follows, intending to have a very different type of conversation with the man. You see him going out of the corner of your eye, but you don’t react. You just focus on trying to enjoy a drink and your friends' company as you count down the seconds until your hour is up. It’s difficult to do with the feeling of Frank’s cum drying against the swell of your ass, and every time someone approaches you with the intention of flirting you just can’t bring yourself to entertain it. Frank’s marked his territory, and you want nothing more than to go to him and let him claim you the way you know he’s just itching to. You check the time on your phone after a bit and nearly sigh in relief to see that there’s only five minutes left before the hour is up. Just enough time for you say your goodbyes and get the fuck out of there.

“I don’t know guys, I think I’m just still a little shaken up. I’m gonna call it, I’ll text when I get home.” They understand, they’re good friends after all and you might feel a little guilty about dipping out early on them if it weren’t for Frank waiting for you outside.

Just as you suspect he’s already behind the wheel of your car when you get to the parking lot, and he says nothing as you slip into the passenger seat. He just puts the car in gear and drives away. It makes your belly swoop in anticipation, and one look at him tells you that his gears are turning as he thinks up just what he intends to do to you once he has you alone.

You already know it’s about to be a long night, and you can’t wait.

#frank castle x woc!reader #frank castle x black!reader #frank castle x you #frank castle x woc #frank castle reader #frank castle x reader #frank castle fanfic #frank castle fic #frank castle fanfiction #woc!reader #black!reader #kinktober 2021 #trilla writes

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itadorisgf · 3 years

Text

— a fall from grace

aka break up headcanons

⤷ anonymous asked: hi! what if u wrote angst headcanons on how megumi or itadori would react to breaking up with y/n? like what do u think would make them break up in the first place😳. anyways i hope u have a good rest of ur day!!💗💗

note: oooo angst, i hope i did your suggestion justice and that this was angsty enough!! i hope you have a lovely day as well <33333

ft. fushiguro megumi, gojo satoru, itadori yuuji, nanami kento, nobara kugisaki

warning: angst

⤷ main page

FUSHIGURO MEGUMI

reason: bad at communicating

fushiguro has never been good at expressing his feelings.

he cares for you, he really does, but he’s always felt that it’s unneeded for him to show that.

you should just know that he does. if he didn’t love you then why would he be dating you?

if he didn’t want you then why would he bother to be in a relationship with you?

he doesn’t understand that it feels like he just doesn’t care about your relationship at times.

nor does he understand that sometimes you need reassurance that he does indeed care about you.

it’s hard when he’s not very affectionate and he tends to be short and dry when conversing.

and that’s just who fushiguro is. it’s a natural part of his personality to not exactly be open with his emotions and feelings.

so you break up with him. it’s not that you don’t love fushiguro, you do, but you can’t be in a relationship where you continuously question whether or not he actually wants to be with you.

fushiguro becomes more reserved and closed off following your break up.

his friends would playfully ask him why he’s being more emo than usual, but when fushiguro doesn’t respond at all, they understand that it’s serious.

he wonders if he was more expressive and open with how he felt about you, would you still be here?

GOJO SATORU

reason: too flippant

the fact that gojo’s deemed the most powerful shaman there is by others has made his ego grow exponentially.

he’s well aware of how many view him, as some sort of celebrity, and he revels in the praise and adoration that they shower him with.

gojo’s cheeky and will indulge those who admire him by playfully flirting back with them when they come onto him.

and when you bring up your concerns about how you’re not necessarily comfortable with how gojo interacts with his admirers, he brushes you off.

tells you that you’re the only one for him and that he doesn’t mean anything by flirting with them. it’s harmless.

and it may be true that they don’t matter to gojo, but the way he so easily sweeps your feelings to the side hurts.

you try one last time to explain how you feel to gojo, emphasizing that the way he disregards your worries upsets you.

and once again, gojo addresses the discussion in a very lighthearted and casual way that makes it feel like he’s downplaying how you feel.

when you break up with him, he thinks you’re joking. when you make it clear to gojo that you’re not joking and that you’re entirely serious, he just says okay and leaves.

he thinks you’re overreacting, and in need of some time to cool down. he assures himself that when he comes home later, you’ll be waiting for him.

but, you’re not. all your belongings are cleared from your shared apartment, and that’s when gojo realizes how much he’s utterly fucked up.

however, gojo is too prideful to admit that he’s messed up. he continues on like normal, flirting even more heavily with his fans, but he doesn’t care for any of them.

how could he when none of them are you?

ITADORI YUUJI

reason: too caring

itadori’s heart is simply too big.

you love that he’s so willing to help others and that he cares deeply for his friends, but you can’t stand the way that he holds little to no value for his own life.

he’s willing to throw himself head first into a fight in order to protect others.

itadori has a strong sense of duty as sukuna’s vessel. he knows that there are some things that only he can do as sukuna’s vessel that other sorcerers can’t, and who was he to turn his back on those in need when he could help them?

you try to convince him to care a little more about himself and itadori assures you he’ll be more cautious, but he continues to put himself in danger, often resulting in him getting injured.

and you love itadori too much to watch him throw his life away.

when you break up with him, itadori is confused. he thought things were going great between you two.

you tell him that you love him, but you can’t just sit and wonder if one day he isn’t going to come back from an exorcism.

you can’t stand seeing him bleeding and battered when he returns from missions.

you’ve already lost him once, you won’t be around to lose him again.

breaking up with itadori hurts both of you, but you have to do this. so you kiss him one last time, whispering an i love you against his lips and say goodbye.

itadori is heartbroken after you break up with him, but he tries to cover it up.

he’s still his regular cheery self, but it’s not as genuine.

fushiguro and nanami can tell that something’s off with him, but neither of them press itadori to tell them what’s wrong.

itadori is still in love you, but he has a duty to fulfill and he’ll see it through until the end.

NANAMI KENTO

reason: blunt

nanami doesn’t believe in sugar coating things or beating around the bush. he doesn’t see the point in it. he believes it’s important to be truthful and direct.

so he can be rather calloused and inconsiderate at times, even insensitive.

with his tone, he even sounds accusatory when you’ve done nothing wrong.

it’s humiliating. the way he lectures you as if you’re a child rather than an equal.

nanami’s tone is frightening, calm and even, but you can feel the anger radiating off of him. his words are cold as he berates you for needlessly putting your life at risk during a joint mission.

he goes so far as to say “you should have known that you were too weak to face that curse alone.”

and maybe it’s true, but you can’t stand the way that nanami talks down to you. it’s not the first time it’s happened either.

and you’ve had enough of it.

you break up with him and all nanami does is coolly reply that you’re acting irrationally and immaturely.

nanami’s frustrated that you’re unable to understand how he’s concerned for your well-being. you shouldn’t have attempted to face a cursed being of that level by yourself and you could’ve easily gotten yourself killed.

the aftermath of your breakup is messy.

you’re both sorcerers, but you avoid nanami to the best of your ability, partnering up with others for assigned missions.

on the outside, nanami seems to be completely unaffected by the breakup.

but behind his goggles, his eyes are more tired than usual and his patience with gojo has thinned even more so, causing him to easily snap at the man.

nanami doesn’t mind overtime as much as he once did.

he loathes how a quiet apartment is the only thing waiting for him when he gets off of work.

so he picks up more missions just to avoid the loneliness that awaits him.

NOBARA KUGISAKI

reason: impulsive

nobara often speaks without thinking beforehand.

she tends to say whatever comes to her mind, sometimes disregarding how others may feel.

you love the way that she speaks her mind, bold and totally unafraid of whoever she’s talking to. in fact, you even admire it.

but when you get into fights, nobara doesn’t hold back. she says anything and everything that comes to mind.

most of the stuff she says, she doesn’t mean. she just gets so frustrated and worked up that it just all comes spewing out in the heat of the moment.

but her thoughtlessness cuts deep and opens wounds you’ve worked hard to heal.

it’s during one of your fights that nobara lets it slip “god why am i even dating you?”

all the fight is drained out of you once you hear that. you don’t want to argue with her anymore so you tell her that she doesn’t need to worry about this relationship anymore because it’s over now, and walk out.

nobara’s reaction time is delayed, sputtering as she processes what you’ve said.

when she gathers her bearings and runs out the door, you’re already gone.

nobara would talk about your breakup with whoever’s around to listen. she neglects to mention that you’re the one to have broken up with her and rants about all of your flaws and why you weren’t a good s/o.

but when nobara’s alone, she misses you terribly and wishes that she could take back what she said.

as she lies in bed, she replays all of the things she spat at you in fits of anger.

she didn’t mean any of it.

she loved you, and still does.

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disgruntledspacedad · 3 years

Text

The Rules of Engagement (4/5)

part of the The Better Love Series

pairing: Javier Peña x fem!reader/ofc (Ears)

summary: (slow-burn, sexual tension, angst, a little bit of h/c in later chapters) He’s a DEA agent. You work for Centra Spike. Peña’s not your boss, exactly, but you’ve been fwb long enough that certain people are starting to think of you as An Item, and that just won’t do.

words: 3.7k

warnings: 18+ for alcohol, language, smut, violence, general trauma.

a/n: unbeta’d. Yeah, I know - I can’t count. This is gonna be five chapters.

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five

MASTERLIST

Murphy nearly bowls you over on his way down stairs, pulling up short when he sees you.

“Shit!”

You glance down at yourself. Your clothes are rumpled and covered in ash and bile. You don’t even want to know what your face looks like. There’s rubble in your hair.

Murphy is still staring open-mouthed.

“The pharmacy below my apartment got bombed,” you explain hollowly. “I’m fine, I just need a shower.”

“You look like you need a hospital,” Murphy counters, eyeballing you with something akin to worry. “Fucking Christ, Ears, if Javi -”

You snap your eyes up at the mention of Javi. “Have you heard anything?”

For the first time since you’ve met him, Steve Murphy cracks a grin at you. “On his way home now.” He looks as relieved as you feel. “We got him.”

You manage to smirk back. “Good.”

“Congratulations, by the way. This one’s on you as much as anybody.”

“Thanks.” You sag against the side rail, trying to be subtle about it. Now that the adrenaline has worn off, your legs are shaking, and you think it’s only a matter of time before you fall over.

Murphy notices, because he reaches for your shoulder to steady you. “I really think-”

“No.” You cut him off forcefully, glaring at him with all the energy you have left. “No, Steve. I’m tired, that’s all.”

He sighs. Narrows his eyes. Frowns. “You’re bleeding.”

What?

Murphy gesturers to your temple with a finger that you have to stop yourself from flinching away from. “You’re bleeding, Ears,” he repeats, as if he’s expending a great amount of patience by pointing it out to you.

You reach up, wincing as you notice for the first time that your head hurts. When you draw your fingers back, they are coated in blood.

Murphy moves closer to get a better look.

“It’s just a scratch, Murph,” you tell him wearily. As far as you can tell, that’s true. There’s no gaping hole or giant gash, just a stinging little cut right at your hairline. “You know how head wounds are.”

He’s still glaring suspiciously at you, and you let him, meeting his gaze in silent challenge.

Eventually he sighs. “Okay, your funeral, I guess. Gimme a minute.”

Before you can retort, he ducks back inside, leaving you standing awkwardly on the front step. The walls are thin - you can hear him rummaging around in the kitchen. He’s back seconds later, key in one hand, a slip of paper in the other.

He hands you the paper first. “This is my pager number. Javi’ll be back soon, but I want you to contact me if anything crazy happens.” He motions to your head with his thumb.

“Okay,” you promise.

“And here’s this.” He presses the key into your hand.

You look up at him wide-eyed. “Murphy, you can’t just give me Peña’s key.”

“What, you think it would be any different if I stepped across the landing and did the honors for you? I’m already late.” He runs a hand through his hair with a huff. “Besides, he’d want you to have it.”

Somehow, you seriously doubt that.

Murphy fixes you with a stare. “Trust me.”

“Hardly,” you mutter, taking the key from his hand anyway. You hold it up for emphasis. “But you’re taking the fall for this one, alright?”

Murphy rolls his eyes. “I think I can live with that. Stay safe, Ears, and page me if you need anything.”

♠

You resist the urge to flop down on Javi’s sofa and sleep for a thousand years, instead making your way to the shower. Peeling away your dusty clothes feels so incredibly good. So does the hot water. You take your time, exploring the lingering aches and pains in your body as you scrub them with Javi’s little sliver of Irish Spring. Aside from a few bruises and that one little slice on your temple that won’t quit oozing, you’re not injured anywhere. You think you might be a little sore from being thrown backward tomorrow, and your lungs still feel funny and raw from having the air knocked from them, but otherwise, the bombing of your apartment is more inconvenient than anything.

You try very, very hard not to think about Emilio.

You step out of the shower only when the water runs tepid, the cold jarring you awake. Javi only has two towels, it seems - one left out to dry on the towel rack, the other crumpled in the corner with a pair of boxers. Nice. You opt for the one that’s on the rack, wiping yourself down then wrapping up your dripping hair.

There’s something deliciously deviant about sneaking naked through Javier Peña’s apartment when he’s not home. You shake away your guilt, trying hard not to be too weirded out or too turned on as you rifle through his dresser drawers. You’ve got to wear something.

Eventually, you come away with the green t-shirt and the only pair of sweats the man owns. You eye yourself in the mirror, considering. Javi’s clothes are ridiculous on you - you have to roll the sweats three times at the waist just to keep from tripping - but hell, at least you aren’t naked. Looks like that cut finally stopped bleeding, too.

Carefully, you pull your hair into a sloppy braid and gather your dirty clothes, doing a cursory sweep of the apartment to see if Javi has anything else that needs washing. Other than the little pile in the bathroom, you find a t-shirt and a pair of mis-matched socks in the corner by the nightstand. Not bad for a single guy living alone, you decide.

You make the trip downstairs to the communal laundry room quickly, noting the time on the kitchen clock when you return. You don’t feel like waiting beside the machine today. Flopping on the sofa has lost it’s appeal - you’re bone weary, but every time you close your eyes, you see fireballs and charred bodies.

Sleep is not on the agenda.

Sighing, you make your way to the kitchen for a cup of coffee, glancing at the clock for the umpteenth time. 9:42. You put the water on, then shuffle downstairs to switch the laundry to the dryer. 40 more minutes, and then you can get out of here.

And then what?

You examine your options and find that the list is short. You aren’t going to stay here any longer than necessary - you’ve intruded on Javi’s privacy enough. Your only friend in Colombia is Ana, and that’s off the table for obvious reasons. Murphy isn’t at home, and Connie had left for the States just weeks after you’d arrived. Back to work, then.

You decide that’s best anyway. Somebody fucking bombed your apartment. Well, the mark was probably Emilio’s drug store, but still. Bombings don’t happen in Bogotá - that’s a Medellín thing. Especially a civilian target.

The rush of anger that consumes you is staggering. Who did this, and why? Bombing a business is a very Pablo Escobar thing to do, but a small pharmacy? In Bogotá?

Ana and her father are good people. You know deep in your bones that they aren’t involved in the drug trade. You also have major doubts that this was an accident. So, what the fuck?

The injustice of it all makes you feel small and cold and helpless.

You’re missing something big.

Javi doesn’t have a television in his apartment. Even if you did have access the news, the information that you’re seeking is hardly going to be broadcast on live television, and certainly not so soon.

Work really is the best option, then. Between the bombing and Verdugo’s arrest, the sicarios must be on red alert. Maybe you can pick up on some chatter.

Besides, you probably need to let Stechner know about your situation as soon as possible.

You glance at the clock. 10:07.

Ugh. You rise up on your tiptoes, bouncing in frustration. Caffeine and adrenaline have made you jittery. There’s something really cringe-worthy, too, about being alone in Javi’s apartment without his knowledge, especially given the way things ended between you.

The memory chafes, and you shake your head hard enough that it throbs.

Goddamn this day.

A shrill beeping jerks you from your thoughts, and you barely manage to stifle a shriek. Your pager! You’d forgotten all about it. Your stomach swoops as you pick it up.

The number that flits across the screen belongs to Javi.

You take a breath. Weird. Aside from that one brief conversation yesterday, you haven’t spoken to him in weeks. It probably has something to do with Verdugo, you decide. Maybe he wants to inform you personally. That would be nice of him. After all, this was a pretty big arrest for you, too.

You locate the phone in the kitchen, dialing the number with trembling fingers. Damned coffee.

“Peña.” His voice is terse, clipped.

“Got your page,” you say warily. He sounds like he’s in a mood. “Is there -”

“Where are you?” he demands, cutting you off harshly.

You blink, startled. Forget ‘a mood,’ Javi sounds fucking livid. You’d assumed he’d be pretty relaxed, considering. “Umm, I’m actually at your place,” you speak slowly to hide the shakiness of your voice. Fuck, of all the times to get emotional. “Listen, my apartment was bombed. I just needed -”

You’re interrupted again by a sharp sigh. “Stay there,” Javi grinds out, and then there’s nothing but dial tone.

Slowly, you place the phone back in its cradle, processing the conversation.

What. The. Fuck.

Bits of plastic clatter to the floor as the pager smashes into the refrigerator - you’re hardly even aware of throwing it. You sink to the kitchen floor, cradling your head in your hands and doing your damnedest to just breathe.

It’s not fucking fair. He was the one who stormed out slamming doors. You haven’t pressed him, haven’t been a nuisance. Well, aside from basically breaking into his apartment and borrowing his shower.

But fucking hell, somebody - probably Pablo Escobar - just bombed your fucking apartment. You’re living in a foreign country and you don’t even speak the fucking language. There’s nowhere for you to go, and your clothes were a mess, and goddamn, you are just tired.

What were you supposed to do?

Footsteps thunder up the stairs. God, that was quick. You manage to leap to your feet just as the front door slams open with a bang.

Javi stops dead when he sees you, and your tirade dies in your throat.

“Hey.” It’s awkward, but it’s all you can manage.

He’s just staring at you, standing stalk still in the open doorway. He’s breathing heavily, like he’s been running. His expression is tight, carefully closed off. One fist is clenched at his side, the other still gripping the doorknob.

“Murphy let me in,” you babble. You knew he was on his way, but still, his sudden appearance startled you. “My place, I mean, the drugstore -”

“I know.” He’s toneless, expressionless, frozen except for his eyes. They rove over your face and body, and you’re reminded suddenly of watching him read reports - quick, efficient, and exacting, like he’s taking in every detail in an instant.

Fuck. Heat rushes you as you remember that you’re still wearing his clothes. “Okay,” you breathe shakily, hardly aware of speaking aloud. This is getting weird, and you really don’t have the emotional capacity to deal with Javier Peña’s shit today.

Your laundry is probably dry anyway.

“Where are you going?” Javi demands, resting a hand on your shoulder as you attempt to push past him.

That does it. “To get the laundry!” you bite back, twisting away from his touch with a lot more drama than is really necessary. “My clothes are dry!”

He pulls away as if burned, a muscle twitching in his jaw.

You stand there like that for a long moment, just assessing each other. You’re glaring up at him warily, sizing him up, while he watches you with an expression that you don’t recognize.

“I’ll go,” he says softly. There’s something quiet, almost regretful in his tone, and it shatters your defenses. You bit your lip and nod shakily, and then he’s gone, descending down the stairs without another word.

Jesus.

You exhale another shaking breath - everything you do seems shaky, today - and pour another cup of coffee.

♠

You feel like you’ve got a little more control of yourself once you’re back in your own clothes. Javi is lighting a cigarette at the kitchen table when you exit the bathroom, a fresh butt still hot in the ashtray next to him.

“Rough night?” you ask, dropping his half-folded t-shirt and sweats onto the counter.

He huffs sarcastically.

You sigh. Your patience is wearing very, very thin, but you decide to try one more time, just for the hell of it. “Congratulations, by the way. Murphy told me about Verdugo.”

He blinks up at you, like you’ve pulled him from deep thought. “Yeah,” he says slowly, still staring at you with an intensity that’s starting to really freak you out. He pulls hard at the cigarette, and the moment breaks. “We couldn’t have done it without you.”

You nod, suddenly tired.

He notices. “Ears?”

“I need to go back in,” you cut him off before he can ask whatever he was going to ask.

He frowns. “Didn’t you just leave this morning?”

Frazzled as you are, it doesn’t occur to you to ask how he knows that. “Yeah, Peña, I did,” you snap. “But then some fucker bombed my apartment, and I’ve got a nasty feeling that it has something to do with Pablo Escobar. I can’t go home, and I can’t get any sleep, so I might as well make myself useful and see if there’s anything worth listening to today.”

His gaze had drifted during your speech. He’s resting his jaw on his his palm, staring off into the middle distance.

Ugh.

“So, will you drive me, Peña, or am I calling a cab?”

“Sorry,” he says softly, breaking himself out of whatever stupor he’d been in. He stands and extends a hand like he might like to reach for you before deciding against it and grabbing his gun instead. “Of course I’ll drive you, if you feel like going in.” He catches your eye as he tucks the gun into his belt, serious now. “I really am sorry about your home, Ears.”

God. All Javier Peña has to do is throw you a tiny bone, and you fucking melt. The relief you feel is palpable. “Thank you,” you whisper, closing your eyes for a long second.

You hear him rustling around with keys. “Let’s go, then.”

♠

The car ride to headquarters is silent. Javi smokes three more cigarettes, tossing the butts out the open window before you even hit the parking lot, one after the other. You wonder what the fuck is going on with him.

He makes a point to let you out of the passenger side door, a little quirk that had been hit or miss before, depending on his mood. You walk together up the embassy steps, him hanging close to your shoulder but not quite touching you, and you wonder if this is his strange way of apologizing for the weirdness before.

You’re halfway to Stechner’s office when you realize that Javi is still following you. You arch a curious brow in his direction. He pointedly ignores it.

Okay, seriously. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?” The question comes out a lot harsher than you intend, but hell, it’s been a terrible day.

He glances down at you, almost apologetic. “It can wait a minute.”

“Ears!”

Oh, fuck. Steve Murphy is running up the hallway, gaze zeroed in on you.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” He doesn’t wait for you to answer, just whirls on Javi. “Javi, what the fuck is she doing here?”

You bite the inside of your cheek in an effort to keep from screaming. “I’m trying to go do my job, Murphy, if the fucking DEA will let me.” Thankfully, your voice comes out pretty level.

Javi’s looking at Murphy with a narrowed gaze, head cocked, hands on hips. “What do you mean, Murphy?” he asks in a low voice.

Murphy throws his hands up in consternation. “I mean she should be in bed, or at a fucking hospital. You should have seen her this morning, Javi. Looked like she’d come straight from a war zone!”

Javi whips around to stare wide-eyed at you. “Wait. You didn’t say…” All of the color is draining from his face. “You were there?”

Something about the breathlessness the words, like they’d been punched out of him, sends little shocks of electricity zinging across your skin. “I’m fine,” you manage. As protests go, it’s pretty weak.

“God, Ears, you’re still bleeding.” Goddamn Steve Murphy and his fucking preoccupation with your blood. “Now get out of here, please, before I call you an ambulance. Jesus.”

Javi’s face is a storm cloud of emotions as the pieces continue to click into place. “Ears,” he growls, more horrified than angry. He grips you carefully by the shoulders, looking you over again. This time, he brings his fingers gently to your temple. They come away bloody.

He sucks a sharp breath, glancing up at Murphy. “You’ll handle Verdugo?”

Murphy’s lips are pressed into a fine line. “Absolutely, Javi. Get her out of here.”

♠

He escorts you from the building with a hand pressed firmly against the small of your back. It would be sweet, if not for the blistering pace and the stony expression that’s frozen on his face. People take notice, leaping out of your way, craning their necks to watch as you storm by. By the time you reach the doors, your cheeks are flaming.

“Agent Peña!”

Oh shit. You hadn’t even noticed Martinez and his entourage milling around the entrance.

“Yeah?” Javi bites out.

Martinez raises a brow at the scene the two of you make - you, bleeding and shamefaced, Javi damned near parading you into the parking lot with all the subtly of a thunderclap.

God, there’s no way this ends well for either of you.

“Verdugo is in interrogation room three,” Martinzes says, clearing his throat awkwardly.

Javi doesn’t even slow. “Stick Murphy on it,” he snaps over his shoulder. “I’m busy.”

Nobody dares argue with him.

♠

Instead of getting into the car, Javi leans heavily against the door.

You pause, opening your mouth to question him, but he reaches for your jaw before you can speak, carefully tilting your face up into the sunlight.

“Are you okay?”

His voice is soft, but he’s looking at you in undisguised concern, eyes roving over you with an intensity that tempts you to drop your gaze.

You shiver. You can’t help it - you’re exhausted and emotional, and things with Javi have been so weird for so long, and now he’s staring at you, sharp and worried, running his thumbs across your scalp to gently assess for injuries.

No, you are not okay.

He notices the little tremor that darts through your body and rests one hand on your shoulder, leaning in to look you straight in the eye. “How far were you from the explosion?”

“Across the street,” you tell him, breathless for all of the wrong reasons. It’s only half-way true, you’d been crossing the street when the bomb had gone off, far closer to the blast zone than you’re leading him to believe. But he’s so close, cupping your cheeks in his hands, leaning forward to shield you from the traffic-side of the parking spot with his body as he continues to draw his fingers across your skin, gently assessing for more damage.

“It just knocked me off my feet,” you continue. Your throat is suddenly so dry. “Startled me, more than anything.”

Javi reaches with one finger to expose the wound on your temple. It’s still oozing.

“And this?” he asks, pinning you with another piercing stare.

You reach up, catching his hand as his fingers begin to drift down your cheek. He twitches reflexively. “Just a little scratch,” you promise him. “Falling glass, or shrapnel, I guess. Something grazed me. I never hit my head.”

This is not a lie. You never blacked out; you’re not hurt.

He blusters a sigh, scrubbing his face with his palm for a brief second. “I should really take you to the hospital.” His jaw tightens as he speaks.

“I just said I didn’t hit my head. I’m fine.” You indicate the wound on your temple. “This is nothing. You know how head wounds like to bleed.” You look up at him, projecting as much wide-eyed, awake, vibrant woman as you possibly can after walking away from a fucking bomb, and squeeze his hand in reassurance. “Please, Peña. I just want to go -”

Home, you almost say.

You stop yourself just in time. There is no home, not anymore. And you won’t make the mistake of referencing Peña’s place as anything other than ‘Peña’s place.’ That would be supremely stupid, given all of the recent drama.

“To bed,” you manage instead. “I’m just tired.”

And god, that is the truth.

If Javi notices your faux pax, he doesn’t mention it. He’s hardly taken his eyes off you. He’s near enough that you can feel the heat of his skin, one hand still twined in yours.

It’s all you can do to avoid resting your head on his chest.

“Okay,” he mutters begrudgingly, and then shakes his head like he hadn’t meant to agree. “I’ll take you home.”

You smile wanly at him. “Thanks.”

♠

author’s notes/confessions

I know you still have questions. I promise you, I will answer them.

Steve Murphy is a good bro.

Y’all hit me up if you want a little Javi one-shot after this next chapter. I wrote it for my own reference, but it might be a fun read, if you’re wondering what’s happening inside his head right now.

@tiffdawg, look what you made me do. ;)

#Javier Peña x reader #javier peña #javier pena x reader #narcos #pedro pascal #narcos fanfiction #Javier Peña fanfiction #Javier Peña imagine #javi x you #javi x reader #reader insert #angst #hurt/comfort #slowburn #friends to lovers #the rules of engagement #better love #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal fanfiction

346 notes · View notes

ladyfogg · 3 years

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Heal My Wounds - Part 1

Heal My Wounds - Part 1 of 3

Fic Summary: After you meet the infamous Kit Walker, you realize that he cannot possibly be guilty of everything they say he is. Determined to treat him with kindness and compassion, you end up falling hard for the handsome man with gorgeous dark eyes. But you both are playing a dangerous game and you must decide just how far you’re willing to go to save the man you love. Part 2. AHS Masterlist.

Fic Rating: 18+

Fic Song: War by Poets of the Fall

Pairing: Kit Walker/Female Reader

Warnings: Language, Smut, Slow Burn, tw: mental illness, tw: asylum setting, tw: violence

A/N: I ended up finishing this a lot quicker than I thought I was going to. Enjoy! For @tatestripedsweater and @kitwalker02.

You’ve seen many things during your time at Briarcliff. Being a nurse, you deal with truly awful alignments, either self-inflicted or acquired under “mysterious” circumstances. This usually means that a guard roughed the patient up or Dr. Arden can’t be bothered to treat them himself. You learn to expect the worst, not in the patient but in what they are afflicted with. In truth, your heart goes out to every one of them. Regardless of what sent them to Briarcliff, it is always your mission to treat them with the respect and dignity they deserve.

Which is why, when you hear that the infamous Bloody Face, aka Kit Walker, has been transferred to the asylum, you try not to be concerned. You knew all about Bloody Face and what he’s done and when they arrested Kit, you aren’t ashamed to admit that your first thought was, “Good riddance!” However, you force yourself to change your tune once you learn you’ll be treating him at some point. Plenty of dangerous people had come and gone through Briarcliff’s doors. You aren’t going to treat him any differently than you would the other patients.

No matter how dangerous he is.

It isn’t long before you find yourself face-to-face with him. He is there less than a day before he’s brought in to see you, his lip and his nose a bloody mess, the red a stark contrast to his pale skin. His appearance surprises you even though it shouldn’t. You read the papers; you’ve seen his face. Yet, in person, he’s so handsome it takes your breath away and you need a moment to compose yourself.

“What happened?” you ask Kit as the guard forces him to sit on the bed. He is bound with cuffs and chains, an overkill if you ever saw one.

“He got into a scrape with another inmate,” the guard says in a gruff voice. “Bloody Face here got the worst of it.”

“They’re called patients, not inmates,” you correct him with a glare. “And I wasn’t asking you, I was asking Mr. Walker. That is his name, that's what he will be called while he’s under my care.”

The guard, whose name you think is Hardy, looks taken aback by your words. He is a new one who hasn’t had to deal with you yet. While many of the female staff are nuns, you are not. You are there purely for medical purposes, not religious ones. Therefore, you have no reason to force politeness to the guards. After all, why should you? They never show you any. The sooner Hardy learns you will not tolerate his bullshit, the better.

You have been talked to by Sister Jude several times regarding your attitude but since you are appointed by the state, there is nothing more she can do. Eventually, the both of you came to a mutual understanding. In fact, you suspect she admires your non-nonsense attitude as it most often gets results. If there is a patient in your infirmary, you can call the shots. Of course, the male guards don’t like that, but they can get fucked.

When you turn back at Kit, he has a surprised look on his face.

“Are you hurt anywhere else?” you ask.

“Just my face,” he answers. “And my hands.”

You glance down and see his bruises and bloody knuckles. Clearly, he defended himself but given the fact that the other patient hasn’t been brought it, you assume Kit got the worst of it. You go about collecting what you need to disinfect his wounds.

To Hardy, you say, “Remove his chains.”

“No can do. Not for this one.”

“His knuckles are bleeding, and I need to examine his hands to make sure nothing is broken or fractured. Remove his chains.”

There is an intense stare-off between you and the guard before he relents and unbinds Kit. Once his restraints are gone, you wave Hardy off. “You may step outside.”

“Now hold on a minute! This man—”

“Has rights. He deserves the same privacy as every other patient. Besides, I won’t have you getting in my way while I patch him up. You can step outside and wait. I’m more than capable of handling myself.”

Hardy snorts, annoyed and done with arguing. “Fine by me. Don’t complain if you get killed.”

“I won’t, considering if that happens, I won’t be able to. Or are you not aware how death works?”

With a sneer, he stalks away, and you heard him mutter, “Stupid bitch.” under his breath.

“Smart bitch actually,” you call after him. “And shut the door on your way out, please.” It slams behind him and you return your attention to your patient.

Kit looks at you with awe. “Forgive me for saying so, doc. But you’re one tough broad.”

You laugh, pulling a chair over so you can sit in front of Kit. “I’m not a doctor, I’m a nurse. And you have to be though, especially in this place. The gentle don’t last long. Now, let’s take a look at those hands.”

Kit extends his hands, and you take them in your own, examining his wounded knuckles. After moving each finger and his wrists, you determine there was nothing broken or fractured so you set about cleaning the scrapes. Kit watches you the entire time. Even though you don’t look up from your work, you can feel his eyes on you.

“I think you’re the only person in this place who’s not afraid of me,” he says after a stretch of silence. “This is the first time I’ve been treated like a person since this whole thing started.”

“Should I be afraid of you, Mr. Walker?” you glance up and are immediately taken in by the soft expression on his face.

“Call me Kit,” he says. “And I never hurt anybody. All the things they say I did are lies. I have no idea what happened to those girls and I have no idea what happened to Alma other than they took her.”

You consider his words for a moment and pull away, letting his hands fall to his lap. The bloody towel you hold is tossed onto your tray of supplies before you sit back and cross your arms. “Alright then, Kit. Tell me why I should believe you.”

Kit doesn’t seem to know what to say at first. You’ve dealt with numerous patients who swear up and down they didn’t do what they were accused of. Most of them had. Because of that, you are pretty damn good at reading people because even the best liar has a tell. An eye twitch, a knee bounce, a lip bite…anything. You trained yourself to look for these things because, in your line of work, it means the difference between life or death.

The man in front of you doesn’t look like he’s hiding anything. More to the point, you don’t feel scared of him. You aren’t made of stone; you feel fear just like everyone else. You are simply better at masking it. However, that violent vibe you’ve learned to sense doesn’t radiate from Kit and as you look into his deep brown eyes, all you see is fear, frustration, anger, and sadness. They all pass one after another on a loop.

“I don’t have a reason,” Kit finally says after a long pause. “If I were in your shoes, I wouldn’t believe me either. But you showed me kindness no one else has and I’m grateful. Really.”

“I think this place wouldn’t be half as bad as those colleagues of mine showed a little kindness too.” You go back to work, cleaning his hands. “This is going to sting a bit.”

Kit flinches as you pour alcohol over his cuts. Carefully, you clean them some more before you are sure they won’t get infected. Once that’s done, you wrap them in bandages.

“There, good as new. Just try to keep those bandages dry for a bit. You can take them off tomorrow to let the cuts breathe. Let me make sure your nose isn't broken.”

Kit remain still as you gently cup his face, turning his head left to right in order to take stock of his injuries. Being so close, you realize how handsome he truly is. That jawline is to die for, and his dark curls looks so soft, you want to run your fingers through them. Once that thought entered your brain, you scold yourself. He is your patient and is in the asylum to see if he is fit to stand trial for murder. Thinking about him in any way other than professional is a dangerous game. And very stupid.

“That bad huh?” Kit asks with a slight smirk.

It isn’t a malicious one by any means. In fact, it’s almost hesitant. Like he is afraid to be so comfortable joking with you. You don’t blame him considering what he has gone through. You offer him a smile in return.

“Just a split lip and it doesn’t look like your nose is broken. It’s not even swollen. There shouldn’t be any permanent damage.”

You grab a fresh towel and dip it in warm water before gingerly cleaning the blood from his face. But before you can get far, Kit reaches up to stop you. Instinctively you freeze, worried that you may have hurt him. Maybe his nose is worse off than you originally thought?

“Did I hurt you?” you ask.

Kit shakes his head. “No, I’m just…” He pauses as if he’s not sure what to say next. “I’m sorry but I just...why aren’t you scared of me?"

“You really want me to be, don’t you?”

“What? No! Of course not. I’m just…” He stops when he sees you holding back a smile. “You’re messing with me.”

You shrug and go back to your work. “A little,” you admit. “But to answer your question, I’m not scared of you because I believe you. I don’t think you killed or even hurt anyone. I just don’t sense that sort of evil in you. As for what you claim to have witnessed, that I don’t know about. But I do know crazy, Kit Walker. And you’re not it.”

It is like the remaining tension leaves his body and Kit slumps against you, a few tears running down his cheeks. Without thinking, you pull him into a tight hug, letting him rest his weary head on your shoulder. The warmth of him is invigorating and you savor the feeling. It’s been a long time since you’ve been touched in any way. Long work hours make your social life non-existent and you carefully keep your distance with your patients.

Except Kit, it seems. You don’t know why your well-constructed walls are crumbling under the weight of one interaction with one man.

“You have no idea how much I needed to hear that,” he says, his voice muffled by your uniform. “No one will listen. No one believes…”

“I’m listening. But first, sit back before you get blood all over me.”

With a weak laugh, Kit pulls away. He wipes the tears with the back of his hand which you’re grateful for because you were about two seconds away from gently brushing them away. Pulling yourself together, you continue to clean his face while he tells you his story. It’s definitely strange. The idea of being abducted and probed was one you’d rather not think about.

But you don’t just listen to his words, you watch his expression, pay attention to the tone of his voice and his body language. Even though you’ve heard some of it through the papers, it’s different hearing it from him directly. Once he’s done, you’re even more certain he didn’t kill anyone. No one who talks about their missing wife that softly and heart felt could possibly be a vicious serial killer.

It’s his eyes that give him away. There’s so much emotion and depth, you can’t help but believe him. You wish you can explain it, but some things are beyond explanation.

“You sure I’m not crazy?” Kit asks when you don’t respond to him right away.

“After that story, you’re absolutely batshit.”

He chuckles when he realizes you aren’t serious. You pull your hand away, finally done getting rid of all the blood, but he stops you with a gentle touch to your wrist. “Thank you for listening. I could tell you weren’t judging when I spoke, and I appreciate it. I appreciate everything you’re doing for me.”

“It’s not my place to judge. Only heal.” You sit back, breaking all contact with him, hoping it’ll clear your spinning head. “There. Now you’re just as handsome as you were before. Do me a favor and at least try not to get majorly hurt again for the rest of the day?”

“He started it.”

“Everyone always starts things here. And given your current situation, it’s best to keep your head down as much as possible.”

“What’s the point? They’ve already made up their minds about me being guilty,” Kit says bitterly as you roll your tray over to the sink. He sees a pack of cigarettes on your desk and nods towards them. “Mind if I have one?”

You wave for him to go ahead as you clean up. “I wish I had words of encouragement for you. I wish I could say it will all work out. But unless they catch the real Bloody Face, your choices are either here or the electric chair.”

Kit pops a cigarette in his mouth and lights the end. “I have to see the state-appointed shrink. My last hope is to convince some head doctor that I’m not crazy.”

Your heart goes out to him. His situation really is a double-edged sword. If he proves he isn’t crazy, then they are sure to send him to trial and his death. If he keeps spouting off about strangers abducting him and his wife, then they will keep him at Briarcliff. Either way, he loses. It isn’t fair.

“Stick to your story,” you tell him. “If it’s really the truth and that’s really what you know happened, then stick to it. I mean, it’ll probably get you confined here for life. But at least you’ll be alive.”

“Yeah, but at what cost?”

You don’t get to respond. The door bursts open and Sister Jude strolls in with Hardy right behind her. You wonder how long he waited outside before running to tattle on you.

“Why is this patient not restrained?” she asks in that stern voice of hers.

“I needed to clean his hands and couldn’t very well do that when they were bound,” you say. “He’s all set now.”

“In the future, I would appreciate it if you would leave the door open. No young woman should be alone with this one,” Sister Jude says, motioning to Kit. “Not until he’s been properly medicated.”

“He deserves just as much privacy as any of us do when being medically treated.”

“Not here. Not under my roof,” Sister Jude counters. “I like you, girl, but don’t push me on this. Kit Walker may have the looks of an angel but he’s far from it.”

“She didn’t do nothing wrong,” Kit says angrily.

Sister Jude motions for Hardy to grab Kit. Anger courses through your veins when you see how he is manhandled. “Hey, be careful! I don’t want to have to treat a dislocated shoulder,” you say.

Kit sends you a grateful smile which Sister Jude unfortunately notices. She steps up to him and in a low voice says, “Quit your leering! You don’t fool me, Kit Walker. You can keep spouting that innocent act all you’d like but I know there’s darkness in your soul.”

Kit’s body tenses and you see him clench his fists in anger. The nun yanks his cigarette out of his mouth and puts it out on your desk.

What a bitch.

As he is led away, Kit dares to look back at you and you see the glimmer of another smile before he is gone. The empty room suddenly seems more so without him there. It’s strange how comfortable you feel around him, especially considering the circumstances. After cleaning up the remnants of his cigarette, you sit back at your desk. But focusing is not in the cards for you. The rest of the day, you find yourself constantly sidetracked by the handsome brown-haired man with the deep brown eyes. So much so that you get angry with yourself.

You are hardly ever swayed by just a pretty face. Then again, there’s more to Kit than that. Although, it certainly helps. The way he stood up for you even when he was in trouble spoke volumes about who he is a person. You don’t think there is a selfish bone in that man’s body.

The next day during meds, you don’t see him in the Day Room with the others. It suddenly occurs to you that after the fight the day before, he probably was thrown in solitary. You hate solitary being used for any of your patients but the thought of Kit in a small dark room, bound and alone makes your heart break in your chest. All you can do is hope he’ll be out of there soon.

At least three days pass before you see him again, mostly because you spend most of that time in the infirmary rather than in the common areas. It’s early morning and you are enjoying a rare moment of silence when the door opens, and Kit is led in. He’s bleeding from a cut on his forehead, which has already begun to bruise and swell.

“What happened?” you demand as you leap to your feet.

The guard, a brute named Dixon who you can’t stand, forces Kit onto one of the beds. “He slipped and fell.”

You doubt it. Your eyes slide over to look at Kit, who gives you a subtle shake of his head. “Oh really?” you ask Dixon, narrowing your eyes in distrust. “This seems like a pretty big bump just to happen from a slip.”

“Just treat him so I can get him back with the others,” Dixon orders.

“He hit his head. I’m going to have to keep him here for a few hours to make sure he doesn’t have a concussion.”

“Fine.” Dixon shoves Kit until he was laying on the bed. When he reaches for the restraints, Kit fights back.

“No! Let me go!” Kit struggles against him.

“Those aren’t necessary,” you declare, crossing the room to try to stop Dixon.

But the guard isn’t having any of it. The next thing you know, he pushes you away, hard enough that you trip over your feet and fall right on your ass.

“You son of a bitch!” Kit exclaims. He leaps up and punches Dixon square in the jaw.

What happens next is a flurry of blows and swears as the men fight each other. Knowing this can only end poorly for Kit, you manage to get back up before prying the two apart. “Enough!” you snap. “No fighting in my infirmary!”

Dixon is practically snarling as he wipes blood from the corner of his mouth. “You don’t scare me, Bloody Face. If I had my way, you’d be in the furnace by now.”

Kit makes a move to go at him, but you stop him with a hand on his chest. “Mr. Walker, lay down so Dixon can bind you. If you don’t, I know the right injection that’ll make you so tired, you’ll wake up next week.”

Kit’s eyebrows knit together as he looks at you with concern. You throw him a subtle wink. Breathing heavily, he sits back on the bed and allows Dixon to restrain him. Even though it pains you to do so, you help to keep up appearances. But you don’t tighten them as much as you should. Kit’s jaw is clenched as he watches Dixon’s movements, as if he’s waiting for him to attack again.

Once Kit is secured, you reach into your pocket. Unbeknownst to the guards, you carry around a sharpened scalpel for your own protection and the second Dixon lets his guard down, you press it to his neck, making him halt his movements.

“Listen here, you sick fuck,” you growl. “If you ever lay a hand on me again, I’ll shove this so far into your neck you’ll have to take your meals through a tube. Are we clear?”

Dixon sneers and takes a step back. “Whatever you say, woman. Call us when this psycho is ready to go back to his cell. And I’d be careful who you threaten. You wouldn’t want to end up like one of your patients, now would you?”

His threats send a chill down your spine, but you keep your hand steady, the scalpel still pointed at him as he backs away. It’s not until he’s out the door that you cross the room so you can lock it behind him.

“Are you alright?” Kit asks the moment it’s clear the two of you are alone.

You cross the room, pocketing the sharp instrument as you go. “I’m fine, Kit. Don’t worry about me.” As quick as you can, you undo his bindings. “Sorry about this. I fucking hate using bindings, but it was the only way to get Dixon to leave. He’s got a nasty streak in him; I’d stay clear if I were you. Are you okay? What happened to your head?”

“That asshole smashed my face into the wall,” he says as he sits up, rubbing his wrists. “He caught me wandering out of the Day Room.”

“Now why would you go and do a stupid thing like that?” you ask, hands on your hips. “Didn’t I tell you to keep your head down?”

“I just needed some peace and quiet. On my own terms and not in a dark dirty cell. Besides, others wander. Why shouldn’t I?”

“Because the others aren’t wanted for murder. They mean to make an example out of you, Kit.”

“Yeah, I noticed.”

You sigh and head to the icebox in the corner of the room. As you put together an icepack for him, you say, “These guards will look for any excuse to get rough. And they especially have it out for you. You have to be careful.”

“I hate this. I hate all of it. I feel like I’m going crazy. My head is so cloudy, and I can barely feel anything.”

“Those are the meds. Meant to keep you docile.” You carry the ice pack over to him along with supplies to fix up his head wound. “And suppress other impulses.”

“It’s inhumane, that’s what it is.” Kit barely makes a face as you clean the cut and dress it. “How am I supposed to defend myself if I don’t even feel like me? I think I’m slipping, doc.”

“I told you, I’m not a doctor.”

“Well, what should I call you then? You never gave me your name.”

You tell him your name and press the icepack to the bump on his head, “Here, hold this. Your nose is bleeding…again.”

Kit does as he’s told. After a moment, he says your name. It’s soft and beautiful coming from his lips and you can barely focus long enough to hear his question. “Can I confess something to you?”

“I’m no priest or nun.” You start to dab at his nose with a damp towel.

“It’s not that kind of confession. I wasn’t just wandering for the sake of wandering. I was trying to come see you.”

You pause, heart pounding in your chest as your eyes flickering up to meet his. “Why?”

“I feel safe here.”

You go back to your work. “I’m glad you do, but I don’t want you to get yourself hurt just to see me.”

“I didn’t know that asshole was gonna beat the shit out of me just for wandering.”

“Say you have cramps.”

Kit raises his eyebrow. “What?”

“If you want to see me…I mean, come to the infirmary, tell a guard or one of my assistants that you have cramps or a stomachache. It’s something most people don’t question since stomach stuff is really common, ‘specially around here. It usually comes with vomiting or diarrhea and no one wants to deal with that.”

Kit smiles. “Good to know.”

You finish cleaning him up and add, “But don’t overuse the excuse. Otherwise, if something is really bothering you, they won’t listen.”

“Understood. Do you really think I have a concussion?”

“No. Your eyes are clear and you’re not slurring your words. I figured it would at least give you a little reprieve from everything out there.”

Kit’s smile widens. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Although, I will have to at least keep your feet bound. That way if the guard comes back, I can quickly bind your hands before they enter. The lock will only temporarily slow them down since they have keys.”

“Hey, if it means spending time here with you instead of out there with everyone else who thinks I’m a vicious murderer, I’ll take it.”

Once you have him settled in the bed, you give him a cigarette before going about your daily routine. It is nice having Kit there. Occasionally, you talk as he smokes, but for the most part, the both of you enjoy each other’s company. He asks you about yourself, minor things, nothing too personal or probing, which you appreciate. You feel like he’s also trying to keep some distance between you, understanding your position and what a friendship with him could mean.

A few hours later, when you hear footsteps coming your way, you quickly bind Kit’s hands.

It takes a second for the door to be unlocked but then it opens and Dixon enters just as you’re pretending to check Kit’s bandages. “Walker here needs to see the shrink,” he says gruffly, crossing the room towards you.

“I was just about to call you.” Your lie is so effortless it even impresses you. “He doesn’t have a concussion. You can take him.”

Dixon is rough as he unbinds Kit and yanks him off the bed. To his credit, Kit doesn’t fight back or resist, understanding the stupid rules he needs to follow if he’s going to get anywhere in this place. Once he’s gone, you start to wrap up for the day, finishing any last minute tasks before getting ready to go home. As you’re straightening up your desk, your eyes catch the medication logbook, and an idea strikes you.

Sitting down, you flip through the pages, taking a look at the medications that are prescribed to each patient. At the bottom of the list is Kit’s name and, with a quick flick of your pencil, you manage to subtly cut his doses in half. It’s not much. You wish you can outright stop giving him the meds but that’s impossible. Hopefully, this way he’ll start to feel like himself.

You expect to be worried or guilty for what you’ve done. But honestly, you don’t. It feels right. Far too many patients have lost themselves in Briarcliff and you’re determined not to let Kit be one of them.

---

Kit’s world is not even recognizable anymore. One day he’s home with his beautiful wife, the next, she’s gone, and the police are accusing him of murder. He sees those damn creatures every time he closes his eyes, hears that loud noise echoing in his ears. If it’s not that he’s hearing, it’s the screams of the other patients.

When he saw you for the first time, heard you snap at the guard for mistreating him, he thought he was still dreaming. You have to be a dream. Nothing that good or sweet can possibly exist in this place. The way you look at him makes him feel seen for the first time in months.

He can’t get you out of his mind. After that initial visit, all he could think about was your warm embrace and the concern in your eyes.

To have someone care enough to worry about him meant everything. Especially during such a dark time. Trying to sneak away to see you had been a stupid idea but one he thought was worth the risk. He needed to know if he would have the same feelings each time, the same security and comfort. Do you really believe him or are you just a great actress?

The second time, you’re just as kind and generous as the first, and Kit knows that he is in trouble. A different kind of trouble than he already is in. This one is emotionally based and has the potential to end very badly.

Kit knew himself well enough to recognize the signs that he is falling for someone. You have only known each other a short while but already he can’t get you out of his mind.

The day following his first appointment with Dr. Thredson, he sees you in the Day Room and has to stop himself from immediately going over. It’s clear you’re busy, making the rounds and checking in on the other patients. Kit watches from a distance, smoking a cigarette as he leans against the back wall. Your kindness extends to everyone you come in contact with. He watches with admiration as you sit patiently with Pepper, checking on the small scrapes and abrasions she has.

You smile and his breath gets caught in his throat. Fuck you’re gorgeous.

Curiously, Kit watches as you slip something into Pepper’s hands before moving on to someone else. It turns out to be a small chocolate, which Pepper immediately devours before going back to her book. Kit smiles.

You catch each other’s eyes across the room just then. It’s a charged moment, like nothing in the world matters but the two of you. He makes a move to walk towards you, unable to help himself anymore. But then meds are called, and the moment is lost. Kit stubs out his cigarette and gets behind Lana as everyone lines up for their medications.

“This is bullshit,” Lana mutters under her breath. “Not all of us need medication. I don’t like that they force it on us. Makes my head all foggy.”

“That’s the point, isn’t it?” Kit asks, echoing your sentiment from the day before. “Keep us under control.”

“I have a point. One I’d like to shove right up their asses.”

Kit snorts at Lana’s blunt phrasing. At first, she had been weary of him but now the two have developed a mutual understanding. Neither one of them belongs there and it’s better to support each other than fight. The line moves and Kit watches you join your assistant to make the medication process go faster.

When it’s his turn, you hand him his cup and briefly, his hands touches yours. It’s like a bolt of electricity shoots through your fingertips and into his, coursing through his veins at such a speed it makes his head spin. On the outside however, he remains calm, bringing the cup up to his lips to knock back his meds. Except, he notices they look slightly different than the days before. His eyes briefly dart to yours and there’s a subtle change in your expression. Your eye closes just enough to seem like a wink without fully being one.

Kit downs the meds with less hesitation than before.

Sadly, he can’t talk to you after that. Once meds are distributed, you go back to the infirmary and he’s left alone once more. Briefly he considers faking a stomachache to see you again, but your warning is still ringing in his ears. The fact that you offered him the excuse was risky on your part. He doesn’t want to get you in trouble by overstaying his welcome in the infirmary. Even though he is curious about the medication change, he lets it go.

It’s not until he’s in his room that night that he realizes he’s feeling clear-headed. Usually, once lights out comes around, the meds have him so loopy he rolls over and goes to sleep. Or at least tries. This time, however, he feels more like himself. Of course, that also means he’s more aware of the dark and the loud screams, but once they subside, he’s left with silence and his own thoughts.

She must have lowered my meds or something. She’s fucking amazing.

Kit smiles, curling onto his side as he allows himself to think about you without worry or fear. Again and again your meetings replay in his mind and when he closes his eyes, he can almost smell the scent of your laundry detergent and perfume. The way your soft hands gently held his made him flex his fingers instinctively. Those lips of yours…he’d given anything to kiss them.

Kit’s eyes fly open when he feels his cock swell. It’s been so long since he’s felt any kind of sexual desire even before being medication. It’s a wonderful change of pace, however now he has a slight problem. Kit feels ashamed of himself for thinking of you sexually. All you’ve done is show him kindness and he’s thinking about doing all sorts of things to you. With a frustrated sigh, he rolls onto his stomach and tries to ignore it.

This turns out to be a bad idea. The pressure of his body against the hard mattress causes wonderful friction and Kit finds himself pressing his hips down for some semblance of relief.

Fuck it, he thinks, shoving his hand in his pants. I need this right now. I need her.

It’s been a long time since he’s done this himself. It takes a second to find the right angle and rhythm. He stays on his stomach, arching his back just enough to give his hand room as he jerks himself off. Burying his face in his pillow, he bites down to stifle his moans as he pictures you in your nurse’s uniform. The way it hugs your frame suddenly assaults his vision. When you had leaned over him to check his head, he had caught just the barest hint of cleavage. Then, he had purposefully closed his eyes to be respectful.

Now, it’s all he focuses on, thinking about how he’d love to run his tongue across your salty flesh while his hands cupped your tits. He’d bury his nose in your skin and inhale your scent before kissing and sucking every bit of you he could reach.

Would you moan his name? He bets you would, and he bets it would sound fucking fantastic.

Kit grips himself tighter, speeding up his movements as he keeps the fantasy going in his mind. Suddenly, the angle is too constricting, and he rolls onto his back, biting his bottom lip as he hand brings him closer to coming.

He pictures it being your hand. Pictures him laying in that hospital bed, you leaning over him and jerking him off as you watch his face. He thinks of you telling him to come for you and as soon as that thought crosses his mind, he explodes, coming all over his own hand as he quietly moans your name.

Sweating and panting, Kit lays there in his bed, heart racing and head spinning. He uses his blanket to clean himself up, tossing it onto the floor before curling into a ball. He expects the shame or guilt to hit him any moment, but he can’t find it in himself to feel either. All he feels is aching in his heart for the real thing.

The next morning, when they open the cells, he remains in bed. Once he hears the guard come closer, Kit begins to moan in agony, clutching his stomach.

Thankfully, Hardy is the one who check on him. Ever since you told him off, he’s been mostly tolerable to Kit. At least to his face.

“What’s wrong?” the guard asks.

“My stomach,” Kit moans. “I think…I think I ate something bad.” When Hardy kicks Kit’s soiled blanket aside, he adds, “Wouldn’t touch that if I were you. I felt real sick last night.”

Hardy wrinkles his nose and gestures for Kit to get up. “Come on. I’m taking you to the nurse.”

Laying on the theatrics, Kit forces himself up, still hunched over with his arms wrapped around his stomach.

You’re sitting at your desk when he enters. The morning light is filtering in through the barred windows and it catches you ever so slightly. Enough to almost make Kit forget he’s supposed to be in great pain. When you see him, your face grows concerned.

“This one is moaning about a stomachache,” Hardy says. “Where do you want him?”

To his dismay, Kit notices you’re not alone today. There’s a patient asleep in one of the other beds. You’re out of your chair in a second, pressing one of those soft hands to his forehead.

“He’s burning up.” Your ability to lie so smoothly makes Kit admire you even more. “Here, let’s get him on this bed right here.”

Hardy and you help Kit onto one of the beds in the corner of the room, one that’s hidden behind a divider. “I’ll keep an eye on him,” you say, tucking Kit in. “It’s probably just food poisoning. I’ve told the cook a million times they need to store the food better.”

“Think he needs to be tied down?” Hardy asks.

“No, of course not. Have you ever dealt with a patient who’s tied down and soiling themselves? My job is hard enough as it is. I won’t be dealing with that today.”

Kit makes retching noises if for no other reason than to see Hardy grow pale and uncomfortable.

“Oh, you better go before he starts up,” you urge, shooing the guard away.

Kit keeps up the act until he hears the door close and you turn to him, giving him a wide smile. “Wow, bravo. Great work, Kit.”

He smiles, sitting up. “Thanks. Maybe I’ll have a shot as an actor when this is all over.”

You chuckle and glance over at your other patient to make sure he’s still sleeping before sitting on the chair by Kit’s bed. “How are you really feeling this morning?”

“Better, actually. Do I have you to thank for that?”

“Well…it did seem overkill to have you on such high doses of medication when you aren’t mentally unstable. I’m sorry I couldn’t take you off them completely.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Kit says, reaching out to lay his hand over yours. “If anything, I’m sorry for you having to take that risk. I don’t want you to get in trouble, or worse, because of me.”

You look down at his hand and he immediately draws it back, worrying he may have crossed a line. There’s something in your expression that puts him on edge. He can see that you’re struggling, which only makes him feel worse. He berates himself for foolishly giving into his desires. Already things are tough, and the future is scarily uncertain. He’s on the hook for murder for fuck’s sake.

Before Kit can continue the self-deprecating spiral, you surprise him by carefully getting out of your seat and sitting next to him on the bed.

“Kit…” you say. “This friendship between us…I don’t know if it can continue.”

Kit’s heart sinks and he looks away from you, his gaze now fixated on the floor. “I don’t blame you,” he says. “It’s not safe being near me in any way. Honestly, it was stupid of me to come here like that. As much as I like spending time with you, I never want to put you in a compromising position. I’ve seen these guards and I know how they treat women. You’re in just as much danger here as I am.”

Your hand takes his, and he snaps his head up to look at you.

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” you say. For the first time since you met a few days ago, he hears the slightest crack in your voice. “I’m worried because, if we continue this friendship, I know that for me, one day, it might not be enough.”

His heart speeds up at your confession. Kit can’t believe his ears. The fact that you are feeling even the slightest bit of the attraction to him that he’s been feeling for you is enough to give him the sliver of hope that’s been severely lacking over the last few weeks.

Kit hesitantly links his fingers with yours, giving you every chance to pull away. You don’t. When he says your name, his throat is dry, and he has to clear it before he can go on. “I have no right liking you as much as I do. I don’t believe in God, but I can’t help but think that you’re my damn guardian angel. Because of you, I’m actually starting to think that maybe there’s a way out of this. Or at the very least, staying here won’t be so bad so long as you’re here.”

Your gaze softens and you look away, trying to hide the tear leaking out of the corner of your eye. With his free hand, Kit reaches up to wipe it away with his thumb. He can’t stop himself from cupping your cheek, needing to feel the warmth and softness against his palm. You shut your eyes, leaning into his touch, a shaky exhale escaping through your parted lips.

Your lips.

Kit’s eyes can’t look anywhere else. They look so inviting. He bets they’re just as soft as the rest of you, maybe even more so. Without even stopping to think what he’s doing, he starts to lean in, so slowly that you don’t seem to notice until you open your eyes to meet his. You pull your head back. Not abruptly or angrily, but enough where he gets the message to stop. Kit sighs with disappointment at the refusal. But a second later, you’re leaning in this time, at the same achingly slow pace he had been before.

Your lips brush and there’s a heated charge that soars between you, making you pause before you even properly get a kiss. Your eyes are wide as they meet his, searching for the same thing he’s looking for in yours: permission, acceptance, desire.

Kit closes the distance.

With one hand still cradling your face, he kisses you deeply, drawing your body as close to his as he dares. He feels you melt under his touch and it urges him to keep going, to keep kissing you, to deepen the kiss so he can savor the intense waves of desire washing over him.

You let him, opening your mouth so that his tongue can glide along yours.

It all becomes too intense for the both of you and you have to break the kiss, panting as your foreheads rest against one another’s.

“This is such a bad idea,” you say, the breathlessness of your voice making Kit’s cock twitch. “We have to be smart and we have to be careful. If we really can’t stay apart, then you have to listen to what I say and follow my instructions. Okay?”

“I can do that,” Kit says. He’d honestly agree to anything you say at that point. “Trust me, baby. I know the stakes.”

“Me too.” You take a deep breath and pull away, breaking all contact with him. It immediately leaves him cold and wanting more. “My assistants will be coming to collect the meds any moment. I need to go prepare.”

You reach out to cup his cheek and Kit holds your wrist, keeping your hand there for another moment so he could savor the contact. The way your eyes soften at him only makes him want to kiss you again. Instead, he settles for a peck on your palm before letting you fully pull away.

As you stand and collect yourself, you take a step towards the divider before you pause and look back at him. “No one can know, Kit. Not if you want to stay under my care. If anyone finds out there’s something between us, they’ll transfer me somewhere else and I won’t be able to protect you.”

The fact that you’re scared for him in this scenario and not yourself makes Kit want to throw you on the bed and ravish you. “I promise, I will find a way to clear my name,” he says. “Then once I’m out of here, I’ll take you away. Far away where this place can’t reach us.”

You smile and reach out to stroke his cheek again. “Easy there, Mr. Walker,” you tease, stroking his bottom lip with your thumb. “Keep talking like that and I may think you’re already falling for me.”

He watches you walk away, only one thought on his mind. Too late for that.

#kit walker #evan peters #ahs asylum #kit walker x reader #kit walker x you

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animeyanderelover · 3 years

Note

May I please have prompt 127 with Grell? Hope that's ok?! Thank you for always answering my requests!

That prompt honestly just suits her so well, I can’t😂.

Tw: Yandere themes, unhealthy mindset, unhealthy relationship, clinginess, obsessiveness, kidnapping, blood

Prompt 127: “I would bleed out if you tell me you like the color red.”

"Why exactly do I have to clean always the mess up you make during such missions? How did this even happen?!" Your voice sounded more shrill than usual, slight panic visible in your voice whilst trying to patch up the wound on Grell's shoulder, besmirching yourself with her blood in the process. You were no professional in this, having not the knowledge or experience how to properly sew a wound and you knew that Grell had a higher endurance, meaning she wouldn't die on blood loss. But you had wanted to help nevertheless, having panicked slightly when she had limped through the door, blood smearing her clothes and leaving a path behind you would have to clean later on if you didn't want the whole house to reek of blood.

"It was nothing too much to worry about darling. I just got in a little fight with someone and I let my guard down for a second." You raised your eyebrow slightly. "And with whom exactly did you get into a fight? A human can't have caused this damage on a grim reaper. So that must mean that you fought against another supernatural creature. Question now is which one. Do you want to tell me the reason why as well?"

A grim look crossed Grell's face for a moment, looking upset when recalling the incident that had caused her all the blood loss. "Well?", you asked, giving her a prompting look to encourage her before going back to observing her wound, trying to figure out how you were supposed to patch the wound after having somewhat cleaned it up. "You know, I can deduce this a bit judging from this wound. Were you attacked from a grim reaper's death scythe or something like this?"

"He started it!", Grell quickly defended herself, jerking a bit up in the process and making you nearly hit her in the wrong spot. "Hey! Sit still or else I'll end up sewing the wrong place. I already have troubles finding out how to even patch this!", you snapped, leading her to quickly sitting back in her earlier position.

"Did you get in troubles with William?", you continued questioning her, doing in your head a small simultation on how you would do any moment now finally mend that bleeding deep cut of hers. "No, I didn't! I said that he was the one who started it. He got punished instead of me and was raken his death scythe." You gave her a surprised look, blinking shocked. "...Wait, so this time you really were innocent?!"

"Of course I was! Why do you sound so surprised?", Grell complained, pouting slightly hurt. "Well...How do I say this?", you started, searching for the right words to explain it to her without ending up insulting her. "You're a bit more...quick-tempered and spirited?, you suggested, feeling like those words would come over as more positive.

"So I could have died back then on blood loss and you would have thought it was my fault for even doing so, am I right?", Grell started, sounding suddenly all too dramatic. "I am just being misunderstood in here. I really didn't do this time anything wrong. All I did was trying to talk with him before he suddenly started throwing his death scythe after me. It seems like he had a bad day and wanted me to shut up when all I did was trying to have a polite conversation with him. My feelings were hurt and at the very least you could be a bit more friendly because I might die here."

"Oh, come one! You won't die on this. The worst that might happen is you feeling dizzy and somewhat hazy due to all the blood that you have already lost! But that's all! Don't be such a drama queen! I'll fix you up! I'll try at least...Do you think that you can tolerate the pain?" It was kind of an unnecessary question, she had told you stories where she had been thrown through walls and hadn't looked affected so this was a ridiculous question which you noticed by the 'why are you even asking' look in her eyes. "Forget it. That was a stupid question. Still, sit still or else I'll end up piercing that thing by accident somewhere where we don't want to have it."

Your hands were slightly shaking, you were after all pretty nervous since you had never done it before. But it was either you finally closing the cut or accepting having her bleeding for a whole lot longer until her body would heal itself which you didn't want to wait for because it would only dirty the house even more than already. She would definitely help you later on scrubbing all the blood from the floor.

"You look sexy whilst being so concentrated.", you heard her chirping, her body moving a bit in the process which made you barely prevent yourself from ramming the needle with the threat in your own hand. "Grell?", you asked after calming down from the small shock. "Yes?", she replied. "Shut up whilst I'm flicking you together. I have to concentrate and your job is to sit still. No moving, no speaking, preferably no breathing. Just be like a stone. Do nothing."

"You want me to stop breathing? So mean.", she whined out, but after seeing the look with the silent message 'just do it', she let out a small huff before sucking in one last gasp of her and then completely stopping to move. "See? You can do it ans it isn't like you will die instantly. Let me just hurry up a bit."

You hadn't even gloves on, making all of this a bit gross since your hands were already stained with Grell's blood and the smell and close sight of it wasn't very great to look at either, but you had never been someone who was shaken up easily and life with the grim reaper had definitely hardened you up a lot.

For the biggest part you managed to not show your nervousness, though the slight trembling of your hands and your bloody and sweaty palms might have given it away that you had no idea what you were doing, the only knowledge you did possess was having read books about how to do it and having watched someone doing it once before, though it hadn't been on a human. But it was better than walking in on this completely blindly and whilst it ended up being a bit inexpertly, you still felt proud because for a starter it was still pretty good, but that was of course only your opinion.

You let out a small sigh, wanting to wipe your forehead before stopping abruptly, remembering just what exactly you had sticking on your whole body. You would have to take a thoroughly shower afterwards.

"Can I breathe again?", you suddenly heard Grell asking with a pressed voice, reminding you that she had hold her breath for the last four minutes, probably even longer. Respect, you didn't know if you could do that in such a situation. "Oh yes. Feel free to do what you want."

She gasped loudly, grabbing your shoulders in the process and just breathing a few times deeply in and out before straightening up and bending her head in an attempt to take a look at the freshly stitched wound. "Does it look daft?", she asked you.

"What the...? Grell, it isn't supposed to look like a work of art, not when I did it. It's just to stop the bleeding.", you quickly scolded her, tidying up all the tools and the many soaked towels and tissues you had used to clean all the blood from her wound. "And I'm sure you wouldn't want that to happen, right? Bleeding out in this house. But it seems like in the end everything went fine, the blood loss doesn't seem to have had an affect on you.", you added, feeling actually a bit relieved that she hadn't experienced any sort of dizzyness or shock from all of this.

You glaned with a heavy sigh down on yourself, examining just how terrible you really looked, blood smeared all over your face, your arms, clothes and even the tip of your hairs hadn't been spared. Someone would need to spend the next few hours in the bathroom to scrub and clean themselves thoroughly and severly up, you didn't plan on reeking like a wandering bloob bag.

"I look pretty bad.", you mumbled out, shaking your hands a bit in hopes of getting some of the still liquid blood off, though you knew you should hurry before it would start to dry. "I think you look gorgeous, covered in all my blood like this. Red suits you."

You stiffened up when hearing her saying this, although you weren't surprised hearing something like this coming from her. "Do you have to say this after I just patched you up? It makes it sound like you would have actually wanted to continuously lose blood just so I could be covered in your blood. And you wouldn't do that...right?" Why had you to ask this? She would surely not be that risky with her love for you, would she?

Grell put her fingertips on her chest, with the other gesturing at you. (y/n), I would bleed out if you tell me you like the color red."

...You shouldn't have asked this. For a few seconds you were quiet, thinking about how to give an answer to that question before just humming, deciding to leave this without any comment that could lead to her saying more stuff like this. You were for a short moment thinking if she had perhaps after all gotten a bit confused after losing that much of her blood, but with her it was hard to tell. You were sure she would be fine either way, making up your mind to just finally take a bath with a lot of soap.

"Are you taking a bath now?", Grell queried when seeing you walking towards the bathroom. "Obviously.", you replied, slowly gesturing at your currently eerie-looking figure, dry and still fresh blood mixing everywhere on your body. You were sure if you would walk like this at night through the forest and would cross paths with someone, they would run away crying and screaming. You looked like you had just murdered someone.

"Great! Can I come with you?"

"...Let me think. No."

"Why not? I could help you with cleaning you up from all the blood."

"I surely won't let you see me naked Grell! And you need to go easy on yourself now, especially with that freshly sewed shoulder of yours!"

"...I can use my other arm to scrub you up."

"Grell! No means no!"

"Fine then. I just wanted to help you. You could sometimes be a bit more polite with me."

"I politely decline.", you told her before finally disappearing, locking out of caution the door. You didn't know how effective a 'no' would be with her. You knew her overzealousness too well.

#yandere black butler #yandere kuroshitsuji #yandere grell #yandere grell sutcliff

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pogueshomecoming · 4 years

Text

like to be you - jj maybank x reader

requested? nope

description: based on the song by shawn mendes and julia michaels, kook!reader and jj get in a fight about his dad and it reiterates that their lives are very different

masterlist, taglist, and request links are in my bio :)

warnings: mentions of abuse, descriptions of cuts and bruises, angst, arguments

word count: 2.5k

The chateau's door opens with a creak, and your attention is pulled away from the conversation Pope and John B are having. JJ stumbles in, barely able to walk. You're on your feet in an instant.

"JJ?" John B follows after you, Pope trailing behind him. JJ makes it four more steps before he collapses to the ground, whimpering in pain. His hair falls out of his face to reveals his bloody and bruised face.

You fall to your knees right next to him, scooting closer so his head can rest in your lap. He groans and tries to curl into himself when you lift his shirt to see if he's bleeding anywhere else. "JJ, what the hell? Do we need to go to the hospital?"

Concern fills your voice, but JJ shakes his head. "I need a shower. I'll be fine tomorrow."

JJ goes to sit up, and you have to keep your hands pressed to his back as a guide. There's no way he'd be able to stand in the shower alone.

"Was this your dad again?" Pope crouches in front of the blonde boy, taking in the bruises on his shins that looked way too similar to a boot's imprint.

"Yeah." His voice is weak, strained from using his energy, and probably screaming at his father. Your blood boils. At what point will JJ stop going home? What would it take?

"I'll help you into the shower." You mumble, trying not to show your anger because it's not JJ you're mad at. JJ tries to smile but ends up wincing, and the boys help him to his feet. John B and Pope help your boyfriend into the bathroom while you grab fresh towels from the bag of laundry you brought over this morning.

He's sitting on the toilet lid by himself when you enter the bathroom, his shirt already on the floor. You can see two more cuts on each side of his ribcage in addition to the busted lip and eyebrow. The bruise on his hip is the worst. Usually, his blood has dried by the time he gets here, but it looks like he's reopened the wounds.

"God, JJ. I'm so sorry. I know it hurts." You shut the door behind you and quickly turn on the shower. It's not long before steam starts to fill the room.

"Are you going to get in with me?" JJ's voice is soft as he undresses his lower half.

"If that's what you want." He nods, and you start to undress, too, letting him use you as a crutch once you're both ready to get in.

The silence between you two isn't uncommon. JJ knows there's not much for you to say when he's like this because he knows you hate it. You hate seeing him hurt.

You use a washcloth to scrub around the cuts gently while he watches the water turn red and swirl around the drain. One of them could need stitches, but you know he won't listen. JJ uses sleep as a cure-all.

He leans against you when you've finished cleaning his wounds, letting his forehead press into the crook of your neck. His fingers are tracing patterns in your back.

"Don't you think it's time to get out of there, J? You could move in here permanently." Your voice is quiet, and the sounds of the shower would've drowned it out if JJ wasn't skin to skin with you.

"What do you mean?" JJ pulls back, so now his hands are on your elbows.

You sigh, not sure if this would be a touchy subject in JJ's mind. "Like... this happens every time you go home, so you could not go home anymore? I don't like seeing you hurt for no reason."

"Y/N, I avoid my father as much as possible already. It sounds a lot like you're telling me it's my fault if I keep going back there." JJ furrows his brow and shakes his head, indicating that he's bothered by your words.

"No, no, of course it isn't your fault. I know you already avoid him. I just thought that maybe it's time to move away from that situation and separate yourself."

JJ is quiet, and you look at your feet, knowing you've upset him, and it's too late to take it back.

"I'm here enough. John B isn't responsible for me. It's fine, Y/N. I'll only go when he's not there from now on." JJ squeezes your arms, trying to be reassuring, but you've still got that pit in your stomach, and you've never been good at keeping your mouth shut.

"What are you talking about? John B would love for you to stay here, even more so if it meant you were staying out of danger. My family has a guest house. If you're worried about bothering JB, I can-"

"I'm a Pogue, Y/N, not a Kook. Your parents wouldn't let me stay, and I don't want to. That's not how this works. I'm not taking a handout. We've talked about it before. Not everyone wants what the Kooks have, alright? Can we drop it?" His voice rises, having more of a bite as his anger grows, and he lets go of you.

"Hey, this is not about me being a Kook. I hate when you throw that in my face, and you know it. This is about you always going back there because you think you deserve what he does to you!" The words hang in the air after you've spoken them. The only sound between the two of you is the water running. You're sure that your friends heard the argument through the paper-thin walls.

JJ visibly falters. His shoulders slump, and he starts to fiddle with his hands as he turns his back to you. After a moment, his body begins to shake as he holds back tears. You're not sure if there's anything you can say to make it better.

"Wait, J, I-" You stop talking when he turns around abruptly.

"I can't, okay? I can't leave him there. He thinks the groceries magically appear in the fridge. He thinks that he's getting paid leave from work. I work my ass off to provide for him. What happens when I stop? He'd fucking die, and then it's my fault. After everything he's done to me, I hate him. I fucking hate him, but I can't leave him."

JJ doesn't wait for a response. Instead, he gets out of the shower. You're shocked. He's never walked away from an argument. Sure, you've fought before, but it never ends with one of you leaving.

You wait until you hear the bathroom door shut to turn the water off, and then you take your time drying off. There were no clothes for you to change into, so you make sure your towel is tucked tightly before you exit the bathroom.

John B, Pope, and Kie are sitting on the couch. Kie must've arrived in the last few minutes, but the looks on their faces confirm that they heard everything. They try to look away once they realize you're looking at them, but it's too late.

"Goodnight, guys." You say weakly, feeling like you're going to cry any second now. It feels stupid to cry. JJ is the one who's hurt, but you don't want that for him anymore.

In response, they all mumble goodnight, and you turn on your heel to enter the guest room.

JJ is already in bed, the covers are pulled to his waist, and he's facing away from the door. The bandages and alcohol pads and trash that comes with that is on the dresser, so you know he's already done what you usually do for him.

Both of you are silent as you move around the room to get dressed. With each step closer, you start to dread getting into bed. When you have nothing else left, you ease in as gently as possible after turning off the light.

You didn't imagine the bed to feel so cold, and it triggers the tears you'd been holding back for JJ's sake. If he notices, he doesn't do or say anything. You lay on your back and look at the ceiling, letting your tears fall past your ears and into your hair.

The relationship you have with your father is hugely different than JJ's with his. You've never been scared to go home, you've never flinched from someone's touch, and you've never had to yearn for a parent's love and affection. The two of you live very different lives.

"I don't want to go to bed like this," JJ says softly. You hear the motion of the blankets before you feel the warmth of his hand enclosing your wrist.

"I'm sorry, J. I don't even know why I'm crying. I'm not that one who got hurt. I'm so-"

"Tired. We're both tired. I'll never judge you for crying. There's nothing left to say. Let's call a truce."

It wasn't an outright acceptance of your apology, but it was close. There were still more things you needed to say, but JJ is right. You're both tired, and it's time to go to sleep. For now, you'll stay in this weird in-between spot where you don't know if he's still upset or not.

"Yeah, sounds good." You choke out, managing so sound somewhat natural.

JJ doesn't retract his hand, but he doesn't move any closer, leaving you to fall asleep grasping onto the little warmth you're getting from him.

You wake up before JJ. Somehow your internal alarm clock is always set for earlier in the morning when your anxiety is high. He's snoring softly next to you, the bruises on his face already looking better.

JJ rolls from his side to his back, the covers falling off of him to reveal that he's almost bled through his bandages. You scoot out of bed as quietly as you can.

After leaving the room to brush your teeth, you come back with a damp washcloth and gather the medical supplies from the dresser. You start to tend to JJ's wounds while trying not to wake him up. What is he going to say when he wakes up? Is he still going to be upset with you?

It was naive of you to think your anxiety would go away overnight, but you're not sure you want to have another conversation about it. JJ stirs before you're ready, and his pretty blue eyes look at you curiously.

He said there wasn't anything left to say last night, but there was and still is. However, when you make eye contact, all of it goes out the window. You blank.

"Thanks for cleaning that up, baby." JJ smiles sweetly. You're head starts spinning with possibilities. Is he going to act as if nothing happened? Will he throw it in your face randomly to make you feel worse about it? Nothing that JJ has ever done previously would lead you to believe he'd do that, but it's where your mind takes you.

"Do you want to go to the beach?" That always cheers both of you up, but you can't tell if you're offering for him or yourself.

"Sure, sweetheart. It's too cold to swim, but I bet our spot will be open."

There was a specific tree on the beach that you and JJ liked to lay under sometimes. It had the perfect amount of shade and sun because you got cold too quickly, and JJ the opposite. Out of all of the memories you have, those are the fondest.

By the time you get to the beach, JJ still seems as normal as ever. You hadn't expected him to wake up screaming or yelling, but you did think he'd say something else—anything to make you feel like he didn't hate you for what you said would be nice.

JJ pulls you down onto the blanket with him to assume your regular cuddling position, but it's modified slightly with his bandages. "You don't have to act like I'll break, Y/N. I've survived a lot of things so far, so accidentally putting your hand over my wound isn't going to do shit."

"Alright, alright." You allow yourself to giggle despite your mind telling you that he's angry with you.

The two of you trail off into silence after a few moments of laughter, both deep in thought. You nervously pick at your nails, wondering what JJ is thinking about. Does he have a speech he's rehearsing in his head? Is he waiting for the right moment?

"Y/N, how could you? You didn't-"

"I'm sorry, JJ. About what I said, I didn't mean to come at you like that. You should still be mad at me, I-" you start to ramble, but JJ cuts you off.

"What? I was going to say you didn't give me my good morning kiss. You always do. Are you still thinking about the fight? It's fine, Y/N, really. Look at me," JJ shifts so you can turn to face him.

"It was harsh, but I needed to hear it. In some ways, I think you're right. Sometimes I blame myself for my mother leaving, which is why he's the way he is, so it comes full circle. I know that's fucked up, but it's getting better. I'm getting better. Why didn't you tell me you were still worrying about it?"

You have to ignore your heartbreaking at his words to be able to talk. JJ has let his father into his head, but you can imagine how hard it would be not to.

"I don't know. You stopped the conversation last night, and I didn't want to push anymore than I already did. I figured I'd wait until you were ready to talk about it, but I've been anxious all morning thinking about it." You take a deep breath.

"Sometimes, when we fight, it scares me because I feel like I'm going to lose you a little each time. We get so caught up in the moment, and I just... We're so different. I don't know what it's like to be you."

JJ places his hands on either side of your face, and at the same time, he wipes a tear that has fallen onto your cheek.

"You can always tell me what's inside of your head, alright? No matter what you say, I won't love you any less. You're right, you don't know what it's like to be me, but I'm in the same boat. Our differences aren't what defines us, right? We've said that since the beginning." JJ reassures you by giving you a quick and sweet kiss.

"I love you, J."

You shove yourself into his chest, and maybe you miss the wince on JJ's face, but he doesn't say anything because he doesn't mind. The weight you've been carrying on your shoulders since he left you in the shower last night is gone.

But you might disagree with JJ. Your differences are what makes you right for each other. JJ is the one that pulls you out when you're stuck far in the depths of your mind, and you're the one who cleans his cuts and bruises. You don't understand what he goes through, but you're still there to pick up the pieces, and that's all that matters to him.

jj maybank taglist + mutuals: @wlwkie , @jjjmaybank , @shawnssongs , @hopelesswritingxd , @newsiestrash123 , @millie-753 , @thatsonobx, @jjtheangel , @obxkie, @baileysb1tch, @ohbx, @babysbestlife , @psychicforest , @fanficscuziranout , @maebanks , @diverdown06, @pogue-writings , @maybankdreams , @thelocalpogue , @maybe-maybanks , @dpaccione , @teenwaywardasgardian , @extratragic , @pixelated-pogues , @kitluvs1 , @a-brooding-bird , @ilovejjmaybank , @damonsalvawhore27 , @beth-winchester21 , @danicarosaline , @sunwardsss, @outerbanksbro , @collecting-stories , @yelyahryan , @brightcosmos , @ssprayberrythings , @abbiesthings , @sadcupofcoffee , @millenialpoems, @niya-savage , @queenofthepouges , @poguepunk , @perkeusjackson , @fanofmany , @ultradolans , @love-chx , @outerbankslut , @cognacdelights , @alternativehp , @dmonchld , @bricksatanakinswindow

#jj maybank #jj maybank fic #JJ Maybank x reader #outer banks #outer banks fic #outer banks fics #obx #outer banks imagine #jj maybank one shot #jj maybank request #jj maybank outer banks #obx jj #jj x reader #jj obx

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decayandfanfics · 3 years

Text

The great book of sayings

PAIRINGS: Tomura Shigaraki x FemReader

SUMMARY: He looks at you, his scarlet eyes fixed on yours, burning a hole through your head, every bit the predator he is, but you are as tough as it gets, so, against your better judgment and any well-founded logic, you answer his silent threat, the animalistic look he gives you with nothing less than a fearless smirk, irises burrowing into his pupils.A clever girl. He thinks, finally labeling you inside his head, cursing himself in the very moment he allows his brain to think of you as more than an asset. He is sure (he knows himself enough to know) he’ll think of this moment many times from now on.A clever pretty girl.

Reader is a typical college student until she gets herself tangled with the league of villains.

WARNINGS: Unhealthy/complicated relationships, violence, Tomura being Tomura, mentions of murder, heroes’ abuse of power.

A/N: I’m trying so hard to write crusty boy here really in character. At least after AfO is taken. Any misspelled words, english is not my native language so i’m trying Helen.

As always, let me know what you think!

________________________________________________

Chapter 12 / Chapter 13

Any port in a storm

Tomura knows a bastard when he sees one, and Chisaki Kai looks like someone who could stab his own mother just to prove a point.

And he’s not only a bastard, but he’s also very full of it. The way Chisaki talks like he knows better than anyone else, questioning Tomura and calling him out on his previous failures, as if he knew anything about dealing with pro heroes and a bunch of overpowered children ruining your plans.

Tomura knows where he’d failed and he learned from it, but that doesn’t mean he’ll have to waste his time hearing this asshole lecture him about leadership and planning. After all, Chisaki Kai is nothing but a low thug that works for money or whatever the fuck someone like him cares for. The league, on the other hand, has bigger matters to attend.

He sure like the sound of his own voice. Tomura thinks, narrowing his eyes when Overhaul begins to babble about leadership and pawns like they are nothing else than mere meat at his disposition, and not people with interests and wants.

It doesn’t take long before shit goes down. Magne’s remains puring over them like rain because the bastard makes her explode like a piñata with just a single touch.

Yes, Tomura also knows a deadly touch when he sees one, and Overhaul’s looks ridiculously overpowered.

“Compress, wait-!” Tomura shouts, but Chisaki is faster and before they understand what’s happening, Compress quirk goes off and Overhaul blows Atsuhiro’s arm with a simple touch and the fucker is so damn coward that the moment Tomura lounges towards him, he just orders one of his pitiful pawns to act as a fucking shield and die in his place.

The yakuza has the nerve to call himself the next leader and Tomura is almost impressed by the audacity.

“Now I get it. You should have just started with this, saved us all some time.” Tomura spits making a monumental effort to keep his cool for his sake and the sake of the league.

“Where are they come from?! We weren’t followed, I swear!”

“One of them probably has a tracking quirk.” He’s also trying his utter best to not smack Twice’s masked head for being so damn naïve.

“We’ll cool our heads and try again later. I ow your side an arm.”

“Bastard! I’ll eviscerate you!” Twice barks at his side, holding Compress against his chest.

“Tomura-kun. Let me cut him. Real quick.” Toga ask, pulling out her knife.

“No.”

“it’s my responsibility!” screams Twice.

“No.”

“I don’t wanna rush you, but the sooner we talk the better.” Think things over carefully. Consider how your organization should be run, then when you’ve calm down, call me.” Overhaul speaks like he didn’t just killed Magne, comparing her with one of his ridiculous pawns and Tomura hates him, truly. It’s not like when he says he hates society and heroes, no. This is more personal. He hates Chisaki Kai the same way you hate your childhood bully, the same way you hate someone because you had the misfortune of knowing them.

“They’re gonna pay for this. Why can’t I go after them?!”

“Now thinking, we need to get Atsuhiro-san to a doc. “

“Right.”

“That wouldn’t work…damn that hurts” Atsuhiro whispers almost unconscious.

“Maybe we do have time to make them bleed.”

“No.”

“C’mon, Tomura-kun!”

“Another time.” He orders, watching as overhaul and his band of assholes disappear into the night “You’ll pay for what you’ve done today.” He swears already thinking in a million ways he could make him regret this.

“Shigaraki! We need to see the doctor! Atsuhiro is bleeding out!”

Ah, doctor Ujiko really found and excellent time to go missing, didn’t he? Now without his sensei and the hideout completely wrecked by the heroes, he’s between kidnapping some doctor or finding some abandoned hospital and pray there is some supplies that could work. But kidnapping someone would take time and efforts and the nearest abandoned hospital is forty minutes away and Compress doesn’t have so much time.

Ah, the perks of being a villain.

“Tomura-kun! What do we do!?”

He clenches his fists until his knuckles go numb, his mind rushing, thinking what to do besides the obvious, trying his best to ignore that option.

“We need to take him now!”

Tomura rolls his eyes and suck his teeth hating his life because this is the last thing he thought he would be doing when he woke up that morning, something withing him twisting painfully between excited and done with this awful feeling he can’t rid off.

“Tomura-Kun! What do we do?!” Toga presses again, panicking because Compress is getting paler and paler.

He groans kicking some rock completely fed up. Why couldn’t Atsuhiro just stay sit there when he told him to wait? Now the itch gets insufferable out of nowhere and Tomura scratch his neck raw, snarling under the hand that covers his face. He doesn’t want to go there, but Twice needs help to carry Atsuhiro now that the man just fainted, and he can’t do copies of himself, so he’ll need someone else. It could be Toga, but Tomura hardly thinks she’s going to be helpful with that tiny body of hers. Besides, they’ll need someone who can clear out the streets before rushing out, so, he’ll have to go anyways.

Tomura sighs defeated, this isn’t about him, so he decides to ignore the knot in his stomach and the quick drumming of his heart against his ribs, preparing for the imminent headache before barking the orders.

“Follow me.”

______________

A loud bang on your door wakes you suddenly.

You observe your room, remembering that you were studying before falling asleep over your desk after a whole day of paper reading and a pack of oreo’s for dinner. Your laptop screen flashes 00:23 am, so you’ve been sleeping for hardly an hour.

Another bang and this time the sound of someone trying to enter your apartment at midnight shoots your adrenaline levels to the top.

“Big sister! Please!” Toga’s voice sounds desperate from the other side of the door turning your fear in worry, so without thinking, your feet tap quickly through the flat to just opening it before some neighbor sees her, but your mouth falls open the moment Toga rushes into your apartment with Twice and Shigaraki behind her, carrying a half-conscious Compress.

In a second that feels like hours, your eyes travel quickly between all three men, to stop on the red ones that bore into you, sending shivers through your spine as you heart do a flip inside your cage because your infatuation with the villain is right there, in the same place he left it last time he touched you.

“What the…” Your voice gets stuck in your throat when you notice that Compress bloodied wound is in fact him missing an arm.

“Shit. Lay him down on the table” You order already running across your flat looking for a hairband. “Take his shirt off, Toga, bring me some towels.” You rush to your bathroom to wash your hands quickly, and Shigaraki follows you without a word, clutching at your side looking for the first aid kit your keep under the sink.

“Tell me what happened.”

“A Yakuza bastard blew his arm of with his quirk.” He spits carrying the kit to the kitchen. “He shoot him something and his quirk went off.”

“You think it’s some kind of drug?”

“Probably.”

“Crap. It could be dangerous if I don’t know the effects.”

You run behind him, taking some latex gloves from the kit before approaching your patient. Atsuhiro breathes heavily over your kitchen table, his legs dangling from the edge as he bleeds all over the floor.

Your quirk activates in full force the moment you get close to him.

“Hello, Mr. Compress.” You talk to him trying to calm him the same way you would talk to a child patient as you remove the poor bandage that wraps the remains of his left arm. “Long time no see.”

“Lovely to see you, dear.” He whines with his hand holding the gory pieces of meat that still dangles from his shoulder, a chonk of his broken bone horribly exposed. “It hurts a lot, you know?”

You wince at the sight but straighten yourself to do your job and let your hands hover over his wound, numbing his nerves, keeping his blood from spilling out because he’s already at the brim of drying out.

“I know, but it’s okay now, Compress. I’ll take care from here. Now…sleep…” you lull him with a smile, relaxing him quietly, slowing his heart rate to make him pass out.

“Is he..?” Twice ask watching with trembling voice.

“he’s unconscious now. I can stop the bleeding with my quirk for now, but I’ll need to…sew this…. somehow.”

“Oh! Big sister! Your quirk is amazing to cure people!” Toga says joyfully, leaving the towels close to you.

“Himiko-chan. I need you to wash your hands very carefully. I’ll need some assistance.”

“Okay! I’ll be back.”

You begin to clean the wound, retiring the little fragmenst of bone from between the exposed muscle with some tweezers.

“How bad.” Shigaraki is behind you, towering over your shoulder and you can feel his warmth on your cheek, as he winces watching the mess over the table.

“His arm is destroyed. I need to cut a little of bone, it’s too jagged to just close this, it could lead to an infection. Only after that I’ll be able to rearrange this mess.”

“What do you need.”

You look at him worried. He’s covered in blood and for a moment you panic thinking that maybe he’s injured too.

“A-Are you al right?”

The question comes out as desperate product of your impossible nerves from having him so nearby. It caught him by surprise from the way his jaw clenches before answering.

“…I’m fine. What else do you need.”

Relief washes over you, so you return your eyes to the man over your kitchen table.

“I…my dad had a garden saw in the closet. Disinfect it the best you can. This is going to be nasty.”

___________

When she’s finally done, it’s already 3 am.

Compress lays over the couch, finally sleeping after some gruesome scalpel work that lefts her panting from her quirk overuse, siting in the floor with her back against the front door.

A thick trace of blood drifts down her nose, but she’s too tired to even care, so she just let her head rest on the cold wood.

Silence and shadows fill the apartment. The lights are off so Atsuhiro can sleep, but the lights of the street are enough to see inside the flat. In her room, twice and toga share the bed, already sleeping after helping with the cleaning. Her kitchen looks spotless under the moonlight, none could guess she just operated someone over the table with a gardening saw.

“Are you sure you are okay?” She asks with hooded eyes, her own conscience drifting slowly.

“…I told you I’m fine.”

Tomura watches her, leaning against the wall in front of her. She’s grown thinner and paler than the last time he stood in her home. Her bloodied clothing only accentuating her lack of color and the dark bags that rest under her sleepy eyes.

She stares back, neither of them wanting to look away, not when the three steps gap between them extends so wide and deep that it hurts. The notion of being face to face again stirs quietly inside of him and all his anger and dread goes silent now she’s there at the reach of his hand, and Tomura understand that he doesn’t know how to feel now.

Her stomach growls of hunger and her eyes open in embarrassment and surprise.

“Stop staring at me.” She mumbles cleaning her face with the back of her sleeve, getting up to walk over her kitchen.

“You were staring first.” He mumbles annoyed “whatever…” Before he can even walk to the door, she stops him dead on his tracks.

“You can stay…if you want.”

Tomura looks at her while she prepares a sandwich, trying to avoid his gaze at all costs to no avail. Her hand trembles as she tries to put some butter on her bread, giving away her internal turmoil, because as him, she doesn’t know how to feel about this sudden intrusion in her life. Again.

Well, at least he’s not he only one who feels awkward.

She laughs halfheartedly out of the blue.

“What’s so funny?” he asks looking at the wall, his voice mellow because he doesn’t have the energy to quarrel with her now. Not after everything that happen.

“It’s just…I swore I was going to choke you with my own hands next time I saw you.” She cannot stop the laughing.

He doesn’t know what to do with that statement, finding difficult to keep his distant mask now she’s trying to sound playful. He can feel his anger and awkwardness dissolving into something more bearable so he just smirks amused.

“Bare hands, huh? no quirk involved?”

“Yep. Acapella”

“And how is that working for you?” he asks, gravitating closer to her, standing at her side, very aware of the height difference between them as he leans to see her face better.

“Oh, fuck off.” She smiles.

“Ladies first.” He cannot contain the little smile that blossom in his face.

Tomura feels his shoulders relaxing softly now. He falls in the ease of her company, the roaring turmoil he’s been feeding all these past weeks, going silent now that she’s finally close, smiling tired and lightheartedly.

It was this, and he almost forgot about it. It was the soft wittiness, the clever jokes and back and forth. He liked to talk to her because it was like playing a game, but somehow, he forgot between his bitterness and rage.

“Sandwich?” She asks, handling him half oh her own.

“…Thanks.”

They eat in silence. Atsuhiro’s breathing is the only sound in the house.

Tomura is tired, his eyelids weight heavy over his eyes, but this moment is enough to keep him awake, so in exchange he memorizes the smell of her home, her presence filling him softly and gently, calming the rage and the fury he’s been feeling over a month in a rare peaceful moment that feels dangerously too much like finally coming home.

What a stupid thought to think he could get rid of this sweet softness, the only one he’s ever felt. A foolish desire made of spite and bitterness in a place that can only be filled with their silent bond.

He feels the gap closing slowly, luring him to stay for the night. He should…he could...maybe this…

“I’ve missed you.” She whispers suddenly without looking at him, her eyes fixed in the wall in front of them.

Time stops and he whips his head so fast he could hear something crackling in his neck.

He definitely didn’t though about this when he woke up that morning.

“Like wise.” He raps swallowing hard, thinking about all the things his done in a month, realizing there was not a single minute of the day in which he did not think of her.

He’s truly smitten, isn’t he?

“I’m sorry about what I said…i…I got nervous. I thought you would get mad, I just made it worse.”

“Why would you think that, huh? I thought I was pretty obvious.” He says, hiding his hands in his coat before changing his weight to the other leg.

“Because you are a big bad villain, aren’t you? and I’m just…me.”

“Just you” he snorts “you managed to terrorize one of the most dangerous villains without even touching him. Just you is fine enough to deal with anyone. Even big bad villains.”

She smiles shyly.

“Shigar-“

“Tomura.” He interrupts, finally looking at her.

She looks beautiful under the pale light; the shadows of the night drawing angles and shapes on her face.

“Tomura.” She states, meeting his gaze and he delights in the way his name falls from her lips like a spell and less like a curse. She looks at him decided, certainty written all over her face and he knows she’s about to do something reckless. “I really like you.”

Tomura has learned his lesson. As he always does, so he absorbs her words and weighs them carefully inside his chest.

“A horrible decision, really.” He mocks back with a grin, closing the gap between them until he has her trapped between him and the kitchen counter. “Your parents never told you about big bad villains?” this time he asks close enough for her smell to fill his personal space as he gives her a hungry look, licking his lips.

“Oh, Fuck you.” She sighs laughing quietly.

“I hope you do.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“Are you going to keep talking back or are you going to kiss me already?” She whispers feeling his warm breath against her lips.

He stops entranced with the way her eyes reflect the streetlights from the outside. He’ll think of her like this frozen in time and undercover darkness, just a silver string of light between the shadows of her home and his life.

Tomura kisses her hungry and desperate. His jagged lips bruising against her mouth, invading her, eager to feel her closer, but is not enough. Him yanking her against his chest, four fingers gripping tight over her wrist as his right arm encircle her waist is not enough. Feeling her hands clutching at his shirt pulling him is not enough. Sensing the motion of her rising cage as she began to suffocate is not enough.

No, nothing is enough when he wants to split her chest open to hide inside her ribs, filling her with this feeling that’s been smothering him for too long.

He’s overwhelmed by this unforgiving desire that goes beyond anything physical. Is about the terrifying nature of the world that surrounds him, where she’s the only hideout that could contain his horror and everything that scares him about himself.

Like sensing his despair, she moves her hands to his face, caressing his jaw enamored with the shape of his face, the texture of his skin and the soft locks of white hair that brush over her fingers every time he tilts his head to kiss her deeper and deeper.

A low rumble fills his chest as she opens her mouth fully to him, giving him access to her warmth for him to gorge on her taste, terrifyingly close and needy.

She breaks contact searching for air, but he moves ever so little.

“The things I’ll do with that bickering mouth of yours” He whispers before biting her low lip, giving her a ravenous look.

“Like wise.”

He considers to just shove her against the wall and take her right there over the dishwasher, finally sinking his teeth on her skin, buried deeply in her; but since she was bleeding not long ago, tired and in desperate need of sleep, he keeps it gentle. They are both tired. Tired from the fight, tired from the operation, tired of this game of cat and mouse they’ve been playing for two months, so he shoves his animal instincts under the rug and treats the situation the same way he holds things carefully with his fingers.

Just this one time he promises, knowing he will go absolutely feral on her as soon as he has the chance. So, he just leans over and kisses her gently…surprised by his own tenderness and the warmth that fills him, something akin to happiness and peace.

Tomura nuzzles against her cheek before resting his face on her shoulder, the awful longing that’s been eating him alive finally shut down.

“Come.” She calls him softly, a ghost of a kiss burning over his lips before she tugs him by the hem of his coat, leading him to the spare room.

He follows her quietly, taking off his sneakers and coat before getting inside the little bed, wrapping his arms tightly around her, fists safely closed at her back.

“You’ll be here when I wake up?” She asks merely a whisper, her lips delicately brushing his own.

His forehead rest against hers, her warmth inviting him to close his eyes and rest, lulling him silently into sleep.

“…yes.” He whispers as he drifts away, feeling the light touch of her lips kissing the scar over his mouth.

“Good.”

Chapter 14

#shigaraki x reader #shigaraki tomura #bnha fanfic #tomura #shigaraki #boku no hero #tomura x reader

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artificialqueens · 3 years

Text

Little Home (Deladore) - Candy Cane

A/N: soooo… i know i havent exactly been around lately. im dealing with a lot of things atm (like most people lol) but i managed to get this out for the rare pair challenge! i think its a cute ship and i really hope that u enjoy @drag-race-jedi <3 im also working on the third installment of Everything is Color, and i have planned it out so that the series is at least five works so we’ll see how that goes sdfsdgf hope yall enjoy this lil fic for today tho

Summary: Adore was always a clutz.

Adore has been trying very hard for the last hour to not get in Dela’s way, and she would probably be more successful if she just sat still in a different room, but she loves watching her girlfriend in the kitchen. And even more than that she loves helping her girlfriend in the kitchen. The singer can admit she’s an awful fucking cook on top of being a giant clutz, she just doesn’t allow either of those things stop her. Tonight is very special though, as they’re throwing a dinner party to christen the new house they’re renting out together.

It’s a small house, only one bedroom since they really don’t need a ton of space. The big appeal lies in that it’s near each of their jobs and the parts of town that they frequent the most. By no means was it an easy find, but it’s perfect for them. Adore loves that she gets to have her own home with the person she is fairly certain is the love of her life, who is currently flying about the kitchen in a frenzy trying to get everything ready.

They have one more hour until all four of the people they invited start arriving and Adore is getting worried for Dela. The older woman is clearly stressed, wearing a nervous frown as she completes each task as best as she can. While Adore knows she’s not really being helpful trailing after Dela like a dejected puppy, she’s not sure what else she could do.

“Babe…” Adore whines, big pleading eyes looking down at Dela with a very convincing pout, “I wanna help!”

Dela sighs from where she’s standing at the counter, knife in hand as she cuts the mushrooms for her vegetable medley, “And you already set the table?”

“Yeah!” Adore nods eagerly.

“And did the dishes?”

“All the ones you gave me,” Adore says earnestly.

The older purses her lips thoughtfully, “I need to do some touch ups for tonight. Do you think you can cut these and put them in the pan?”

Adore grins, realizing she’s worn down on Dela, “Yup! Go take care of yourself baby, I’ve totally got this!”

Dela smiles softly, “Alright, but be careful. Remember what happened the last time I gave you a knife?”

“I’ll be fine!” Adore insists, shooing her girlfriend back towards the bedroom, “I’ll yell if I need help.”

“Alright…” Dela relents skeptically, quickly disappearing into their bedroom to freshen up for the evening.

She loves Adore, a lot, but her girlfriend is nothing less than a walking disaster. No matter what it seems she manages to find a way to wind up with a new set of scrapes and bruises everyday, even though Dela begs Adore to be more careful. Still, most nights Dela finds herself forcing Adore to put a bandaid on a particularly bad cut, or put ice on especially nasty bruises. While Dela worries and is often frustrated by Adore’s unusual habit, she loves being able to take care of her.

It didn’t take long for her to come to that conclusion. However, it did take a while to become completely comfortable with that conclusion. She feels all warm and soft inside whenever Adore gives her a kiss and a ‘thank you’ after she takes care of her. Though what she loves most is knowing that Adore is safe, and healthy.

Just minutes after starting to redo her hair, Dela hears a loud yelp from the kitchen. She quickly sets down her hair brush and heads back to the kitchen, a worried shout of “Adore?!” on her lips.

This has to be a new record, Dela thinks, a little amused at the thought but mostly concerned for her disastrous girlfriend.

The first thing she sees upon entering the kitchen is Adore hunched over the cutting board, one hand gripping the other tightly, long hair covering her face, and her shoulders visibly quivering.

Dela runs up to her and wraps her arms tightly around the taller girl, then reaches out for her clearly injured hand. There’s blood dripping from her hand onto the cutting board and all over the mushrooms, the sight of which causing Dela to feel a little sick and very worried.

“Let me see,” Dela says, attempting to pry Adore’s hands apart so that she can survey how bad the cut really is. She hopes it’s not actually very deep, that Adore is just being dramatic, but there’s really no telling quite yet.

“I’m okay,” Adore says through clenched teeth, not letting Dela look at her hand.

“Honey, please,” Dela begs softly, moving Adore’s hair out of the way to look into her eyes.

Adore sucks in a sharp breath and slowly reveals her hand to Dela, whispering a very quiet, “I’m sorry.”

Upon gently taking her hand to inspect it further Dela discovers that the cut is surprisingly shallow, it’s just deep enough to bleed a lot but not deep enough to mean any real damage was done. She sighs in relief, and kisses Adore’s cheek softly. She’s mostly just glad that Adore isn’t severely hurt, as that would not make for a fun evening for any of them.

“Accidents happen, but maybe I shouldn’t leave you unsupervised in the kitchen anymore,” Dela reassures her teasingly.

Adore giggles wetly, rubbing roughly at the tears collecting in the corner of her eyes with her good hand, “Yeah, that’s… that’s probably a good idea.”

Dela pulls Adore over to the sink, carefully eyeing the way Adore grips her wounded hand, “Sweetness, I have to clean it.”

“I know,” Adore pouts, “It just hurts even more when you do though!”

“I’m sorry, I know,” Dela soothes, turning on the sink faucet and guiding Adore’s hand underneath the warm, low pressure water.

After rinsing it with water thoroughly, Dela pours hydrogen peroxide over the wound, shushing and soothing Adore the whole time. The younger whines and grumbles through the whole thing, and Dela feels terrible for it, she does, but she knows how necessary it is and doesn’t allow her girlfriend to pout her way out of it. She pats it dry with a paper towel, presses a cotton pad onto the wound, then wraps that in medical grade tape from their first aid box.

“There!” Dela finishes with her signature smile, “All done.”

“Thank you, baby,” Adore says, leaning forward to kiss Dela. It lasts a few more seconds than she had planned, but in no way does she complain.

“Anything for my girl,” Dela murmurs.

It’s an exciting way to start their new life in this new home, Dela can’t deny that it’s very… them, though. She knows the rest of the night will be fun, and that Adore will animatedly tell the story of why her hand is all wrapped up with all the excitement of an eight year old. Dela loves that she knows her girlfriend so well. She loves that they trust each other so thoroughly, so deeply.

Dela has never had anyone like this in her life before, someone to take care of and someone that will gladly take care of her. Like any other couple, they need different things from each other. That’s part of why they are so perfect together. Dela is certain this is what she wants for the rest of her life. She’s certain she wants this.

Adore grins at her with love and confidence, with warm and heart, and Dela knows that this is what she wants to. It works. They work. Perfectly, just like this.

#rpdr fanfiction #bendelacreme #adore delano #deladore #s6 #fluff #rare pair #fic challenge #hurt/comfort #lesbian au #little home #candy cane #tw injury #tw blood #concrit welcome

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jimlingss · 4 years

Text

Arcadia

➜ Words: 9.6k

➜ Genres: 50% Fluff, 50% Angst, Dystopia!AU, Utopia!AU

➜ Summary: In a new era, the human race has largely been eradicated through warfare and disease. You are one of the few left, living in the forest and making use of the wild. Or at least that's what you think until a man quite literally crashes into your home.

cr.

It happened in the afternoon. A deafening noise from the sky. A thin whistle that crescendoed. Louder than what you’re used to hearing. Ringing in your eardrums. It shrieked horrifically — rumbling the ground — roaring through the silent forest. And you looked up to see a streak of white in the sky. Immediately, you dropped the animal in hand, abandoned the trap at your feet and ducked your head. But the explosions never came raining down on your skull. Instead, it happened in the distance. An explosion that made the evening sky spark bright white. It took a full minute for it to die down, for the smoke to fade into the horizon as if nothing occurred a moment ago. Yet, you stalked the fumes and commotion, crept in the shadows. You knew better than to approach foreign things, to approach clamor and potential danger. But the forest had been quiet for so long that it provoked your curiosity. What you found past the shrubbery and trunks of spruce is a giant white cylinder with rounded edges. A capsule. So white that it burnt to the back of your eyelids, in no way natural whatsoever. But the colour had been marred by dirt and foliage after it crash-landed. The mud and ground hugged it, molded against the shape after it quite literally smashed into the Earth. Before you could approach the thing and investigate, there was another noise. An unfamiliar whirring. It made you flinch and stumble back, taking refuge behind the trees. But as you peeked out, you saw something crawling out of the open compartment. A groan. Someone. You hadn’t seen another person in years. Immediately, you stepped forward and he saw you. Eyes darting to look into yours. He was in stark white clothing from top to bottom, pants that stopped too short at his ankles, a shirt that was cut awkwardly and too small for his broad shoulders. It was vivid against his dark hair and golden skin, almost made him look ridiculous. But you supposed at the time you didn’t look any better — ripped jeans, dirtied boots, a worn jacket taken years ago from some loot and your hair tucked into a baseball cap with a logo too faded away to discern. “I-I won’t hurt you,” he stutters out, putting up his hands. “I...I’m Seokjin. I’m part of the rescue fleet of Arcadia.” Arcadia? The man, Seokjin, sighs after your ongoing silence. “Sorry. Of course you wouldn’t understand me. I,” he enunciates slowly and points to himself. “Am. Friend.” His hands wildly form a heart for you to see and then he points at you with his left while still making wild gestures with his right. He tries to smile brightly. “I. Help. You—” “I understand you,” you deadpan with an impassive expression. The man is visibly taken aback, eyes rounded as his mouth opens and closes comically. “Y-You can speak?” Your arm lifts and your index finger points at his head. “You’re bleeding.” ... .. . He looks around the interior of the tree house like a lost child, seated on the floor and waiting for his parents to return. It’s a meager shack made of alder, large gaps for windows, tattered backpacks stained and collected in the corner by some pairs of shoes and an old radio. There’s a fishing line hung diagonally across the room and above his head, used to dry clothing. But he finds himself drawn to the radio and crawls over to try to switch it on, tugging on its antenna, turning the dials. Yet, all that answers is noisy static. “It’s been broken since a long time ago,” you pipe up, nearly startling him to death with your sudden presence. But you had simply climbed up the ladder quietly. “I’m still tinkering with it.” Seokjin sets the radio down. “I have a device similar to it. Thought this one would work.” He pulls out a black and thick rectangular piece of plastic from his back pocket and you scarcely recognize it. “A walkie-talkie?” “Kind of. It’s called an Erewhon device. State of the art technology, even if it looks chunky. It transmits radio waves without any limit of range and it syncs to one other device. No third can ever join or hack into it. I use this one to communicate with my base. Or at least I usually would, if the thing didn’t break in the crash.” You don’t understand anything he’s saying, so you chalk it up to gibberish. “It stings.” Seokjin sharply inhales as you apply pressure to his wound. But the ache soon alleviates when you wrap bandages around his head. “What’s your name?” It’s your last roll of bandages. “Y/N.” It’s not like you to be so generous or welcoming towards a stranger. The nature of your upbringing and life has ingrained an innate suspicion to anyone who isn’t yourself. But there’s a characteristic about the man in front of you that doesn’t make you doubt his intentions. It must also be partly because you’ve been on your own for so long and your inner subconscious is willing to dance with danger if it means having some kind of contact with another. But whatever the case may be, you don’t feel wary of Seokjin even if you should. “Are...there any others?” “Other humans? There hasn’t been any for years.” “There’s….just you?” “Just me.” Until now. “Where did you come from?” “I come from a place called Arcadia. It’s a utopian society just off the Zion mountain and Elysian Fields,” he says as if you know what those places are. “It has everything and it’s where the remaining people have gathered for years. I actually rescue people like you who are still alive and bring them back. How...how did you manage to survive on your own out here?” “I just do.” “How long have you been here?” “I don’t remember. The apocalypse happened when I was young.” Seokjin makes a noise of acknowledgment like he understands. “It happened when I was seven.” “I remember celebrating my fifth birthday in an underground bunker with my parents.” He doesn’t ask where they are. If they aren’t with you now, it’s safe to assume your parents are dead like his are. “I had a lot of people help me along the way, a lot of people who died,” you say, “I’ve been in sanctuaries and communities until they fell. Everything was only temporary. So, I’ve been on my own for a while.” “Arcadia is different,” he says with bright eyes, breathy voice full of wonder and hope. “It’s where the new world is beginning. I can take you there.” “Isn’t your flying machine broken?” “You mean my Xanadu Shuttle?” Seokjin scratches the back of his neck and chuckles. You notice how the tips of his ears turn scarlet. “Actually, it was my first time taking it out that far. I’m kind of new to all this. But don’t worry! When it crashed, it sent a notification to headquarters and gave coordinates, so they should find me soon. I’ll try to fix my Erewhon device too.” You don’t pretend like you know the things he’s referring to. “Are you hungry?” “I have dried pemmican!” He lights up as if remembering and pulls a transparent wrapped bar from his back pocket. You wonder what else is in those endless pockets of his. Seokjin must read the puzzled expression on his face since his smile widens. “Want to try it?” “Sure.” You rip open the wrapper and you’re met with a dark red and gray block, and a meaty scent that makes you slightly nauseous. But you’ve eaten worse before, so you take a bite. Seokjin instantly laughs when your expression wrinkles up. “It tastes better the more you eat it. Promise.” “It’s awful.” There’s a temptation to spit it out the window, but afraid that it might be considered rude, you swallow it down and quickly hand back the monstrosity to him. “Do you want rabbit?” “Sure.” … .. . It’s odd to eat a meal with someone — an experience that you’re unable to pinpoint your last memory of. It’s rather mundane, but mundanity has long been a privilege in this era. “You can sleep in the tree house if you want.” “Where will you be?” “I usually like to sleep on the forest floor anyway.” It isn’t a lie. One of the few things you love is drifting off while gazing at the stars, that the last thing you see is the sparkling horizon before it’s blue again when you awake. “How many people are there in Arcadia?” “About twenty five hundred people so far.” So far. But if what he tells you is true, then it’s a big settlement. As if able to see how he’s piqued your curiosity, Seokjin continues, “It’s an amazing place and we’re completely self-sufficient. There’s an agriculture industry that’s growing and greenhouses underground that gives us all the food we need. They developed a water filtration system as well and it’s connected to the mountain springs nearby. There are pods that people live in, schools that kids can go to, jobs, medicine— you’ll see when I take you back.” “I never said I was going with you.” “What? Why wouldn’t you?” You don’t answer. … .. . “Morning.” You watch as he climbs down the ladder and nearly slips off. It’s an amusing sight to see his hair in a disarray and his eyes swollen beyond recognition. “Glad to see you’re finally up.” Seokjin, on the other hand, is baffled at how you’re already moving so energetically. “When….did you get up?” “Since sunrise. Changed your bandages too, if you didn’t already notice. I’m getting breakfast prepared. There’s a stream down this path that you can wash your face in. Collect water for me while you’re at it.” You hand him a silver pail. Walking off, Seokjin finally gets a good look at the forest. It’s quiet, save for the chickadees he notices in the thin branches of the spruce, twiddling as he passes and the woodpeckers hammering against the alder. There was just enough rays of light bursting through to allow the saplings to flourish and shrubs to overgrow. And the verdant green almost blinds his vision with how vivid it is. He’s never been so surrounded in nature before — never has it encapsulated him completely. When Seokjin returns, he’s more alert than before. “Thought you got lost for a second. You can set the water over there. Do you want to help me look at my traps?” He follows you and nearly steps into a trap before you yell at him. But he’s amazed. You’ve designated a whole section full of traps made of loose string and branches, and when he asks, he learns they’re treadle snares to drowning snares. “They don’t yield a lot of food. It depends on the season, but it mainly depends on luck.” “What do you usually eat then?” “I have some canned stuff from the cities, but there’s a lot of berries and herbs around here that are edible. I’m in the process of growing some basil and tomatoes too, so I never really starve out here.” Seokjin is astounded. You can see it on his face, but you don’t know why that is. It’s not like any of these things are impressive. It’s just things you learn once you’ve lived out here long enough. “You’re making a fire now?” He watches as you take out a curved piece of wood with string attached and another piece that’s pointed at the end. You saw it back and forth on some more wood and Seokjin watches the smoke, how the friction creates the heat, how you transfer the embers to tinder. “Is this how you always make fire?” “Nowadays. At the beginning when I still had materials, I would use batteries and steel wool. Even flint and steel. But the bow drill method works fine. I save my matches for when I need them.” “That’s incredible. Is this what you do? I mean, collect food and make fires.” “I guess.” “Do you do anything else? Do you ever get bored?” It’s an interesting question — boredom. A privilege in itself to be bored rather than worried. Though you suppose that in this quiet forest with no one else, it’s a wonder how you never went insane. But while loneliness sporadically plagues you, you’ve never necessarily felt isolated or deprived. It’s always been this way. You’ve learnt to adapt to it. Humans can handle more than they think when push comes to shove. “There’s always something to do. Whether that’s upkeeping the tree house or making more traps or planting. But sometimes in the summer, I go exploring for a few days. Into the cities. There’re lots of places I haven’t been. It’s a good opportunity for me to get seeds, food, and clothes, so I’m never….bored.” “Wow, t-that’s...that’s impressive.” “There’s nothing impressive. It’s just the way things are.” “I...went to Arcadia in its early days,” Seokjin explains, “It was established twenty years ago, right after the apocalypse began, so I’ve never really got to see the outside world.” “They don’t let you leave?” “It’s not that. It just isn’t safe to. Actually, that’s why I wanted to join the rescue fleet. It gives me a chance to see the outside world.” “You haven’t even seen anything yet. If you want….I can take you somewhere. Better than this.” “Really?!” Seokjin’s eyes widen, irises practically glistening. Your lips tickle, threatening to upturn. “Sure.” … .. . Past the stream and thicket is a clearing. A meadow of daisies. It’s overgrown grass that reaches to your knees, white petals spilling over with yellow centers filled among them. The sound of insects buzzing and circling through the field is heard as the sun beats down. You found this place a good year ago and while it doesn’t serve much of a purpose, you left it undisturbed. The apocalypse was a catastrophe, but it did a lot for nature. “This….this….” Seokjin is breathless, unable to force a coherent word out. He looks over at the blue horizon that seems to steal the land as the abundance of flowers overwhelms his senses. “It’s beautiful, huh?” He stays silent, taking in the sight in front of him. He has seen a vase of flowers at best — most certainly not a boundless field of them. Not like this. Not in the entirety of his life so far. Not in a way where he could inhale the fresh air, count clouds, memorize the azure shade of the sky, and not where he is unable to see where the end or the start is. Seokjin is overwhelmed, and he realizes why the choice to stay remains. Why you would refuse his offer of coming back with him to Arcadia. A part of him also wants to stay here. Where freedom lies. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs while still taking in the sight. The colours are so rich that he feels regretful he couldn’t see it sooner. “I didn’t mean to push you to come with me.” “It’s okay. I’ll come with you.” Seokjin finally peels his eyes away from the scenery to gaze at you. Yet you continue to look forward. “You made me curious about this Arcadia.” And the corner of his mouth turns into a smile. … .. . The next few days are spent with Seokjin — noisy at your side, but it’s entirely invited. He goes back to his vehicle, his so-called fancy Xanadu Shuttle, and tries to contact his people. Much like your radio, there’s only static on the other end when he flips and fiddles with switches and the lights eventually die off. He messes with his Erewhon too, the little walkie-talkie device, though it’s to no avail. But Seokjin never becomes discouraged. He remains optimistic, a rarity in today’s climate. The man has no doubts they’ll come for him and even reassures you. In the meanwhile, you show him how to start a fire, how to collect berries and certain plants, and he helps you sharpen the knives you have. But the man looks away when you have to kill the animal you trapped and he makes you kill the bugs that land on him as well. It’s a bit ridiculous and outlandish, but frighteningly natural how quickly he falls into place and adapts. You forgot what it was like to have someone with you. To be able to talk to someone. … .. . “Are you ever lonely?” Seokjin asks one night when he’s laid on the grass, arms tucked underneath his head and staring up at the stars by your side. He copied you after several occasions where he found you like that. You immediately heard the gasp that left his mouth the first time he laid down. It’s beautiful enough that he’s unconcerned with insects and doesn’t get up until you chide him to. “Sometimes. Then I think about how people are more trouble than they’re worth.” He grins. “Why do you say that?” “People mess up things and always have their self-interest at heart. Learned it after I had a gun pointed on me by someone I thought was a friend.” “I’m sorry.” “It’s alright. Just the way things are. Anything to survive, right?” “Is that why you’re on your own?” “Partly. It’s hard when people die too. I’d rather not deal with that.” “Why’d you agree to help me then?” Seokjin asks after a moment. “If people always mess things up.” “I don’t know. It’s been a while since I’ve seen someone. I thought talking to you would be worth the risk. And it’s not like you’re not messing things up. I’m leaving with you, right?” Seokjin grins, meeting your eyes. It goes quiet and then you pipe up again— “I do sing sometimes to myself. Helps keep me sane.” “Like what?” “I don’t know.” “Show me.” You outright scoff. “No.” “Please?” A sharp exhale later, you start mumbling, slurring words together in some obscure melody. Your voice is rigid and stiff, out of tune even to your own ears. But you’ve heard it from your parents before. It’s some jingle on television back when electricity still worked. Instantly, Seokjin starts laughing. “Hey, it’s not my fault I don’t know the lyrics!” “No, no, i-it’s amazing, please continue!” Seokjin squeaks out in the midst of a giggling fit and the corner of your own mouth twitches into a subtle smile. … .. . Unfortunately, these simple days don’t last long. Seokjin continues messing with his Erewhon device whenever he gets the chance — banging it on the tree house wall much to your dismay, curling up with it using a screwdriver kit he got from his capsule — and one evening, it suddenly comes alive. There’s the sound of static and someone’s muffled voice. “Hello?! Code White. R-six-four-three. This is Kim Seokjin from fleet seventy two.” “R-four-......three-nine.” It’s difficult to discern, but that’s all the other line says before the device goes silent again. You look to Seokjin, anticipating dejection and disappointment. But instead, a grin spreads into his cheeks and his eyes crinkle ever so slightly. “Y/N. They’re coming soon.” … .. . It’s a morning of checking for traps, of hearing the orchestral songs of nature, of holding your breath as the breeze whisks through the strands of your hair. You’re tip-toeing to the simple snare laid on the ground when the familiar, deafening noise returns to the sky. A thin whistle that crescendos. Louder than you’re used to hearing. Ringing in your eardrums. It rumbles the ground, roaring through the silent forest. And you look up to see a streak of white in the sky. It’s a larger white vessel with glass windows around. So white that it burns to the back of your eyelids, in no way natural whatsoever. And it descends to the same place Seokjin crash-landed. Seokjin finds you and the two of you venture through the forest and shrubby towards it. There’s a whirring and a compartment opens. Three different people step out, dressed in that unnatural white much like Seokjin is, pants and shirt cut off oddly. They look at Seokjin with smiles and incredulous expressions. “I can’t believe you actually crashed.” “It wasn’t my fault, JK!” Seokjin whines immediately and then quickly greets the other two females who he’s evidently less friendly with. “Amber. Lizzy. Good to see you too.” “This something I expected from Namjoon or even Jimin, not you,” the shorter-hair girl named Amber huffs out as she playfully shakes her head. “At least he’s safe,” Lizzy says with a smile. “Saves us from having to transport him back in a stretcher. But….who’s….that?” Her eyes dart over to you and the other two strangers follow her line of sigh, re-directing their attention. Then their mouths drop open, eyes widening in surprise, having not seen you there. Seokjin steps aside, allowing the light to shed on you. “She’s a lone one.” “A-A lone one…?” “Are you okay? Do you need help?” Amber whispers softly, lowering herself to meet your height and connect your eyes with hers as if you were a wounded animal. But then light flashes beneath her irises and her brows furrow. “Right. She might not know how to speak. Where’s my translation devi—” The corner of Seokjin’s mouth tilts. “She does.” You step forward, directly underneath the canopy spotlight coming through the spruce, walnut, and alder. “My name is Y/N.”

Arcadia. It’s protected by a dome-like structure reminiscent of glass, but as one of the strangers narrates, it’s supposedly a magnetic force field to protect against natural disasters. The place is ruled by tall buildings like the cities, but unlike it in the sense that they’re not decaying. They haven’t turned brown under wear and tear, don’t have moss growing on the sides of it. Rather, there are patches of green in between the paved pathways, flickering screens that are seemingly floating mid-air, masses of people walking past one another. It’s a utopian society, they tell you. But you’re not sure what that means. “Welcome to Arcadia,” the voice from above speaks rigidly. The door whirs as it opens. And white is all you see. White floors. White walls. People dressed in white. The white lights burn your vision as you stagger out, being aided by the strangers who were onboard with you. They welcome you. Tell you they hope this place could be your refuge and new home. And you’re taken immediately by strangers until you begin thrashing, calling out to Seokjin until he consoles you. He promises that they mean no harm, that he’ll see you soon, and it’s enough for you to be relieved. They lead you away, give you a new set of white clothing that are soft to the touch and a bin to place your old clothes in. You feel vulnerable as you strip from your grimy clothes and trade them in. You’ve never been able to afford to hold onto sentimentalities. But it’s hard to let them go. … .. . “Hello—” The doctor glances at his clipboard. “You must be the new refugee, Y/N! Oh right, they call it newcomer now, not refugee. Anyway, nice to meet you, I’m Jung Hoseok. I’ll be assessing you today and setting you up to live in Arcadia. You understand me, correct?” “Yes, I do.” “Excellent! Makes things easier for me if we can speak the same language. But feel free to tell me if you want me to slow down. We’ll take things one step at a time.” The man grins brightly and sits on his stool, spinning around to a thin screen on the desk. “We’re going to be doing some tests together today, so I can figure out what I’ll need to help you with and we can make sure your transition is as smooth as possible.” “Okay.” You knew a doctor once. She was similar to him, whimsical as he seemingly is, until she had to amputate her own arm and then bled to death. “Do you have any questions?” “Not really.” There’s an eye examination done until you tell him you don’t know all the letters of the alphabet. He switches to pictures afterwards and is enthused as he tells you that your eyes are apparently fine. He makes you lay down and open your mouth to examine your teeth. You spit into a vial, have your blood drawn. You step into a white capsule with black bars twirling around you. He shows you a picture of your bones and scanned brain with the excitement akin to a child’s afterwards. And he asks too many questions. “So you mainly ate rabbits, berries and other plants? Fascinating.” — “How often do you sleep?” — “So your bowel movements were pretty consistent?” You miss Seokjin. … .. . “Seokjin, can you please tell us what happened on the fifth?” The commander, chief, supervisor and several others are seated on the other side of the table. “Yes. I was dispatched to forty one degrees, twenty four point two eight minutes north. Halfway there, I….became distracted by the scenery, and went off course. I became alert again when the shuttle skimmed along treetops. The console received a malfunction notification and I subsequently crashed into a forest area.” “The maintenance record shows your Xanadu Shuttle was updated on the second of the previous month?” “Yes.” “Then do you accept responsibility for this incident?” “Yes, I do.” There’s no point in putting up a fight. All the evidence is all in the machinery and Seokjin had made no attempt to hide it. “I’m interested in the girl you rescued,” the Commander speaks up, tapping his pen on his clipboard. “When did you come into contact with her after you crashed?” “After I crashed, I exited my Xanadu Shuttle and caught sight of her standing amongst the trees. I think...the accident got her attention and she came to investigate what it was.” He nods and the people on the other side of the table look around at one another. There are soft murmurs and Seokjin stays quiet through their deliberation, keeping his eyes on his own report. After a minute, it simmers down. “The panel appreciates your honesty and integrity, Seokjin. In spite of your circumstances, you were able to rescue someone who will become a valuable member to our society and such a thing should not be overlooked. However, the crash was ultimately on your part and as such, you will have to be put on probation for a period of two months. The panel will also require that you retake your license class. Do you agree these actions are necessary?” Relief washes over him. Seokjin thought this was it. He was anticipating that he’d lose his job. “Y-Yes. Thank you.” “You will have to pass your license class.” “Yes, I will.” “There is one more thing I would like to discuss with you, Seokjin,” The Commander speaks up. “I spoke to our Premier and Minister prior to this meeting and we came to an agreement that it would be in the best interest of everyone involved if you could foster the newcomer you rescued. Typically, as you know, we house newcomers for a while and monitor them. But she...seems to be a special case.” The Chief furrows his brows. “Yes, she was isolated, wasn’t she?” It’s known to all that the lone ones are usually the people that are most unstable. The ones with animalistic behaviour as a result of living in the wild and being socially deprived. The problematic ones. But they’re wrong. Seokjin doesn’t outright refute his own superiors, yet he’s certain that you don’t have any of those issues. You’re not violent. Uncivilized. Barbaric. “Usually people are found in groups or clusters.” “Exactly that. But it seems like Seokjin has built a rapport with her. It might lead to a smoother transition if there’s immediate integration. Or at least, it’s an experiment we want to try. He has a calm temperament as well which makes him an ideal candidate to attempt this new method. Would you be willing to house this newcomer for a period of time, Seokjin?” He doesn’t need a second longer to think about it. “I wouldn’t mind whatsoever.” ... .. . Seokjin finds you and almost bursts out laughing with how relieved you look. “Jin!” He doesn’t mind the nickname either. “I haven’t seen you in a while.” Hoseok twirls around with a blazing smile, his white coat fluttering with him. “But I have a feeling you’re here to see my little guest and not me.” “You’re right.” He enters and stands by your side. “Has everything been alright?” “Of course!” Hoseok interjects before you can answer. “I’m one of the best doctors here, what do you take me for? We had a very fun time together, right, Y/N?” “Uh, sure.” “I’ll take it.” Seokjin smiles and looks at his old friend. “Is there anything…?” “She’s healthy. She’s been taking care of herself well. Nothing that’s too concerning.” Hoseok's eyes meet yours and he grins. “You’re approximately twenty to twenty five years old. Unfortunately, it doesn’t look like you have any family here in Arcadia, but you don’t have any diseases, so that’s something to be happy about! Minimal dental work that needs to be done. Blood pressure is good. You have a slight magnesium and iodine deficiency, but nothing dark greens, whole grains, fish and eggs can’t fix. I’ll give you some vitamins to be safe and some medication to avoid illnesses you’re potentially susceptible to in Arcadia.” “That’s good news,” Jin exhales. “You’re also healthy enough to have children!” Hoseok announces and if possible his grin widens. You blink at him and he quickly reads your confused expression. “Right, you might not be aware but it’s one of the main ambitions of Arcadia to repopulate society. People with the most compatible genes get paired together into family units. Depending on how your integration goes, you might get paired up in a family unit by the end of the week.” “What?” You’re reeling. Starting a family and having children are things at the very back of your mind, not even in the realm of what your thoughts are, and you’re not sure what to think at this news. Jin sighs at his friend. “You’re freaking her out.” “Am I? Sorry,” the man laughs and looks at you. “Don’t worry. No one will force you. It’s just...highly suggested and recommended.” … .. . “That’s the dining hall.” “What do they serve?” “On Mondays, there’s quinoa. Tuesday is this dried beans dish. So on and so forth. Don’t worry, there’s poultry too, so there are eggs and chicken breast which you can order. There’s corn, milk, cheese and a selection of fruit too. They also serve protein powders you can mix with water that gives you the same nutrition value.” “It’s not like...that stuff you gave me, right?” “You mean pemmican? No, it’s better. Or at least I hope so.” He smiles. “Everyone has the same food. Sometimes during celebrations though, they serve different things.” “There’s not much privacy, is there?” Seokjin follows your line of sight to the glass buildings where you’re able to see the people working on each floor. “I guess not. I’ve never really thought about it.” You suppose it’s something to get used to. “Are...people staring at me, Jin?” “Don’t mind it. It’s not everyday we get a new face around here.” Right as he says that, you lift your head to discover your face plastered on one of the screens at the top of the building as if you were a wanted criminal. Seokjin laughs. “News spreads fast around here.” “I bet it does,” you mutter, a bit unnerved. “It’s a nice place if you follow the rules, trust me.” “What happens if someone breaks a rule?” “Well, there’s a focus on restorative justice for small crimes. So people often do community service or talk to victims or the people they affected and try their best to fix their mistakes.” “What about big crimes? Like if you killed someone.” Yet, Seokjin stays silent for a moment. “They disappear.” Your brows furrow, not sure what he means. But he doesn’t elaborate and you don’t push for an answer, uncertain that you want to know more. Arcadia isn’t as you expected it to be. When Seokjin told you stories, part of you anticipated it being lesser and merely blown up in proportion through his evident love of this place. You had predicted a community ridden with suspicion, like many of the sanctuaries you had been to before they inevitably collapsed. Leaders suppressing their people. Scarcity in resources. Another part of you expected an otherworldly universe, full of gibberish and things you didn’t understand. Much like the technology he carried with him or the shuttle that crashed in the forest. But what is presented in front of you is a sort of familiarity in a changed background. People like you know them, except courteous and independent. “This is my housing unit.” It’s a blinding white, two stories with the top floor off center and extended off the right side. It looks like two boxes haphazardly stacked on top of each other with giant pane glass windows at the front. “It’s not much but it’s my home.” You nod as your eyes drift to his lawn — a tiny patch of grass that surrounds the path leading up to the front door. As if entranced, you launch forward towards it. But it feels different underneath your feet, past the soles of your shoes. The soil isn’t soft. There aren’t any lumps, no grip when you try to root yourself into it. Seokjin notices your reaction. “It’s artificial grass.” “What does that mean?” “It’s fake.” “Fake? You can’t get real grass?” “Guess not.” The interior of his home is less white than all of Arcadia. There are mismatched cushions, wooden tables and bookshelves, fake yellow flowers on his marble kitchen counter, paintings of oceans and cities placed on the wall next to photographs of himself growing up. You glance over the knick-knacks lining the shelves, snow globes and postcards, tiny things you’ve always seen lying around shops in the decaying towns, but never paid much attention to. “Sorry. It’s a bit messy.” “No, I like it.” He shows you to your room, an empty one down the hall. It’s much less decorated than his living space and he quickly excuses himself to tumble back in with heavier blankets and proper pillows. “Had I known you were coming, I would’ve had everything already set up!” “I don’t think any of us knew I would be here.” He laughs. “That’s true.” You walk to the window, taking a peek outside to the white city that towers over and covers the blue sky, the tiny patches of grass that alleviates the brightness of Arcadia, the flying shuttles hovering past the paved paths. “You’re probably tired, right? Do you want to rest a bit? I have a few things to do, so…” “You don’t have to worry about me, Jin. I can take care of myself. Probably.” Seokjin ends up shutting the door after promising he won’t take long. But it’s the first time in hours that there’s finally silence. And you allow the quietness to simmer down on you as you take a seat on the edge of the soft bed that sinks underneath your weight. You stare at the sheets, the white walls and floor, the luminescent sunlight streaming through the windows. You’re not sure how you feel. … .. . You stare down at your slab of white meat, so white that you wonder if everything in Arcadia is dyed in this blinding shade. It’s something you might have to ask Jin, even if it’s a bit ridiculous. You’re just not used to having meat that isn’t charged by the flames of a bonfire. But still, you tear it with your fingers and when you bring it to your mouth, it tastes dry and heavy — like it’s fake. “This isn’t very good, is it?” “It isn’t?” Jin blinks and you lift your head. Immediately, your eyes connect to a stranger who instantly turns away and it occurs to you that people are watching. “Don’t worry. It’s because you’re not using utensils. Here.” He hands you a metal stick with three prongs at the end and another one that’s rounded. Understandably, it’s awkward in your hold, hurts in your grip. It goes silent as you fumble with it. The chicken breast almost flies off your metal tray. “It’s okay.” He smiles at your visible frustration and reaches over to slice it with a knife. Jin gently takes your hand holding the fork and pierces the piece. “Like this, see? Not too bad, right?” “It would be easier with my hands.” He agrees, “It would be.” “Hey, you’re Y/N, right?” A familiar red-head comes prancing up to the table and steals a seat next to you. “I’m Lizzy. We met on the Xanadu Shuttle, remember? I was the one telling you all about the history of Arcadia?” “Yes, I do.” “This is Namjoon. He’s one of our robotics engineers,” she introduces a gawky, strapping male with framed glasses. He takes a seat next to Seokjin. “A pleasure to be of your acquaintance. I’ve heard quite a lot about you in the past two hours or so. I am friends with Hoseok. He doesn’t indulge me in much information, he told me he received a great person of interest in his office. I believe that person may be you—” Seokjin interrupts his ramble, “Namjoon.” “Don’t mind him,” Lizzy laughs, ignoring the two men as she leans over the table to intrude into your personal space. “How are you getting settled in? Everything okay?” “Yeah. I’d say everything’s okay.” “I heard you were living with Jin now. Tell me, is he as messy at home as he is at work?” “I am not messy,” he protests. “Only a little,” you divulge her with a small smile. Namjoon smiles. “I heard you crashed. Glad to see you’re still alive and well.” “Thanks.” Seokjin’s eyes roll as his voice drips of sarcasm. “I’m sorry you couldn’t use my body for your next humanoid robotic experiment.” “Not now, but in due time,” the other man teases then turns to you. “It’s a shame you’re partnered with Seokjin. He can be quite clumsy and forgetful. You’ll end up becoming his handyman like I am.” “His first time he got into a Xanadu Craft, he broke the console,” Lizzy tells, making your mouth upturn. Namjoon swallows down his food before asking, “If I may be intrusive, Y/N, is it really true that you were alone? In the forest, I mean.” “I...was.” “How long were you alone for?” “I’m not sure. I think maybe two years.” “And before that?” “I...uh...traveled around and met different people.” He leans forward. “And what happened to those people?” “Well, some...passed away and others went somewhere else.” “What did they pass away from?” There’s a loud scraping of a chair against the tiled floor, grating to your ears. “I’m stuffed. Aren’t you, Y/N? I think we should head back now. Sorry, Joon, Lizzy. Might have to cut your questions short there. Maybe you can ask more next time.” “Oh, alright then.” They bid you farewell and Lizzy waves with a smile. As you exit, you look at Seokjin. “Thank you.” He saved you from answering, from bringing up memories you had no intentions of returning to. Yet he smiles and then looks away, feigning ignorance. “For what?” … .. . They’re wrong. It’s not a shame at all to be with Jin at all. If anything, you think you’re quite fortunate. Ever since you’ve met him, he’s proven himself time and time again to be thoughtful and considerate — traits that you thought were gone in this era. But it’s him who makes it easier to deal with these changes, to enter into this new world. … .. . “I thought you were gone,” he says, looking down at you with a smile. You’re laying on his lawn in the middle of the night in bare feet. “I knocked on your door and then searched my whole house.” “Where did you think I was?” “I don’t know.” Seokjin plops down on his artificial grass, stretching out his body and laying beside you like all those times before. “I was worried. I thought something happened to you.” “I’m sorry.” “Don’t be.” “I couldn’t sleep.” It’s quiet as the pair of you look to the sky with your hands folded on top of your stomachs. The lamp posts nearby casted warm glows on your visages. The warm breeze making his cheeks rosy. Yet, none of you can see the stars — not with the light pollution of Arcadia, not when all the buildings were towering so high and covering it, not like out there in the middle of the forest. “Remember when we were in the forest, Jin?” “I do. I remember that one time, you didn’t completely put out the fire and my pants almost set on fire.” You giggle and Jin relishes in the sound. “I apologized for that and who told you to sit so close to that spot?” “Hey, I just wanted to be next to you.” You remember the nights when you were able to drift off while staring at the horizon and how you were awoken by the first blush of dawn, sunlight coming through the trees. You have a feeling it’s going to be a long time before you have an experience like that again. It’s going to be a long, long time. If ever again. “I feel homesick,” you whisper, finally being able to pinpoint your emotions and it’s the most honest you’ve been since you arrived. “I don’t want to be paired up with anyone or have kids.” Jin reaches out and you feel his hand against the back of yours. He holds it, clasping it tight. You shift and your eyes meet. “Don’t worry. They can’t make you do anything you don’t want to.” You trust him. … .. . “If you want, we don’t have to eat in the dining center anymore. We can eat at home.” The corner of your mouth pulls. “Is that allowed?” “I’ll find a way around it,” Jin promises. … .. . “Please, Hoseok.” “You know that’s not how the system works. There’s not much I can do anyway.” “But you can put in your recommendation.” He’s silent in contemplation. “She’s compatible with you, but more so compatible with others. Plus, she’d assimilate better with someone stricter.” “I want to protect her. She’s my responsibility. Pair her with me.” Seokjin won’t let you be paired up with someone else in a family unit, expected to stay together and have children. He’ll keep his promise to you and be with you until the end — it’s also his selfish wish to be with you. The other man sighs. “I’ll make a note of it, but I can’t promise anything.” … .. . You’re unfamiliar with the devices at hand — the kitchen appliances with automated voices that speak when you come close, the machines with tens of buttons you can’t read. They’re all things you once overlooked when you scrambled for remaining supplies. “Is everything okay?” “I’m trying to heat this up. You said I could use it, right?” “Yeah. Here.” Seokjin comes behind you and takes your hand, guiding you where to press. “Click this button and then this one.” You don’t understand technology at all. Even the television is odd, an overload on your senses. “What do you think?” he asks, watching your reaction in amusement and how your eyes are as wide as the screen flashing against your face. “It’s...a lot to take in.” “That’s okay. Do you want to go outside instead? We can, if you want to.” You glance out the window. “I’m fine here. I’m not used to there being so many people.” “How about we work on some more worksheets?” “Again?” Jin laughs and the sound is tinkling. “You have to learn eventually. Come on.” He pulls you up and is happy to sit next to you at his kitchen table to teach you how to hold a pencil, how to write each letter and answer your questions. You’re a fast learner. Today your strokes are smoother and you learn how to spell his name. … .. . Seokjin often knocks on your door before going to bed to bid you goodnight. Yet he seldomly finds you there, where you’re supposed to be. He wonders if you’re outside on his lawn again, but instead, he discovers you standing in his living room. You’re gazing out the window quietly with an unreadable expression. “Is there something wrong?” You turn around with a small smile. “I’m just a little homesick.” He joins you, staring out at the city and the lampposts lined on the paved paths. “How do we go outside, Jin? Not just outside, but beyond the dome.” To the forest again. “Most people aren’t allowed outside because it’s dangerous. You would need to have my job or something similar, and that’s after you graduate from a three year program and pass several exams.” It’s quiet and neither of you look at one another or speak when you reach over, discreetly taking his hand into yours. Seokjin laces his fingers through yours and squeezes. He’s the only reason you can starve off the longing sewed uncomfortably in your chest. ... .. . In the following days, he receives a notification. The leaders are interested in you as a newcomer and extended an invitation to the party. So he helps you pick an appropriate outfit and the two of you enter with your hand looped around his arm as he reassures you. “You must be Y/N!” The strangers, leaders of Arcadia, welcome you with tall bubbling glasses, one of which that you receive from a waiter. It tastes disgusting, but you try to not let it show on your face. “It’s good to see that you’re getting yourself accustomed to Arcadia. I see you’re with your future partner this evening.” The man laughs boisterously while you exchange expressions with Seokjin. “That’s supposed to be a secret,” the woman beside him chides. “Right, right. The postings of the new family units go up on Friday. My apologies for ruining the surprise, but I assume it is a happy one.” You look up at him, gazing meeting Seokjin’s at once. The relief is overwhelming and what follows is a kind of excitement. Part of the weight lifted off your shoulders and Jin smiles tenderly. He leans in close, whispering in your ear so you’re the only one who hears— “You shouldn’t look at me like that in a place like this or I might just do something about it in front of all these people.” It’s bold. Unexpected but you know with the heat that rises into your face, it isn’t unwelcome. “Y/N, is it?” The intimate moment is intercepted by other individuals approaching in blue attire, form fitting dress simple and modest. “You must be the newcomer! I’ve heard so much about you.” “Yes, how has your transition been? Are you finding everything accommodating?” You hope they don’t come close enough to feel the warmth radiating off your cheeks. “Yes. Arcadia has been very welcoming to me.” They smile. “It’s so fortunate you can understand us and we don’t have to use those translating devices.” “You were alone, correct?” another asks. “How did you fare in the wild like that? How did you manage to even eat?” “I trapped animals like rabbits and squirrels and roasted them over fires.” Laughter is suddenly roused all around you. “Aren’t you glad you don’t have to do such a primitive thing anymore?” “What I’m curious about is how you’re still alive without any radiation poisoning.” “I used a radon detector. It was given to me a long time ago by an older woman who was with me. She died.” Automatic silence sweeps through the crowd. You clear your throat. “But I used it when I traveled through the cities.” “I see.” Some are fascinated while others aren’t. “How preserved are these old cities?” “Most buildings are still relatively in-tact. There are abandoned cars and buses too, but they’re useless without fuel and everything’s been raided, so there’s not much left. It’s one of the reasons I started to live in the forest.” “Poor thing,” someone sympathizes, “Someone should’ve rescued you sooner. You wouldn’t have to suffer so much.” “I didn’t suffer.” They’re taken aback, clearing their throats and moving on from the subject. A man directs to the refreshment table — all the while Jin pulls you closer to him and away from the prying eyes of Arcadia. … .. . Later on in the evening when Seokjin’s gone to relieve himself, you meet an old man seated alone at the table. “I was outside too,” he croaks. “Until two years ago.” Your eyes find his — past the wrinkles are bright irises — and you remain silent. “Many things happened that the people here would never understand. But my biggest regret is coming here willingly. Arcadia offers many things,” he says, “it has everything but one.” “Freedom.” … .. . The words stick to you. Like flies to honey. Or the magnets on Jin’s fridge. They don’t cease from your mind — a plague that spreads, a pollutant that you can’t shake off no matter how hard you try. Jin worries about you, but he doesn’t ask. He knows every time he does, you’ll reassure him that you’re fine. So one night, he takes your hand and shows you to his television. “Put this on.” He hands you a black, heavy device and smiles at your visible reluctance. “Trust me.” You slip it on top of your head and it sits comfortably over your eyes, obstructing your vision in complete darkness. Headphones are put over your ears and you discover both of your senses of sight and sound are completely disabled. “What are you doin—” The words die upon your tongue the moment the machine flickers on. There are chickadees chirping and woodpeckers digging against the bark. The sound of insects flapping their wings in the beating sun and the whistling wind intensifies. You see the forest, a forest. Canopies of spruce, walnut, and alder cascading light to the verdant floor overgrown in shrubbery. A cry chokes in your throat, but then it bubbles into laughter instead. You jump up and down. “I see it. I see it!” You whirl around, looking in each direction. To the blue horizon and the sound of the rustling leaves. Your home. But when you take it off, it’s all gone. You’re shrouded in darkness with Seokjin’s features barely discernible. You’re trapped in the very utopia you had followed him to. And you cry. For the first time in his presence, for the first time in a long while, sobs break through your frame at what you’ve lost — what you’ve traded in, what you’ve given up. Jin embraces you, arms wrapped around your frame, trying his best to keep you whole. “I want to go back.” … .. . Jin makes it easier to be in Arcadia. He gives you reason to become accustomed to it. He makes you wish you wanted to stay. But he’s not enough to dissipate your constant wistfulness. He isn’t the solution to your plaguing dilemmas, but you’re glad he doesn’t have to bear that burden. You wouldn’t want Jin to harbour the hardship of being your fix. … .. . It’s in the dead of the night that Seokjin comes out of his room and finds you. In the dark, you’re seated on the floor with your knees folded to your chest and the virtual reality headset slipped on top of your head, over your eyes and ears. You’re taking it all in. The orchestral songs of nature, the birds and leaves, the swaying of the grass and flourishing shrubs, bathing in the warm sunlight you cannot feel. He sees you, but doesn’t say anything, merely turning away. At same time, you feel the presence of another and slip the device in time to catch his retreating backside. “Jin,” you call out for him, knowing you’ve been caught. He hums, turning around and the two of you look at one another. “I’m sorry.” The dark-haired man smiles tenderly. “It’s me who should apologize. I’m the one who brought you here selfishly.” “It’s not your fault. I’m the one who agreed to some and I’m...the one having trouble adjusting.” “That’s not it. The problem is you’re not where you should be. Home. Not my home. Not Arcadia. But your home. “ You stand and he meets you halfway. You press your face to his shoulder and he embraces you. “I’ll help you go back,” Seokjin murmurs against your hair. “I thought you would be happy here, but I don’t want to keep you against your will.” “Come with me.” “You know I can’t,” he whispers in spite of your soft-spoken plea. “I have a life here. Like how you can’t leave yours. Arcadia is my home. It always will be.” You hold him closer, shutting your eyes to savour the moment. “Won’t you get into trouble?” “I’ll find some way.” The corner of his mouth turns. “I always end up fine. You will too.” … .. . The year’s posting goes up and just as the man had said, you and Seokjin are paired together. The two of you hold hands as you look at it, taking your time to read it over. It’s slow, but you understand nonetheless. You’re congratulated by those around him, people you recognize and friends you have yet to know. It’s fortunate it worked out that way, but it’s still bittersweet, knowing of your upcoming departure. And that same night, five hours past twelve, Jin takes you across Arcadia. The white shuttle is ready when you arrive in the dark and you scarcely recognize its scratched paint and dented surface. It’s the same one that he crashed in, the one that took him to you. “I programmed the path back. It’ll go automatically without you needing to drive it. And once you close the door, it’ll come back on its own. I’ll erase the data’s history. Take this.” Seokjin gently places the sling of a heavy bag on your shoulder. “There are clothes in here, blankets, medicine, a first aid kit, some canned food and seeds of new plants you don’t have. It should help you out.” Tears threaten to spill from your lash line. “Jin. Wait.” Hope blooms within him, wondering if you’ve changed your mind, that you want to stay. But he knows having such selfish desires won’t help him, so he puts them away. Just for a moment. He tries his best not to hang onto you, to hold you down. “It was because of you that I could even cope so well. You made it so much easier for me. I...I…” But Jin lets his greed slip. He closes the distance and kisses you senseless. The man swallows your soft gasp and comes to cradle the back of your neck as you ease into him. You relish in the gentle touch, his tender affections and taste one another’s lips. It’s bittersweet, yet he pulls away with a faint smile. “You should get in.” You nod, pulling away from him. Everything the two of you wanted to say has already translated through the kiss. Still, you take every moment you can and look to him. “Thank you, Jin.” The doors whir as it closes. He gazes at you till the very last second, till it shuts. The thin whistle diminuendos as it lifts into the air. He watches the shuttle fade from sight and when the sun lifts at the first blush of dawn, what’s left is a streak of white in the sky.

The world is limitless. You have learned of such a fact at a young age, traveling from desserts to mountains, finding all the hiding places and safe spots that others had claimed no longer existed. But they did and you’ve sought refuge in this forest, found a home amongst the rustling foliage and canopies ruled by spruce, walnut, and alder. There was just enough rays of light bursting through to allow the saplings to flourish and shrubs to overgrow. And without the presence of others, you could listen to the woodpeckers hammering against the wood, the wings of insects fluttering about. Everything was the way you left it. Unchanged from the time you left like it was waiting for you. It’s as if Arcadia and Seokjin was a fever dream. Except the mementos brought back with you reminds you otherwise. You dig into your bag, looking through what he’s given you, everything he picked out that he knew would help. But you discover something special at the very bottom. It’s a black, thick rectangular piece of plastic reminiscent of a walkie-talkie, synced up to only one other without a third in between. You hold the Erewhon device to your lips and press the side of the button. “Hello.” There’s a pause. “My name is Y/N.” Silence follows. But then there’s the sound of static and someone’s crystal clear voice. “Nice to meet you. I’m Seokjin.” A wide smile spreads into your cheeks.

#bts fanfic #bts scenario #seokjin fanfic #jin fanfic #jin scenario #seokjin scenario #seokjin reader insert #seokjin x reader #jin reader insert #jin x reader #btsboulangerie #I don't really know if there's 50/50 fluff and angst #there's not really that much fluff and not that much angst in general #but I don't really know how to describe this fic any other way lol #so I went with 50 50 cause it is truly neutral #hope you enjoyed this piece!!

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awhitehead17 · 3 years

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Universal Signs

Chapter 18 / Previous Chapter

A/N: WARNINGS this chapter contains descriptions of torture, injuries and violence. It's not overly graphic but is more so than previous chapters. The descriptions are scattered throughout the chapter, especially at the start so please be aware!

Also on AO3

Enjoy! :D

Every time the leather rope connects with his skin a gut-wrenching scream escapes past his lips. The pain it leaves behind sets his body on fire, making every muscle recoil in tension, it becomes increasingly difficult to breathe, it’s practically impossible to focus on anything else other than the stinging sensation blossoming across his back.

This has been happening for quite some time now. He has no idea for how long but he just wants it to be over. No matter how much he pleads for it to stop, it never does.

Everything hurts. He’s been in pain before, has endured so much in the past, but none of that compares to what he’s experiencing now. There’s a very brief moment in between each strike that gives him a chance to suck in a shaky breath, however it’s shorted lived because the rope collides with his skin seconds later, making him cry out again.

A very distant part of his brain is thankful that the worst of the pain is centred across his back and shoulders because then at least it wasn’t somewhere like his face. In spite of those thoughts, they do nothing to help ease anything that’s actually happening in that moment.

The rope strikes again causing a new level of pain to blossom. He could feel the rawness of his skin, he could feel how wetness drips down his back, causing the wounds to sting more than what they already were. Whether that wetness was sweat or blood, Tim has no idea.

There’s several long moments and Tim just waits for the next strike to occur. When it doesn’t happen he refuses to let himself relax. The last time he relaxed his muscles when there had been an irregular pause between the strikes Tim had foolishly thought his torture was over, he was certainly proven wrong because the moment Tim let his muscles relax the strikes started back up and were relentless.

Even with his pain addled brain, Tim wasn’t falling for the same thing twice. The moment drags on but nothing happens. Tim could hear his raspy breaths as he struggles to get oxygen back into his body, he could feel the way his muscles were trembling with exhaustion. Much to his displeasure there wasn’t a lot he could do about it except accept it.

The next touch on his skin didn’t come from the leather rope like he had been expecting but rather from who had been torturing him the entire time. A hand roughly grabs his chin and yanks his head up. Tim’s barely able to open his eyes, his vision is blurred and the bright lights make his head pound but somehow he makes out the figure in front of him to be Ra’s Al Ghul.

“Well Timothy, it looks like this session is being cut short much to my displeasure. It is fairly fascinating to hear what kinds of sounds you make. There is some urgent business that I need to take care of. We’ll continue this soon.”

With no more words Ra’s drops his face and moves away from Tim. It’s only when he disappears from his sight that Tim finally lets himself relax, well as much as he could considering how much agony his muscles are currently in.

He becomes alert and automatically clenches his abused muscles when he detects another presence nearby. They don’t touch him, which Tim is thankful for, though he soon changes his mind when he’s suddenly colliding with the ground. He’s knocked breathless as he lands on his stomach and whimpers when pain shoots through his body, making every nerve feel like it’s on fire.

It takes a moment but he works out that the unknown presence had cut him down from where he had been hanging from the ceiling. The rope is still wrapped around his wrists, with his fingers clenching it as if it’s a lifeline and he feels his legs being manhandled around. They must be unlocking the chains that had strapped down his ankles.

There's more movement behind him and Tim finds it difficult to focus on it. He presses his head into the floor, clenching his eyes shut as the pain pulses throughout his body, it’s very distracting and makes it hard to focus on his surroundings.

The next thing he becomes aware of is the wind being knocked out of him for a second time. Tim lands against something solid but hardly has the energy left in him to work out what happened. The best he could do is simply lie on the ground helplessly as he tries to find the energy within himself in order to do something.

After taking a few deep breaths he lifts his head up off the ground and groggily looks around. It takes a lot longer than it should have but he eventually recognises the room as the cell that he’s been recently staying in. He’s on the floor in the middle of it, in god knows what condition.

Once he worked out his location, Tim drops his head back down and lets his mind drift. He doesn’t have the energy to do much else and the headache raging through his skull makes it difficult to focus on anything. His body feels like it’s made of lead, he probably wouldn’t be able to move a limb no matter how hard he tries.

Tim’s roused from his pitiful sleep as a sharp stinging sensation spreads across his back. He lets out a hiss and tries to jerk away from it. He doesn’t want more pain. What are they doing to him now? Haven’t they done enough?

A heavy weight settles across his shoulders which keeps him in place along with a voice snapping at him sharply. “Don’t move.”

Tim stops moving, only letting out a whimper in protest. He turns his head enough to see who it is and finds the female from before who has previously patched up his wounds after Ra’s previous torture sessions.

“Wha – what are you doing?” He asks openly wincing as he does so, his throat feels raw and dry. When was the last time he had something to drink?

“You know what they say about humans? That humans are a high maintenance species.” She says conversationally, though she clearly wasn’t expecting a response from him because she continues to talk. “You really are proving those sayings correct. You’re so weak and fragile. You have no special abilities, you get wounded easily, you have to rest and sleep so often, be fed and hydrated so your bodies don’t give out.”

Tim feels something cold be put on his back and he flinches at the touch and then hisses when it suddenly starts stinging again. He lifts his hand to try and smack her away from him but she simply grabs his arm and forces down to the ground.

“Stop it. It’s an agent that’ll help with the healing. Your wounds cover majority of your back, some of the slashes have split your skin and are bleeding. I had to clean your back first before applying this, it’ll help close the wounds quicker.”

While he understands the reason behind the stinging, it doesn’t mean he has to like it. He grits his teeth and clenches his fists as he bares it. At least, he reasons with himself, she isn’t making it any worse

“He fucking whipped me.” Tim mumbles into the ground. He’s still lying on the floor while she continues treating his back.

“You’re fortunate that’s all you got. Being whipped like that is in fact a mild punishment, especially from the Demon’s Head.”

Tim frowns, he wants to question on how it could be any worse but stops himself from doing so. He doesn’t think he wants to know the answer.

They fall silent and Tim goes back to assessing his body. The healing cream must already be working because while his body still feels like it’s made of lead and his head is still pounding, the stinging has now dulled down leaving behind only achiness.

His back and shoulders, the main source of the pain, had been abused by a whip. His wrists and ankles were sore from where they had been tightly restrained by ropes and chains. His face is bruised and swollen from where he had been roughed up before the whipping. Then there’s his chest which feels tight, his lungs having overworked during the torture to help Tim breathe through it.

An overall summary would be is that he feels like shit.

He realises that he’s starting to get cold now too. He’s lying on the floor practically naked except for a pair of boxers which covers his modesty. He had been stripped down just before getting restrained and hung up for the whipping. Of course whipping bare skin had more of an effect than whipping fabric.

“That’s all I can do for you for now. You’re lucky he’s even letting you be treated.” She says behind him, getting his attention.

Tim snorts. “He doesn’t want his pet to too damaged then.” He sighs and looks over his shoulders as much as he could. “Thank you, I appreciate it.”

She stares at him for a moment and Tim can’t work out what she’s thinking through her unreadable expression. After a moment, she shakes her head and stands up. “I’ll grab you some new clothing, do not move around too much. I will not re-cover your wounds if you dislodge any of the bandages while I’m gone.”

She starts heading for the door but it’s then that Tim remembers something. “Hey, wait,” she turns around at his call, “what’s your name? You’ve treated me a few times and I don’t know what you’re called.”

She knocks on the cell’s door. “It’s Pru.” When the door opens up she slides out like she had never been there at all. The door slams shut and once again Tim is left alone in the silence of his cell.

While on his own Tim doesn’t do much. He shifts around carefully on the ground until he’s somewhat more comfortable. He did try sitting up at one point but the strain the position had put on his back had proved to be too much so Tim settled for staying in a horizontal position finding it the least painful.

Gradually the pain recedes from his body and Tim believes that’s the healing cream’s doing. That or he just become numb to everything. It reminds him of the time when the others had used the same thing after he had been attacked by one of those Galavent monkey things. Jesus that feels like it was such long time ago.

With that in mind, and with nothing else to occupy himself, Tim’s reoccurring thoughts make an appearance. How long has it been since he’s been in space? How long has it been since he was taken away from his brothers?

He wishes he knew but not once has he been able to keep track of any sort of time since being away from Earth. Has it been years? Months? Days? He’s terrified to find out. Tim doesn’t feel any older but that means very little. Will he ever get back to Earth and if he does return will things still be the same?

He just wants this nightmare to be over.

Tim contemplates in his thoughts for a long time, he may have also drifted off to sleep but he doesn’t know for certain. How ever long it has been, Tim’s never-ending train of thoughts finally come to an end when the door to his cell cranks open. He watches it with interest, wondering who may enter through the gap, whether that be Pru or Ra’s. It really wasn’t in question which one he hopes it would be.

To his delight it’s Pru who steps into his cell, however in the most unexpected way. With her back to him, Pru’s dragging something that appears to be heavy into the cell. Tim watches with disbelief as she settles it half in and half out of the door, almost like using it as a door stop. When she steps away Tim finds that it’s body. A dead body. Which is heavily bleeding from the neck and is now leaving a large size puddle of blood on the floor.

Instant panic washes over Tim, had he been wrong this entire time? Will she just straight up kill him? Why go through all the trouble of treating him only to off him in the end anyway?

As Pru steps towards him Tim couldn’t help but flinch. He has no idea what she’s up to, how can he even trust her?

Not noticing his reaction Pru continues forward and crouches down in front of him. It doesn’t escape Tim’s notices that her dark uniform is painted with splatters of blood, and now that she’s close enough he gets a hint of a rustic iron smell.

“We need to go.” She tells him with no room for questions. “Get changed and we need to leave, now.”

She dumps a bag on the floor and throws out different bits of fabric at him. Tim lets out a sigh of relief and marginally relaxes. At least she wasn’t going to kill him. Now that’s out the way, her words come to the front of his mind and the pressing way she said them.

“What’s going on?” Tim asks as he starts to push himself up into a sitting position. His body protests at the action but Tim forces himself through it, whatever is happening it’s big and he needs to not be any weaker than what he already is.

Apparently he’s taking too long to get his ass in gear because Pru huffs in annoyance and reaches forward to grab him by the under arms and jerks him upright, taking no care whatsoever. Tim lets out a hiss but it goes ignored.

Clearly deciding that he was no longer capable of getting himself ready Pru grabs one of the fabric pieces she threw at him and yanks it over his head and his arms through the holes. His legs get a similar experience as she forcibly dresses him in some sweatpants.

“Now that’s done, we have to go.” She urges him.

Tim watches in bafflement as she makes her way to the door, avoiding the dead body as she goes and leaves the cell.

“Tim!”

“Okay, okay,” Tim mutters to himself feeling like a child. Using the wall as a guide Tim gets himself up to his feet and begins to take unsteady steps towards the door. From where his body is still weak and recovering, his legs almost buckle underneath him but he keeps going.

He cautiously steps over the body holding the door open and into the corridor outside of his cell. As he leaves he’s greeted with another two lifeless bodies sprawled out on the floor, each with their throats slit and blood pooling underneath them. The sight and smell makes Tim want to gag. It’s not his first time seeing dead bodies but it doesn’t make it any easier.

Slightly ahead of him, Pru stands surveying the surroundings completely unperturbed by the scene. Tim staggers down the corridor towards her, precisely avoiding the blood as he goes because he’s currently bare foot and really doesn’t want it touching his skin.

Once he reaches her he has to stop and take a deep breath. “Wait there.” Pru orders him as she wonders back down the corridor. Tim wasn’t going anywhere, he’s already knackered and he hasn’t even gone that far yet. He watches as she moves the body that’s acting as a door stop out of the way so the door could finally shut. Once that’s done she comes back over to him.

“Did you kill them?” He asks breathlessly. She shoots him a look which Tim deciphers as ‘are you fucking stupid? Unimpressed, Tim huffs, “You can’t just go around killing people!”

“Things die all the time. If I hadn’t of killed them they would report back to the Demon’s Head. If they’re dead they can’t talk. Simple. If anyone comes across them then they would think it was a challenge gone wrong. It really isn’t unusual to come across a dead body onboard. Now come on.”

With that disturbing thought, Tim stumbles along behind Pru as they make their way through the corridors of the ship. While Tim found it odd, he was grateful that they don’t come across anyone as they travel.

After many twists and turns Tim’s feeling even more tired than before and his body is more than ready to give out. He heaves in a deep breath and slumps against the wall. “What’s going on Pru?”

“We’re almost there.” The assassin replies without answering his question.

With great effort Tim pushes himself and continues to stumble along, using the wall for his balance. They come up to another corner and Pru waits at the edge. She holds out a finger to him and Tim gets the message, he’s more than happy to wait and catch his breath.

She darts around the corner and Tim listens as a shout could be heard followed by a loud gasp then a thud. It didn’t take much brain power to work out that Pru just killed someone. Tim couldn’t believe this is his life now, something that’s so inhumane becoming normal.

“Tim.”

Tim’s broken out of his thought at the sound of his name, figuring it’s safe to do so, he makes his way around the corner and isn’t surprised to see Pru standing over a dead body. As he walks towards her she opens up a door in front of her and waits for Tim to get there before ushering him inside. He’s too busy trying to avoid the blood to really pay attention to what he’s walking into.

“Rao, Tim. What happened to you?”

Forgetting about the blood and the dead bodies, Tim’s head snaps up at the sound of that voice. He stares in disbelief when he finds a group of mostly familiar people in front of him. He blinks again, wondering if he really had lost his mind back in the cell and that he’s now hallucinating all of this up.

“Kon?” He questions quietly. His eyes gaze over the familiar figure before moving to the others other’s. “Cassie? Bart? What are you… how are you… what?”

He looks back at Pru to find her guarding the door, keeping it open slightly with her foot but otherwise not moving.

Kon steps forwards, his eyes raking up and down Tim’s body obviously taking in his beaten form. He stops when he’s in front of Tim, looking at him with a mixture of concern and uncertainty.

Tim couldn’t believe it. How are they here? Why are they here? He’s happy to see them of course but there are so many emotions and thoughts running through his mind that he really couldn’t comprehend them all.

Last time he saw them, Kon had been dying from being stabbed and Bart had been unconscious. Ra’s made it clear that this team weren’t supposed to live but yet here they were. And they’ve come all this way, risking themselves even further for him. Tim’s stunned by their commitment, he really couldn’t believe it.

Unable to help himself, Tim lunges forward and wraps his arms around Kon’s shoulders in a hug. He’s so grateful that he’s alive. Kon seems surprised by the action and even stumbles against the additional weight but he gets his footing. After a moment he hugs Tim back, but it’s that action that has Tim hissing and arching away.

“Tim!”

Tim steps back and offers a weak smile, trying to get past the pain throbbing throughout his body. “Just a little sore Kon. It’s not exactly been a pleasant stay here.”

He turns towards Bart and Cassie to also greet them in a similar manner but Pru’s voice cutting through the room stops him from doing so.

“Yeah that’s great and all, but the happy reunion is going to have to wait. You need to get going now if you want any chance of getting off this ship alive.”

Right of course, despite his friends sudden appearance, they’re still aboard a ship full of assassins. Without waiting Pru leaves the room and is immediately followed by the two figures that Tim doesn’t recognise.

Bart grins at him, offering him a salute before reaching up to the collar of the uniform he’s wearing. Tim watches mystified by the way his face changes as it shifts to become someone else. He doesn’t recognise Bart at all, he now looks like another assassin on the ship.

Bart leaves the cell next and Tim slowly follows after him. His body is still sore but he thinks with the knowledge that his friends are there with him and how there’s a possible chance he could get away from this ship, he can push himself through the pain. Cassie and Kon follow behind him.

Pru leads the group down various of corridors. A quick chat amongst themselves informs them all that there’s a ship waiting for them, which Bart and the unknown’s arrived on, in the docking bay of the spaceship. It’s located at the far back, away from the more populated areas of the location. The assassin nods her head and tells them she can guide them all that way using the less populated corridors, therefore narrowing down the chance of being discovered.

Tim knows that they’ll be found at some point. It’s inevitable and it’s simply a matter of when. Hopefully they’ll safely be on the ship by the time that happens.

It nearly happens straight away. After turning around a corner, they bump into a cluster of assassins standing around doing who knows what when they aren’t busy killing things. Thankfully they seemed to be too shocked to even consider doing anything before Pru was there mowing them down with a sword.

Tim, even though he doesn’t agree with it, is used to this. If the others have opinions on the matter, they don’t voice them.

As they continue onwards, Tim could feel the adrenaline starting to wear off. His body was aching again and the wounds on his back are beginning to throb. He would really love to collapse down onto a bed in that moment and pass out. Just to leave everything behind and enter the land of the unconscious.

He knows he can’t do that, however. There’s too much at stake and he needs to keep pushing himself forwards. Tim knows he can endure a lot but how much is too much? When he accidently stumbles hands were there to catch him and keep him upright. He sends a worried looking Kon the best reassuring smile he could muster up, though he doesn’t think it achieves a lot because Kon only becomes looking more concerned.

They eventually make it to the back of the docking bay. They’re grateful to find that this section of the bay is practically empty and according to Pru, since there isn’t any operations currently running, less bodies are needed on the bay meaning it’s emptier than usual.

When one of the unknown’s point to a black spaceship parked off to the side, stating that’s the one, they all immediately head towards it. As they get closer to it, Tim feels a spark of hope flicker inside of him. This is what he’s been waiting for, something he’s wished for since the moment he had been captured again; an opportunity to get off this ship and away from Ra’s.

Unfortunately the spark is short lived and dies when two figures appear in front of the ship. Both of them wearing black League of Assassins uniforms without any masks over their heads. From what Tim could see, they were both male, one taller and broader than the other, one had short dark hair while the other had wild blonde hair.

For some strange reason there’s something familiar about them but Tim couldn’t place what it is. He doesn’t recognise them and knows he hasn’t met them before but there’s something about them. It wasn’t until shocked gasps coming from three of their group that it all clicks.

He was looking at twin versions of Kon and Bart.

Tim whips his gaze from the pair in front of him to the pair standing at his side. Bart and Kon had shocked expressions plastered on their faces as they stare at the other two. A whispered “oh no” from Cassie has him feeling like he’s missing something.

“Kon, Bart, do you know them?” Tim questions eventually.

Kon swallows thickly, his eyes flicking towards Tim then at the others again. “Something like that.”

Tim doesn’t get the chance to question him further because another voice cuts him off.

“Well this is certainly unexpected but certainly not unwelcomed.” Kon’s look alike says with a smirk.

“I would say it’s nice to see you again but it really isn’t.” Bart’s twin sarcastically comments afterwards. “Kon-el, Bartholomew, you have something that belongs to the Demon’s Head and he wants it back. So hand over the human and we’ll take it easy on you.”

Tim tenses up, unsure of what’s about to transpire. He glances at Kon to find the Kryptonian now looking furious and determined. Next to him Bart is wearing the same expression.

“Match, Thad, it’s been a long time.” Kon says in a strained voice.

“Hand over the human Kon-el. I won’t ask again.”

Bart speaks up before Kon could reply. “That’s not happening, Tim is coming with us.”

The pair in front of them share a sinister smile and drop down into defensive positions. “We were hoping you’d say that.”

Beside him, Kon, Cassie and Bart all get into fighting positions. With his fists raised Kon stares at them defiantly. “Don’t get so full of yourselves, you couldn’t beat us last time and this time will be no different.”

“Well, we’ll just see about that won’t we?”

#universal signs #Tim Drake #Kon-El #cassie sandsmark #bart allen #prudence wood #Young Justice #fanfiction #torture #violence #injuries #injured tim #pru isn't taking any shit #Tired Tim #Reunions #humans are space orcs #tw: whipping #angst #Blood

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fallout-drabbles-n-stuff · 4 years

Note

how about companions (+sturges) reacting to a sole who gets injured? :))

(Love that you requested to add sturges, hope you enjoy!)

Cait:

"Ya just had to go off and act the fool eh? What did I tell ye about that? Did you want to become super mutant puppy chow?"

Though she may sound rough at first, it comes from a place of true concern. Damn those green skinned freaks, especially their hounds. Had you just been a second quicker with your trigger finger, maybe you wouldn’t have the perfect outline of a mutant hound’s teeth imprinted into your thigh. It didn’t matter now though, no, what mattered to her now was making sure to get you some place safe enough for her to pour out her trusty flask of whisky onto your wounds and duct tape it up.

It would have to do for now..

Curie:

"Oh mon dieu..well, at least this is what I specialize in madame/monsieur."

Honestly this is best case scenario! She is equipped with a vast medical knowledge and proper instruments so..be it a simple scrape or broken bones, she’ll have you feeling like new!

Danse:

"Listen to me soldier, I need you to remain perfectly still for me. I know it hurts but just..stay calm."

In your line of work, getting messed up was well..let’s just say it’s an occupational hazard. Danse knew this quite well, but it still didn’t stop him from paling when he realized just how beat up you were after a straggler ghoul threw itself at you.

Once the firefight was done and he could properly asses you, he’d suck in a sharp breath, hesitantly stripping any necessary layers before doing his next to put into action what little field medicine he could remember from boot camp.

Probably not as good as going to a doctor...but he made it to where you wouldn’t bleed out.

Deacon:

"Oh..does your arm usually resemble jelly? I'm ju- just playing, oh..oh god."

Like always, deacon would use his humor as his go to..even when he felt like he was going to throw up when he heard the sick “crack” of your arm as you fell right down on it.

Whenever you got back to hq, he’d be certain to bug Carrington and Tinker Tom until you were feeling better.

Gage:

"I'll give ya a reason to cry if you don't shush it boss...now, do you need me to carry you back?"

Running around in Dry Rock Gulch probably wasnt the best idea you ever had, especially becoming apparent when you took a hard fall after tripping over one of the cut out props. No big deal right? Wrong. The minute you tried to stand you found yourself yelping in pain as a hot stinging sensation seized your ankle.

Rolling his eyes, Gage initially thought you were just being over dramatic but he soon realized he was wrong when he saw how much your ankle began to swell. He’d feel pretty bad for being so rough with you but he’d make up for it, making good on his word by literally carrying you piggy back style to properly address your injuries within the comfort of your “home” in fizztop.

Hancock:

"Now that doesn't look too good. Uh..here just sit down right there and wait. Mmh, now would you like to hit that jet I was offering? Too soon? Sorry..."

Fights and the resulting injuries were not something he ever backed down from. Lord knows he isn’t the squeamish type. That’s probably why you were just as surprised as him when his eyes went wide and he had to take a couple steps back..that is until you looked down and saw the rather deep gash into your mid section..heh, must be the shock keeping you from feeling it.

Regardless he would actually be flipping out, trying to play it cool by offering the chems when really he was having a meltdown on the inside.

Macready:

"Just hold still boss and..try not to look?"

He physically grimaced when he heard your body “plop” forcefully into the wall, the raider responsible for the force soon finding themselves without a jaw as you pulled the trigger against their chin with your own pained scream.

However it was when you helplessly whimpered, your arm hanging unnaturally at your side..he knew he had to help. As such, he’s seen this before thankfully, so he’d put you up against the wall before roughly putting your shoulder back in it’s place....desperately trying to not flinch when he heard your cries.

Damn.

Maxson:

"Sentinel? Oh..oh crap...Well don't just stand there, Knight! Someone go get Captain Cade immediately!"

Everything has seemed just fine. For purely official reasons, you were giving him a run down report of the recent mission, ignoring the less than subtle way his eyes lingered on the blossoming purple hue on your head during the entire time. The vertibird ride back up to the prydwen was awful..during the fight with the “muties” you lead your team through, one managed to hit you hard enough to shatter the glass visor on your helmet. Sure it hurt, there wasn’t anyway it wouldn’t..expect this injury was unique because well...for one you heard church bells in your head and could barely form an intelligible sentence without saying “uuuhhh” or pausing.

However even Arthur couldn’t help but break his professional exterior when his precious high ranking officer crumpled down to their knees right in front of him, your team hurriedly scrambling to get you up to the bay clinic, Elder Maxson right there beside you.

Nick:

"Wow..um, this would be a whole lot easier if you were made of steel and bolts. Never mind that, just hold tight, I'll have Ellie send for doctor Sun."

True to his word, he’d send his nice secretary out to fetch the doctor, taking matters into his own hands when he deemed it was taking too long. With a soft sigh he’d try to hide what little annoyance he felt..damnit he told you to be more careful..no matter what though he couldn’t stay too mad. So with a concentrated gaze, he’d carefully tend to your wounds- making Doctor Sun quite pissed when he finally reached the agency.

Old Longfellow:

"Told ya so....seriously though, you've got to be more careful cap'n. Now, bottoms up."

Had you done anything else he might’ve felt a little bad for laughing as hard as he did. He told you to be careful, you swinging that hammer around so carelessly. Just like he expected, you may have gotten a little too overzealous when you nailed down the board’s frame together, not moving your thumb out of the way before BAM!

With a pouty scoff you’d admit that yes, he was right, and after a smug smirk he’d pour you a nice stiff drink to full the pain.

Piper:

"Oh damnit, you uh..you're looking a little weird there. Hey, why don't we just sit down hm?"

If anyone would’ve gotten word of it, they would’ve thought it was hilarious. “The big, bad, fearsome sole survivor! Faints from stubbing their toe.” That would be one hell of an article, people around the commonwealth would eat it up. She wouldn’t dare do that to you though..no matter how silly it was. I mean, she’s seen you get shot and not break so much as a sweat but....you literally crumpled when you stubbed your baby toe?

After she got over the shameful laughter she tried desperately to keep in, she’d scramble to go pick you back up-leaving you to wonder why and how you ended up in piper’s bed back at the “publick occurrence”.

Preston:

"General, I mean, (y/n)..is there anything I can do for you? Name it and I'll do it."

He knew something was terrible wrong when you can stumbling back to the castle, your right arm clutching the left with a terrible pained expression on your face. After further investigation and your sheepish confession of just what had happened..he felt god awful.

If only he had been there to help you.

Nonetheless he’d make up for it now. His first mode of action was to personally escort you to get you looked at, after that he’d be there at your every beck and call.

Sturges:

"This is sorta what I meant when I told you people weren't as easy to fix...heh, not funny. Don't worry, I'll make sure to take care of ya."

It was a miracle you were even able to make it back to Sanctuary..well, it was a miracle and Preston’s assistance to be exact. As much as it pissed you off, instead of such a grave injury being because of some grand battle, you stupid power armor malfunctioned. One minute you were walking around, testing out the new modifications you made to the leg structures until next thing you know, your left leg’s frame failed and seized up. Usually such a thing wouldn’t have been a problem but, you were still walking when it did

With a sickening *snap* you felt such great pain that the ground beneath you began to sway, suddenly finding yourself unable to move without screaming.

Just as you felt you were going to lose all consciousness, Preston himself pried you from your armor and carried you back home where you were immediately posted up with a certain someone at your side.

Sturges, oh sweet, sweet Sturges.

Despite what many would assume, he’s pretty damn good at catering to you. Even if you practically shooed him away at times, he’d be right there to do his best to help you rewrap your bandages and lighten the mood some. Heck, he’ll even find someway to fix you up some crutches and a wheelchair for easier transportation.

X6-88:

"Just relax ma'am/sir, I'll be certain to have you properly tended to shortly."

In the wasteland it was painfully common to end up being shot. Matter of fact, it’s somewhat of a “christening” of the commonwealth. Well maybe not, either way it was just a way of life at this point.

So it wasn’t exactly shock inducing whenever X6 saw your bleeding shoulder, however he was still damn concerned. As such, he ever so calmly removed your jacket while you weren’t paying attention- receiving a startled gasp in return..as well as a pained grimace that made him flinch. With a sigh he’d shake his head, reassuring you before looking up and requesting teleportation back to the institue where he’d personally escort you to the nearest medical personnel.

#fallout 4 #paladin danse #sturges #elder maxson #cait #piper wright #gage #poter gage #curie #old longfellow #preston #x688 #hancock #deacon #macready #nick valentine

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wtfevenismypage · 4 years

Text

Wakey Wakey Eggs and Bakey

request: Hotch x male reader where the reader gets taken by the unsub but the readers like being a sarcastic shit and making his situation worse and when you manages to escape hatch finds out about the sarcasm and general disregard for how serious the situation was and is worried but also happy and pissed

Warnings: Cursing, Blood, Depictions of torture, kidnapping

A/N: Have I told y’all how much I like writing sassy readers?

A scalding pain in your rib shocks you awake.And upon looking around, you discover it’s a knife, slicing patterns and scribbles into your skin.

“Shit.”

You whine out, throwing your head back in pain.

“Look who’s awake.”

“Hey. Got any eggs? Bacon?”

You chuckle to yourself, delirious due to the pain. You had a generally high pain tolerance, but being cut up like a piece of meat will hurt anyone.

“Nope. No eggs. No bacon. Only a knife and two hands.”

“Ooooo kinky. I like it rough, how’d you know?”

He doesn’t seem to find your totally funny joke funny at all. He digs the knife a little bit deeper, eliciting a loud groan from your lips.

“You think you’re funny?”

“Oh I think I’m hilarious.”

You speak between groans, unable to not joke in a situation like this. Sarcasm is a human’s best defense in your opinion, it could piss people off to the point of your release and that’s exactly what you needed.

“See bud, you chose the worst person on the team to kidnap, I am unbreakable. Many have tried, all have failed.”

You smirk through the pain as he stands, walking away briefly before returning with a camera. You almost laugh.

“Why the hell do you guys keep doing this? Every time one of us gets kidnapped people film it. You gonna show my team?”

“Not them. I’ll be streaming to the dark web to see who wants you. Maybe I’ll cut off your fingers, keep ‘em for myself.”

You just chuckled as he turned it on, streaming it to the dark web where your team was surely watching.

“Ugh, Hotch is gonna be so mad that I got caught. I can only imagine the lecture I’ll get.”

Your jokes really don’t seem to be impressing the short man. The grimace on his face seemed annoyed and angry, he wanted to slice you up into little pieces already, but he was all about giving a good show.

“Stop talking or I’ll cut your throat.”

“Awww, but then you won’t hear all of my precious screams! Don’t you want to hear them? I bet other people will. They’ll be so disappointed in you.”

You can practically feel Your unit chiefs glare on you as you continue to taunt the man. Hotch was well aware of your joking ways, how you never took anything seriously unless one of the agents on your team or another innocent was in danger or injured.

“That’s it you brat. I’m gonna make you scream.”

He raises the knife to your bare stomach, plunging the smooth blade in, gaining a loud groan from you as he yanks it out, admiring the way the blood spills out of your body.

“Shit.”

You groan, Breathing heavily as he continues to stab you once more. You refuse to give him what he wants though. He wants a reaction, a scream of pain, anything but your bullshit.

“Now we’re getting somewhere. What? You want attention? You won’t get any, I’m the one getting the attention, as always, and you, you are just in the shadows pulling the strings.”

That earned you an aggressive slice across your torso, a gasp of pain hissing out of your lips as groans and moans follow.

“Was it a sibling? Huh? You were always living in their shadow, constantly compared to them? Hurts knowing that they were always better?”

His expression darkened and you knew immediately that you were right. A sibling that was in the light, He was their shadow.

“She wasn’t no better than me! I deserved the attention not her!”

Your breathing became labored as you bled onto your pants, the pain becoming a sharp ache as the adrenaline keeps you awake. Shockingly, the only thing keeping you alive was the large slice directing itself from your right pec to your lower left side of your tummy.

“You’re right. She isn’t any better than you. Just please, stop with the knife. I get it okay? It isn’t fun being in someone’s shadow, trust me I know. The higher ups are training me to be the next unit chief, and they never stop comparing me to Hotch. I mean come on! We’re complete opposites! And really, no one could live up to him! Dude, I understand you.”

His face brightens, a look of sympathy on his face. Oh boy Hotch was definitely going to kill you.

“You do?”

You struggle to plant a smile on your face, sweat and a tear or two mixing together on your cheeks. This guy sickened you to your core.

“Yeah! I promise you, untie me and I promise I’ll make sure you escape. You don’t deserve what happened to you man! I’ll be sure you get out of here and you’ll get away with it, but I can’t do that with my hands behind my back.”

You shrug your shoulders, Heaving violently as he quickly crosses behind you and unties your wrists and ankles. They feel tight, achy. Itching to kick this guys ass.

“Alright, give me a second to gather myself, or else I’m gonna pass out.”

You say, leaning over and breathing shallow breaths as he crosses back in front of you. To catch him off guard, you grab the back of his neck with both hands and bash it into your knee.

Two tight grips latch onto your wrists as you continue to beat him up. He groans and tries to fight you off, but fails, falling to the floor unconscious.

“Alright, goodbye dark web, and possibly my team, I have a hospital to crawl to.”

You groan as more blood seeps out of your wounds as you walk away, hunched over.

There was no way in hell you were going to make it back to the station without bleeding out, but maybe someone will see you from a street and take you to a hospital.

That’s really the best bet for now.

And as soon as you reached the the pretty much empty street, you could feel your mind weighing itself down, shutting down your arms, legs, and eyes at last as your entire body crashes down on the asphalt.

You wake up with a steady beep next to your head. Chatter of people rushing by your room with a beeping of a phone a few feet away. Your eyes flutter open slowly, a sharp ache in your torso.

Penelope is sitting right next to you, her hand gripped in yours as she scrolls through her phone, streaks of tears on her cheeks.

“Hey Garcia...”

You manage to rasp out, her head darts up, staring at you in shock.

“Oh my god! Y/N I thought I lost you! Never do that again!”

You chuckle as she begins crying again, squeezing her hand tightly as she pulls turns to the hall, calling a doctor in.

It’s been a day since you woke up, and a few people came to visit you. Spencer stopped by with Morgan, the two brought you some milk, because according to Morgan “the milk in the hospital tastes like gasoline” and Spencer told you all of the vitamins that this brand had put in it.

Penelope hadn’t actually left, And Emily came in to bring you your favorite scarf as a little token of home. Rossi and JJ brought you pasta and played poker with you and Spencer (Spencer let you win).

The only person who hadn’t visited was Hotch. And that fact made you nervous. The only reason you could think of was that he either blamed himself or he was upset with you and didn’t want you in his sight.

You opted it was the latter.

So when you bolted awake from a nightmare, Forehead dripping in sweat and Hotch’s hands at your shoulders, you were terrified. He reassured you that you were safe and calmed you down before sitting back down.

“Hi sir...”

“Sir? Y/L/N call me Hotch. I’m here to check up on you and take a file. You up for that?”

You manage to nod, wiping the sweat off of your forehead before sitting up slowly, groaning at the feeling of the scarring skin on your torso.

“Alright, walk me through what happened, if at any time you feel uncomfortable you can stop. No explanations needed.”

You nod, an uneasy smirk on your lips. You were struggling to keep your sarcastic easy-going front up and you knew Hotch could see straight through it. You were just glad he was patient enough not to say anything.

“Well, after you sent me home I obviously didn’t go home. I went to a bar. A guy there told me to follow him once I was drunk off of my ass, so I accepted his gracious offer.”

You let out a dry chuckle, recalling the night until the end.

“When we got to a private room, he uh... He brought a cloth up to my mouth once we were in the bed. And... Next thing I know I wake up with... With a knife in me.”

Breathing and the beeping of the machines behind you was all that could be heard for a moment before you continued.

“I tried to remain strong... He really wanted to see me break. But I uh... I continued to use my obvious charm and sarcasm to piss him off more. Which only uh... It only made things worse.”

He sighed, staring at you in disbelief.

“You know, I saw what happened, we were all watching. All of your training for situations like that just flew out the window. Why?”

His tone was sharp, harsh. He wasn’t angry, more disappointed than anything.

“I... I don’t know... I just panicked and went freestyle! I blacked out and forgot! I’m sorry alright! I escaped though! I got out and learned his motivation!”

“Yeah, and he escaped.”

“Oh I’m so sorry your highness! I was more focused on getting out of there alive and getting information than bringing him in! And anyways, now we have more to add to the profile! I saw his face we can track him down!”

Hotch’s eyes flashed between your heaving state and the machine next to you, your heart rate was rising at a rapid pace as you spiraled into a coughing fit.

“Alright, you’re right Y/N, calm down. We’ll catch him, but you need to stay here and rest. Please.”

He pleaded, setting a warm hand on your thigh which seemed to calm you down instantly. You settled back into the uncomfortably stiff hospital bed, closing your eyes for a moment as everything sinks in.

“I’m tired Hotch. You saw the rest that happened yeah? Well there you go. There’s your file. Now just... Leave me alone.”

You whine like a little boy, one of your hands tracing your stab wounds on your stomach as tears slip out of the closed slits of your eyes.

“Y/L/N, I’m relieved that you’re alright. And I’m sorry that I sent you home, I should have let you stayed longer as you asked to. I-”

“Hotch, stop it. I don’t blame you in the slightest and neither should you. I should have gone home instead of going to a bar and I shouldn’t have drank or followed that guy. Don’t blame yourself for my idiocy.”

You hesitantly placed a hand over his, rubbing his knuckles with your thumb. You kept your eyes shut however, not having the guts to meet his eyes.

Meanwhile Hotch was having an internal battle on whether or not he should press a soft kiss to your hand or not. You were tired, ragged and torn down.

But with a calm breath, he raised your hand to his face, and pressed a slow and thoughtful kiss to your palm. His lips were soft and warm, they sent shivers up your spine and left a tingly sensation on your skin when they left.

“Rest well Y/L/N. I’ll visit tomorrow.”

He left you alone again and you smiled widely, the first real smile in a while. He knew how to match you perfectly. He knew you so well.

And oh boy was this going to be interesting.

PERMANENT TAGLIST(OPEN) @pinkdiamond1016 @spencer-reids-snow-white @sheepfather @eusuntgroot @libradolan @dr-reid-ismyspiritanimal @zhangyixingxing1 @secretpickleprofessordean @aquarius-pisces-rose

IF YOUR NAME IS CROSSED OUT I COULDN’T TAG YOU, SORRY!

#criminal minds #criminal minds fandom #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner x you #spencer reid #dr. spencer reid #penelope garcia #emily prentiss #derek morgan #david rossi #luke alvez #thomas gibson

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kimberly-spirits13 · 4 years

Text

Right Hand Man (Loyal to the End) Pt. 9 (Final Part 😢)

Pairing: Damian Wayne x reader

Synopsis: You were like Talia’s daughter. The only thing was that you weren’t and instead, you had grown up in the foster care system and at a young age were taken by and personally trained by Talia. Along the way, you meet Damian and the two of you start to work side by side and eventually, after some time become closer and closer. However, when disaster in the league strikes, you face balancing an old, forgotten life as a normal child and the burden of right hand to the demon heir.

Note: I know that this is long and that there are a good number of time skips, but I didn’t want to make this into a series and just wanted it as a long fic because .... well because I can lol

Also, I didn’t want to have Damian so young in this so just go with it. I’m thinking maybe early 15 or almost 16 at the most. Idk I just don’t like writing for young Dami.

Warnings: mentions of blood, injury, almost dying, pit madness, angst

Word Count:1285

Masterlist for Series

After Alfred removed the pipe that was in your stomach you started bleeding heavily. No one was ready for it and the amount of blood made it hard to work. Damian looked over and saw you bleeding out on the table and went into panic mode. He jumped up and started looking through your belt for something.

“Damian- what are you...” Your eyes went wide as he pulled out a small glass of liquid, “You’re not going to do what I think you will are you?” You groaned.

Talia had allowed you to have a vile of the pit just in case something happened and you needed to use it on Damian. If it was injected, it would be stronger so you always carried the proper supplies for it.

“Pennyworth, a moment?” Damian pulled him to the side once you weren’t totally bleeding out, “She’s going to die isn’t she?”

“Master Damian I- yes, she will die if something else isn’t done. I do not know what can be done.”

Damian sighed, “We have to inject this into her, where ever the wound is. It’s a vile of the water from the pit. She has it to use for me, but, she needs it now.” “I’ll hold her down.”

“Why ever would you have to...” Alfred thought about it before a long look came over his face, “I understand. Right away then.”

Damian walked to you carefully, knowing you had an idea of what was to happen.

“Dames, please don’t.” You whimpered.

“Beloved, I know you hate it but it has to be done. I’ll be right here for you the entire time, you won’t be alone this time, I promise.” He said taking your hand in his, “Just let Pennyworth do this quickly and it’ll be over faster.”

“Damian no!” You started crying, “Please not this, just let me die, please!”

“Y/N, no you have to just listen to me. I’m right here, the entire time.” Damian said after Alfred put a hand on his shoulder.

He pulled you to his chest close and held your hand as Alfred injected you with the stuff. Damian knew it would work, he just didn’t really know about what would happen to you after that. The issue of the pit’s madness might not be one here, however no one was entirely sure what an injection of it would do. He knew shortly after though.

You screamed and cried into his shoulder almost not being able to breathe.

“Make it stop please!” You begged, “It hurts, please!”

“Beloved I’m right here.” He said, “I’m not leaving you.” A few minutes had passed and he knew from past experience that you’d be back in just a second. That didn’t make it easier. As you came off of the hallucinations and pain, you were silent. The silence was the worst part. It was like after all of that, you went into autopilot now just trying to figure out where you were and how to get topside. The sudden mental change was all too familiar but instead of waking up alone and in a cavern illuminated by the light of the pit, you woke under florescent lights that had been dimmed and a figure holding you tightly after Alfred had left. Your hands immediately found his hair and with the comfort and familiarity, your heart rate dropped to something normal instead of rushed.

“Dami?” You blinked a few times, “Is it over yet?”

“Yes beloved.” He said looking up, eyes puffy with tears in his eyes, “I’m sorry beloved, I just, I can’t... I don’t know what would happen if I didn’t have you with me.”

“It’s okay Damian. It really is this time.” You sat up clutching your side some, “Doesn’t mean it won’t hurt for a little bit though.”

“Here, let me help you.” Damian helped walk you upstairs to his room and wash your hair. With the number of wounds you had to have dressed and cleaned, you didn’t need a shower, just the rubble and dirt out of your hair. He pulled up a stool in front of the sink and held your head up and he washed the hair.

You didn’t really know what to do or say, so instead you just sat back and let him take the lead for once. After drying your hair enough, you went and sat on his bed, him sitting behind you. He took sections of your hair and started braiding them over and over again.

“I thought I was going to lose you Y/N.” He said, “You’re so stubborn.”

You scoffed, “You’re one to talk demon.”

“That is true General.” He remarked, “What you did was truly remarkable though.” “I had to do it Damian. She was around the same age I was when I was brought to the league.” You said.

“You should’ve seen the look on the mother’s face when I brought her back. She was so happy to see her.”

“Well, at least if anything happened, a family would not have been lost tonight.”

Damian didn’t respond, you knew he couldn’t because while he knew you were right, it pained him to think of you leaving him.

_______________________________________________________________________

It was a few days later, your wound was healing rapidly probably just to leave a scar and sun was finally shining onto Gotham. Damian was out with the guys not of his own free will though. You were sure that when he got back there would be a ranting session about the dramatics of it all. Alfred had a day off right now and the rest of the family was gone. For the time, it was just you in the large house left alone to roam around as long as you wanted. With that silence and peace however, was an interruption. A knock at the door came and when you went to check, nothing was there but for a parcel sealed in wax addressed to you.

You looked around knowing it was Talia’s writing and nodded before walking back inside and heading for your bedroom. Once sitting at your desk, you opened it up with the small knife you kept on you. Unraveling the letter that was set atop the actual package, you read it.

General Y/N, I send this letter as an update to the league. Nothing has changed as the last one has arrived to your doorstep but for the slow process of filing through recruits once more. The attack was assisted by an inside source which is now being handled as seen fit. As for you, I have heard the news of your recent relationship with my son. I give you my blessing to continue, seeing as I have anticipated this for an extended amount of time. I also write this as a thank you for your recent near sacrifice. You have lived to my expectations dramatically and I see you were the right fit for this position. As such, I have obtained a second vile of the pit and sent it to you as a token of my gratitude. Sincerely, Talia al Ghul

You smiled reading the letter before in code writing the important parts down in a leather journal you kept locked in a trick door on the third drawer of your desk. With the actual letter, you burned it in the fireplace which was already going. And with the ashes of the letter, you knew that this was the start of something new. You watched the rest of the letter disappear into the rest of the ashes and then headed outside for a walk in the sun, letting go of all of your issues for even a few moments of serenity.

GUYYSS I’m so sad that the series is over 😭! I loved writing this series so much and I really hope you guys enjoyed it too! I’m planning on making some headcannons and spin off one shots for it that I’ve thought up of and I wanna play more on the singing part cause I’ve developed more for it. Anyways... I’m starting a new series or smt I think cause I miss this series like Algebra misses its x

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lupinlongbottom · 4 years

Text

Almost Fading

Remus Lupin x Reader

Summary: An Order mission went wrong, leaving a soaked Sirius on the doorstep of the Lupin’s home, Remus clinging onto the world around him.

Prompt: Hii, i’d like to request a remus x reader where he gets very (like, VERY) hurt on an order mission, and sirius like brings him to him and the readers shared apartment or something, and they have to make sure remus doesn’t die i suppose. It’s sad i know but it would be nice to have a happy ending? Thank you ❤️- Anon

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: Blood, mentions of wounds, swearing

A/N: Angst! Wow. Makes me sad. Realized that I haven’t been writing for anyone but Charlie for a while, so here’s our favorite furry boy! So, here’s the sappy sadness!

The storm didn’t cease. The creaking of the quaint cottage only echoed throughout the empty halls. How long had it been since Remus left for the mission? At least four hours ago, he had said that it wouldn’t take longer than an hour at most. It was only a reconnaissance mission for the order, something Remus assured wouldn’t be difficult. Easy enough, no chance of harm. (Y/N) could do nothing but worry, listening to the pelting of rain to the kitchen window. Suddenly, the front door swung open, the wind whistling through the front foyer, blowing towards the open kitchen.

“(Y/N)!” A voice shrieked, beckoning the witch to follow it.

“Sirius?”(Y/N) said, recognizing the voice almost immediately. She ran to the front door, only to find Sirius Black, dripping wet from the rain.

“You have to help,” Sirius croaked, turning slightly, revealing Remus, bloodied and whimpering on his back. “Get the couch ready, some towels, any sort of healing materials you may have.”

“What the fuck happened to him?” (Y/N) practically shrieked, noting the crimson dripping onto the floorboards, the red soaking into his clothes. “Sirius, answer me!”

“Do you really think now’s the time, (Y/N)?” He quipped back, setting him down on the brown and tattered couch, hitting his shin on the table in front of it. “For Godric’s sake, woman, get your ass in gear and do something!”

(Y/N) didn’t have to be asked again. She sprang down the hall, flinging open the cabinet that housed the various bottles and potion ingredients that the couple could afford. It wasn’t much, but anything could help. “Dittany… dittany…” she mumbled, fingering through the serums. “Dittany!” She grasped onto the small purple vial and a handful of old towels before rushing back to the war scene in front of her.

“The worst of it’s on his chest,” Sirius said, opening the torn shirt to (Y/N). She nodded, holding back a choked sob, perhaps vomit as well. The wounds were deep, the flesh seemingly hanging onto nothing at all.

“Move,” (Y/N) choked out, pushing Sirius to the side, allowing her to kneel before her partner. Her hands shook with every twist of the vial, but she managed to get the top off, dropping the clear liquid onto his chest. The wound began to sizzle, closing up partially. “The kitchen,” she mumbled, dripping more of the dittany around his chest, watching it rise and fall. He was still breathing.

“What?” Sirius asked, begging for her to repeat.

“Make yourself useful,” (Y/N) seethed, pointing to the kitchen. “A bowl of warm water, a big one. Go,” Sirius didn’t need to be asked twice. He quickly fled to the kitchen, seemingly to obtain the materials she required. “What on earth did you get yourself into, Rem?”

The bottle of dittany had reached its end, (Y/N) using the majority of it on his chest. Thankfully, the wounds were shallower, not nearly as vicious and red as they were before. The bleeding lessened, but hardly didn’t stop. (Y/N) pulled out her wand and began to recite healing incantations, hoping that the rudimentary skills she’d picked up on could assist in a wound so deep. They usually helped after a full moon, but this was another story.

“Warm water,” Sirius said, setting the bright blue bowl onto the coffee table next to (Y/N). “A big bowl,” he said, trying to crack a smile. “Just like you requested.”

(Y/N) nodded meekly at the bowl, dipping a towel into the water, allowing droplets to fall onto the floorboards before pressing it to Remus’ chest. The vibrant red began to fade to a softer pink, cleaner with each swipe. She could see Remus’ face twist in pain, unaware to the sensations. “Could you lift him? I need to wrap him up with clean bandages,” Sirius helped his friend sit up, allowing (Y/N) to fully remove the mess of what used to be a shirt, unrolling the gauze around his torso until it seemingly looked the part.

“Is he stable?”

“For now,” (Y/N) shrugged, wiping the sweat off her forehead, eyes transfixed onto the man on the couch. His brows were drawn tight together, almost as if he was having a nightmare. “Are you going to tell me now? Or am I going to have to ask my near-dead husband?” She turned to Sirius, who had found a home on the plush chair adjacent to the couch.

“It’s a long story,” Sirius said, rubbing the blood on his brow across his face with his thumb. “Well, how ‘bout that?” he mumbled, noting the red now spread onto his thumb.

“I have the time,” (Y/N) said, throwing Sirius a wet rag, hitting him square in the face. “Talk.”

“Who knew Mrs. Lupin could bite?” Sirius teased, holding the rag to his brow, cleaning his thumb in the process. “Thought that was your husband’s forte, no?”

“Sirius—”

“Alright, alright,” Sirius said, finally giving in. “Did Remus fill you in on the specificities of the mission tonight?” (Y/N) shook her head, almost sadly. “Of course he didn’t. What a bloke, bet he was trying to protect you—”

“I don’t need protection.”

“You don’t think I know that?” Sirius chuckled. “Blimey, (Y/N), you’re one of the fiercest duelers I know. Knock me to my knees in two seconds flat, you could. Even in your current… state,” he motioned to the growing bump beneath (Y/N)’s chest.

“I’m glad you know that much,” (Y/N) grinned lightly, turning back to her husband, still passed out, her hand instinctively resting atop the bump. “If only my husband would be wise enough to see it.”

“Look, we all understand why Remus won’t let you tag along for the Order anymore. James made Lily hold back with Harry, too, you know? But I agree, it’s unfair that he’s keeping Order material from you just because you have a leech sucking the life out of you.”

“My baby isn’t a leech,” (Y/N) said, turning her attention back to Sirius, his bloodied boots resting atop of their table. “I’m just as much a member of the Order as Remus is,” she pushed his boot off, allowing it to hit the floor with a thud. “As much as you are.”

“Tell your husband that, mate,” Sirius groaned, leaning forward to re-wet his cloth. “Otherwise he’s going to keep doing it.”

“Was the mission a simple reconnoissance?” (Y/N) asked, already knowing the answer. Sirius shook his head. “Figures,” she clicked, preparing a heated speech to recite later, once Remus was in better shape, of course. She wasn’t mental.

“We already knew of their location, learned about it a week prior. We were set to go in, obtain any documents or materials that could give us a clue as to what You-Know-Who was up to—”

“And by materials…?”

“Yeah, we bloodied up some Death Eaters,” Sirius said, sheepishly pulling a grin. “We tried to, anyway. One of ‘em, Goyle, I think, got the better of Moony and used a nasty spell I had never heard of before, caused him to fall flat on the ground,” he shook his head, almost repulsed by the memory. “The blood was massive, (Y/N). I thought he was going to die, then and there. I knew the mission was a bust, so I grabbed ahold of him and Disapparated us the second I could, hoped that I’d end up here and… you know the rest.”

“I’m shocked neither of you got splinched,” (Y/N) said, noting Sirius’ minor injuries. “Couldn’t say the same about my husband. But it doesn’t seem like any of these could be because of splinching…” She gave Remus a once over, hoping to find nothing new.

“Hey, I’m excellent at Apparition, thank you very much,” Sirius boasted, his chest puffing proudly. “Passed my exam with flying colors, I did.”

“Whatever spell Goyle used really beat him up,” (Y/N) said, her fingers tracing the healing cuts on his arms, now no longer bleeding. They were shallow, nearly as deep as what a normal full moon would bring. “You said you’ve never seen it before?”

Sirius shook his head. “It sounded like a spell Snivellus tried using on James, once. Didn’t work then,” His grey eyes fell upon his friend. “Guess he worked out the kinks.”

“Must’ve,” (Y/N) hummed, her hand grasping Remus’ gently. His breathing hitched for a moment before returning to its rhythmic beat. “Sirius, feel free to clean yourself up, enjoy a hot shower, I have that enchanted soap you like.”

“You sure you’ll be okay alone with him?” Sirius asked, lifting himself off the chair. (Y/N) nodded meekly. “If something happens, just scream and I’ll be down in two ticks, even if I’m indecent,” he winked, disappearing down the hall. A few moments passed before (Y/N) heard the water turn on, the pipes creaking throughout the house.

“Remus,” (Y/N) sighed, rubbing his hand with her thumb in small circles. “If you can hear me,” she paused, hoping for a response. Nothing. “Know that you’re a right git, alright?”

“Git…”

“Rem?”

“I’m bloodied up…” Remus breathed, his hazel eyes flickering open for the first time that evening. “And the first thing you call me is a git?”

“Glad to see you’re feeling better,” (Y/N) smirked, the hot tears blinking away from her eyes by the second. “You had me scared, Rem, I thought you were a goner.”

“Are you alright?” Remus asked, his voice raspy and dry. “The baby—”

“You’re acting like I was the one who was cut open like a prime rib,” (Y/N) laughed, feeling the tears run down her cheek, dripping off her chin. “I was here, safe and sound in your perfect little bubble where nothing can harm me, as usual,” (Y/N) said, the sarcasm flowing from her tongue like acid.

“Good,” Remus nodded, resting his head back onto the pillow, closing his eyes again. “I’m glad.”

“You idiot,” (Y/N) mumbled. “That was supposed to make you feel guilty!”

“I do,” He responded, taking a deep breath. “Never said I didn’t”

“You don’t regret it for a second, do you?” (Y/N) said, forcing herself not to scream. She had to be mad at him, even if she was elated that he was alive. Remus coughed, his face twisting in pain. “Let me at least get you a glass of water—”

“Stay,” Remus said, holding onto (Y/N)’s wrist, forbidding her from moving from her very spot. “Please.”

“Alright,” (Y/N) said, settling back onto the floor. “You know, this isn’t an ideal position for the baby,” she smiled, glancing down at her growing bump. It’s been six months since they had found out, Remus had fled the scene, leaving (Y/N) alone for the first month and a half. He was scared, afraid of the monster his son or daughter could become. One swift kick to the head later, thanks James, Remus realized his foolish mistake and came running back.

“I could give you the couch,” Remus said, leaning upwards slightly before (Y/N) gingerly pushed him back down. “Yeah, not the brightest idea.”

“No,” (Y/N) smiled, shaking her head. The clock on the wall dauntingly clicked with every second passing, the silence in the room deafening to Remus’ shallow breathing. “Do you want me to keep talking?”

“Please,” Remus nodded. “It helps.”

“I read that baby book Lily gave me,” (Y/N) began, still running circles on the back of Remus’ hand. “It’s a muggle one, said her sister gifted it to her. You couldn’t imagine the photos they had in there, I’d say they’re more gruesome than the state you’re in right about now.”

“Is that so?” Remus let out an airy chuckle. “Better be glad they’re not magic photos.”

“Disgusting,” (Y/N) groaned, only imagining the horror of moving images. “I flipped through most of that, don’t want to be spoiled on the big day, you know? Skipped right to the list of names.”

“They have those?”

“Loads of ‘em,” (Y/N) nodded. “English names, French names, names that should be used exclusively for dogs—”

“Like Padfoot?” Remus smiled lightly.

“Godric, would he give that name up? I’m not naming our child after some mutt—”

“That mutt being a potential godfather, love,” Remus reminded, gently squeezing (Y/N)’s hand.

“He has Harry, frankly I think that ought to be enough for him,” (Y/N) laughed, noting the color returning to Remus’ cheeks. “But I wrote down a few names I quite fancied.”

“Read them to me,” Remus said, opening his again. “Please?”

“Accio,” (Y/N) called, waving her wand lightly. A paper that rested on the kitchen counter fluttered through the air and into her free hand. “Are you sure you want to hear them? I imagine you have your own preferences on a name—”

“None at all,” Remus shook his head. “I never really gave children a second thought, let alone names.”

“Well,” (Y/N) choked, trying to hide her true feelings from the obviously somber and quite dark sentence Remus had muttered. “I rather fancied Hope, after your mum.”

“Another Hope Lupin?” Remus smiled lightly. “She’d be ecstatic, to say the least. But don’t let my family persuade your choices on names, love,” Remus squeezed her hand. “The child should be able to make own of their name, don’t you think?”

“I agree,” (Y/N) nodded, squeezing his hand back. “I was thinking more towards a middle name, much like James and Lily did with Harry,” she snorted. “But like hell we’ll give her my name. I’ve always hated it.”

“I rather like your name,” Remus hummed, moving his other hand to rest on his chest lightly. “It’s my favorite thing to say.”

“Remus,” (Y/N) said, feeling her face grow hot to the touch. “Even near-death you know how to flatter a girl,” she smiled, pushing a tuft of light brown hair out of her husband’s eyes, her hand resting gently on his jaw.

“Not just any girl,” he smiled, now able to fully see (Y/N) in the faint glow of the light drowning from the kitchen. “My wife.”

“Yes, your wife,” (Y/N) hummed, feeling Remus’ head lean more into her touch. He closed his eyes again, enjoying the touch of his wife. “Jane was a top one, Eleanor, Isabella, Audrey…”

“Those are all wonderful,” Remus nodded. “And boy names?”

“I didn’t even bother, seeing as there’s no need for—shit,” (Y/N) ripped her hand from Remus’ face. His eyes flicked open again.

“(Y/N),” Remus said, leaning up just a bit. “Are we having a girl?”

“The doctors told me last week,” (Y/N) groaned, ashamed for letting the secret slip. “I wanted to tell you differently, I was working on knitting a pink jumper for you, going to surprise you with it.”

“A girl…”

“Are you upset by that?”

“Of course not,” Remus smiled, looking (Y/N) in the eyes. “We’re having a beautiful baby girl and you think I’d be upset? Far from it.”

“Good,” (Y/N) nodded, feeling the tears from before return to the edges of her eyes. “Just be surprised when I give you the jumper anyway, I’ve been working awfully hard on it.”

“Will do,” Remus smiled, feeling the sting of tears threatening his own eyes. “Love?”

“Yes?”

He removed his hand from hers, moving it behind her neck, pushing her gently towards himself. Their lips touched gently, (Y/N) afraid to push anything deeper onto the already weak man. A flittering of small pecks dotted their lips, each softer than the last.

“Thank you, for everything,” Remus said, thumb drawing circles on her jaw. “I don’t thank you enough. For putting up with me and my condition, for listening to my worries about your health, for saving my life,” his smile grew wider. “And for my daughter. Our daughter.”

“Will you start trusting me again? Tell me the truth about what you’re doing? You have two girls to come home to now, two girls that need you, Remus.”

“You’re right, it was foolish of me to even think of it otherwise.”

(Y/N) leaned in to kiss him again, feeling the swell of love in her chest, a feeling she’s grateful to enjoy, grateful that Remus wasn’t dead, grateful that he’ll get to meet their daughter. See her off on her first day at Hogwarts, learn about the woman she’d become. Grateful for the life they have left to enjoy.

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