#and I can’t even smoke yet because I don’t have my medical card AND EVEN THEN I HAVE TO SMOKE VAPES BECAUSE I LIVE WITH MY RELIGIOUS ASS MOM | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

albertasunrise · 3 years

Text

Just Another Conquest - Part 2

Masterlist

Warnings: You were sweet, innocent and completely infatuated with Javier Peña. After an incident at the Christmas party, you become the talk of the secretary's at the embassy and everything starts falling around you.

Pairings: Javier Peña x Reader

Warnings: Angst, Mentions of abortions, Mentions of Miscarriage.

Notes: Still a few touchy subjects in this chapter.

Part 1

You lay there waiting for the procedure to start, heart in your throat as you desperately tried to avoid his gaze. You weren’t sure why Javier wanted to be there for it, why he’d refused to leave your side since he’d found out you were in the hospital. You guessed he felt guilty, after all, he was the one that had gotten you into this mess so you had tolerated him. Had been civil. He had saved you from possible jail time, after all, flashing his badge and convincing the doctors not to report what you’d tried to do to your unborn child.

‘Right you ready?” The doctor asked in Spanish and you nodded, mixed feelings engulfing you at what was about to happen.

You nodded and she placed the probe on your exposed stomach, so you shut your eyes and waited, praying for it to be over. Javier watched you, his heart twisting as he watched the conflict you were suffering saturate your features. You had said you wanted this baby. That you were going to raise it alone and that he had an out. So why did it look like you didn’t?

Then he heard it and all thoughts disappeared like a puff of smoke.

The rhythmic thump of his child’s heartbeat filled the air and his own heart seemed to expand in his chest. He turned to look at the screen, the doctor pointing out the baby he’d helped create and he sobbed. He cried openly and you opened your eyes to see him staring at that small shape, hand over his mouth as he let his emotions flow freely. So you allowed yourself to look.

It was instant.

The feeling of love you had for this tiny being that you were growing inside of you. This tiny life that the doctor informed you were currently around the size of an olive. She then left the imaging on screen as she started to clean the jelly from your stomach and as soon as she was done, Javier placed a soft kiss there.

“Hello, little one.” He whispered and you swooned “I’m your Papi and I look forward to meeting you.” He finished before he looked up at you “If you’ll let me?”

You were at a loss for words. You’d not expected him to be so welcoming of this baby and a pang of guilt struck you. What if you had succeeded? You would have taken this away from him. You’d never stopped to consider that he might actually want this. Want to be a father.

You’d been too scared to consider it.

You were discharged later that day and Javier took you home, helped you get comfortable before putting away the medications and vitamins you’d been given. You weren’t sure when you dozed off but you’d been surprised to find that he was still there when you woke up later that day, carrying a tray of food with him as he set himself down on the bed beside you.

“Made you some soup.” He said softly as he placed the spoon in the bowl and handed it to you “Wasn’t sure whether you’d be up for anything bigger.”

“Why are you doing this Javier?” You asked, your brows furrowed as you gave him a questioning look.

“Doctor said you were going to be weak for a few more days and that you’d probably need a little extra help.” He replied, placing the bowl down when you didn’t take it.

“I know all of that I was there.” You grumbled, “I mean why are you helping me?”

“Because I care about you.”

“If you cared about me we wouldn’t be in this mess.” You spat and he flinched at the statement.

“You’re right I’m sorry.” He fumbled as he pushed the tray closer to you and stood “You don’t want me here... Fucking idiot.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Not you… I’m a fucking idiot. Thinking that you’d accept help from me.” He elaborated “Or that you’d be willing to let me be a part of this baby’s life. I have no right.” He finished as he shook his head and made his way towards the door “I’ll get Connie to come and help you. She's more qualified anyway.’ He threw over his shoulder as stepped through the doorway, only to be stopped when you called his name.

“You have every right to be a part of this baby’s life.” You started, expression softening a little “I just… I just don’t want you to feel like you are obligated to take care of me just because I’m carrying your child.”

“But that’s exactly what I am.” He turned to face you, tears pooling in those chocolate depths “It is my duty to care for the woman who’s to give me the greatest gift I’ve ever received. So I will do that however you’ll let me. Not because I need to.” He paused, locking eyes with yours “But because I want to.”

You nodded at him, giving him a weak smile before picking up the bowl of soup he left beside you and hummed in delight at the savoury flavours.

“Did you make this yourself?” You asked and he nodded shyly “This is really good. How did you learn to cook like this?”

“I nursed my mum through cancer.” He replied honestly and you looked up at him in shock “Kinda taught myself to cook so that I could take care of her and pops. He uh… Well, he didn’t cope well with her illness. Even worse when she passed.”

“Javier I-”

“I’m glad you like it Hermosa.” He interrupted with a smile, changing the subject “I’ll be just out here if you need anything.” He finished and you nodded, watching him leave whilst your heart ached for him.

3 months along…

“So the baby is around the size of a plumb now according to the baby book I got.” Exclaimed Javier excitedly and you smiled sweetly at him.

“You read a baby book?” Snorted Steve as he laughed at Javier’s statement, earning a smack on the arm from his wife.

“I think it’s sweet.” Announced Connie as she gave Javi’s arm a friendly squeeze.

“Have you told work yet?” Steve asked you, taking a swig of his beer.

“No.” You replied, shrugging as you spoke “We wanted to wait another month. Just to be sure everything’s… well you know.”

“Makes sense.” Connie replied as she placed a steaming mug of herbal tea in front of you “So there’s been no complications from…” She trailed off and you caught the hurt that flashed in Javier’s eyes.

“No.’ You replied simply, giving him a regretful look “We’re both very lucky.” You finished as you placed a hand on your slight bump.

“Still can’t believe you tried to get rid of it yourself.” Said Steve, not seeing the glares he then received from you and Connie.

Javier felt his stomach twist at the memory of it. Standing abruptly from his seat and making a b-line for the bathroom, Steve watched his partner leave with confusion etched into his features before finally turning his head to see the angry stares of you and his wife.

“You really do need to work on your mental filter Steve.” Connie growled as she turned to look at you “I’m sorry. You okay?”

“I am but Javi…”

“He’ll be okay,” Steve waved off but you shook your head.

“No… You don’t...” You paused a moment, remembering the conversation you and he had shared a few weeks back ‘It still hurts him to know I tried.”

…

2 weeks prior…

‘So I got this baby book.” Said Javier as he placed a large paper bag down on the table “And don’t be mad, but I got a few other things.”

“Javier I’m not even 3 months along.” You chuckled “There’s still a risk that-”

“That what?” Javier asked, his tone taking you by surprise.

“That I could lose it.” You said, voice cracking a little when you saw the expression that spread across his face “I just don’t want to jinx it.”

“You tried to get rid of it and it came through that. I’m sure-”

“Why are you still holding that over me?” You snapped “I made a mistake Javier. You need to move on.”

“Move on?” He growled, tears forming in his eyes “Move on from the fact you tried to kill our baby?”

“I was scared, Javier!” You yelled “I let you in, gave myself to you and you rejected me. Quite publicly I might add.” You paused as you tried to calm your breathing “I’m then forced to take two months off because I became the talk of the embassy and in that time I find out I’m pregnant. How was I supposed to feel about it all Javier?”

“You should have come and talked to me.” He said, tears streaming down his cheeks “I would have-”

“You would have what?” You pried “Welcomed me with open arms? Told me that we could be a happy family and that you’d made a mistake telling me I was nothing more than a stress relief exercise?”

“I never said that.”

“Oh no… we were just two friends comforting each other right.” You scoffed “Except I was in love with you...” You stopped yourself there, unable to believe that you’d just blurted that out. “I’m glad you want to be a part of this baby's life, Javier. It’s not exactly the sort of situation I’d ever expected to have a child but we have to play with the cards we’re dealt. So why don’t we just agree not to discuss the horrific thing I tried to do and just celebrate and enjoy this experience.” You paused as you took his hands in yours “I’m sorry I nearly took them from you. I know it hurts you and it pains me that I inflicted that on you but they’re here.” You placed his hand on your stomach “Growing inside me, safe and sound. We’re going to be okay.”

He'd simply nodded, unable to say anything else on the matter but he knew that he needed to try and move on as you said. It had all turned out for the best.

Right?

…

Steve sat there in shock, reeling from what you’d just told him. His partner hadn’t talked much about what had happened, it had been Connie in the end that had told him, after gaining your permission of course.

“I should go talk to him.” You said as you pushed yourself to your feet, only to be stopped by Steve.

“Let me.” He said as he stood from his seat “My fault he’s upset.” He finished as he made his way to where Javier had gone.

He found his partner staring down at a sleeping Olivia, shoulders shaking as he desperately tried to keep his internal struggle from slipping to the surface. He didn’t notice his partner step up behind him and tensed when the man's hand landed on his shoulder.

“What you doing in here partner?” He asked softly, glancing at his sleeping daughter before returning his attention to Javier.

“What if I’m no good?” He asked, taking Steve off guard.

“What do you mean brother?”

“What if I don’t make a good father?” He asked, letting out a shuddering breath “She tried to terminate the pregnancy because she didn’t think I’d want this.”

“Well, you did publicly humiliate her.”

“Fuck I know that Steve.” Javier growled as he fell back into the soft armchair beside Olivia’s cot “I made a mistake but something really wonderful has come out of that. I just… I dunno how this is going to work.”

“Do you love her?” He asked, perching on the changing table opposite his companion.

“No.” He replied, shaking his head “I mean she's attractive and we had a great time but no… I don’t love her. I’m not looking for anything more with her.”

“Well, I dunno how to advise you then man.” Steve sighed, scraping a hand over his mouth “All I can say is that you’re an idiot. She's an incredible woman and you’d be lucky to be with someone like her.”

“Trust me I know but… I don’t know I guess I just don’t know her well enough.”

“Well then make an effort to. See where that takes you and if you still don’t feel anything for her then fine but you owe it to her and your baby to at least try and see if there’s something there.” His partner finished as he got to his feet and placed a comforting hand over his shoulder “Just think about it Javi.”

…

“I should see what’s taking them so long.” You said, your nervousness getting the better of you “I’ll be right back.” You said over your shoulder to Connie before getting to your feet and making your way to where you knew Steve and Javier were, stopping when you heard their voices.

“Well, you did publicly humiliate her.”

“Fuck I know that Steve.” You let out a stuttered breath as you continued to listen “I made a mistake but something really wonderful has come out of that. I just… I dunno how this is going to work.”

“Do you love her?” Your breath caught in your throat as you awaited his answer.

“No.”

Your heart shattered.

“I mean she's attractive and we had a great time but no… I don’t love her. I’m not looking for anything more with her.”

You couldn’t listen a moment longer. You made your way back to the kitchen where Connie was finishing up with the dishes, grabbing your cardigan and purse.

“You off?” She asked, noting the change in your demeanour as you headed towards the front door.

“Yeah, I uh…” You paused, trying to keep yourself together but failing miserably “I’m tired. Say good night to Steve from me.” You choked before heading out the door, finally allowing yourself to fall apart the moment you were out of sight.

…

“She gone?” Asked Steve as he and Javier made their way back into the lounge.

“Yeah just a moment ago.” Connie stated as she looked at them both “She seemed pretty upset.” Her concern was evident in her features.

Javier’s stomach dropped. He said nothing, just sprinted out the door where he found you curled up on the ground as your tears fell freely. He was at your side in the blink of an eye, crouching down in front of you as he tried, desperately, to get you to look at him.

“Hermosa.” He pleaded and you finally look at him “What's wrong? Is it the baby?”

“Leave me alone Javier.” You growled, your sadness dissolving into anger.

“What is it?” He asked again and you scoffed at him.

“I think it would be best if we go our separate ways, Javier.” You said as you pushed him away and got to your feet “This isn’t going to work. I’m going to go and you can go back to screwing whoever takes your fancy. You aren’t cut out for this.” You finished as you cradled your small bump.

He recoiled at that, his own insecurities finally breaking free.

“I won’t stop you from seeing them. I’ll send you my address when I’m settled and if you want to come and see them then that's fine.”

“You’re leaving?”

“We both know I can’t stay here.” You growled.

“But the baby.” He sobs “I’ll miss everything.”

“You were going to miss that anyway.” You spat as you made your way over to the stairs “You’re a fool if you think you were actually going to see this through. We both know you can’t commit.”

With that, you left, stalking down the stairs and leaving a broken man in your wake. You were right. Of course, you were. He wasn’t cut out to be a father, he was deceiving himself and yet he'd wanted so desperately to try. Steve’s words floated around in his head. He should try to get to know you, to try and make a go of it but how could he when you wanted nothing to do with him. He wasn't against the idea of a relationship with one woman, he'd tried once before with Lorraine but that had crumbled to the ground.

Could things be different with you?

Sinking to the floor he allowed himself to weep. To mourn the loss of his child for he knew that you’d keep them from him, you were right to. The floor is where Connie found him a short time later and it was where she held him as he cried. When his tears dried up she pulled him inside, comforted him as he slowly turned into a shell of the man he once was and Steve knew this was his fault. He had to fix it. He just wasn’t sure how.

2 weeks later…

Steve had worked hard to try and bring the two of you together. You’d not mentioned leaving again but you’d also not spoken to his partner since that night. He had pleaded with you to try, told you how broken Javier had been since then but you struggled to believe the agent. You’d heard what Javier had said, he didn’t want to be with you and that he wasn’t sure how this was going to work. You knew what that meant. So you knew you had to take matters into your own hands.

You had to do right by your unborn child.

Steve continued to plead Javier’s case, however, telling you that the man was terrified to approach you for fear you would slam the door in his face you gave the blonde an opening. If Javier could come to you and make you believe that he was serious you would stay. If he couldn’t you would leave. Little did you know that the two DEA agents would be shipped off to Medellin for two weeks before he even got the chance.

Javier knocked on your door, flowers in hand and he nervously shifted from one foot to the other but when no answer came his brows furrowed in confusion and he knocked again. He'd had time in Medellin to think about things. To think about how he did want to try and make a go of things. Just because he wasn't in love with you now... Didn't mean that wouldn't come with time. He'd started to picture the family he could have with you and his heart had swelled at the idea. Knocking a third and final time he let out a frustrated sigh.

Still nothing.

Resigned to the fact you weren’t home, he sprinted upstairs and knocked on his partner's door, knowing his wife would be home with, hopefully, a little update on how you were. He’d read in the baby book that morning that now, at 14 weeks, the baby was around the size of a nectarine and that had excited him to no end. He had wondered if your bump had gotten any bigger and how you’d been coping with the morning sickness, something that had been a struggle when he’d last spoken to you.

“Javi.” Said Connie as she opened the door, Olivia in her arms “What are you doing here?” She asked as she bounced her fussy baby in her arms.

“Is she here?” He asked, saying your name when Connie gave him a bemused expression.

“You don’t know?” She questioned, her face crumpling at the realisation that he couldn't have.

“Know what?” He asked, his pulse racing as he watched Connie’s expression change to one he struggled to read “Connie where is she?”

“She left.”

Part 3

#javier peña x reader #javier peña x you #javier peña #javier peña gif #javier peña fanfiction #narcos fanfiction x reader #narcos fanfiction x you #narcos x you #narcos x reader #narcos fanfic #narcos fanfiction #narcos gifs #narcos #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

107 notes · View notes

writingsbychlo · 3 years

Text

smoke and fire (17)

word count; 8202

summary; after a dangerous call, neither of you can handle the waiting around anymore, and everything finally bubbles over.

notes; you’re welcome.

warnings; descriptive injury, reference to death, reference to arson, minor character injury.

“Holy fucking shit, I know they prepared us for this stuff with all those drills and what have you, but I never expected this.”

You smacked at Newt’s arm roughly, covering your face as you stared up at the building, smoke curling up from the top of the building, and scared students were all gathering on the grasses and the tennis courts, filtering out of the buildings and lining up, and it was eerily quiet. The usual fires you attended were loud, screaming and shouting of worried relatives as chatter went up, and big ones like this had news cameras and reporters gathering around, hounding victims for interviews and information.

This time, it was unsettlingly calm.

The kids had all followed routine, lined up with their teachers, each of whom were going along with attendance records, checking off the kids that had arrived and making sure they were where they were supposed to be, while tickling names off. Only the gentle voices of teachers talking in low tones to their classes could be heard instead of the usual clamouring, and you could still hear the alarms of the school’s fire alarms from inside as they rang.

Glowing flames licked up into the sky, windows shattering as glass got too hot and the smoke was black as possessions burned. Kids were crying, and at the gates were camera flashes and news team, all of whom held back out of earshot as they weren’t allowed to film the children, kept back from school property, and it was a blessing you were thankful for, because they would have been overwhelmed. You let out a slow breath, three other ambulances all pulling up, and you swallowed thickly while staring at the burning remnants of a once productive high school.

Even if they weren’t injured, you’d be required to check every kid here, and you were grateful for the assistance of other paramedics. They were already beginning to shift their equipment, setting up with tables and chairs that staff were carrying out from a sports hall storage room that wasn’t connected to the main building, safe from the flames and creating a makeshift triage bay.

Even just as you looked around, there were hundreds of kids that you and Newt would have to sort through alone. The firemen were buzzing around behind you, undoing rolls of hoses and taking them to the nearest hydrants, trying to come up with some kind of game plan, and you stared up at the building, nothing but pure confusion and empathy for the terror these students must be feeling.

“There’s gotta’ be, like, two thousand kids here.” You mumbled, cupping a hand over your eyes to look up at the glare, and your body sank a little.

“Yep, and you get to pick a piece of paper, choose your year group.” You jumped slightly, an unfamiliar voice, and your eyes found a similar uniform to your own, stretched over broad shoulders of a man who was a lot taller than you were, hair pulled back neatly behind his head in a ponytail, tattoos peeking out from under the collar of his shirt, and a beard neatly tucked away underneath his chin. “I’m Arthur, firehouse ‘46, and I’m apparently the one in charge of dividing up all the classes.”

“Is it too much to hope we get the freshmen?” You chuckled, taking a piece of the folded paper from his hands as he tried to keep it fair, and a deep chuckle vibrated through him as he nodded.

“Unfortunately, it would be, because my partner already picked that one out for us. No favouritism, I swear, just luck.”

“I’d challenge you on that, but your fist looks like it’s about the size of my head, so you’d probably win that fight.” He let out a louder laugh at that, raising a brow as you opened the piece of paper, his messy handwriting illegible for a second, and you studied it, before he was letting out a low whistle. “Juniors. Tough break.”

Newt let out a groan, what was arguably going to be the rowdiest and loudest group, protesting the most and kicking up a fuss, and you shrugged, accepting his final pitiful smile before he moved on. Newt watched him go, eyes scanning along him slowly for a second, before you clicked your fingers at him. “Hey, you just fixed things with your boyfriend! You gave me shit for being friendly with other firefighters, stop checking out other paramedics!”

“I wasn’t checking him out!” Newt gasped, cheeks tinting pink. “I was just looking, I guess. He’s not my type, I don’t want them too tall, it makes me feel tiny. I hate that. I want to be pushed up against the wall, not thrown around like a rag-doll. Too much muscle.” You glanced at him again, noting what he meant, because the man did look like he spent every free minute he had at the gym, and you shrugged.

Your eyes wandered then, you couldn't help it, flickering over the others around you before finding your team. The Truck team were all reporting to Thomas, no step-in lieutenant having arrived in Gally’s place yet, and didn’t like the idea of being a firefighter down on your team. He seemed to be coping through, giving out orders to a team twice the size, each breaking away in the usual pairs he made as they divided off to complete tasks.

Around the entrance to your ambulance, two tables had been set up, one on each side and a third one across them, forms being laid out in stacks with pens, each to be filled out by a student and held with them to take home, ones you’d have to sign every time to show you dismissed them, and you flexed your fingers, already anticipating the ache that would come.

The lines were beginning to shift again, teaching staff arriving with their lines of students, waiting to be told what to do, and you shared a look with Newt, before diving right into it. Splitting off the classes, you sat down behind one table, kids slowly filling out each form and coming to sit with you, letting you do initial checks across their eyes, their pulse and their reaction times, before signing each form.

Some were a little more injured, with small cuts and grazes, jostling in the halls knocking them around or to the floor, and you had quite a few bumped heads. Some had worse smoke inhalation, and some had been closer to the initial blast. Those were the worst ones, the ones with head injuries that were filling up the chairs laid out to wait for parents, and you had to not only sign your name on their forms but fill out medical information cards for them, ready to be sent to the hospital, and only an hour in, you felt like your hand was going to drop off. You’d scarcely made it to the other side off half of the kids, watching them all slowly being collected by crying and fearful parents, let in at the gates to find their kids, when you found out what had happened.

The gas taps in the science labs had exploded, a leaky seal that hadn't closed off and a bunsen burner that was too close to the leak. The science experiment gone wrong had sent flames bursting through all the labs along the floor, and you had to choke back bile when the kids who’d been sitting closer to the flames had come in.

They were shaking, sobbing tears and blood from burned skin that still smelled of gas. Melted plastic on smart uniform ties and burned clothing that still looks smokey. Ash was beginning to fall from the sky, blowing in your direction from the wind, some still glowing until it reached the ground, and they were all trembling from the trauma just at the remnants of it. You didn’t blame them.

The kid coming forwards next was shaky, an empty form clutched carefully in his hands as he handed it over, and you scribbled your name on it, looking up at him with a raised brow. “You know you gotta’ fill this out, right? I can’t let you leave until you have.”

“I know.” He whispered, the hands that were clenched under the table being lifted after a moment's hesitation, and he held his palms out, open hand facing you, backs pressed to the table. “I would but it hurt, I tried.”

You could see the etched strains of dotted ink at the top, your eyes wide as you took in the damage to his hands. He seemed alright everywhere else; a little red along parts of his skin where he’d gotten too close to some flames, but other than that, nothing too bad, but the damage to his palms was extensive. Blackened skin was charred and burned, bleeding and red flesh exposed underneath and raw to the cold air and you imagined it would be agony, the injuries travelling all the way to his wrists. “What the hell happened to you?”

“I, um, my hands got burned when I was trying to get out.”

I can see that, kid, but how?” You were filling in the form yourself, scribbling down the notes you could do yourself, and letting him substitute his name, date of birth and class number as you reached those sections, pen moving quickly over the paper as you waited for a reason. “I can't let you go until you tell me.”

“A door got stuck. I had to push it open.”

“How stuck was this door, because these aren’t the kind of burns that happen with quick movements, this took prolonged exposure.” He squirmed in his seat, avoiding your eye, and you gave in. Beside you, scattered around on your table and in the ambulance were the contents of your medkit, and the drawers, all running low on supplies as you’d tended to many injured kids, and you shook your head at his reluctance to speak. “Alright, fine, we’ll wait it out. Any allergies?”

He shook his head, chin wobbling a bit, and you handed his form back over to him, a neat crease down the middle where it was folded in half, and he held his hands out for you upon request. His face screwed up at the sting of the antiseptic spray, soft warnings on murmured apologies on your lips as you sterilised the wounds, before beginning to wrap them with aloe and cream soaked bandages. He shed several tears during the process, twisting to wipe his face on his shoulder as you patched up the first hand.

“Ready to talk, yet?”

He looked up at you again, shaking his head slowly after a second, and you let out a disappointed sigh that you hoped might make him cave, but he held strong. You worked on the other hand, wrapping the medicinal bandages slowly and carefully over his skin, weaving between his fingers and around his thumb, making sure to cover all of the exposed flesh right down to his thumb, before tucking it in carefully and sealing them with tape.

“You can go and wait over on those chairs until you’re ready to fess up, and you’re gonna’ have to go to the hospital for real treatment.” You nodded to one of the teachers as he went, head hung low and sulking as he walked away, before you turned to the next kid.

This one was worse, the same burns but these ones travelled halfway up his forearms, another empty sheet placed down in front of you, before he too was glancing at the last kid with burned hands, and your eyes narrowed on the two. “What the hell happened to you?”

“I got stuck, behind a-”

“A closed door? Is that what you're about to say?” A guilty look flashed over the second boy’s features, wide-eyed as he swallowed the lump formed in his throat, and he nodded. “That’s total bullshit. I don’t know what the two of you have been up to, but you don’t think I know what causes burns when I see them? I work in a firehouse, my firemen get burned up all the time, and this isn’t what happens when you push open a burning door. This is what happens when you hold onto something hot for a long time.”

He didn’t say anything, he just held out his hands, hissing in pain but managing to blink away his tears, unlike his friend, when you began to treat his wounds. The more severe they were, the more supplies you required, and you opted to dab the aloe gel and burn cream mix up to his elbows on each hand with a cotton pad, gentle not to let the tips of your fingers drag on open flesh as dry rubber from your gloves irritated the wounds.

“You need to tell me what happened, because I can’t let you go when you’ve got burns like this. You know it’s criminal evidence, right? If you don’t fess up and tell me the truth, you’ll have to tell it to the police. Why didn’t your teachers bring you forwards first if you had these kinds of injuries?”

“Because we weren’t in class.” He eventually whispered, and now the tears flowed, something inside of him seeming to crack wide open as hot tears flowed, the kid breaking down before you in a sob. You were wrapping his second arm carefully by the time he managed to catch his breath, his reaction shocking you a little, you didn’t want to make the kid cry with your threat of talking to the police, you just wanted to know what would happen. “We didn’t do this, I swear! We weren’t involved!”

“I know that, this was a freak accident, we already know that much, but you can tell me what happened.” Once you were finished, you took a seat before him, taking off blood and ointment stained gloves and throwing them in the bin bag you and Newt were rapidly filling up. As you did, you noticed Newt treating a kid with much the same injuries, your eyes narrowing a little on them for a second, before you sat down, picking up your pen and beginning to fill in the empty form. “We were skipping class.”

“All kids do that.” You chuckled, taking his name and date of birth as he worried his lower lip between his teeth, and just like that, all of a sudden, he was twisting to the side in his seat, retching violently onto the floor, as more tears began to flow. You abandoned the forms, rounding the edge of the table and the area around you where parents had been collecting their kids and teachers had been dismissing them suddenly fell silent, everybody turning to look over, and you rubbed his back gently, the contents of his stomach emptying.

When he was finished, he sat back up, trying to wipe at his mouth and wincing when he rubbed his mouth against his bandages by mistake, before lowering his hand. He slumped, seemingly drained of energy, eyes hooded a little, and you checked his pupils and his reactions again but they came out perfectly fine, and so this reaction wasn’t related to any injuries. “There were four of us.”

“Four of you?”

“Yeah, four of us skipped class.” You glanced around, noting only three with burned hands as Newt dismissed his kid to join your first, and a chilling feeling settled like a pit in your stomach. “We were in the theatre rooms, they’re below the science floors. We were messing around, and Ian went to the toilets in the corridors. When the explosion went off, the floor started to collapse, and a beam went over the door.”

You hated that you already knew where it was going, and your eyes impossibly wide as you glanced around, trying to find the yellow stripes of any fireman you knew to be free from your house, or any house, but they were all busy and out of view.

“The beam caught fire, and we tried so hard to move it, we tried but it hurt so much, and there was so much smoke and it got so hot, and we couldn't do it anymore. We had to go, we tried so hard but we had to go!” He was borderline hysterical, stuttering over his words as he cried, before he was gagging again, and you stepped out of the way, just avoiding his upchuck as he emptied his stomach again, guilt and anxiety taking a physical reaction on him. You processed his words, before the heavy truth settled over you again.

“Oh my God, Newt, there’s a kid still trapped in there.”

“What?” Your partner whipped around in his seat, eyes wide, before looking to the kid still heaving, and the other two with matching injuries. “Go find someone on the team, I'll finish up here!”

You nodded, pausing for a second to look around, before catching sight of a few metallic strips glinting in the light not far from the Squad truck. You stumbled over your feet, your heart pounding in your chest as you tried to get there. Rounding the edge of the red van, you found Winston sitting on the edge of the truck, door open, one foot on the floor by his helmet as the other was pulled up, his back pressed to the wall, and he was panting for breath, sweating as his mask lay beside him.

He cracked an eye open as he looked up at you, confusion taking over his face for a second, before concern was replacing it. “What’s up? Aren’t you dismissing kids?”

“There’s still a kiss trapped in there?”

“We did a sweep, everyone did, they checked every room and every floor, all the rooms.” You shook your head, hands shaking a little with your fear, and you felt the tremors spread over your body.

“No, no, there is someone.” You took a deep breath to steady yourself, and he sat up a little further. “There’s three kids, burns all over their hands and up their arms, because they were skipping class. They were right under the explosions, a kid was in one of the bathrooms and a beam fell over the door, they tried to move it but they couldn't, he’s trapped inside.”

“He’s been in there since this fucking happened? That was hours ago!” Despite his shock and disbelief, he was on his feet again, grabbing for his mask and his helmet, being the first one to finish his set of tasks clearly not coming much in handy, because he was going to be going back inside. “Where was he?”

“Uh, they said they were near the drama and theatre halls.” He nodded his head, hooking his mask back up to his oxygen tank as he pulled it up and adjusted the straps on his shoulders. “Winston, I gotta’ go with you.”

“No way, it’s falling apart in there.”

“I know, but you said it yourself, it’s been hours. That kid is gonna’ need immediate first aid, and how much first aid do you know?” He looked conflicted, tapping his foot a little and glancing around, watching as a few more members of your team, as well as others, all began to emerge from different exits. There was only so much of the fire they could risk putting out, when the building was igniting faster than they could contain it, it would have to simply burn itself out. “C’mon, Winston. Just grab me gear and let's go.”

“Fine, but stick by my fucking side and don’t take a step away, okay?”

“I promise!” You nodded, and he opened up one of the spare lockers. You knew the drill, kicking off your shoes and grabbing the heatproof gear that was labelled in a silver tin with your name across the front in permanent marker. Tugging the pants up your legs as fast as you could, you sealed them at the waist, tying them tightly and grabbing your jacket. You buttoned it up, fingers shaking as you did, before kicking off your shoes, uncaring of where they landed.

Pulling on your boots, you knelt down to tie them, your med bag landing beside you as Winston had retrieved it, and he looked more than anxious as he stared at you, letting you tuck the laces into the edge of the shoes to hide them once they were tight. “You’re gonna’ have to carry your bag, because you need to wear a tank and mask.”

He shook the other objects in his hands, and you stood, turning around and guiding your arms through the straps as he held it out, your breath forced from your lungs as the heavy weight settled onto your back. Following it, he rested the mask over your face, the glass fogging up for a second as you took heavy breaths, clearing a second later when cool oxygen was twisted on and began to come through. He fixed his own mask, gloves and helmet following as you copied him, checking it was all sealed up tight around your skin, before grabbing your bag.

You always felt like an astronaut in this gear, big and puffy and baggy, like you were walking with added gravity following behind him in wide and shuffling steps as quickly as you could, nerves and fear riding more and more as you headed towards burning entrances. It was something you’d never get used to, the idea of walking straight into flames, of walking into a burning building, and you patted deftly across the front of your helmet to find your torch, turning it on as Winston did the same, and then, you were plunging into thick black smoke.

It was like something from a horror movie, you could see other firemen wandering around, their shadows as they tried to at least secure as much as they could as the fire ripped through the building, burning through whatever fuel it could, and none of them paid you any mind. Clutching your bag up to your chest, you kept your eyes fixed on Winston, not daring to take your eyes off of him in case you lost him, and he was following signs as he went, trying to find the downstairs floors of the drama and theatre.

Your steps left footprints in the ash that was lining the floor, each footstep padded to silence by the thick grey layer, like a breadcrumb trail as you went, and it was a guiding light that was brushed away seconds later with the air currents created by flames.

You knew it when you finally arrived, large amphitheatres and halls, Winston pausing as he tried to identify which way the toilets would be, and his head twisted as he looked from one end to the other.

“You check that side, I’ll check this one. Do not go out of yelling range or sight.”

You gave him a mock-salute, peeling off to the left when he went to the right, and you scanned along the walls for the doorways.

There was nothing, just places where posters had been on the walls, the smashed glass of photos or peel offs to more corridors, but no toilets or burned beams. Just as you reached the end of the hall, only one direction coming off of it in a short pathway, you noticed something. It was crumbled now, black and crumbled but it could definitely have once been a solid beam, and as you squinted through the smoke, you could just about make out a doorway.

“Winston! I think I got it!” You yelled as loud as you could, turning around to find him spinning to look at you, and you held an arm out in a point down a connected corridor. He took off in a jog, as fast as he could move in the heat and the layers of clothes, and while it took him only seconds to reach you, it felt like it dragged on and on, the emergency making everything seem too slow as you worried for the trapped kid’s well-being.

He stepped ahead first, pacing towards it, and you followed after him, a slightly relieved breath leaving you when you were close enough for your head torches to reflect on signs signalling for the toilets. Winston placed a hand on the beam as the two of you approached it, pressing down on it as best he could, and the beam groaned at the pressure, but despite the force he applied, it didn’t crack.

He held out an arm, pushing you back slightly as his hand went to the toolkit around his waist, and unhooking a small hand axe. He held it up, adjusting it carefully in his grip, before swinging it up high and bringing it back down. It dug in, getting stuck for a second, and a large splintering sound filled the air, but it didn’t break.

He tried again, and again, and your anxiety was almost ready to burst when it finally cracked, hitting the floor with a loud thud, and you jumped, wincing slightly at the sound. The half still attached to the ceiling fell down, bringing a little more of the ceiling down, and it all became unstable again. Pieces of the roof were crumbling away, crashing down in bundles of flames to the floor, but at least one problem was solved.

Putting away the axe, Winston kicked open the door, waiting to see if any fire would come out. There was fire crawling along the roof, but the tiled floors were clean, the room smoky and filled with ash but reasonably safe, and the two of you entered.

As promised, there he was, the fourth student was unconscious on the floor beside one of the sinks. You glanced around, noting the jacket he must have been wearing was soaked with water, lay over his face as he’d tried to breathe through it to stop too much smoke inhalation, and Winston glanced at you as you sunk to your knees.

“Smart kid, that move probably saved his life.” You peed it back, checking for any signs of breathing, and you found his vets to be rising and falling very slowly and weakly, barely taking in any oxygen at all. Lifting up the torch from your keyring, you raised an eyelid, bloodshot eyes encasing pupils that were hardly responsive, reactions that took over a second to come into focus, and barely moving.

Scanning along his arms, you noted the raw burns that were forming along his flesh, tugging your bag open quickly and grabbing for the aloe inside. If he was to be carried back through the building, you wanted to minimise any risk of his wounds getting any worse. You didn’t try to be delicate or gentle, you were rushing, knowing you had to put speed over gentleness now, and that you could treat them properly once you were back outside.

Twisting on down on the taps, not much water came through, dripping through the pipes, and you used your teeth to pull off one glove, daring to touch the water. It wasn’t exactly cold, the pipes underground being heated by the fires above, but it was cool enough, and you dropped piles of bandages down into the sink to begin to soak. Taking open the gel, you squeezed out thick rows of it onto his arms, using your bare hand to rub it in, trying to be fast as the skin on the back of your hand began to hurt. Once it was rubbed in, you began to pick up dripping bandages, not even bothering to ring them out, before sealing the cool wrapping around his arms as best you could to keep them secured.

As soon as they were on, you were pulling your glove back on, and rubbing at the back of your hand through the material to soothe the pain there.

“He needs oxygen, with reaction times like this, I’m surprised he’s still breathing.”

“I can give him my mask.”

Winston reached for his mask, and you shook your head. He was covered in burns, he was out cold, and there was no way he’d wake up anytime between now and the hospital, it at all. Despite being alive, you had no idea what the long-term effects would be on him, and you hoped for the best, but you knew there wasn’t much Winston could do without his mask. “You can’t, you’re gonna’ have to carry him out of here. He takes my mask.”

No way, I’m trained for this, you aren’t. You’ll choke up in here before getting back to the main corridors.”

“Yeah, well, I can’t exactly carry this kid. So, if we want to get him out of here alive, we’re just going to have to risk it.” You didn’t wait for his response, ignoring his protests as you took off your helmet, reaching behind your head for the elastics of the mask, and pulling them off. The second it was gone, your skin flared up at the rush of heat, and you took a gasping breath. Your lungs were searching for oxygen, the flames burning most of it away, and you were getting so little now that your pure source was gone.

Hooking the mask over the kid’s face, you took off your tank, holding it on your arms as Winston glared at you from behind the glass, crouching down to pick the boy up from the floor, and you placed the tank onto him too, waiting for Winston to adjust his grip before letting go of the pair. Putting your helmet back on, you tucked your hair under the collar of your jacket, protecting the back of your neck.

Zipping your bag back up and draping the damp hoodie over his head for added protection against the flames, you hid your face in your elbow, coughing against the smoke and trying to breathe lightly so as not to suck too much of it into your lungs.

“Follow me, keep up, okay? Don’t fall behind.”

There were worry and concern in his voice, friendly and desperate as he pleased with you, and you nodded your head. He turned, moving as quickly as he could as he left the bathrooms again, backing or of the door and back into the hallway. If you’d thought the bathroom had been bad, this was far worse, your eyes watering and lungs burning as soon as you stepped out. You kept one arm raised, simply to protect your face, your bag clenched under the other arm.

Winston was moving faster than you were, the lack of oxygen making you fall behind, but you could still seem him ahead, and you could see the large and fresh imprints of his bots in the ash before they were fading in the swirling storm of burning debris, following them once the smoke was too much for you to keep your eyes raised for too long. They were stinging, watering continuously to blink free dust that got in them, and your tears were almost absorbed right off of your face.

When you looked back up, daring to stare into the hallway, it was void of movement, all the firemen having cleared out as the smoke got thicker, burning through the insulation in the walls now. The corridors forked, and you paused, trying to remember which way you’d come. There was no daylight to guide you, no windows you could see through, just thick smoke lit up by orange flames, and you swallowed down on a sore throat coughing again as you grew more and more scared.

You had to move, you knew you did, and so you chose one option, knowing that moving in either way was better than simply standing still. Following it along, the further you went, the more and more unfamiliar it became, the minutes melting away as you stumbling along all the while knowing you’d chosen the wrong way. You found the wall, hand sitting on it lightly to help guide your way, and your fingers bumped against a raised section.

Pausing, you brushed the dust away, squinting to read what it said. There were several classroom guidances, and then something that made you want to cry with relief, even if it was the wrong direction. The gardens. You hadn't seen any gardens upon coming into the school grounds, and so you assumed you were on the other side of the building now, having stumbled along for so long you’d moved all that way, but as long as you got out, you’d be fine.

Following that guidance, you paused each time you found a sign, before finally, doors that had burned right off their hinges and had fallen off allowed a little sunlight to poke through the smoke.

Your feet scraped on the ground as you finally made it out, soft ash falling away to be replaced with concrete, and you wanted to fall to the ground, knees weak with bliss at escaping the building, but you forced yourself to keep going. You were gasping, throat raw as you took deep breaths, finally able to do so once again and you felt a little dizzy as your head spun at the sudden rush of fresh air.

You grabbed at the front of your jacket, sweltering in the thick material as you tugged on it until it came loose, flapping at the front and letting in cold air and you felt a little less restrained.

You stayed away from the building as you tried to walk around it, following the flashing lights on the ambulances until the place where you’d been stationed started to come into sight once again. It was clearer, only a few kids left milling around, the fire teams having retreated back to their vans, equipment being stripped off and water bottles handed out, and you searched for your own team.

You found them, all gathered around and starting at the entrance, even Winston and Newt, and you noticed that one of the ambulances was gone, presumably having rushed your reduced child to the hospital. They were waiting for you to emerge from the entrance you’d entered, all looking nervous, and Newt was the first to notice you coming around the other side.

As soon as he had, the group were turning to you, your body slumping a little more under your weight, and you staggered towards them. Newt found you first, taking your bag from your hands as you held it out to him, and offering him a tired smile as he shook his head fondly.

“You gave me a fucking heart attack.”

“I’m perfectly fine, Newt, I swear.” He frowned for only a second longer, before his lips were breaking in a smile, and Brenda was up next. She took you into a tight hug, arms underneath the edge of your jacket, which Minho was peeling down your arms for you and taking away the added weight, and you thanked him silently with a nod as you wrapped your arms back around her. “Bren, I’m okay.”

“You think you’re a damn firefighter, I swear it!”

You laughed at that, throat a little raspy as it trailed off into a caught, and Newt chuckled. “Let’s get you some water, okay?”

“That sounds awesome.” You followed them over to the trucks, Newt jogging ahead to get you a bottle, and as soon as you arrived, you took it. You cracked the lid open taking a large gulp, and looking around for a second, before the person you were unintentionally searching for was found. He looked angry, a face like thunder as he stormed over, shoulders squared and tense with furrowed brows.

His steps had purpose, and the closer he got, the more you could take him in. Slightly dirty skin, sweaty and stained with soot and ash had tracks under his eyes cut into them from tears, the edges of his scowl wobbling as he looked still on the edges of jagged emotions, and you were filled with guilt. You met him halfway, mouth dropping to talk to him but he beat you to it, a sharp inhale before he is grabbing your arm, and dragging you between the two parked fire trucks as the rest of the firemen all seemed to clear away in fear of his anger.

“Are you fucking insane?” There was a crack to his voice that you didn’t comment on, giving away that his anger was actually fear, no rage at all but simply worry that you had caused, and you hated that you’d done it, but you wouldn't take your action back, not when you’d saved a life once again. You wouldn't be able to live with yourself if you’d let that boy die in there. “Do you have any idea how fucking worried I was? I come out after hours in that burning building to find you and check you’re okay just to find out you’ve gone into the fucking wreckage? To find out you took off your goddamn mask and got lost?”

His frown melted away, fresh tears filling his eyes, and he sniffed lightly, his face crumpling again as his tears came free. Two large droplets leaked along his cheeks, leaving wet marks, and your stomach twisted with guilt. You took off your gloves, dropping them down to the floor without a care to be able to cup his cheeks and wipe them away from his flushed skin as he stared at you. “I got stuck, Tommy. That’s it, I’m sorry, okay? I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I knew that kid was in there and I let him die to save my own life.”

You sank down, every muscle in your body aching as you sat on the edge of the van, finally giving in to your exhaustion, and he let out a shaky and weak sob again. He followed, sinking to his knees in front of you, his entire body collapsing under the weight of his worry, but his eyes never left your own.

He lifted a bare hand, cupping your cheek the way you had for him a second ago, and his eyes moved as he swept his sights over your face, trying to take a more deep and calming breath. The simple skin to skin touch grounded him.

“Don’t make me lose you, too.” He whispered, a silent beg in his words not to leave him, and your heart cracked a little in your chest. “I know you’re mad at me right now, okay? You say you’re not but I know you are because I spent enough time with you mad when we first met to know what that looks like on you.”

You chuckled, his lips flicking up at the edges as you did.

“I can handle you being mad, though, okay? I can handle that, because I love you, but I can’t handle you dying. I can’t take that. Don’t do that to me, I need y-” Your hands smoothed over his chest, finding the edges of the jacket he had yet to shed and pulling him forwards. You bowed your head down to his level, cutting off his words by placing your lips on his, and he shuddered under your touch, groaning into your mouth as his mind caught up with what was happening.

He panted slightly, twisting his head to the side to get a better angle, and this was nothing like last night. He wasn’t shy or worried, he just poured out everything he felt, his lips working slowly but surely with your own, a desperation and need hidden underneath in the kiss that made you tremble, because it was nothing like you’d ever felt before. You didn’t feel the metal you were sitting on or the truck behind you, the voices of everyone still around seemed to face away, your entire focus shifting to only him.

He pressed up, kissing you just as firmly and gripping your jaw with a little more force. After a moment longer, lungs demanding air, he pulled back, long enough for a gasping breath and to lick over his lips. He forced himself to stand up on shaky legs, one hand on your waist pulling you with him, before he was pressing you back into the edge of the truck for support. The cold metal against your back was nothing with the way his chest pressed to you, drawing in his head as he held you so close, that hand sliding around your waist to pull you flush up against him.

“I’m sorry,” You whispered, your nose bumping his as he stole several more pecks from your lips as the two of you caught your breath, and you puckered your lips for him each time, stuttering as his fingertips pressed into your skin through your shirt. “I know this isn’t how you wanted our real first kiss to go.”

“I so don’t care anymore. Just shut up and kiss me again, sweetheart.” He closed the gap himself, and you hummed happily as his tongue dragged over your lower lip, tempting you to part them, and you moaned weakly when his tongue dared to dip out and brush with your own. It was a connection you both needed, long overdue and frantic.

A messy kiss, clashes of teeth with need and raspy breaths between kisses, bumping foreheads when you moved but you'd have time to perfect it, but right now, you just needed to make the promises to each other that you were okay, and you were still here. When he finally pulled back, it was reluctantly, dragging slightly kiss swollen lips away from your own to stare at you, darkened eyes going soft the longer he looked, and he pulled away long enough to run the back of a finger over your cheek, a look that could only be described as adoration taking over. “I love you, and you don’t have to say it back, not until you really mean it, but I mean it and I want you to know. I want everyone to know, you’re always gonna’ be my first and only choice, angel.”

You grinned, a giggle that you muted by pressing your lips to his own in a chaste kiss, and when you pulled back, he followed your lips for a second, only furthering your intimate amusement.

“I’m never going to get tired of being able to kiss you now.”

“I should hope not.” He beamed, brushing the tip of his nose with your own, before stepping back fully, and bringing his hand to yours, weaving your fingers together. “Go sort out your team, lieutenant, they’ll be needing you to help pack away.”

“I’m sure they can wait a few more minutes, I’ve waited months to get here with you.”

“Yeah, well, you can have me all to yourself later. You still owe me pizza.” His joy only brightened more at the offer, his brows raising, and he was nodding enthusiastically. “I’ll stay over, and you can kiss me as much as you want.”

“I’d love that.” He pecked your lips one more time, a pink blush taking over his features as he realised he could now, before he was stepping back. “I’ll meet you back at the firehouse?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course.” You whispered, and he turned away, giving you a second of privacy, lifting your fingers to brush over your lips, your mind still reeling as you attempted to process what had happened. A throat cleared a second later, and Newt was standing with his hands on his hips, head tilted toward the ambulance.

“I’m not putting all that shit away myself so you can daydream about kissing Tommy.” He scoffed, teasing you a little as he made his way over, and you couldn't help the smirk your lips were forming. “So, did he finally man up and kiss you? He's only been talking about it for months.”

“I kissed him, actually.” Newt’s jaw dropped, his hands shooting up in the air with a loud cheer to follow.

“I fucking knew it! I fucking knew it! Gally owes me twenty damn bucks, and I will collect.” He slung an arm over your shoulders, guiding you towards the ambulance that he needed help with beginning to pack away, and you shrugged, reaching up your hand to hold onto Newt’s as it hung over your shoulder.

“I can’t believe you were betting on us.”

“I was betting on you, I knew he would psych himself out, all my money was on you, love.” He offered a cheesy grin, pinching at your cheek, and you raised your brows.

“Well then, shouldn't I get half of the winnings? Since I helped you to victory, and all..” Newt let you go when you reached the van, the tables being folded away by the staff, but there were medical supplies piled high in the entrance to the ambulance, and you had to pack them all away correctly, and double-check over the doses of medicines, in such a high-risk area for theft.

“Tell you what, I’ll buy you a cocktail with half the winnings, if you come on a double date with me and Derek?” You chuckled, unsure whether or not he was serious, and an odd look passed over newt’s face, the blond scratching at his jaw and avoiding your eye.

“A double date, really?”

“Look, you already know Derek, you and he are friends. Good friends. Tommy has been my best mate since I was just a lad and always will be, and you’re my best friend too. I really like Derek, okay? I really like him, and I want him and Tommy to get along too, because they’re both so important to me, and I figure a double date makes it casual.” He shrugged, looking back up to you, curious for your opinion as his cheeks grew warm. “Is it stupid? I just felt like going out to dinner or something made for less tension than a baseball game and a pizza.”

“It’s not stupid, Newt. I’m totally down for it, sounds fun, but you’re gonna’ have to convince Thomas.” You teased, and your partner rolled his eyes.

“Oh, please, I don’t gotta’ do shit if you’re on board. You have him wrapped around your little finger. You don’t even have to pucker up or bat your eyelashes, he’s already all soft on you.” Newt pouted, mocking you playfully with the words, and your guts twisted in a nervous excitement.

“I’ll talk to him about it, tomorrow morning.”

“Breakfast date?” He climbed up into the back of the van, beginning to scoop up the materials like bandages and plasters to put them away, and you started sorting through the bottles of medicine and pills that would need counting.

“Dinner date, actually.” Newt gasped falsely, holding a hand over his heart.

“Scandalous, staying over already.”

“You’re just jealous.” You shot back, his face dropping in a mock glare.

“Low blow.” He threw a roll of bandages at you, ones that bounced off of your head as you laughed at him, and rolled away to the concrete, and he pointed at them. “Go get them, and leave your attitude out there when you come back.”

You flipped him off, standing up to follow after the sealed bandages packet, and you scooped them up, glancing around the scene as two ambulances had already left, their house firetrucks following, and the third house was finishing their packing up. Brenda was packing away the coats into the van, hanging them up on the hooks inside the compartment to be washed and cleaned for later, and Minho was rolling the fire hoses back up with Jeff and Clint.

Thomas was rubbing a hand over his forehead, staring up at the building for a second, before turning, glancing around, and his eyes found yours. He paused for a second, one eye dropping in a lazy wink a moment later when he let Thomas crack through his lieutenant persona for a second, and he licked over his lips, stretching to a wide smile. He nodded his head for a second, a simple gesture but it felt like more than just that, and your lips pressed together to hold your smile, nodding your head in return, and letting your stare linger for a second longer, before going back to work.

Newt was waiting, still packing away and whistling a tune to himself as he worked, taking the bandages from you when you approached, and you hummed along in time with the tune once you recognised it enough, his eyes glinting when you did. It was an unspoken thing, a delicate symbol of friendship as the two of you worked in quiet harmony, humming along to the same song as you worked, settling in to a well worn and familiar routine that you hoped would never break.

#thomas #thomas x reader #thomas/reader #thomas the maze runner #ff!tommy #firefighter!tommy #dylan o'brien #dylan obrien #dylan obrien x reader #dylan obrien/reader #smoke and fire #SAF #dylan obrien thomas #dylan obrien the maze runner

178 notes · View notes

your-eternal-muse · 4 years

Text

How Could I Hate Her?

Heather Series Part 7

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Bonus! Readers Card Confession Part 6

Summery: When checked on by the team, Reader confesses her guilt ridden feelings

Warnings: Mentions and descriptions of depressive episode, light swearing, mentions of medication, but other than that? Nothing that I can think of?

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Heather Carmichael, Spencer Reid x eventual Female!Reader

Words: 3.1k

A/N: Y’all.....it is almost 4:30 in the morning. I started writing this around 9 pm. I am committed and I have Criminal Minds to keep me company so its fine. Also, there is much needed fluff in this chapter. I also tried writing in 3rd person, because there were things I wanted to show that I wouldn’t have been able to if I didn’t. I hope you like it! I should have a bonus episode out later today at some point when I wake from the dead, so, enjoy!

~~~~~

It had been two weeks.

Two weeks since anyone on the team had seen or heard anything from y/n.

“I stopped by her place a couple days after, to try and talk to her. I couldn’t even tell if she was on the other side.” Derek remarked.

Aaron, Derek, JJ, Emily, David, and Penelope stood in her office, talking about y/n, and how worried they were.

They all just got back from a case.

Spencer had immediately gotten called away from work by Heather, who claimed it was an emergency. None of the others truly believed it was.

“As icky as it makes me feel, I can check to see if she is still in her apartment, I mean. If the place where she lives has cameras, I can easily check to see if she’s left.”

She looks to Hotch for permission.

He nods his head in approval.

“Has anyone else tried contacting her?”

“I’ve tried calling, but it goes straight to voicemail. She turned her phone off.” JJ chewed at her lip, her mind traveling to the worst possible scenario. A scenario she wouldn’t let happen. Not again.

“Poor kid. I can’t even imagine what she’s going through.” Rossi’s voice is soft, and he leans back against the wall, eyes not really connecting with anything.

“I know Spencer has tried calling her a couple times. But by the look on his face, I don’t think he got very far.” Prentiss paces back and forth, trying to keep herself busy so she doesn’t go kick down y/n’s door herself.

They all knew.

Derek couldn’t keep something like that to himself. And when he told the team, JJ stepped forward, and confessed that she knew. Spencer was in disbelief.

Y/n had come to JJ so often over the past couple of months, Will didn’t question it anymore. Y/n said watching Henry, and being around someone she doesn’t have to compete with helped.

She never really saw her smile like she used to, but JJ did see her relax, let her walls down. She thought y/n was getting somewhere. She was wrong. Some profiler she was.

“You should have seen her guys.” Derek had been the one to see her shut down before his eyes.

“She was shaking. She couldn’t stop crying, shaking. She was mortified that he had heard her. And then she just, stopped. She stopped shaking. The broken look on her face completely vanished. She didn’t say a word to me when she left. It was like she turned herself off.”

“Confessing your love for someone who then tells you they don’t love you the same can do that to a person.” Penelope says, typing away at her screens.

“No, it’s so much more than that.” JJ says, taking a seat in one of Garcias spinning chairs. “ Every time she would say something even remotely mean about Heather, or Spencer, she would shake her head, look up and smile. She shoves it down because she doesn’t want to be bothersome. That kind of burial of feelings can only end in an extreme.” JJ thinks back to every night, every tear shed at her house. How y/n would wipe her tears, shake her head and force a smile.

“I’m in.” Garcia chirps up from her desk, pulling up video footage of a hallway.

They all circle around, prying eyes eager to look inside the private life of their family, who is in desperate need of assistance.

“So, here she is, the day she left, about an hour after leaving the building.”

They watch the video as she walks down her to her door, tears streaming down her face. She takes her keys out, but before unlocking her door, she leans her forehead against the wood.

Her shoulders shake.

A collective sigh leaves all of them.

“And here I am fast forwarding a couple days.” People walk up and down the hallway, yet her door stays still. Until it opens. She taps a key and the video returns to normal, and a forlorn y/n exists, now clad in sweatpants and a cal tech sweatshirt.

“That’s Spencer’s sweatshirt.” JJ whispers, pinching the bridge of her nose.

Penelope fast forwards again, stopping it when y/n appears once again on the screen.

“Okay, she was gone for about, 2 hours and 43 minutes.”

Y/n is holding two bags, one in each hand, though neither of them are very full.

She disappears behind the door, and Penelope fast forwards again. Morgan can be seen a few times, but y/n doesn’t leave again.

“Oh my god. She left once, three days after and hasn’t been out since.” Penelope takes her glasses off, and wipes her face.

“Alright. We’re doing a wellness check. Y/n clearly needs some help right now, so help is what she is getting. Let’s go.”

The team all nodded, and off they went.

When they arrived, Hotch walked to the front desk, his badge already out. “I’m SSA Aaron Hotchner. We’re here to do a wellness check on y/n y/l/n in apartment 112.”

The front clerk doesn’t question it, simply grabbing a set of keys and leading them down the hallway to an elevator.

Each person is in their own head, but when they appear outside of her apartment, their focus changes. It was about y/n now.

“Y/n, are you in there? Baby girl, can you let us in?”

They stand and listen for a shuffling of feet or the sound of a chair, but nothing.

Radio static.

Hotch nods to the man, and he unlocks her door, allowing the team into her apartment.

It’s dark.

That’s the first thing Derek notices as he walks forward. The second is how cold it is.

The third is the glass breaking underneath his boot.

His eyes land on the pile of shards beneath him, and the move to the book laying on the floor, and the broken mirror which still stands on her wall.

He’s trying not to profile her, but it’s hard.

She didn’t even want to look at herself.

The team walks through her apartment, taking in the abandoned bowls of half eaten food, the empty liquor bottles and faint smell of cigarette smoke.

The path leads them to the living room, where y/n is curled up under a blanket on her couch beneath an open window.

Derek walks over and shuts it, his heart aching at the sight before him.

Y/n clutches a pillow to her chest, her grip tight. Unfinished chinese sits in front of her, beside an ashtray filled with buds.

An empty bottle of medication lays on the ground next to her, and he prays to a god he stopped believing in years ago.

She’s mumbling in her sleep, and the team gathers around, varying versions of wet eyes.

Derek is the one to kneel beside her, and place a hand on her shoulder. He’s relieved when he hears her mumbles, feels the warmth beneath his fingers.

“Baby girl. Baby girl, I need you to wake up.” He knows she’ll feel cornered. He knows it’s a lot to wake up to. But he knows she needs this.

She stirs and her eyes open, cloudy and grey. They flick up to him and then around the room, taking in the sight.

She wants to cry.

She begins to move herself in a sitting position, and Rossi can’t help but notice how thin she’s gotten the last couple weeks. She looks tiny compared to Derek. He just wants to hold her, and never let her go.

JJ notices her lips are chapped, and the dark circles under her eyes. She turns and heads towards the kitchen for a glass of water.

“What are you all doing here?” Her voice is hoarse. She hasn’t spoken in days, unless you count the incoherent sentences she sobs at three in the morning.

Aaron wishes he had stepped in sooner. Her hands shake as she moves to brush hair out of her face. She was his daughter, even if not by blood. He doesn’t know how he couldn’t have seen this.

Emily notices the dry wet spots on her t-shirt, and the pillow that now rests in her lap. She bites her lip to keep her own tears at bay.

“Don’t you have more important things to do?” The words are laced with guilt and self-hatred. How can she possibly take them from a case that could be 10 times more important than her?

Derek runs a hand over her head, wishing he could take her pain away in the blink of an eye.

JJ appears with a glass of water.

“You’re family, y/n. We take care of our family.” Penelope falls to her other side, and grabs y/n’s hand, clasping it in between her own.

JJ moves a couple things on her coffee table, sitting down and handing her the glass of water.

Y/n takes it with her free hand, taking a sip from it.

“Sweetheart, when did you run out of medication?” Derek's voice is soft, it almost breaks near the end, but he holds out.

She sniffs, rubbing the back of her hand under her nose. “A couple weeks ago. They’re filled, I just haven’t….I couldn’t…”

She hands the glass of water back to JJ. Her fingers start tapping her thigh.

“Talk to us, y/n. We’re not going anywhere.” JJ starts to cry, but she can’t help it. The situation in which her friend was in, was dark. It was deep. She’s been on the road to where she is for months, and JJ didn’t do anything.

Y/n thought for a moment. About lying, saying she was fine, that she was coming into the office the next day, that she was over it. But she was tired. Tired of running. Tired of lying.

“I love him.” Her voice is wet, flem and saliva coating each word as it leaves her mouth. The sentence isn’t louder than a whisper.

She clears her throat, and grabs the glass back from JJ, taking a longer gulp.

Her head hurt.

No one speaks.

No one moves.

“I love him.” The tears flowing down her cheeks are different from the ones she’s shed the past couple months. They’re warmer, more full. It relieves the stinging behind her eyes a bit.

“I love him, and I can’t help but tell myself over and over how much better she is than me.” She turns her palm over in between Garcia’s and clutches it with every fiber of her being. “Every bad thing I’ve ever thought about myself is ringing through my ears, in her voice.” She chokes on her sobs, and the room is filled with the months of feelings building in her chest.

“I hate her.” The words fall from her tongue and her chest falls. A weight has been lifted.

“I hate her, and I hate that I hate her. Why should I? She’s pretty, she’s accomplished, she makes him happy.” She looks up at Derek, eye’s pleading. “She is everything, and has everything that I can never have or be. And it kills me.”

JJ takes the glass before it slips from her hands, and sets it down, mirroring Penelope and clutching y/n’s hand between hers.

Y/n leans into Derek, and he wraps his arms around her, pulling her in for a tight embrace, resting his chin on her head.

She cries and cries, and finally after months, she breathes. Her tears stop and she lets the oxygen fill her lungs and she breathes.

For a moment, sniffles throughout the room are all that can be heard. And then Aaron speaks.

“Morgan, I think you should take y/n to go get her meds. A little sunlight and some time out of the house will do her some good.”

She retracts herself from Derek, a slight pink returning to her cheeks. She nods.

“And when you get back, I’ll help you shower.” JJ whispers rubbing her thumb over the back of her hand.

Another nod.

Penelope and JJ let go of her, and she stands.

Penelope notices that she’s wearing the same sweatshirt from the video.

Derek stands with her, one hand on the small of her back, the others holding hers protectively.

“Where are your shoes sweetheart? I don’t want you cutting yourself on the glass.”

“They’re in the kitchen somewhere. I kicked them off and didn’t notice where they landed.”

“Okay. We’ll just be careful, okay?”

Another nod.

The team moves as she does, not crowding her, but never being too far away.

Derek helps her get her shoes and coat on, and leads her out the door.

Once the door shuts, Hotch turns to the others. “Alright. JJ, Emily, start in her bedroom and bathroom. Laundry, bedding, the whole nine yards. Garcia, start in here. I would suggest going through her laptop to see if there's anything we should know about. I know you don’t like it, but in order to make sure she’s safe, we have to.”

The three women nod, and Penelope is already grabbing the laptop that lay at the end of the couch.

“I’ll work on cleaning the kitchen, and David,” He turns to Rossi, already rolling up his sleeves. “I’m sure she doesn’t have much food on hand, and she could probably use a home cooked meal.”

“Say no more. I’m on it.”

~~~~~

The car ride to the pharmacy was quiet.

I can’t say it wasn’t nice to get out of the house. I missed the light.

It was early February, so pink and red hearts decorated the storefront in preparation.

I hated the thought of valentines day during all of this. The thought of what he would be doing for her drove me insane.

It still makes my heart ache.

“What’s going on inside that pretty little head of yours, baby girl?”

I shift my focus, turning back to the driver's seat where Derek sat.

“Just thinking about how much I hate valentines day. It’s over commercialized and the guy who named it named it after himself, selfish prick.”

I see Derek chuckle. “That you are right about.”

I let a small smile slide across my face, and for once it’s not forced. I know not everything will be better right away. I know it’s gonna take time. But still.

It feels nice knowing I’m not alone.

We arrive, and he parks.

We sit for a minute in the silence, and his hand reaches over and takes mine in his grasp.

“I want you to know, that you are a million times better than Heather could ever wish to be. And any dude who doesn’t see that isn’t as smart as he appears.”

He turns his body, so he’s fully facing me. “If you ever feel like this again, I want you to call me right away. Even if that voice inside your head is telling you it’s nothing, call me anyway. You’re not alone, y/n. And I will do anything and everything it takes to make you see that.”

I squeeze his hand, and nod. “I promise, Derek.”

“Good. Now let's go get you your medication.”

I nod, letting go of his hand, and releasing the seat belt, and climbing out of the car.

The pharmacist greeted me with my name and a smile, handing me the white paper bag that held a refill that was long overdue.

Before leaving, my eyes caught something inside a soda cooler at the front.

Derek stops and follows my eye. “What is it, love bug?”

I point to a purple bottle. “When I was a kid, and I had a bad day at school, or life just got to be too much, my mom and I would go to the movies, and watch the most cringy, bad looking movie they were showing. We would sit in the back and eat our weight in popcorn while making fun of everything. And she would always get a large grape fanta for us to share.”

He smiles, and steps forward, opening the door, and grabbing a bottle. “I think this constitutes a grape fanta than.”

It’s getting easier to smile at him.

He buys it, and we head back out to the car.

We sit, and he waits until the pill is down my throat, followed by fizzy grape soda. It's tart and sweet at the same time, and I lick my lips of the stickiness.

The music is a little louder on the drive back.

When we enter the door, the first thing I notice is the smell. It smells like Italian, and the best Italian at that.

I walk into the kitchen and I see Rossi, towel over his shoulder and wooden spoon in his hand.

He smiles when he sees me. “Ah, principessa, come. Taste. I know pesto cavatappi is a favorite of yours.”

He ushers me forward, holding out the spoon with a bit of sauce on the end.

I lean forward, capturing the end with my tongue.

“Mmm.” I lick my lips, and chuckle a bit. “It’s really good.”

He smiles, setting the spoon down. “Good.” He wraps his arms around me, and pulls me into his embrace. He kisses the top of my head. “I love you, kiddo. Don’t you ever forget that.”

I smile into his chest. “I won’t.”

“Good. Now go get cleaned up. Dinner is almost ready.”

I nod, setting my soda down on the counter, and walking through my apartment.

It doesn’t even look like mine. It’s lighter and clean, and every shadow that played tricks on my mind are no longer there.

I look around at the apartment, taking note of how much was done in the time I was gone.

The broken mirror no longer hangs on the wall, mocking me. My couch is back to its original position against the wall, and my windows are closed, the curtains open, letting all the natural afternoon light in.

My laptop is set up and a playlist of feel good songs is playing softly through its speakers.

I can’t help myself.

I start to cry, and I clamp a hand over my mouth, looking around at the room.

How could I have not seen this?

“Oh no, you’re crying. What is it? Can I fix it? What can I do? Tell me what I can do?” Penelope rushes over, her hands running over my arm.

JJ, Emily, and Hotch enter at her exclamation. JJ is holding a fresh set of clothes for me.

“They’re good tears, Pen, they’re good.”

The feeling in my chest is warm.

They move around me, hands coming to gently grasp at me.

“I just forgot that I have a family. I don’t know how but I did.”

Aaron smiles at me.

“And man does it feel good to be reminded.”

Permanent Tag List: @criminalcow @pinkdiamond1016 @eternityofaxiom @you-had-me-at-hello-dear @marvels-gurl @theamuz @write-from-the-heart @sungieeeeeee @mjloveskids666 @chococeral @itzsoff @gia-kerks @doctorspencereid @imsuperawkward @andreasworlsboring101 @itsmoony @cielo1984 @heistmaster69 @nevvvv @theseuscmander @complementaryvacuum @waywardswain

Heather Tag List: @drsoftboyreid @lindaze @urie-bowie-mercury @racer-parker @avaholcombe @rodgertayloroof @stephanieisgay330 @swiftspaperings @rainsong01 @darthseph @liaabsurd @tracyn910 @kxllyxnnx @holypicklelightnickel @pianofirepirate @radtwinkie @madcrazy50 @bweakmybonez @constantlywishingonstars @l0ve-0f-my-life @expressiodepressio @flannelpjpants @x-midnight-violets-x @kwyloz @todaynotseen @caitlin-f @mylovehes @spencerreidsimptime @yoongi-holland @vamp-army @realimbo @stardream14 @magicbeanssss @jessaminelovelace @darthvadersturd @nikkilikewoah @mellifluouswildbluebells @lex-rodgers-sheild @crist1216 @voguekristens @doctorspencrreid @girlwithcrocs @harryscherrymoon @cherriesnwatermelons @heyitssomegirl101 @mollygetssherlockcoffee @colorfulsunflowerx @falcon-arrows @hereforbeebo @legallyplatinumblonde @thatsonezesty13

#spencer reid #spencer reid series #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x female!reader #spencer reid angst #criminal minds #criminal minds self insert #criminal minds series #cm series #cm #heather #conan gray #song fic

680 notes · View notes

whalesfallmoved · 4 years

Text

soft descent

Wedding vows for the dead. Neither of you ever had a chance.

chargestep. rated m. twisted memories and revenge and nightmares of all kinds and ricardo ortega, starring as sidestep’s poorly repressed self-doubt, in a manner of speaking.

or, sidestep sees nothing clearly, and her head has never been a pleasant place to be.

warnings: implications of suicide, slight body horror, violence, injury. hurt, without comfort, because of course.

ao3 link.

——

“Oof, that’s going to leave a mark.”

You’re standing next to the window in the dark the sun blistering overhead and the glass shattered underfoot. He’s looking down. You’re looking at him. It’s always been like that. When you look down you’ll see— no. You’re not going to look down. You’re going to look at him.

“It didn’t feel great.”

He smiles and it’s broken, one hand on the windowsill, one hand on his gut where Catastrofiend’s goodbye kiss drips slowly, wetly, a splash of violence against the cobalt blue skinsuit, Ranger-proud. You want to say you should get that looked at but it wouldn’t do any good, he’s already gotten blood all over the carpet.

Soft laugh and when he licks his lips you can see a hint of red, waiting to get coughed up, waiting to get expelled, the body killing itself to save itself—you remember the way it stuck between your fingers, the delirium—beg, the monster-thing demanded, and he laughed then too.

You look down at your hands. The way they curl up, clinging to air.

Are you bleeding? You must be.

“Yeah, I know all about that.”

“No,” you shake your head and your spine pops, “you don’t.”

“What, are we comparing jumps now?”

“Are we?” wouldn’t that be something. He never talked about this before, why start now? Trying to get you to forgive him? You won’t.

“It was a longer drop.”

“And there were people there to help you.”

“Depends on your definition of help.” Head jerk to the side, beckoning you to look, look down, look at them, look at you. “Technically, they helped you too.”

Bite down, taste blood and bile. Have you started choking yet down there? You remember the way it sluiced up your throat, the way you could feel the crack and splinter of your ribcage. His brows furrow a little and maybe he feels bad. You hope so. You hope it’s twisting him up inside.

“Wish they’d helped me to the morgue.”

Exhale, ragged and wet and torn.

“Yeah, those contracts are a bitch, huh? Nothing like a blood debt.”

“What, you want me to feel bad for you?” You taunt, vision hazy bones aching— pulse in your ribs, they must have picked you up by now, isn’t that nice. He’s still looking down, waiting for something to happen. “Poor Ricardo. The US government branded on his ass till the day he dies. Join the fucking club.”

“Hey—” he hisses, flashing his eyes to you finally, “you could pretend to sympathize.”

“I’m so sorry you have posters and trading cards and get invited to award ceremonies and—”

“Oh, I knew I have trading cards, but how did you know I have trading cards,” a wink, sly, charming and wrong, like a bone splitting the skin. “Collecting them, aren’t you?”

“You wish.”

You want to throw up. His neck is bruised.

He sighs, knocks his fist against the window. You both flinch. “They’re gonna keep you going till you’ve got nothing left to give, you know.”

And this time it’s your turn to laugh, bitter and cruel and serrated. You want to twist the knife in his gut you want to rake your nails down his skin, it’s the least- it’s the least you can do, god you are so angry you shake, but you’ve always been good at staying still. Hold your breath, don’t scream, fuck that hurts, and now he’s looking at you full on. “I’m already out. No thanks to you.”

Maybe he sees the way your hands are starting to twitch. The smile softens and you want to kiss-bite-punch it bruise blue to match his stupid fucking suit.

“Are you?”

Are.

You?

I am.

Am I?

A snake in your throat curling up ready to snap bite. Your lips twist, scene hazy at the edges, and when you get your hands around his neck (oh those are the bruises, they look like your hands) you’ll both be sorry—“fuck off.”

Magic words.

Ortega shrugs, pushes the window open like it doesn’t matter, like it didn’t matter, like he can just do that; he always had to make it about himself, can’t even leave you your death, can’t even leave you your place at the window.

You want to shove him away from it.

You want to shove him through it.

“If you insist.”

Close your eyes.

One.

Two.

Three.

—

Dr. Mortum does not smile, not until Angel flashes her a wicked grin and a bag of cash and a promise of more where that came from if— if— if—

She flips through the schematics, eyes brightening—the loose design, the necessities, the ideas—oh, you are going to do such great things together.

“It can be done, I assure you.”

“Excellent. My employer wants nothing but the best.”

—

The sound of waves takes the edge off the thump of a corpse hitting the ground, but you aren’t ready for it—you aren’t ready for the scent of rotting meat, rancid and cloying under the Los Diablos sun.

You open your eyes and when you look down, a dead girl is mangled, half gone. You think— she almost looks like your target.

Huh.

“That’s a bad idea, you know.”

Voice soft prying you know it and you groan, twist, turn, the sand uneven and blood-splattered.

He’s got that loose hold, hip jutted on a rock arms crossed, too casual for the teething gore surrounding them. Suit torn and eaten at, blood drip-drip-dripping down his arm where the skin is all gone, you keep waiting for them to crawl through the sand and eat you both alive. Maybe you won’t save him this time.

“Which one?” You ask, and when you look down you’re in the old suit, fitted like an infected wound. You yank at the collar, touch your cheek, your face— you’d covered your face here, hadn’t you? Yes.

He smiles. Shakes his head.

He hadn’t let them touch you, even when you collapsed, even when they wanted to help.

Not that it matters. None of it matters anymore.

“So you do care about my opinion?”

“No,” you murmur, choking down a gag—dead meat, food for the nanovores, food for the flies, “but that’s never stopped you before.”

“True,” he winks, running through the motions; what you remember, what you want to forget. Oh god you want to forget. You want to peel back this body and dig into the marrow and pull, pull, pull until the memories unravel in streams of violent orange.

He pushes off the rock, kicks his long legs out and walks too easily for a man that almost got eaten alive five minutes ago. “Walk with me?” He asks the way you don’t ask, you order, and throws his wounded arm over your shoulder, locking you hip to hip, no way out.

You sink under the weight, slotted to his side like a mismatched puzzle piece. Nothing about you fits, disjointed, dislocated. You’ve been shaped wrong for a long time now. They didn’t put all the parts back right. A doll unstitched and gutted for parts, but they didn’t— did they recycle you? Just medical waste and scars.

“You take me to the nicest places,” you say because it’s the only thing you can say when the sky looks like God wrapped his big meaty fist around it so tightly till it swelled and pinkened.

Black clouds on the skyline. Here they come. Don’t they know how strong you are now? How many webs you can weave? You crack your knuckles and almost smile.

Then you see: Tía Elena crosses herself in the background. She shouldn’t be here. It’s not safe. Why haven’t they evacuated all the civilians?

“Well, you never let me take you anywhere else,” he huffs, ignoring his mother as they walk on by, and that’s not— that’s not right?

It— no. You don’t want to be here. You can’t do that to him, not even now.

—

Fuck that’s good you’re invincible. The reckoning day is coming and when it does you’ll watch out for this one, you’ll remember her, how it felt to sit in her skin and move under it, but she can’t stop you. None of them can stop you now.

You smile and it’s sharp and cruel and silver. You almost almost almost want him to show up but the victory wouldn’t be quite as sweet, and you don’t really want to take a lightning bolt to the chest. Even if it wouldn’t slow you down, it’d still fucking hurt.

But it doesn’t matter. When you drive your foot into the golden boy’s chest you can feel his ribs crack a little bit and that’s even better. You’ll be riding the high of that for weeks after this. He’s a kicked puppy and you want— you want to kick him again, but there’s no time for that, no time for anything.

You wonder if Steel recognizes the grin right before you drop her like a body bag.

—

Gasp—jump spin dodge—near miss, fuck—Ortega laughed at the start but he’s not laughing anymore, smoke on the air, electricity crackling over his skin.

Fire off at its head one two, one miss, one hit. Head jerks, twists.

The thing-beast groans— don’t look at me i’m not here don’t look— “yOu...” guttural ugly it sees you, it sees you.

Run run run don’t touch me— “Noa!” He shouts and you stop drop and roll just in time for a blade to swing down, headsman’s axe, grazing the suit but not quite touching. Space where your body was empty, and it howls rage-snap.

“Mother— fucker!”

This. This you remember.

You remember the way its mind shucked the skin off your bones, all slick-blood drip drip drip. Gory, wrong, wound over wire, dirty fingernails scraping on the myelin, eating eating down down down— you remember: if you let it in it’ll kill you, cut your throat on its twisty edge thoughts as quick as a knife in hand.

You remember the images in your head— its plans, its ideas, the ways it was going to ply and split him down the middle like a rotten fruit. You couldn’t look at him for weeks. Almost. He was almost.

Almost.

Blink and the scene changes, and backup’s arrived, and you’re holding onto him, your mind pressed up against ITS just enough to make you both disappear. You threw up again and again afterward, but you still couldn’t forget, oil-slick.

not here we’re not here don’tlookatus

Then: you covered the wound with your own hands.

Now: you tilt your head to the side, pet his hair. It still doesn’t hurt as bad as the final impact, hitting the ground, or what came next. Suck it up.

“I told you,” he slurs, eyes half-mast, must be hazy from the blood loss. The human body can only take so much, even with the cutting edge mods. “I know all about that.”

“You don’t know anything. You don’t know anything at all.”

Hand over wound, you push down and he groans. You might as well save him again. You still haven’t had that showdown, and you’re gunning for a win. A dozen to one then, but you’ve gotten better, faster, smarter, your body catching up with your thoughts, and he doesn’t think at all. Doesn’t even matter if he did, you wouldn’t be able to hear it.

“C’mon, Noa,” that’s not your name, that’s the name he gave you—your name is a mouthful, he’d grinned and you’d rolled your eyes and flushed, but now it sticks like a stove burn—numbers and names and Noa, Noa, no one else has ever gotten close enough to name you— fuck you. “Throw me a bone here.”

“No.”

“Fine.” he gasps, chokes, but the words still spill loose, “but you can’t hate me for what you didn’t tell me.” He says, sounding so fucking reasonable while he’s bleeding out on your lap, and now you definitely have to save him, now you definitely have to make sure he lives, just so you can level him for that alone. Just wait, a feeling builds up in your chest, his day is coming and it’s coming fast.

“Don’t tell me what I can’t hate you for.” You want to snarl, a fighting dog, a dog fit for the ring, but it comes out weak, threadbare, and you hate the way your hands shake, the way your throat hardens up and each word is estranged from your mouth.

“At least give me a chance to prove you wrong.”

“Why?” Is that your voice? Small and weak, a child learning to make a fist, thumb tucked in. But you were never a child. You were never small.

“You know me,” he punches out a laugh and it breaks like a sob, “I love a challenge.”

“This isn’t a challenge, Ricardo. There’s just nothing left.”

—

He.

“November?”

He is.

“I thought you were dead—”

Older. Different. That feels wrong, wrong. He should be the same he can’t have changed that much. Fuck that moustache is ridiculous. He looks so heavy with grief, or is that just you, reflected back? A labyrinth of static.

It’s all blurry and too much, not enough, but maybe— for a moment— for a moment everything shatters, fingers under a suture, and maybe— it’s just a flash of his eyes, real and in front of you and not blurred by a late night show or security footage fight you only watched to make sure he still leads with his left sucker punch with his right and maybe—

“Are you still a telepath?”

You say yes and feel like a fool and you tell him a dash of the truth and you feel like a wound and you can’t hate me for what you didn’t tell me.

Your hands are shaking. You make a fist.

He wants— he wants something.

A raw crack down your spine and you smile and it feels wrong. Maybe it looks wrong. He won’t stop watching you like you’ll disappear if he blinks more than once, if he looks away, and maybe you will. Maybe you’re just ash and graveyard dirt held together with sutures and wire.

You want to crawl through the floor to someplace small and dark and cold where no one will ever find you again.

You tell him just enough, just enough to keep on hating him.

It’ll be easier that way.

—

Rewind.

“That’s a bad idea, you know.” He cackles as you thrust out a punch—miss—and dodge his return, feet sliding on the mat. You can’t believe you let him talk you into this, a friendly spar on Ranger soil.

“Which one?” Thrust dodge lock your ankle around his own, slipping up letting you get close like that, rookie mistake— twist of your hip— throw! and the satisfying slap of skin on the mat, his skin, his body hitting the ground, but he holds hard and pulls you down with him (if you go i go) and you land— oof! breathless and grinning and on top, finally, finally.

Fingers lock and you shift, thighs on either side, pin him down, his emitters humming biting pinching but you got him, and you aren’t letting go. A shiver skip-dances down your spine, static-charged.

“I win,” you growl, a winner’s grin biting into your cheeks, free and loose (where’s your mask?)

He squeezes your hand, sends a low-grade jolt up your palms sharp, just to see what you’ll do, jellyfish stings, and you squeeze back harder, lean down till you can feel his breath hot on your lips. You never got this close before, he’s so solid beneath you.

Ricardo, grinning back, a halo of black curls fanned out, sticking to his brow all slick with sweat, “what is that, a dozen to one?”

“Shut up,” he can’t take this from you, not yet, “don’t be a sore loser.”

“Actually, I’m enjoying myself quite a bit right now. I should let you win more often.”

“Fuck you,” but it tears out a laugh far too sweet for your mouth. You feel segmented and gentle, like a scorpion smashed on a rock left out to rot in the sun. Maybe he’ll take you home, run his fingers through your matted hair and not mind the stingers or the venom. You weren’t made for a laughter light like this, and if there was ever a time you could be it’s long gone now, but you still want him to touch you, a want like a scar healed wrong.

“Buy me dinner first— ah!” You let go just to crack your palm against the top of his head, anything to wipe that smug edge off, and— “okay, fine, I’ll buy dinner,” but this time when your hand comes down he catches it, brings it to his lips, soft on your palm— oh god, oh god it hurts.

“And then what?” You dare, you gasp, you’ve never been that bold—couldn’t afford boldness, always a coward at heart and that’s how he always won, but for a moment you let your fingers curl along his cheekbone. His eyes slide closed, kissing still—dart of tongue, tracing the line of your palm. How long is my life? How many children will I have? What do the cracks in the skin say? Maybe his mouth can divine something human in the shape of your hand, even if the lines there aren’t really yours, just a thing they gave you to play pretend.

“I don’t know,” he murmurs, still not giving you his gaze, a pained crush to his brow, “you did ask me to take you somewhere nice.”

“Did I?”

“Don’t you remember?”

“Liar. I never asked you to do anything.”

He smiles right on your skin, like a knife sliding under your gut—girl/deer, splayed out on the slaughterhouse floor of his kindness. The world hazes at the edges, curling up set aflame.

Somewhere nice. Too bad it can’t last.

Finally. Finally he looks at you. Sees you. How long has it been since someone hasn’t stared through?

“No, you didn’t. I wish you would have.”

—

Choking hard gasp and the phone screams or maybe you do. Your teeth throb.

The room is heavy dark save for the corners of curtained sunlight peeking through, the air scented thickly of cheap candles and candy wrappers. The sheets are sweat-slick and you can smell your own skin, the rawness of sleep on it. Musky. Unsterilized.

The fabric sticks and itches. Fingers under the hem, you toss the sweater aside, hear it thump damply against a wall.

Breathe. Hand to chest and yes, that’s your heart, rocking in your rib cage, slowing down. You breathe with in—ten—tion.

One.

Two.

Three.

Okay, you’re okay. You can do this. You can still do this.

—

“I don’t want to do this here.”

He holds out a plate of food, tilts his head to the side, the corners of his mouth twitching up. Pushes the plate into your hands, and you take it—just hold out something to someone and nine times out of ten they’ll take it without thinking, asking only after they’ve agreed to carry the burden.

Silly you, you never had a choice.

His apartment is soft and safe around the edges, and your heart gets sticky in your chest. You think maybe those are your books on his shelf, the ones you lost after—

“What’s wrong with here?” He shrugs, brushing past toward the table, beckoning you to follow with a grin and a nudge.

“I like it here.” You answer honestly, for once, and he beams, a light bright enough to burn.

“I know.”

“So why are you ruining it?”

“Ruining it?” Hurt. Smile gone.

“Take me somewhere else. Anywhere else.” Somewhere cruel and sharp as a scalpel to the throat. Psychopather or Overlord or the dilapidated construction ruin you jumped out of at the second story and broke your wrist because you made a deal— you agreed to a dare— race you to the bottom down the stairs— if you lose you have to answer my questions— and god, you didn’t want to answer anything, anything at all, and he’d screamed your name, cursed you out, told you don’t be an idiot what if you broke your neck and flinched when you snapped I was just following your lead.

“I can’t,” he shakes his head and you have to sit down, set the plate on the table before you drop it, wouldn’t want to break the fine china. Did his mother give him this? You think so; he’d taken such care, stacking each plate freshly hand washed before putting them away.

“Liar.”

“Not this time,” a loaded smile, a loaded gun, his fork twirls around on his plate. Shadow of a wrist and a vague gesture to the seams of the scenery. “This is all you. Your shape. What you made. I’m just along for the ride.”

“Then I’m not staying.”

Shrug again. Why won’t he do anything else? A looped tape, a slight glitch. Something’s wrong.

You’re wrong, maybe.

“Not even for dinner?”

You stand up. Pace. There are plans— things to be done— finishing touches— you can’t stay here. You can’t.

“What do you want, Noa?” He asks, so softly, so gently, it would be kinder if he killed you there, but you know he won’t; it’ll take a lot more than bad table manners to push him to that, but maybe you can do it. Maybe you can get him a little ruthless, even more desperate. You’ve seen it before, in flashes, coiling green under his skin. Won’t it be funny if he breaks before you do? No blood on your hands, not yet. What a record. Fitting, almost.

“I don’t know.”

“Are you hungry?”

“Why?”

“Hard to work on an empty stomach,” he shrugs again, fuck, stop doing that. Bare feet silent on the carpet and you find yourself back at the table, back in the chair, sitting across from him and there’s nowhere to go—

Blink.

Sterile antiseptic white walls and doctors— in your apartment— your neighbor? Yes, that’s your neighbor he accused you of staring once, the fuck are you lookin’ at? And you weren’t staring, at least not like that, but it took a soft nudge of don’t look at me for him to go all the same. Strange. You didn’t think a doctor would live here. It’s a bad side of town, but it’s good for sidestepping.

You think: I am going to wake up now.

Wait. No. You say this out loud. It comes through with the wet ache of drowning.

No. Wait. Your words roll back down your throat—you didn’t say it. You didn’t say anything at all. You never have.

All the words roll in but they’re not yours you’re fit to burst.

It must be nice being able to speak.

Not here.

Maybe that’s what it is to be human.

Get real, you think because you stick your fingers in a few skulls and cut your teeth on some gray matter while someone thinks about love you know what being human is?

I could. I could know.

They gave you a tongue and mouth and lips but you can’t kiss and you can’t make words, you can only patch together the syntax, call it real, call it human—but when you speak it’s always going to be with someone else’s voice, strangled out.

The walls are whiter now and the lights slice your skin like a hot knife through butter. It isn’t a cliff but a door you’ve already walked through and the ocean inside the warehouse inside the apartment is now a table with handcuffs. His table. Her table. You jerk your wrists and the metal clanks hard and fuck no not here not here please take me back i’m sorry i want to go back—

(he’s coming to get you)

(he wouldn’t leave you here)

(no time for the dramatics ricardo just get the door let’s blow this popsicle stand)

She smiles at you from across that metal table (wait) and tells you that you are never going to die (stop) because to die you have to be alive (i am i am i?) and you should know better by now we are going to do such great things together (please)

aren’t we,

aren’t we.

aren’t i?

wake up now- i want to— please.

—

You’re alone in the dark, the armor fits perfectly, and that’s all that matters.

(when you become a casualty revoked from the grave get ready a revenant coming back to eat them alive oh oh oh just you wait)

You think you’ll keep the name.

(sidestep and charge reunited again you can see the headlines now and fuck you can’t wait to see the look on his face you were always a pair maybe he’ll stop you wouldn’t that be something)

You don’t sleep.

—

He doesn’t stop you.

—

“Noa?”

“Yes?”

“You are... fine, right?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You’d tell me if something was wrong?”

“Of course I would.”

—

Your dreams are filmy, cracked wombs of (not not not) memories and gummy tissue. Press on it too hard and it moves back just the same but with a muscle deep ache. At least you know it’s a dream this time, and when you go up the stairs and find him there, you don’t hiss or spit or curse. You’ve done enough of that. He’ll carry the scars to prove it.

He’s looking out the window. He’s looking at you.

No, he’s looking at you. You flinch and you don’t know why.

“Really? Even here?”

“What?”

“Take the mask off at least. It’s been awhile since I’ve seen your pretty face.”

You reach up and your fingers find hard armor, not supple skinsuit. When you look back his face is different, older, not the poster-ready Marshal but aged, aching, and you ache with it, bone-deep.

You’re so tired. You wonder if he is too.

The helmet comes off. Drops with a thump.

You go to the window. After all, there’s nowhere else left, and he asked so nicely.

“What do we do now?” You ask, so softly. Still can’t look outside. Still don’t want to see what he sees. Better to watch him watch you. Now that you’re on the other side of things, you prefer it when you’re the one doing the bleeding—what a thing.

“I don’t know,” a laugh a sob or something in between, he crosses his arms and turns away, turns toward you. “Did you ever figure out what you want?”

“Yeah.”

You blink and he’s himself again, younger, more angular, a grin fit for the big screen on his handsome, handsome face. It’s easier to talk to him like this, the way you remember, the way it should be. Time didn’t move while you were gone, and you’re the only one still snapped in half.

A pause. Are you smiling now? It must be a sad little thing though, because his eyes soften up and a frown mars his forehead.

“I want to watch you grow old.”

“What, so you can keep on teasing me? That never stopped you before.”

“Shut up, I’m not done yet.” you whisper, stepping forward, stepping up to the cliff’s edge.

“I want to watch you grow old,” reaching for his hand, and he lets you have them both, cradled so carefully—and your gloves are black and armored and insulated, but not the most protected part of your body. Could he kill you with a surge? Maybe. “And I want to watch you die in a bed. Your bed.”

“A little morbid,” he murmurs but you’ve got to keep going, you’ve got to get it out, because once it’s out you’ll never have to look at it again. “But I guess that tracks.”

Turn over his hands, you thumb at his emitters. Hint of a spark, and you laugh and now it’s sob, now it’s a wound. You won’t look at him. “I want to watch the arthritis take your hands and I want to take you away from this fucking city and we’ll both be so bored out of our minds, we’ll start inventing problems just to fix them.”

“Careful, Noa,” hands turn over, running up your armored wrists, grasping at your forearms. “That almost sounds like a happy ending.”

Wedding vows for the dead. Neither of you ever had a chance. You don’t have one now.

“And we can’t have that.”

You look up. The sun’s on his face now, turning his eyes a shade of deep whiskey, and that’s how you want to remember him; alive under the sun, smile lines just forming, his nose a bit crooked from getting punched one too many times. You’ll be on the ground in a moment.

“No,” he agrees, grasping at your elbows now, pulling you close, and you cling to his in turn. “We can’t.” Flash and grin, and there he is, just like you remember. Challenging, challenger. No chance, and neither of you know when to quit. “Want to up the stakes a bit?”

“Always.”

You let go first. Of course. You turn to the window. You open it.

“Whoever falls fastest wins.”

“And what do I get when I win?” When, not if.

“A quick and painless death.”

“Fuck,” you breathe. “That’s a hell of a thing. How do I know you won’t cheat?”

“You don’t,” he winks, steps back, head tilt toward the window. Mirrored. You’ve got one hand on the windowsill and one hand curled around your gut, where he sunk that barb between the plates before you cracked his skull on the ground before all of Los Diablos. “You never do. Isn’t that part of the fun?”

You take your place at the window, you set your shoulders, look down. What’s he been looking at all this time?

Long way down, and you wait to see her; you, in soft skinsuit, teal and black and bloody and broken, but she isn’t there.

Just an ambulance, an end repeating itself.

“Person who falls the fastest, huh?”

“And hits the ground hardest.”

You climb up, clench your jaw.

It always ends like this.

“You’re on.”

#chargestep #fhr #mywriting #okay-- I have not slept. and that is indeed a problem. and this should probably get more than a cursory glance-over. alas.#there's running themes in here somewhere- I swear- but until then I'm going to sleep #ricardo strictly through noa's twisted memories and flawed perceptions and rage up until she finds him again - because yeah #(is it ortega? good question. she doesn't know either. but your (not) lover-slash-rival haunting your memories and dreams.. mhm.)

73 notes · View notes

untaemedqueen · 4 years

Text

The Lions Den

Mafia!Jiminx Wife!Reader

Genre: Mafia!AU, Smut, Fluff, Angst

Chapter 14.

Warnings: Smut, Blood, Guns, Knives, Excessive Cursing, Excessive Alcohol Intake, Smoking (Cigarettes and Cigars), Mental Health Issues

Warnings In This Chapter: Cunnilingus, Begging, Fingering, Degradation (Cock Slut, Slut, Cum Slut, Whore), Possessive!Jimin, Soft Dom!Jimin, Sub!Reader, Fellatio, Face Fucking, Marking, Pregnant Sex, Multiple Orgasms, Blood, Gorey Descriptions, Cut Body Parts

A/N: JIMIN AND Y/N ARE BACK BABY! And the drama never seems to cease. Shout out to my forever squad @ppersonna, @xjoonchildx, @ladyartemesia because I would be a shriveling mess without them.

TagList- @ayyyocee, @mysugabear03, @wisebtsgot7prune, @imaforeigner, @yeonkiminnie, @stories1907, @ppersonna, @brilee64, @gooplibrary, @vivpurple7, @xjoonchildx, @brightwingr5, @yaniposts22, @rjsmochii, @taeslittletiger, @pjmcth, @bts-chub, @kpoppingthempills, @kim-ji-hyeons-world, @jikooksgirl19, @yoong-i, @ruinsofangels, @absolutefantrash, @chiminies-noona, @eclectically-esoteric, @simplybree

Sequel to The Bird Cage

Jimin is a sweaty mess as he shoves the front door open.

"Kitten!?" He yells out to the quiet house.

How could he never have thought to fix the garden stones? His Minseok must be in so much pain!

"Baby!" He yells out again, throwing his car keys onto the table inside the entryway.

"She's on the third floor, Sir." Three says as she ushers Hawon into the kitchen.

Without a second thought, he sprints up the staircase.

His poor son. How could he let this happen?

He can hear small sniffles and whines as he rounds the second floor staircase.

"I know. It must hurt, huh baby?" He hears you whisper. He stops when he reaches the top landing, listening to how affectionate and sweet you are with your son.

"Mama." Minseok whines out and Jimin's heart clenches.

"Yeah baby?"

"Daddy. Want." Those two words fill him with gusto as he shoves off of the banister. His feet are quick as he enters the medical room.

"Daddy!" Minseok cries loudly, his chubby cheeks and nose inflamed red as he wipes his snot onto his arm.

"I'm here. Don't worry." He whispers as he kisses his son's forehead.

The gash on his leg was about three inches and deep enough to make him squirm uncomfortably. Seeing others bleed, people that deserve it doesn't bother him in the slightest. Seeing his son bleed is a whole other ball park.

He puts his hand on your back as you cover the cut with gauze. You look up at your husband, giving him a small smile before kissing Minseok's cheek.

"All done changing your bandage, big boy!" You cheer and he whimpers as he moves his leg. He holds his arms out to his father as you push away the rolling medical tray.

"What about the pain?" Jimin whispers quietly as he picks up Minseok.

"Baby Tylenol for now. That's about it. But, he's a big strong boy, right Seokie?" You ask as he buries his face into his father's neck.

"Yeah mama." He says, earning smiles from both of his parents.

Jimin's hand rubs circles over his back as you walk out of the medical room with one another.

He could already feel Minseok's head growing heavier on his shoulder.

"He must be so tired from crying and the pain." He tells you, following behind as you walk towards the bedroom.

You hum to him, wiping your hands on your tight fitting dress as he opens up the kids room.

"You should have seen it...The scream was...it fucking hurt me. I felt like I was shot." You murmur as your husband steps inside to lay down your tired son.

He clicks his teeth before nodding. He can't imagine what you must have felt to see your son hurt.

Hawon was always a careful baby. She never ran unless it was on grass without even being told so. But Minseok is getting rowdier and more energetic as each day passes. He is his father's son through and through.

As a father, he couldn't bear to see his children in pain. But you, the mother that bore them, he could only imagine how horrible and painful it was to see it.

Your husband flicks on the night light before turning to you. His sweaty hands wipe at the knees of his pants before opening his arms. On instinct you coddle inside of them, holding him tightly to you like you would never let go.

"How's our little bean?" Jimin whispers in your ear as his hand glides over your stomach.

"They're okay." You whisper as he holds you closer to his side.

"Let's rest while he does. You know the ball of energy he will be when he wakes up, stitches or not." He teases you before kissing your temple.

The walk to the bedroom is short, but just having your husband by your side is enough to make a second feel like the greatest eternity. Lion passes you both with gentle footsteps as you enter the master bedroom.

With a short sprint, Jimin lets go of your hand before running and jumping on the bed. With a giggle, you lean against the bedpost. Your ankles cross as you press your temple against the varnished wood.

He pulls his gun out from the back of his pants, absentmindedly, he tosses it onto the bedside table. Running his fingers through his hair, his tongue licks at his lips before patting the bed with a wry smile.

“My Kitten has had a long, hard morning hmm?” He whispers, earning a gentle snort from you.

“Yeah. A long morning. I saw Jin fucking my sister this morning. Now, this. Our son getting hurt. It’s been so stressful.” Jimin laughs loudly at your words.

“I can’t possibly imagine the scarring you’ve earned from seeing that.” He mumbles as you kneel on the bed.

He copies your stance, kneeling in front of you as he begins to unbutton his shirt.

“So let me get this straight. You stitched up our beautiful son, ran out to get documents from the office and just so happened to see your sister fucking her husband?” He inquires jokingly as he throws his crisp charcoal shirt to the floor.

You shiver at the memory as his hands wrap around your body, his fingers finding the zipper of your dress easily.

“It was awful.” You mumble as he leans in towards you.

His lips press against the soft skin of your neck, sending tingles along your body as he slowly pulls your zipper down.

“Chim.” You whisper as he gives soft, open mouthed kisses. His hands pull down the dress to your knees before laying you down.

“How were they fucking? Over your desk? Against a wall?” He teases as he straddles you. He discards your dress with ease, throwing it onto one of the armchairs by the chess table.

“Don’t be disgusting.” You reply, smacking his shoulder with little strength. He chuckles against your skin before kissing down your chest.

Pulling down the cups of your bra, your breasts spring up. The chilly air of the bedroom brings your nipples to stiff peaks.

“Still sore, baby?” Your husband asks sweetly as he kisses down the valley of your breasts.

You hum in agreement to him as his hands run over your bare sides. His eyes meet yours as his mouth slowly glides over your swelling breast. His lips pluck at your nipple, his tongue swirling around the sensitive skin. You let out a gentle whine, your back bowing off of the bed as his arms coddle around you.

He holds you close and steady, adoring how you undulate beneath him. You were still his precious woman, the only woman who could make him feel. Love or otherwise, he could feel because of you. The beautiful woman who has birthed his children.

He hums against your breast, his thumbs swirling comforting circles around your sides. You could feel your heartbeat quickening. Your hands run through his hair as he switches to your forsaken breast.

“You’re so beautiful, Kitten. Thank you for being mine.” He whispers before latching on to your forsaken nipple.

Mewls and gentle whimpers rip from your throat as your legs widen for him. You could feel your stomach coiling with desire, your mind heavy with arousing thoughts as his lips continue to trail downward.

His lips stop at your stomach, you weren’t showing much yet it is still early on and yet, just knowing his child is growing within you sets him on edge. He kisses down your stomach, eyes still locked on yours.

You squirm your hips as his fingers hook into the sides of your thong. Pulling them down, he stops at your garter before pulling the knife out with a gentle snap.

“What if Minseok wakes up?” You whisper to your husband as he nips at the skin of your inner thigh.

“Then we’ll stop, obviously. But, I think he’s quite tired from all the stress today.” Jimin tells you as he kisses towards the apex of your thighs.

Your breath catches in your throat as he parts your slick lips. With a gentle groan, he suckles and kisses at your lips before licking a flat stripe up your weeping sex.

Your body feels weightless as you moan for him, your whole body pressing deeper into the bed as he lavishes upon you.

“You taste so fucking sweet, Kitten.” He murmurs with wonder in his voice, before giving small licks to your swelling clit.

Your bottom lip tucks between your teeth as your head lolls back, taking in the pleasure he gives you so freely.

“Fuck! Daddy!” You whine.

His hand leaves your thigh to play with your soaked entrance. You squirm beneath him, impatiently waiting to feel his fingers enter you.

“Please, Daddy. Please.” You beg as you card your fingers through his soft locks.

“Easy, Kitten.” He whispers before entering a finger into you without warning.

The gasp you give has his cock twitching in the confines of his pants. He adores every sound you make, every heavy breath that falls from your lips. So completely his, and he’s so lucky to have you.

His lips attach back to your clit, suckling greedily as he pumps his finger inside of you at a steady pace. He adores the way your back bows off of the bed, begging for more with each moan you give.

Curling his finger up, he can’t help but ogle how much of your arousal coats his finger before adding another to heighten your pleasure.

The pleasure is white hot and coursing through you at an even speed as your hips lift to meet his every pump.

“You’re such a greedy little cock slut. Dying to get off on just my fingers and then some.” He says before rearing back and spitting on your cunt.

You shiver at the motion, panting heavily as he curls his fingers quicker inside of you.

Your ears begin to get fuzzy, hearing your heartbeat slowly build louder.

“Pregnant little slut dying to get off on Daddy’s fingers. Isn’t that right, Kitten?” You nod fervently at his words.

“Yes! Fuck! I’m your little slut, I want Daddy to make me feel so good.” You whine out as he licks your clit faster.

“You’re so fucking wet. Soaking the bed like the pretty little slut you are.” He mutters as his irises find yours.

He watches with rapt fascination, his cock twitching and precumming at the sight of you becoming a mess for him.

You feel it then, the invisible band within you tightening so tightly that it will snap at any moment.

“That’s it, Kitten. Cum all over my fingers. Show me who you belong to.” Your husband teases as your legs spread wider.

With a gentle gasp, the band inside of you breaks. You press your hand to your moan as you cum for him. Sobs of pleasure rip from your throat as your hips gyrate, wanting to feel every ounce of pleasure you can get.

Jimin groans at the sight, his free hand already unbuttoning his suit pants. His lips press to your stomach, giving sweet kisses as he waits patiently for you to come down from your high.

You blink slowly, trying to push away the spots of pleasure that flecked your vision in that time.

“Come suck on Daddy’s cock.” He mumbles before pulling out of you gently.

His soaked fingers enter his mouth and he moans at your sweet taste as you sit up for him.

“Your pregnant pussy tastes so fucking good.” He says through clenched teeth as you pull down his pants and briefs.

His cock springs out, slapping his stomach with a heady sound and you can’t help but lick your lips at the sight. It’s always impressive and always fills you with gusto knowing that he’s yours and yours only to please.

He lays down beside you, his hands running over the soft skin of your thighs as you discard his attire elsewhere.

He hums to himself as you situate yourself between his thighs.

Bowing down you kiss and lick at his cut up abs, adoring the gentle sigh he gives at the contact.

“Fuck, I love you.” He whispers as his eyes flutter shut.

You give a playful him as your lips trail lower, kissing over his hard length.

The mushroom tip of his cock was flushed red with need. Precum weeping generously as you grasp it within your palm.

He gasps gently, his hands finding the sides of your head before pulling your hair into a makeshift ponytail.

Licking your lips, your head bows down lower.

“Fuck.” He curses before parting his lips with anticipation.

Your tongue swirls around the head of his cock before dipping down. His head falls back to the pillow with a heavy thump as his hips lift.

“Just like that, Kitten. You suck my cock so well. Fuck me.” He seethes through clenched teeth.

With a whimper, you work your mouth on his cock. His precum coating your tongue as he lets out a low hiss of pleasure.

His free hand roams over your throat before tapping it harshly.

“Take it all in, baby. I want to feel your slutty throat around me like a cocksleeve.” You moan at his words.

Doing as asked, you swallow around him as his fingers pluck and roll your nipple between his fingertips.

“I can’t fucking wait till your tits get milky again for me. Nice and swollen with my baby’s milk.” He mumbles as you moan at the pleasurable feeling.

You could feel your stomach unfurling with wanting once more as your nose nestles to his pubic bone.

With a groan, he presses your head down farther. His tongue licks at his lips before calling your attention to him. As your eyes lock, he gives a small smirk that sets off butterflies within your stomach.

“I’m going to fuck your mouth now, Kitten.” You hum in agreement as your hands grasp onto his thighs.

His hips snap up and you whimper, begging your gag reflex to behave as he moans loudly. His hand clamps over his mouth as he begins to fuck your mouth with unrelenting thrusts.

“Fuck. Look how well you take my cock in your mouth. God. You’re so fucking amazing!” He moans out as your eyes begin to water.

Fat tears brim in your eyes before rolling down your cheeks as he gasps and groans at the pleasure.

Your thighs press together at the sheer eroticism. Adoring the way he mumbles your name as he dives into his pleasure. His eyes catch your gleaming thighs, the way they rub together for relief.

“Look at how much of a cum slut you are, baby. You need to press your pretty little thighs together as I fuck your throat. Hmm? You’re such a minx.” He punctuates his words with harsh thrusts and groans loudly into his hand as you gag on him.

“Your mouth feels so good, baby. Fuck!” He curses loudly as his eyes roll back.

You could feel his cock thickening with every thrust. His moans get shorter and deeper with each passing second.

“Oh Christ! Fuck, baby. I’m going to cum.” He announces quietly as he holds your head down against him.

“Swallow it and show me.” He seethes out before letting out a long groan.

His cock twitches rapidly before his warm seed bursts in your mouth and down your throat. You swallow diligently as his thighs twitch and become stiff.

Whimpering gently, you lift off of him before showing him your empty mouth.

He gives a lazy smile before sighing happily.

“Good girl, Kitten.” You wrinkle your nose at his praise.

His arms lace around you before laying you down. He discards your bra as his knees knock your legs open.

“I love you, baby. So fucking much.” He says.

“I love you, too.” You whisper as his hands grip onto your hips.

He pulls your body down towards his, situating you however he likes. His lips suckle at the base of your throat, leaving small marks as he ruts his cock against your core.

The underside of his cock parts your soaked pussy lips and you grip tighter onto his arms as the friction between you both turns to pleasure.

He aligns himself to your entrance, kissing you deeply as he begins to inch his way inside of you. Both of your mouths drop open at the feeling, small groans leaving the both of you only to be swallowed by the other.

“God, your pregnant pussy feels so fucking tight. Jesus.” He says breathlessly as he sits up on his knees.

He watches as his cock disappears inside of you, his eyes flutter shut as the bulbous head meets your soft cervix before stilling.

He lets you adjust to him, kissing over your neck and breasts as he holds you closer.

"You feel so good around me, baby." He whispers in your ear.

His teeth nibble gently on your earlobe as he pulls out of you slowly before snapping his hips back into you. Your hands grip at his arms, back lifting off of the bed as you moan.

"Oh shit." You whine as you wrap your legs around his waist, wanting all of him inside of you.

His hands grip your hips harder, pulling you down on his cock faster as he sets a rigorous pace. You could feel yourself beginning to drool, the pleasure muddling your mind and your senses filling you only with him.

"Daddy! Fuck! Feels so good!" You moan out.

He groans in agreement, sweat beginning to build on his hairline as his bottom lip tucks between his teeth. His moans are like music to your ears.

You could feel the band tightening within you again, pleasure coursing through your body.

"Your pregnant little cunt is wetting my cock so nicely, Kitten. Making Daddy feel so fucking good." He murmurs as his eyes roll back.

His hand reaches the apex of your thighs, he rubs fierce circles on your clit as he angles your legs higher.

The new angle makes you feel so much more full. You find your eyes welling with pleasured tears as your husband curses and grunts above you.

"Fuck, your dripping. You like my big cock, Kitten? Like getting drilled like a fucking whore?"

You can't even find words to reply, just whimpers and mewls as you nod fervently.

"Yeah. I bet you like it. Like getting a fat load of cum up your pregnant cunt. Love walking around with my cum dripping out of you, reminding you who you belong to." He seethes through his teeth.

Your hands find your breasts, pinching and rolling your nipples gently as he lifts your hips higher.

You could feel it then, your orgasm oncoming. Closing your eyes, your tears spill over your cheeks once more as he whispers your name like a prayer.

"Oh fuck, you're getting so tight baby. You gonna cum for me? Gonna cum on my big cock? Hmm?" He teases you.

Knocking one of your hands away, his lips attach to your nipple suckling sweetly as you press your palm to your mouth.

"Daddy. I'm going to cum! Yes! Yes!"

He shivers at your words, finding the strength within himself to fuck you faster. Without warning you orgasm for the second time. The stars of the galaxy paint the back of your eyelids as you babble your husband's name.

"Oh shit! Good girl, Kitten! You got so tight! Fuck!" He whines as he plants his hands on either side of your head.

Driving himself home, he takes in how gorgeously fucked out you are beneath him. How your boneless body trembles with the aftershocks of pleasure.

"Oh baby, I'm gonna cum a fat load into your pregnant pussy. Jesus." He whines as he screws his eyes shut.

With a stunted groan his hips stutter before ropes of cum lather the walls of your battered cunt. You gasp at the warmth as he pulls you close to him. He gives a few small strokes riding out his high before sighing loudly and pressing his face into your neck.

"Fuck." He curses gently before pulling out of you and laying at your side.

With an exhausted yawn, you turn your head to him as his hand lands on your stomach.

"I love you." He whispers, kissing your temple with feather light movements.

With a giggle you wrap your arms around his neck, "I love you too."

There's a welcome moment of silence as you lay in one another's arms. Your eyes drift from the bookcase on the wall upwards towards the two paintings that were given to you by your husband.

He hums gently beside you as your eyelids start to become heavy. He can feel your head becoming dead weight on his arm and the warm smile that spreads over his face could rival the sun.

It's a sharp whinge that rouses you. Jimin's head lifts almost at a supersonic speed.

"I'll go get him. You just rest, okay Kitten?" He whispers lovingly to you.

You hum in agreement as your eyes flutter shut once more.

You're stirred awake by muffled grunts and groans. With the furrow of your eyebrows, you run your hands through your hair as you sit up.

You shiver as your feet meet the chilly floor. You strewn your silk robe over you before peeking out the window of your bedroom towards the vast backyard.

Your husband is working on the moon yak jong as Minseok sits up watching him with fascinated eyes. You giggle to yourself as you lean against the closed terrace door. You can see how quick and agile he is like this, how all of his perfectly carved muscles contort and flex. You sigh happily before hearing a knock at your bedroom door.

Your feet pad over to the door quietly before opening it to the familiar face.

“Oh, Hoseok.” You say happily.

“Hi.” He mumbles as he looks around the room. You tilt your head slightly before realizing he’s looking for your husband. He looks nervous and it makes you suspicious.

“He’s downstairs in the garden practicing Wing Chun.” You notify him, you give him a smile anyway even though your suspicions don’t stop growing.

He hums in reply before leaning on the door jamb, his ankles cross and you raise an eyebrow as he clears his throat.

“I’m taking Three outside today.” He says quickly.

Your eyebrows jut upwards at his words, your eyes narrowing at him as he rubs his hands together nervously.

“Oh are you now?” Your voice is laced with a venom that makes his eyes flutter shut. He nods slightly as his lips press into a straight line and you feel pity for him that he’s so nervous, truly.

“I-I know you don’t really like her but I do so… I wanted to take her with me to the warehouse and spend the day with her…Please.” Well this was news to you. His feeble attempt at making his voice sound strong hits you in all the heart warming places.

You cross your arms as you clear your throat. You hadn’t really thought about who Hoseok liked or who he wanted to fuck. You certainly would never have thought it was Three. Your annoyance and dislike is so strong for her that you don’t even seem to truly pay attention.

“You like her? Like, you want to fuck her?” You ask furrowing your eyebrows.

“I mean- I don’t know about- I just want to- I don’t know.” He stutters and you want to sigh so heavily but you will yourself to behave.

Maybe your hatred for this maid is one that is made up of a misunderstanding. Maybe, just maybe she’s a good person. You’ve never known enough to even try to understand her.

You look at your perfectly manicured nails before peeking up at him. How still and wrought with nervousness he is even if he tries to play it off like he has nerves of hardened steel. You feel for him. Truly. He’s always been a great friend to you. He deserves to be happy. And, if it’s with this girl then...so be it.

“There is no progression without regression.” You tell your friend as you place your hand on his shoulder. He begins to smile then, the smile you’ve grown to love.

“Are you saying she is a regressive state for me?” He quips to you as he folds his arms.

You give a gentle snort before sighing.

“Go ahead. Take her to the warehouse. Spend time with her.” You say as you step back inside the room. You give him a wink as his smile widens even further.

“Thanks Y/N.” He whispers.

You hum in reply as you shut the door. You can hear him muttering beyond the lion carved wood as you walk back towards the terrace. Opening the door you call your husband. He looks up with a big smile as he picks up your son.

“You better go and get some more maids! They’re dropping like flies!” You call out to him, earning a raised eyebrow from him.

Descending the third staircase, your eyes catch Taehyung as he steps onto the second landing. His hands fix his leather jacket before hearing your feet creaking the wooden steps above him. His neck cranes up to you as you descend towards him.

“Hey Boss lady!” He says holding out his hand for a high five. With a snort you high five him back.

“Where are you going?” You ask at his piece meal attire.

“Hyejin wants cold noodles, so I do as I’m told.” He says, earning a laugh from you as you walk down the staircase together.

“Is she feeling any better? She texted me and told me she had morning sickness.” He gives a nervous chuckle before looking over at you.

“Morning sickness like being tied up and couldn’t go anywhere.” He clarifies.

You shove his shoulder with a grimace as he laughs loudly.

“You’re a piece of work Kim Taehyung.” His smile is a million watt as you both step into the entryway.

“Hey, gotta keep the relationship spicy. Y’know what I’m sayin’?” He jeers as he grabs his car keys off the hook.

“I don’t know what you’re ‘sayin’ and I’m perfectly fine with that.” He wrinkles his nose at your imitation before rubbing his hand over your flat stomach.

“Bye Boss lady and nephew.” He cheers before opening the door.

“It could be a girl!” You call to him and he waves off the notion through the crack in the door before closing it behind him.

You giggle as you shake your head. Kim Taehyung will always and forever be a piece of work.

“Who was that?” You hear your husband call to you as he enters the sitting room.

You turn to him as he holds Hawon’s hand with Minseok on his hip.

“Tae. He’s going to get Hyejin food.” You tell him as Hawon shakes his hand away before running at you.

“Watch the baby.” Jimin reminds her as she wraps her arms around your legs.

With a giggle you squeeze her tighter to you as she buries her face into your thigh.

"We're both home for once. This is crazy." You tell your husband who nods at your words.

He sits down on the couch before sighing happily.

"Crazy, huh? We haven't had a family day in forever." His hand rubs over Minseok's back as he clings to his father's neck.

Your husband slowly fixes your son's leg, trying to ease any unwanted pain he might gain.

"Let's make some food for ourselves for on-" Jimin begins to say before the front door is shoved open by Jin.

You jump at the loud noise. Taking in his sweaty and disheveled appearance, you put your hand over your heart. In his hands is a white box.

Your sister walks in behind him and you grimace at the memory of them fucking on your desk.

She disregards your look, shoving past her husband and you.

"Where is Jisuk?" She asks quickly.

You point upwards towards the second floor, “He’s taking a nap.”

“Let’s go get ice cream, hmm?” She asks your children before pulling Minseok from Jimin’s arms.

“What’s happening?” You ask her quickly as she tugs Hawon away from your leg. She gives you a weary look before rushing up the stairs towards her son without a word.

Your husband opens his mouth to speak as Jin walks towards you both with the white box.

“We have to talk.” He says setting down the box on the coffee table.

He watches his wife run up the stairs leaving Hawon at the bottom step. You feel your throat tightening at the quickness of the situation. Something is clearly wrong and you feel your body begin to shake with worry.

Jimin is quick to take in your stance before pulling you into his side. His hand comes to rest on your flat stomach as his eyes roam upward towards the stairs. Your sister comes barreling down the stairs without a word.

“Tell mommy and daddy how much you love them.” She says to your children as she grabs her car keys.

“Love you mommy!” Hawon says happily and your heart strings tug at her innocence.

“I love you too baby.” You call back to her as your sister shoves open the front door.

“Let’s go get ice cream! Come on!” She says to your daughter as she holds both boys in her arms. She looks over at you, her eyes wide with worry.

The sound of the door rattles you to the bone as you both look at Jin. He sighs loudly before putting his hands in his pockets. He nods at the box before sitting down in the sitting chair beside the table.

With a raised eyebrow your husband puts his hands on the box. His body blocks your sight from the box as he opens it.

He groans almost too loudly before shutting the flaps quickly. He thickly swallows before tilting his head towards you.

“Don’t look in the box.” He whispers before pushing your body behind his.

“What is it?” You ask nervously as he kisses your forehead.

“Body parts.” He mumbles and your stomach churns with queasiness. An involuntary whimper leaves your lips and you can only think the worst.

“Is it… one of us?” You ask as he runs his hands up and down your arms soothingly.

“No. It’s Detective Kyul.” He says and your eyes widen.

What could you guys possibly have to do with him? Why would you be getting parts of him?

“Why?” You ask a little too loudly.

“Where’d you find this?” Jimin asks, ignoring your question.

“It was a delivery.” Jin says as he folds his arms.

Jimin sighs loudly. So many questions run through his head as the front door bursts open with Namjoon and Jenny.

He holds a white box in his hand and you put your hands over your face. Joon eyes the box on the table before holding his box up.

You can see how shaken up Jenny is and you step out from behind your husband to comfort her.

“We need to have a meeting.” Jimin calls everyone as Namjoon steps down the entry way with Jenny by his side.

“I have no idea who the fuck this is bu-” The door opens to Taehyung and Hoseok with Three right behind them.

They take in the situation before holding up their boxes and you feel bile beginning to rise in your throat.

Jenny rushes over to you and you hug her tightly. Your nervousness seems to have dissipated to take care of the shaking girl in front of you.

Hoseok whispers something into Three’s ear and you watch her rush past all of you towards her room downstairs.

“Body parts, I’m guessing?” Jin asks as his head cranes to the others coming in.

They nod in unison.

Your head is spinning, unable to think coherently.

“Go into the kitchen and have a glass of wine. We all have to talk.” She swallows nervously before nodding.

“Put ‘em over here.” Jimin says before pointing at the table.

As they all step inside, Jeongguk bursts through the front door with a cardboard box stumbling on his drunken feet.

You narrow your eyes at his appearance but there’s too much going on to confront him.

“Got your body parts.” He slurs as Jimin points to the table.

“Sit down, baby.” Your husband tells you and you haven’t even noticed how your legs are quivering and shaking.

He helps you sit down before carding his fingers through his hair.

“I can never just have a good day with my family.” He jokes but you can hear the angry bitterness behind it.

Yoongi enters the open front door with a box before shutting it behind him. He presses his lips into a straight line as he walks into the sitting room.

“Well nice to see you all here.” He whispers as he drops the box unceremoniously on the table.

Taehyung and Guk sit on the floor in front of the table as the rest of the guys take seats on the couch and sitting chairs.

“So…” Jimin whispers before cursing gently and hanging his head as he presses his hands to his face.

He’s at a loss of what to do. Where did these come from? Why was Kyul being delivered to them?

“Does this have anything to do with the Ims? With the letter they’ve received?” You ask your husband.

He doesn’t respond as he shuts his eyes tightly. He lets out a long, deep sigh before standing up. He weaves through all of the legs before pouring himself a glass of whisky.

He holds the glass to his lips as he stares at the front door. His eyes narrow before slamming the glass down drawing everyone’s attention. His legs take off towards the front door as a shadow fleets through the opposite side of the stained glass door.

He rips the door open as he draws his gun. A big white cardboard box sits on the front mat as he cocks his gun. Shutting one eye, he trains his gun on the moving delivery man as he takes off on his moped. He grunts as he gets out of range before kicking the box out of frustration.

“Taehyung, come help me.” He says as he drags the box inside.

Taehyung jumps up to help and they both groan as they grab the box from the floor.

“Fuck.” Jimin curses loudly as they slowly walk back to where you are all sat.

You grimace and look up at the ceiling as the box slaps the ground heavily.

All the men sit forward as Taehyung opens up the box.

Detective Kyul in bits and pieces sits in the box. Jeongguk pulls his head out of the box before grimacing. Your eyes catch the bloody head and you lean over the arm of the couch before heaving loudly.

“Fuckin’ idiot. Put it down!” Jimin tells his younger brother as his hand rubs comforting circles over your back.

“What does this mean?” Yoongi asks as he pulls your hair off of your shoulders.

“It means we have to have a meeting.” Jimin mumbles as he looks back down into the bloody box.

#the lions den #btscreatorscorner #thebtswritersclub #btswritingcafe #ficswithluv #mafia!au #mafia!jimin #jimin smut #jimin fluff #mafia!bts

306 notes · View notes

johannstutt413 · 3 years

Text

(requested by anonymous)

The Doctor didn’t enjoy dealing with her bullshit even on the best days, admittedly; she came into his office, talking shit about other Operators and the past and wasting his time. It was enough to drive him up a wall, but he’d kept things bottled up until now because, as the head of HR, it’d be a nightmare trying to find a high-ranking enough third party to adjudicate the paperwork.

There were two problems with this afternoon. First, it was not a ‘best day,’ or even a ‘good day’. No, today was a terrible day, all things considered - all his usual outlets were on missions, his unusual outlets were also on missions or otherwise occupied, and the Doctor hadn’t eaten lunch. Second, she was coming home, and she’d have Doctor-pestering high on her list of priorities, and despite his best efforts, he had no way of getting her on another mission to keep her away from him.

So, at fifteen minutes before he’d be free to go home, the Sarkaz stepped into his office, threw her boots off in front of the threshold, and closed the door behind her as she posted up on the couch. “Business as usual?”

“I’m leaving in fifteen minutes,” he replied, not looking up from his computer. “What do you want?”

“Feisty today? A little pent-up aggression, always nice to see.”

He felt his blood pressure physically rising. “W-”

“I just wanted to say hi.” She flattened out, lying on her stomach, tail swishing back and forth. “You get so soft when I leave for too long.”

“You didn’t leave for long enough,” the Doctor bit back, fingers hitting the keys harder than strictly necessary now. Twelve minutes, twelve minutes-

-W had unplugged his computer to charge her phone. “This go to anything important?” She held the cord up.

“I’m done. I’m fucking done.” From beneath his hood, purple smoke began trailing out from where his eyes would be as he turned towards her. “Plug my computer back in, disconnect your charger, and get the fuck out of my office.”

“Oooh. This is new.” The Sarkaz hadn’t move to do anything he’d just said. All that’d changed was the width of her smile.

Something snapped - literally, as a pen in the Doctor’s pencil holder cracked in half. “Get. OUT.”

“And miss the sho-” This was around the point her throat stopped working properly. “Wha...Doc...”

“If I’d thought this would shut you up, I would have started doing this sooner. Now leave.” A mental flick-of-the-wrist, and she was thrown from the couch to the door.

She dusted herself off, stood up, and walked back towards the couch. “So you are still there, after all.”

“You didn’t get the message.” He tossed her back, along with her charger and phone. “LEAVE.”

“...You first.” W was behind him, gun at his neck.

He twisted it into scrap metal before sending her back where she came. “LEAVE.”

“While you’re still alive? Fat chance.” Oh, a grenade? This was getting to her. “You killed her.”

“I haven’t killed anyone...yet.” There was no more smoke in his eyes. Only fire.

The Sarkaz pulled the pin and tossed it - no, make that about six grenades, to be safe - directly onto his desk. “You killed Theresa.”

“I don’t know who you’re talking about, now LEAVE you dumb bitch!” The door opened behind her as the force of six grenades blasted her through the other side. He sighed heavily as he closed the door again; this was far too taxing on hi-

“Don’t play dumb.” W’s knife was at his throat. “Say it. Say you killed her.”

He twisted her wrist, knife falling from her hand, but his power was fading fast. “I’ve only thought about killing one person, and that’s you! Who the hell was Theresa?”

“Who was-” And with speed that the Doctor simply could not account for, she slashed at his face with her untwisted hand.

“Who was Theresa?” She’d knocked him back, so he followed him to the floor, knee against his chest. “She was a saint.”

Feeling his ribs threatening to crack, he played his last card. “Then you’ll never see her again.”

“No-” Before finishing her line, the world blurred for a moment, and the Sarkaz was floating in a void. A very familiar void.

“The medics will find us soon enough; I pressed the button to call for them. Killing you isn’t worth the paperwork.” The Doctor’s voice, from everywhere and nowhere at once. “The feeling’s mutual, that’s plain to see. You annoy me to death because you wanted proof I was the same man you hated before, then? I can understand that, at least. When we eventually wake up, I might even let you have another shot. I’m at my limit - can’t finish the job - so you’ll have the perfect chance. Let’s go over what that would accomplish, though.”

“This Theresa person worked for us? Oh...she led Rhodes Island originally? Under the name Babel? Ah, it’s been awhile since I indexed someone else’s memori- oh...Oh...OH...Fuck, I...That’s...I understand now.”

Her voice, but in a tone she’d lost some years ago, echoed into her own ear. “Understand what, Doctor?”

“I had a hand to play in this you’s brokenness after all, then. Doing that to, to her was never...oh God, what did he do?”

“He?” A more familiar variation of herself. “Don’t you mean ‘you,’ queen-slayer?”

“That creature wears my face but isn’t me, I promise you that. His genuine contempt for the world is plain, and I don’t...I’m sorry, W.”

“...” Another person’s voice, one that brought tears to the Sarkaz’s immobilized eyes. “You’re forgiven.”

#arknights #arknights fic #w (arknights)#i would telekinetically blast her into walls if I could #but anyways #probably not what anon thought of when they said sees through her mask #but it's the more likely truth than her being interested in him #that's for sure

15 notes · View notes

harcourtholmesii · 4 years

Text

An Officer’s Loyalty (Part 2)

Pairing: Medic X Reader

Words: 2184

Warnings:

- Heavily Referenced and Implied Abuse

- Violence and Blood

- Death and Murder

- Swearing

- Intimidation and Threats

Enjoy!

Surely this was a dream; nothing like this would have ever happened in real life, and goodness knows this was the most surreal experience in your line of work.

The little steel, foldable chair you were sat upon was in the middle of a very near empty room, save for the haphazardly crafted poker table in front of you. You could see the scratchiness of chipped paint and chalk lines that marked the players’ cards and chips. It was rustic, crude and above all; cheap. Mann Co had at least given BLU the tall, cement building with wide windows and high-tech security. In this place, it seemed the security was reduced to the Engineer’s own sentries with a desert painted curtain ‘disguising’ the base’s entrance.

Before you stood four of what should have been your enemies. Being this close was disconcerting, and you felt a little betrayed when you had been told it would just be Medic and Engineer. True, they were there, but so were RED Spy and Heavy.

Heavy sat on a chair similar to yours, weight resting against the wall, grey eyes watching you closely. Much more specifically, his grey eyes observed every twitch of your fingers, every shift of your foot and every motion of your eyes to your empty handgun. Whether he was aware it lacked ammunition, you didn’t know, but your concern was how he sat just beside the entrance, his ‘Sasha’ resting just beside his right boot.

Spy was leaning against the opposing wall, him and Heavy guarding your only escape route. He had a cigarette between his lips; wisps of grey smoke rising into the air. There was the bitterness of the nicotine, but the faintest sweet scent of strawberries. He glared at you from where he stood, his left hand busy whipping about his butterfly knife in a deft display of skill. No doubt he was trying to intimidate you.

It irked you to no end that it was working.

Engineer sat on the crude gaming table, hands in his lap and offering a kind of tense smile. He had removed his helmet, revealing his naked scalp, but unlike Heavy and Spy he had no weapons on hand. At least, none that you could see. For all you knew, he could have a hidden sentry in the room, just awaiting his command. You had taken to wearing Medic’s coat since you first passed by the outside curtain, all sentries training on you for that brief moment your uniform was exposed.

Speaking of the German, he stood just a ways behind Engineer, offering Heavy a few, muted signals. You curled inwards, unintentionally pulling Medic’s coat tighter around your form. The heat was unwelcome and the metallic smell of blood and gunpowder reminded you of your place. However, seeing the man in a much less ‘professional’ light, dressed in a sweater vest despite the weather, was a strange form of comfort.

‘Want a drink, Officer?’ Engineer finally spoke, reaching to a small crate on the table, revealing a plastic bottle of cool water. You felt your tongue, fat and dry from the day’s work, swiping at the inside of your mouth. You swallowed around it, trying not to seem as desperate as you were for water.

‘Please.’ A bottle was tossed, and you caught it in one hand. You uncapped it and as you brought it to your lips, your eyes turned to Spy. You lowered the bottle, sniffing the air above the cap ever so slightly. ‘What’s in it?’

There was a scoff from the Frenchman, the man smirking in a way that was just designed to piss you off.

‘Nozhing. If we wanted to torture, we wouldn’t go zhrough zhe trouble of wasting a good sedative.’ Your eyes turned to the others, and Medic gave an encouraging nod. You sipped it.

The cool liquid was heavenly. The first, delicate sip wasn’t enough to sate your thirst, and as soon as you had lowered the bottle, you had risen it to your lips again, taking long gulps of water. It probably wasn’t a good idea, but Spy did have a point, much as you loathed admitting it.

‘So, I guess now’s the best time to talk about… What we brought you ‘ere for.’ You whipped your eyes to Engineer, who tossed you a second bottle. This, you just rested in your lap. You waited for him to continue, but now that you were finally getting down to business, you could feel the stress rising. You could feel your hands tensing around the bottle, the plastic crackling in your hands.

‘I ain’t gonna sugar-coat anythin’, Officer. I’m just gonna tell you straight: we want you on the team.’

There was silence.

And then you started snickering. Which soon turned to chuckling and then an all-out burst of laughter. You nearly doubled over in your seat, clutching the bottle tight to you like it was your lifeline. Last thing you needed to explain to BLU was that you ended up in respawn by dying of laughter.

‘You can’t be serious?’

‘Dreadfully so, I’m afraid.’ The Spy spoke up, and your laughter died down. The smile was still on your lips, and even now, you could feel the laughter bubbling in your chest.

‘You’ve noticed, haven’t you?’ The Texan questioned, and you tilted your head in curiosity. Noticed what? ‘We don’ gotta Officer on our team. Surely you’ve seen that.’ You felt a little bit put out to be talked down to. How could you not notice?

The first thing you were told when you became a member of BLU was the opposing team would have someone in your position. They might share your face, or be a completely different person. And yet, every time you had entered into battle, you counted the mercenaries that fired upon you and your allies. You counted nine most times. Sometimes there were seven or eight mercenaries, perhaps taking a sick day or performing some confidential task for their employers. But your count never exceeded nine.

‘Yes. I’ve noticed.’

‘So, we want you to join us.’

‘Well, pardon me and my suspicions, but why not ask your employers for an extra member? Why try and coerce me to join you?’ The Medic stepped up, passing Engineer and placing himself between you and the others. Admittedly, you felt a little better with him between you all. At least part of that was because of the potential for an escape. If you needed to go, perhaps you could manage a hostage situation.

Granted, from where you sat, and without his coat, you could see the Medic’s body thick with some muscle. Lugging around the hunk of metal and glass tubes that was the medigun left quite an impression on the man’s physique. It was just as likely that should you hold a knife to his throat, he could break your arm himself.

So much for that plan.

‘Vell, our employer is a very busy fraulein, and she cannot answer to every request ve make. No matter how important.’ Honestly, based on his words, you wondered if they had their very own version of Miss Pauling; one that rocked up on her scooter with a shotgun in hand and a pencil knit skirt. ‘Ve vanted to ask you, as ve took notice of jour…’

A silence descended upon the room. It seemed awkward how they were trying to dance around your situation. Even Heavy looked down, almost bashful.

‘Ve noticed you vere… Vell…’

‘What you have seen is nothing. I can handle it.’ There was another scoff from the RED Spy as he flicked his cigarette butt into a nearby ashtray. He turned to Medic with an almost condescending look upon his face and a righteous smirk.

‘I told you. We don’t need someone who can’t even tell zhat zhey are being abused and-’

‘Shut up.’ You stated it firmly, in such a tone that caught his notice. ‘I am not in denial. I know what is happening to me. I don’t need you, any of you, to tell me what I already know.’ You hissed. You were seething. How dare this fucker talk about you like that. He was in no position to speak about you and your dickhead teammates. You had stood up in your anger, felt the bottle of water crunch in your fingers and the ache of the bruises in your skin. It just made you angrier.

‘I’m fine.’

‘Nein.’ You hadn’t noticed how Medic had stepped closer, now within arm’s reach. He reached out to you and you shirked his hand off your arm. ‘Jou’re not fine. Any-vone smart vould notice how jou keep your distance, even from your own team. Entschuldigung, but I can see zhe scarring on jour hands also.’ You pulled them back, hiding them in the folds of the coat.

‘Those aren’t from the team.’

‘Even if zhey aren’t, a gud Medic vould be able to relieve jou of zhem. Und vhy hasn’t jours?’

You lowered your gaze, stepping back and past the chair. You could feel your legs shaking down to your boots. You didn’t like how everyone stared. The last thing you needed was judgement from the REDs of all people. You didn’t care about them and certainly didn’t need their consideration.

‘Haff jou even been given jour heart surgery?’

Your look of confusion was answer enough. You didn’t understand. What the fuck was he even referring to?

‘Jou do know zhat vhenever a Medic uses zhe ubercharge zhat it requires a heart transplant in zhe patient? Ozhervise, zhe heart explodes from zhe voltage.’

What?

You had seen how the Heavy, Soldier and Demo had been lit up a bright sheen of blue that acted like a second skin to them and the Medic. Sure, you had felt the beam of the medigun on you before, but never had you turned such a colour. And yet you had seen the RED team, in much the same fashion, receive an ubercharge across all manner of classes. You could recall a knife fight between yourself and the RED Sniper; your team had been slaughtering the REDs and the Sniper was only just managing to fend off your big players. You had gone in, but had been surprised to see the red armour coating that covered his body from head to toe. Your own head had been quickly removed from your shoulders in that instance.

‘What we’re trying to say, is that we want to give you a chance to work for us. We wanted to ask you because, well, if anyone could benefit, we thought perhaps you might. Kill two birds with one stone, if you will.’ Medic’s face morphed into a brief look of offense.

‘Ve don’t vant to kill jou. Ve vant jou on our team. Ve zhink jou vould be most… wertvoll? Vhat is vord-?’

‘Valuable, docteur.’

‘Right. Right… Valuable, Offizier. Vhat do jou zhink?’

You thought about. Genuinely, your mind was in a race, each pro and con coming to your brain in an instant. A new team, and a new start… It could be good, even exciting. You rolled your shoulder, thinking how your own teammates would react. They’d be angry… Beyond angry. It kind of scared you that you liked the idea of their outrage at your betrayal.

‘I don’t know… Do the rest of your team even know about this? Wouldn’t they just as likely kill me, anyway?’

‘Heavy not kill you if you not kill team.’ Well, that was… something, you supposed.

‘Soldier and Scout are the only ones to really worry about, and we’ll talk with ‘em about it.’ Engineer offered.

‘Can I think on it?’ You asked. You took notice how a look was shared between the REDs, until Spy spoke up at last.

‘You can. Feel free to think on it all you want, but…’ He stepped forward and away from his position at the back of the room. ‘… We can’t allow you to leave until you make your decision.’ He stalked closer.

‘Vas?’

‘What?’

‘Chto?’

‘If we let you go, you could still discuss wizh your team looking into our secrets and our security. Zhe last zhing we need is a double agent.’ There was a flick of the knife in his gloved hand, and the blade edge rested just below your chin. ‘You will stay here until a decision is made. And we have all weekend for you to zhink on it.’

‘Spion!’ The German barked at him, and the Frenchman offered him merely an annoyed look in return. Medic’s hand pushed the knife away, putting some distance between yourself and the dangerous man. You felt a great swell of relief in your chest, and unintentionally took to stepping back and further behind Medic.

‘Jou are not helping by making zhreats. It is not necessary.’

‘It isn’t necessary.’ You said, peering around Medic’s form. All eyes were on you, including Medic’s. ‘I’m in.’ The doctor smiled and you felt a warmth in your chest.

Spy smirked, and you felt a chill up your spine.

#fanfiction #fanfic #TF2 #Team Fortress 2 #Medic #Spy #Engineer #Heavy #Medic X Reader #Canon X Reader #HarcourtHolmesII

30 notes · View notes

prurientpuddlejumper · 4 years

Text

A Lipless Face That I Want to Marry, Ch. 5

<- Chapter 4 | Chapter 6 ->

Summary: You get a call. Dr. Chilton’s recovery has taken a turn for the worse, and he might not survive.

CW: hospitals, medical procedures, angst

1,583 words

Fifteen days. Seven surgeries. Seventeen blood transfusions.

You rushed to his hospital room straight after work, not even stopping at home to change or get something to eat. After the call you’d gotten, you were too nauseous to eat, anyway.

Glowing orange heat lamps hung over his bed, like the ones they use for hatchling chicks at the farm when they’re too young to regulate their own temperature. He had all but vanished under a thick pile of blankets.

You remembered how much of a baby he could be in the winter when his feet were cold. How he’d make you shriek by tucking his icy extremities under your warm pajamas, and how you’d squirm and swear at him and laugh until you finally settled back against his chest. His hands were always freezing, but his body was like a steam engine pumping out heat. Under the blankets with him, trapping each other’s glowing warmth between your entwined bodies, the coldest nights were always so cozy.

There was nothing cozy about this.

Frederick’s temperature kept dropping despite the doctors’ efforts to stabilize it, and it had dipped dangerously low. He was barely moving. It tore up your heart to see him so helpless. If his temperature didn’t come up soon, he could die.

You knew that. The rational part of your brain knew that he wasn’t out of danger yet, that this wasn’t a surprise. He told you he needed to write that article right away because he might not have much time left. But you didn’t think it would really happen—that he could fade so fast.

“Hey, Frederick… I’m here,” you said softly, sitting beside him. There was no indication he was aware of you being in the room. The only signs of consciousness were feeble, rasping, wet moans.

He coughed weakly under the pile of white sheets.

They had already increased his antibiotics regimen at the first warning signs, but his cough was developing into a respiratory infection, and getting worse. All the smoke and water he’d inhaled and the tubes forced down his throat were taking their toll on top of everything else collectively beating his immune system into submission. He was so sick.

You wanted to crawl under the covers, wrap yourself around him, and keep him warm. He could slip his icy fingertips under your shirt, and you wouldn’t complain.

All you could do was sit beside him, talking to him about your day, and hope that, if he could hear you, your voice was comforting. That he even wanted your company. You listened to the monitors, reassured by their continued steady beeps, terrified they might suddenly stutter and fall, and tried not to cry.

You hated being so helpless.

***

Sixteen days.

For the second time, you walked into the hospital doors in the morning to find he was gone. Over night, his condition went critical. The infection had turned into full-blown pneumonia. He was still alive, thank god, but he was intubated again, and put on a ventilator with paralytic drugs keeping him unconscious.

He was, effectively, in a coma.

Every time you thought he was getting better, he slipped away again. Two days ago he was fine. He was dictating notes and being the cranky asshole you loved. Now a doctor had to thread endoscopic instruments down into his lungs to clear the secretions, because he couldn’t even cough.

A nurse gently patted your shoulder to get your attention. You weren’t sure how long they’d been standing there.

“I’m sorry to have to ask this, but do you know if your fiance has any family, anyone who might like a chance to say goodbye?” Your face drained of color and the nurse quickly worked to reassure you, “He may still recover. Nobody here is giving up, but…”

But his chances weren’t good.

“I don’t know. I… I can try to call his mother, but...” For someone you were about to marry, you didn’t know much about Frederick’s family. All you knew was that he had a sister who died a long time ago, his parents were egregiously wealthy, and they almost never spoke. His mother sent a card, which had earned nothing but hostile silence from Frederick. That was all.

He had always been lonely, your Dr. Chilton. Before you, anyway. He was charming, but an expert at keeping people at arm’s length. Desperate for connection, but always looking for it in the wrong places. You still weren’t sure how you’d manage to slip past his defenses. But his family wasn’t coming.

You were the only one by his bedside, waiting to see if he woke up. Alone in your terror that you might never hear his voice again.

***

Twenty-five days. Eight surgeries. Eighteen blood transfusions.

Chilton was out for over a week. Days crept by as you tortured yourself reading statistics like “pneumonia acquired in the hospital can be fatal as often as 33 percent of the time,” and “pneumonia increases mortality rate in burn patients by 25 percent.”

You were a mess at work, sobbing in the bathroom until they told you to go home. But you couldn’t stand being in that giant, empty house without him.

You had dinner with your old boss, Jack Crawford, to take your mind off things. The last time you saw him you screamed your throat raw, but he had always been a friend and mentor, and right now he was the one person who understood what you were going through.

He talked about Bella, and how hard it is to watch a loved one fading away. About the darkness he failed to see in Will Graham—skirting just shy of accepting responsibility for Frederick’s fate. You distinctly did not take back calling him negligent and incompetent. Still, despite everything, you knew Frederick held him in high regard. It was what got him in so much trouble. You encouraged Crawford to visit when Frederick was feeling better. If he got better.

Then dinner was over as quickly as it began, and you were alone again.

Every day that a ventilator kept him breathing, you wondered if that was the day you were going to get the phone call. You couldn’t bear it. You lived in the hospital waiting room, making meals out of vending machine Pop Tarts and the latest scraps of information the nurses could give you.

Surgery was risky on a patient already in critical condition, but the doctors decided to perform a bronchoscopy to drain a lung abscess. After that, his pneumonia began to improve. A few more days, and he was off ventilation, and in the hyperbaric chamber.

The moment you heard he was awake, you sprang up from your chair the waiting area (swayed with dizziness for a moment) and shambled to the oxygen therapy room.

***

“You look terrible,” he joked. His voice was quiet and hoarse, but you laughed a little too hard, sniffing and rubbing your eyes as your body shook. It was good to see a week unconscious had restored his cheery mood.

Ducking and weaving your head, you tried to get a good look at your reflection in the curved glass. When you caught a glimpse, the depth of dark circles made you recoil back from yourself.

“I couldn’t go home until I knew you were OK,” you explained. “I guess I could use a shower. And some sleep.”

Frederick observed you sympathetically. He was still bandaged head to toe, and what bits of skin did show were as red and inflamed as ever. He hummed in agreement. “All this beauty rest has done wonders for me.”

You laughed again, and it brought a smile to his cheeks and a sparkle of humor to his one good eye. At least he still entertained you.

“It is flattering that you would destroy yourself on my behalf, but you really ought to go home and take care of yourself.” He rolled his eyes upward cheekily, “I cannot have my adoring public discover I am marrying such a slob.”

Your heart missed a beat at the mention of marriage.

Leaning close until your forehead bumped the clear barrier, you pressed your palm to the glass. He lifted his hand off the bed, reaching toward yours, but could only make it a few trembling inches before he winced, and his arm fell back down, limp. He swore. Then he gave a self-deprecating chuckle to hide the frustrated wetness building in his eyes.

“Really,” he said without malice. “You should go home.”

“I can’t. You just woke up.”

“How long has it been since you slept?”

A few self-conscious mumbles were all you managed in response. He huffed knowingly.

“I promise not to die. You need rest.”

Your head did feel heavy, and it was difficult to keep your eyelids from drooping. “But it’s so empty. The house is so empty without you,” you sobbed.

“I know,” he said quietly, after a pause. He hated to see you like this, hated that you were suffering because of him.

“Just a few more minutes? I want to stay with you for a little while.”

“That would be nice.” His voice welled with such sincerity your heart broke. “Thank you.”

Soon, you thought. Soon you’d be taking him home with you, and your lives could be normal again.

#Frederick Chilton x reader #Frederick Chilton #Raúl Esparza #Hannibal #angst #injury recovery #my writing

62 notes · View notes

honestsycrets · 4 years

Text

Tell Me The Truth | [ Ivar x Reader (Peaky AU) ]

❛ pairing | ivar x reader, ubbe x reader, freydis x reader

❛ type | doubleshot, peaky blinders au

❛ summary | despite what you want, the lines on ivar’s hand don’t lie.

❛ warnings | bad palmistry, cursing in another language idk how accurate it is (whore), peaky blinders au (very loose), gypsy!reader (stereotypes i’m sorry okay?), requested piece, “hallucinations”, idk what the song name is that I included anymore.

Read the patterns on my skin

He has big hands.

Let the fire somehow get in

The kind you get lost in.

See my heart line is intact

The kind that hold a whole world in his hands

So this is what I lacked

And don’t even know it yet.

“See something?” he breaks the long-winded silence. You, cradling his hand, find yourself staring at the long lines of his palms between curtains of candles that illuminate your caravan. Yout thumbs run over the lines of his large hand, comparing them to your memory, marking out everything you saw.

“Instinct. Same thing I always see. Your natural talent for adaptation. The need not to hold back,” You slur, taking a long drag of the singed cigarette between your index and middle finger. You draw out a flood of smoke into his face, grey and light. He swats away the smoke and emerges from it, his pale face cut like a bag of crisp diamonds, or whatever else he packed in that baggie.

You reach your hand out toward it, and he rests back in the chair, a picture of a great man, one that anyone should fear. Under all that, the energy radiating of a boy on an uncertain path. It wouldn’t help him to know that. Maybe he’d take off that grey cap and swipe you in the face if you said that.

“What else?” he closes his fist, tucking the bag into the pocket on the inside of his suit. You scowl, lips pursing, the coins on your wrist tinkling as you flick your hand toward him, caught in indignation.

“I don’t know what you want me to tell you, Ivar,” you say, pronouncing each word sharper than the last. “Every time you come here it is the same--”

“You’re holding something back.”

He says it with such evenness. You knew he would. He draws the button of his suit jacket together, obscuring the chain on the inside, and the buttons latch together. You roll your lips in-- god, he’s become so beautiful. It’s been some time since he came back from Paris, his body changed, and yet he’s the same boy you knew before the war. Your lips are sealed. Keep sweet. Keep quiet.

“It’ll hurt,” you tell him, despite the fact that you know you aren’t talking about yourself. It wouldn’t just hurt you. It would hurt… deeper than that. You stand up, forgetting the instruments of your trade, the cards on the table and the crystals. Everything that would help Ivar get what he wanted from you: answers. “You know I wouldn’t hurt you.”

The scoff bursts from your lips in a short-lived chortle.

“You’re a man. Not just any man-- one of those men.” You say, and though you stand all straps and coin and cloth, you bring his hand to your lips. A chaste kiss blossoms along his scraped and bruised knuckles. “It’s what you all do. You’re destructive.”

“When have I ever hurt you? We’ve known each other… mm, how long?” He stands up then, his gloved fingers settling on his cane to steady him. He’s tall when he’s at height, pumped up on medication, he turns his head to you.

“Twenty-four years,” you say. “Give or take.”

His dark lashes pull from eyes rimmed in that god awful blue. You run your hand over your shawl, slipping it off your shoulders and setting it on the table. His eye flickers, catching fresh skin. “So tell me,” he whispers, turning his head, and you struggle against what he asks of you.

“You should go.” You tell him, backtracking toward something or anything other than the truth. That he is, or he isn’t, one of those god awful blinders. He steps forward. The floorboards scream under your feet, and suddenly your pressed to the bed you share with your own ghost of the past.

“Say it again,” he tells you. This time he raises his tanned hand to your cheek, flicking once, snatching your attention with one smooth swat across your cheek. Just enough to get your attention. “Call me it again.”

“You’re a Blinder. That’s what you’ve always wanted, isn’t it?” you call him by name, and its enough, because the wrinkle in your nose is enough to say what you think of those sorts of men. He holds your gaze, sorting out the remnants of lost affection, all mixed and masked in some foreign longing. He devours your fear, voice lilting nice and soft, sucking you into him. “Now you’ve got it--”

Ivar snatches your throat, pitiful under his large hand. “That’s right. Now answer me what I came here for.”

He’s grown big. You think back to that boy that used to come to play when Aslaug would come to visit her forefather’s home. How he revered the scars of his big brother, mapped stratagems for him with Ubbe, and worked so hard.

Now he nearly had everything that you told him would come. All but a few things that you worked so hard to suppress despite knowing that nothing and no one could keep one back from their true calling. You never failed to answer him in the past. That’s what he needs. Someone real to latch onto.

“You’ll find love. That’s what I saw in your palm.”

One day. But it wouldn’t be today. Even tomorrow. He’s settled enough with the prospect to release you, step aside and fix his coat.

“I already knew that. We’re opening the pub tomorrow,” he tells you. “Stop by.”

“But Ivar--” you protest. “She won’t be what you think she is.”

“Shht.” Ivar says, flipping his cap and settling it back on his head. “You worry too much.”

It’s not an order. Not by the way he says it as he hobbled to the door, stopping for just a second, long enough to share a bated breath with you. “Stop by. There are men there. Elias didn’t give his life down there to see you here.”

He wouldn’t want you to be alone. In his memory you give Ivar a very short nod, remembering those god awful mines. The ones that caved in on themselves and—“I’ll see you. Have to get to the docks, eh?”

There are men there, he said.

You drew your shawl over your shoulders, obscuring the beaded dress as much as you could, and opened the door. Inside there were men. Ones that buzzed around the room like bugs, swarming and drinking, and you made your way forward squished between chests and backs, booze and cigarettes.

“Anotha’ whiskey da’lin, anotha’ whiskey!” the night had only just begun, and yet, the men were already trashed. Behind the long stretch of a barstool stands a girl. Her hair chopped at her nape, painfully pale, with a look in her eyes the same of a dull horse. Freydis, her name flickers across your head, like a great dull name. Before you and behind you, a chill runs down your arms. Hairs lift, and you look straight ahead, past the warm brown waxed countertop, through the women there. She smiles like tainted ink in a pure pool, spreading her tainted nature around in a pool of stupid men.

Take care’a my boy, a voice whispers. Your head snaps, bouncy curls at your neck, and you mind yourself to stay firmly in reality, rather than in the plane between, where no one here could be.

“(Y/N)!” That deep voice, thick and heavy, reeks of an old friend. Appearing beside you, you find the tall one: Ubbe. It’s been some time since you’ve seen him.

“Ubbe…” He’s grown taller, if possible, with a handsome beard where his brothers faltered. His eyes shine with a warmth Ivar usually lacks, despite the war. It’s not changed him in the same way that it changed the others.

“Surprised to see you here. You hate drunks.” He offers you his elbow to take.

“Ivar invited me,” you grumble. Invited was a kind word for what Ivar did. Because really, it was no invitation-- not when you wanted to know where he was, where he… “Besides, it is nice to see the boys.”

Bjorn was nowhere to be seen. But Hvitserk was drinking heartily at the bar, throwing back booze after booze, while Sigurd played jauntily with a small crew by his side. None of them looked like war-stricken hounds. Except-- Hvitserk, yes, Hvitserk. Hvitserk looked like--

“The boys,” he laughs. “And me?”

You suppress that damn laughter and turn toward what was really on your mind. “When did that curvă show?”

“The girl?” Ubbe sets his hand to yours as if there are more important things to focus on, but there isn’t. Your head follows her even after Ubbe has rounded the corner to the back office. “Ivar’s new girl.”

“Margrethe--”

Ubbe shakes his head. That’s the end of that. Margrethe, expired. Freydis-- the new girl. His new girl. Dead girl walking. And still she’s the lucky one. The envy in your belly twinges. Then it burns.

“Are you okay?” Ubbe asks.

“Do you want to have whiskey?”

“Now?” he prompts.

“Well,” you shift over the table, spreading your legs over the table, slightly dangling. “Ivar did say there would be men here. It could be like old times.”

He lingers in front of the door, likely feeling a thousand thoughts, but it’s pointless really. His eyes close, just enough that you know he’s debating it-- and what for? Had Ivar not made his choice? He’s tempted enough. Despite the rattling of voices behind that door, he’s thinking about it. You shrug off your shawl, clap back on heels, step by step, until you’re there-- in front of him. He can’t. Not at first, not until you bring his hands around your back, pressing into him. He willingly squeezes your ass, leaning his head back, gazing at you to weigh your seriousness.

“Like old times.” Like old times implied being second-- second to his baby brother. But for one night, should he really care? Ubbe spins you around, jerks your ass to his back, and you feel him growing hard against his slacks. He thinks back to all those days before coming back, swatting your hips with emphasis.

“Go get the whiskey.” You move-- toward the stash, but he stops you cold. “No. Go get it from Ivar.”

@tephi101 @alicedopey @supernaturalvikingwhore @tootie-fruity @titty-teetee @queen-see-ya-in-valhalla @ethereallysimple @deathbyarabbit @deathbyarabbit @readsalot73 @natalie-rdr @lol-haha-joke @lisinfleur @hissouthernprincess @marvelousse @dangerous-like-a-loaded-pistol @vikingsmania @wish-i-was-a-mermaid @lif3snotouttogetyou @gruffle1 @cris101071 @gold-dragon-slayer @babypink224221 @wonderwoman292 @naaladareia @beyond-the-ashes @generic-fangirl @chinduda @laketaj24, @peaceisadirtyword, @ly–canthrope @cris101071 @daughterofthenight117 @unassumingviking @ladyofsoa, @inforapound @winchesterwife27 @feyrearcheron44 @readsalot73 @squirrelacorngliterfarts @gold-dragon-slayer @medievalfangirl @sallydelys @bluearchersstuff @affectionrabbitt @whatamood13 @notyouraveragegirl17 @igetcarriedawaywithyou @unacceptabletatertots @ivarandersen @stra-vage @tgrrose @cookies186 @learninglemni-blog @theleeshanotlouise @soiproclaim @msmorganforever

#ivar x reader #ivar/reader #ivar the boneless x reader #ivar the boneless/reader #vikings imagines #vikings imagine #vikings/reader #vikings x reader #ubbe x reader

127 notes · View notes

littlekatleaf · 4 years

Text

Be still my indelible friend (Overwatch)

So this is inspired by the “Love Triangle” scenario @lovely-starry-universe shared. (sorry it’s not TMA, @beaugtifuw but maybe consider it as an alternative to death?) This is also separate from my other fics.

Be still my indelible friend, you are unbreaking Though quaking, though crazy That’s just wasteland, baby ~ Hozier, “Wasteland, Baby!” Roadhog wanted to rub his eyes, aching behind his mask. He felt like he was going to sneeze, but his head throbbed and sneezing would make it worse. He really wanted to disappear into his quarters and sleep whatever this was off, without the mask so he could sneeze as necessary and blow his nose. Unfortunately he was stuck here, trying to keep Junkrat from noticing he was getting sick.

Junkrat always noticed, even if he was in the middle of working something up for Torbjörn, or messing with one of Lena’s pulse bombs. Could be completely immersed in his work, muttering about whatever crossed his mind as he pieced things together, but the minute Roadhog started feeling off, sometimes before he actually registered the sensation in his own body, Junkrat would be there with tea or Kleenex or cough drops. Whatever Roadhog might need. Or want. No matter how many times Roadhog told him to stop - didn’t need coddling - Junkrat just shrugged and kept on. Irritating. Not a sook and rankled that Junkrat thought he was.

Reckoned the Rat had a point, though. Hard to intimidate when one was constantly sniffling. Like he was doing right now. Just about to get up and find his own tissues when footsteps clanked down the passage outside the door and Junkrat finally looked up from his wires. Not at him, though. At the man currently leaning in the doorway.

“Oi, Lucio! Welcome back, mate. How’d it go,” Junkrat asked.

Lucio gusted a sigh. “Horrible. She’s gonna be gone for months, and as a goodbye gift she gave me her cold.”

Junkrat laughed, but not meanly. “Now that ain’t fair.” He crossed the room and pressed his hand to Lucio’s forehead. “Might be warm.”

“Eh, no big. Just feel a little under… the… weather.” His voice wavered up on the word and suddenly he pitched forward. “Hitchoo! I’tchoo!”

“Bless ya, mate.” Junkrat tossed him a box of tissues from under a pile of detritus.

“Oh, thanks, man.” Lucio shook his head at himself. “Could’ve been a disaster.”

“Who takes care of the medic when the medic’s feelin’ crook?”

Lucio pulled a tragic face, but was clearly trying not to grin. “No one, now that Hana’s away.”

“That ain’t right. Patched me up often enough, right Roadie? Only fair if I do the same. C’mere; sit.” He steered Lucio to the other side of the couch, put a blanket around his shoulders. Then he began to fill, not the kettle for tea, but the coffee pot. Lucio liked coffee. Roadhog didn’t.

As the coffee brewed, Junkrat asked Lucio about the trip to Busan.

Lucio made a so-so gesture. “Meeting the parents was okay - they didn’t hate me. Maybe. But Dae-hyun’s another story. I’m surprised he didn’t try to poison my soda.”

“But you’re the dead nicest person I ever met. Can’t imagine you were rude. What’d ya do?”

“He thinks it’s my fault Hana won’t be more than his friend.”

“An’ it ain’t?”

“Nah, she sees him like a brother. Anyway, we’re open. If she wanted to be with him, it’d be fine with me.”

“Huh,” Junkrat made a considering noise and Roadhog caught him looking at Lucio with an unreadable expression. Which was weird - Junkrat usually had the opposite of a poker face. Made playing cards against him profitable.

When Lucio’s voice went hoarse, Junkrat took over the conversation, making his usual terrible jokes. Going into far too much detail about the modification to Torb’s turret he was working on. Nattering.

And Roadhog realized he was going to sneeze. Hated doing it with the mask; small as the sneezes were, still felt fucking gross. Hated more doing it with an audience. Too many comments over the years about ‘big guy, tiny sneeze’ ha ha ha fucking hilarious. Ducked his head, tried holding his breath and kept it tightly contained to just a shudder.

No one responded. Thank fuck.

Felt odd, though. Unsettled. Maybe he was getting a fever? But he didn’t have that bone deep ache yet. Just felt… not right.

The day wore on. At some point Lucio switched from coffee to orange juice. His voice was barely more than a croak. Junkrat teased him about sounding like a frog and instead of biting his head off, like Roadhog would have - well deserved, in his opinion - Lucio just laughed and pretended to eat a fly. Roadhog rolled his eyes. Immature. Both of them.

Lucio shivered, just once, and Junkrat dug his own scarf out of another pile of random crap and wrapped it carefully around Lucio’s neck, the orange and yellow stripes shining bright against his dark skin.

“Thanks, man,” Lucio said, sincerely, a flush rising up his neck. Fever? Or something else? He put his hand on Junkrat’s arm, and Rat covered it with his own. Roadhog looked away.

Every single time Lucio sneezed, Junkrat blessed him. And at each blessing, Lucio said thanks. He didn’t get irritated, he didn’t snap or growl. He just kept Junkrat cheerful company, laughing at Rat’s jokes (even, or maybe especially, the terrible ones), making listening noises in response to his endless stories, face nuzzled down in Junkrat’s scarf.

Finally, Junkrat noticed his head nodding forward, eyes drooping closed. “Why’nt you head to bed, mate? Ain’t gotta keep us entertained.”

Lucio yawned, stretched. “Sorry. Just exhausted suddenly. I was going to stop by the mess hall for some food first, but…” He sneezed suddenly, ducking into the scarf. “Oops! Shit. I’ll wash it before I give it back, I promise.”

“Bless ya. No worries.” Junkrat shrugged. “Saw Mei cooking some of her chicken noodle soup earlier. I’ll bring you a bowl.”

“You’re a lifesaver, Junkrat. If Mercy caught me anywhere near the mess with this cold I wouldn't have to worry about being sick for very long.”

Junkrat mimed a shudder. “Too right. Sheila only looks sweet and innocent.”

“Thanks again.” Lucio tossed a wave over his shoulder as he sauntered out. “See ya, Roadhog.”

Junkrat whistled tunelessly as he cleaned up his workbench. Roadhog struggled against another sneeze. He tried to ignore it, to think of something else, but the tickle was insistent. Fuck it. He ducked his head, sneezed once, then again. Junkrat’s whistle didn’t falter. Was focused, maybe, on what he was doing. Roadhog tried to breathe carefully, but his nose wanted to drip so he sniffed, and then he needed to sneeze again. An annoying as shit self-perpetuating cycle.

He glanced around the room for the box of tissues. Apparently Lucio’d taken it with him. Of fucking course. “Junkrat. Gonna head up to my quarters for a bit.” Maybe he’d be focused enough not to ask…

“Ya ain’t hungry? ‘S well past lunch. Don’t think I’ve ever heard ya turn down a meal, ‘specially when Mei’s cooking.”

Roadhog wanted to groan, but kept it to a sigh. “No, yeah. Let’s go.” He was a little hungry. He’d pick up a bowl of soup in the mess hall and when Junkrat made his delivery to Lucio he could slip off. Soup would help, and maybe then he could get sleep. Or at least a little peace and quiet.

Luckily no one was in the mess hall when they stopped by, so it was a shorter trip than if Junkrat’d had someone to talk at. Just filled their bowls and, balancing his own and Lucio’s because sometimes Rat’s mech hand had trouble with the porcelain, followed Rat to Lucio’s quarters. Shit - his nose wanted to drip. Sniffed against it, which triggered an urge to sneeze. With his hands full of soup. Balls. Couldn’t even get Junkrat’s attention, any attempt to talk and he’d lose the tenuous control he clung to.

A breath, another breath… only a few more steps until he could hand off the bowl… and he realized he wasn’t going to make it. Stopped and braced for it and “Ht’nxxt! Ngxxt! …. Ht’nxxt!” Let his breath out carefully. It felt like he’d exploded his sinuses, but at least he didn’t spill scalding liquid over his hands. Small mercy. Junkrat was already knocking at Lucio’s door, a rhythmic tapping that wasn’t like his usual fist at Roadhog’s door.

Lucio opened the door and a soft tune wafted out like smoke. He’d clearly been working on some new music. A pair of headphones was around his neck. He’d changed from his travel clothes into a pair of sweatpants, and an oversized sweatshirt with two laughing gingerbread men that said, “Let’s get baked.”

“Thanks, guys. Appreciate it.” He seemed to notice Roadhog staring and glanced down, then chuckled. “It’s from Hana,” he said, as if that explained everything. “I’d invite you in, but I’m probably contagious.”

“Ah, no need to sit around all by your lonesome, sick an’ miserable. I never get sick. And Roadie’s already got it. He’s been sneezing all day.” Junkrat waved a hand at Roadhog dismissively.

“Oh, sorry Roadhog! I didn’t know you were sick.”

“Ain’t nothing,” he mumbled. So Junkrat knew? And hadn’t said anything? Hadn’t even blessed him once? What the hell?

Lucio stepped back to let them in and, with no idea how to bow out gracefully, Roadhog followed. The room was dark, lit only by a few strings of colorful fairy lights. Lucio’d made himself a nest on the couch, pillows and blankets and his laptop. His sound system sent out a low bass beat, overlaid with electronic melody and a voice that sounded almost like Hana, singing something he couldn't make out. In the corner of the room was an altar with a buddha statue and a candle lit in front. He let Junkrat take the spot next to Lucio on the couch, and sat on an arm chair across from them. It was a surprisingly welcoming space and Roadhog found himself relaxing, almost against his will.

Junkrat made himself useful, cleaning up the dishes when they’d finished eating. Making sure Lucio was comfortable, that he had a glass of water and tissues in easy reach. When Lucio yawned, Junkrat pulled him close, to lean against his shoulder. He launched into some ridiculous, and likely embellished, story about a heist he’d pulled on the Queen of Junkertown sometime in the years before he and Roadhog started working together. Lucio made impressed noises, egging him on, and each story got less likely than the last.

And then Lucio turned away from Junkrat, sneezing again. “Hitchoo! I’tchoo! Ugh, excuse me. I’m so gross.” He blew his nose.

“Bless ya. And no ya ain’t. Least ya got a normal sneeze, not like me. I sneeze like a bomb going off.” Junkrat tugged him close again and Lucio relaxed against his side, laughing.

“It’s true, though. An’ apparently size don’t matter in these things ‘cause Roadie sneezes like a kitten.”

Roadhog felt himself going red under the mask. He really, really did not want to be having this conversation. Not with Lucio, and not with the tickle that was building again. “Could you not make fun of me for five fucking minutes? Damn, Junkrat.”

“Don’t be such a touchy bastard. Ya know I don’t mean nothing by it.”

He wanted to keep arguing, to cuss Junkrat out for being such an asshole, especially while he was just as sick as Lucio, but part of him wondered whether he might, actually, be overreacting. Worse, he was pretty sure he was going to sneeze. He raised a wrist to the nose of his mask, like that was somehow going to help, but the tickle was too strong to be contained. “Huh… chu! Chu! Chu!” Kept his head down when he finished because Junkrat was right, he did sneeze like a fucking kitten and he hated it. Hated that Junkrat teased him about it, hated that Lucio was there to hear it, hated that he hadn’t just gone to his quarters before Lucio ever got back from Busan.

“Bless you, Roadhog,” Lucio said after a couple beats of silence. And that just made it worse. Lucio blessing him, not Junkrat.

The cold must be fucking him up more than he thought, because everything just felt like shit suddenly. His head hurt and his body hurt and his eyes hurt. He needed to blow his nose but then he’d have to take off his mask and Lucio would see all the fucking scars and he’d ask too many questions because he wouldn’t know not to and what could he possibly say? And Junkrat was ignoring him and paying attention to Lucio and he fucking hated that and he didn’t know why it bothered him so much and he didn’t want it to bother him, but it did, bothered him like a blister his boot kept rubbing over and over. Irritating and painful and it was just one more thing on top of everything and he hated it. Because Junkrat was his friend first. Was his first… but Lucio was so much nicer about everything. So much kinder and softer and not at all an asshole.

Suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder and he realized he’d been shaking, just a little. “Ya okay, Hoggie?” Junkrat’s voice was unusually soft, almost gentle.

“Fine,” he said, but the attempted sharpness was blunted with congestion and he coughed. And he didn’t push away Rat’s hand.

“No, ya ain’t.” Junkrat stood between Roadhog and Lucio, and carefully loosened the mask then lifted it away from his face, slow enough to be stopped. Roadhog didn’t. Then, just as carefully, Junkrat took a Kleenex and wiped Roadie’s eyes. Then his nose. Roadhog sighed and rested his forehead on Junkrat’s belly. “Hey, hey. What’s this, then? Thought ya didn’t want any attention when you’re sick.”

“Thought not, too,” he mumbled without moving.

“Ya jealous.” There was the lilt of laughter in the words.

Roadhog shrugged. “Maybe.”

“Ya are! Ain’t no reason for it! Might be mean as cat’s piss when yer sick, but it don’t matter. You’re my Hog, an’ that’s the way of it.”

“But Lucio…”

“Reckon I can take care of ya both. Yeah?”

Roadhog nodded, and when Junkrat stepped aside, Roadhog kept the mask off and Lucio didn’t ask about the scars, or make any comment at all. He just smiled and offered a movie night and that was how they ended up sprawled across Lucio’s bed, Roadhog on one side, Lucio on the other and Junkrat between them, arms around them both. Sometime in the middle of the movie, they dozed off, warm and comfortable.

#oversnez #snezfic #look I managed a shortfic #Lucio's a good boi #Roadie's a grump #gotta torture someone other than Rat for a change #2am posting is the best posting

11 notes · View notes

surveys-at-your-service · 3 years

Text

Survey #399

“i was raised by the devil’s own kin, taught me that a good time was never a sin”

Do you like wine? NOOOOOOO that shit is gross. Explain the grossest thing that's ever happened to you? Having an infected pilonidal cyst drained. Would you rather go on holiday somewhere warm or somewhere cold? Cold, for sure. What would be your ideal pet? I reeeeaaaally want a very visibly sunset morph ball python one day. The really pretty ones are expensive as fuck, but omg, I want one so badly. What was the last book you were required to read for school? The Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood. It was fantastic. Would you chew somebody else's gum? EW FUCK NO. What was the last type of meat you ate? Chicken. How old were you when you had your first kiss? 16. At what age would you allow your kids to dye their hair? Whenever they wanted, as long as a professional did it. Which fast food place do you eat at the most? Probably McDonald's. Bats are not spooky or are they? I adore bats. Do you like the song "Womanizer?" Unabashedly, yes, haha. I love the beat and it's really catchy. Do you know how to change a tire? Nope. How big is your backyard? Very small. What is your favorite Nintendo 64 game? I've actually never played a Nintendo 64. If you want children, what are some of your reasons for wanting them? I don't want any. Does a career in finance sound interesting to you? Absolutely not. When you cook a dish that has beans in it, do you prefer to use canned or dry beans? I. HATE. Beans. What’s something that makes absolutely zero sense to you? Those that deny the existence of dinosaurs. Fossils don't lie. Do you like strawberry shortcake? No. What’s your favorite dessert? That's so hard, but probably cheesecake. What’s the last you got out of the freezer? Vanilla ice cream. Do you know anybody who is ambidextrous? Sara. Have you ever been 4-wheeling? Yes. Will you be attending any weddings in the near future? No. If you have glasses, have you ever smashed them? No. What was the last thing you got a really good deal on? My APAP mask. Insurance covered it way more than even the women in the office were used to so had to look into it. Insurance has been nice to me lately, from TMS to this. What was the last reason you took medicine? I had a massive headache. Any important birthdays coming up? My older sister's was today, and her eldest daughter's is in two days. Mark's birthday is the 28th, and that's like a holiday in my book lmao. What colour are your headphones? These earplugs are pink. How do you express your creativity? I mostly write RP and rarely poems. I also like to draw sometimes, and I'm big into photography. Gypsies or gnomes? Gypsies. Dragons or fairies? Dragons are my favorite mythological creatures. Elves or pixies? Elves. Where is your favourite place to get breakfast? Maybe Cracker Barrel? Or Waffle House. What was the first sport you learned how to play? I want to say soccer. I hated it. Nickname you’re called the most? "Britt" is the most used. Do you sleep on your stomach? I can't now with my mask. -_- That's how I usually slept. Have you ever been called a bitch? Yes. Would you ever want a super-realistic baby doll? Fuuuuuuuuuck no. I don't like dolls, never mind realistic ones. Ladybugs or bumblebees? Ladybugs. <3 What is the best thing that ever happened to you? My first round of a partial hospitalization program and meeting my psychiatrist. Both that therapy and proper medication is the reason I'm alive. What is something really hurtful someone you love has said to you? That I was an "ungrateful bitch." What Facebook groups have you found the most helpful? One for advanced ball python husbandry. There are some SERIOUS elitists in there, but it does have great information. Did your mom ever own a typewriter? I think she did? We used to have one, so. What would you have your bridesmaids wear? Maybe orange. I want to wear a black dress and get married in the fall, so, Halloween vibes! :') Where do you want to go on your honeymoon? I think Alaska. Do you wear a watch every day? I never do. Have you ever personally been a victim of homophobia? No, thankfully. Not yet, anyway. Do you think you’d be happier if you had a pet? I am much happier with pets. Were you ever hospitalized as a little kid? No. Have you been hurt more by friend break-ups or romantic break-ups? Romantic ones. Who is/was the best friend you have ever had? Sara. Do you own a trenchcoat? No, but I wish. They're badass. Name the hardiest piece of technology you own? My iPod that I've had since middle school. That bitch STILL works, and I use it heavily. Are you currently in a smoking environment? No; people aren't allowed to smoke in our house. Have you ever owned a tire swing? No. Does anyone you know own a bird that can talk? My old friend Alex did. I don't know if I can call her my "friend" anymore because I haven't seen or heard from her in well over a year at the bare minimum. Do you ever not speak to someone because you’re afraid you’ll annoy them? STORY OF MY LIFE. Is there any drama going on in your circle of friends? No. But I don't really have a "circle" of friends to begin with. Have you ever lost your luggage at an airport? No. Have you ever been on a rollercoaster that actually scared you? I don't go on rollercoasters. If given the opportunity, would you act in a commercial? No. Do you believe in finders keepers in most situations? No. How many pills do you currently take a day? Ugh... Now keep in mind this number encompasses medications that I just have to take a larger dose of that particular med; I don't take this number of different prescriptions. AS a whole though, I take uhhh. Somewhere around nine or ten in the morning, and six at night. I might be off about my morning pills. What do you take medication for? Bipolarity and depression, anxiety, OCD, severe heartburn, even more intense nightmares, uhhh... maybe I'm forgetting others? Idk, man. I'm on too many. Have you ever had a bag stolen? No. What class from high school did you love the most? Art. What class did you hate the most? Economics. If you don’t have a car, do you wish you did? Not at this very moment, because it'd be useless as I don't currently drive. Have you ever had a job you loved? Nope. What, if anything, do you substitute for fries? I just eat normal fries when they're offered. Have you ever been in a building that was on fire? No. Have you ever written a poem for someone? At least twice. Have you been best friends with someone of a different race? Yes. Who’s the last person who cussed you out in anger? I think only my grandmother has done that. Who is the person you are closest to that you’ve meet online? Sara. Have you friended your parents on FB? Mom, yes, while Dad doesn't have one. What do you absolutely have to have to make your birthday feel special? My family. Mice or roaches? I love mice, but roaches creep me out. Have you ever received a gift and truly did not know what it was? Yes. A family friend is good at that. Is there anyone whose grave you visit? No. Do you like being in pictures? NO. Do you travel a lot? Not at all. Have you ever eaten a dog treat? No. I've eaten a guinea pig treat though, haha. And it wasn't awful. Have you ever wanted to get drunk and get your mind off everything? Yes, but turns out my alcohol tolerance is too high while only liking weak alcohol to begin with. Have you played cards recently? No. Is there a certain song you like to headbang to? I don't do that, I'd get way too dizzy, and besides, I don't want a headache. Anything you might be giving up on soon? I've been wondering if I should (for the most part) abandon human photography. I've lost so much passion for it, and besides, I feel like I'm going nowhere with it. I know I really, really shouldn't, though. Have you ever captured a moth? I put a caterpillar in one of those little plastic habitats once as a kid that grew into a moth. I then released it, of course. When was the last time you changed your picture on Facebook? It's been months. Do you have a really fat cat? No, he's healthy. Do your initials spell a word? No. Have you ever made a business card for yourself? No. Did you love playing hide and seek as a kid? Yes, that was my favorite! Are there any recipes you have memorized? No. Do you know your multiplication times tables? No. Do your parents allow you to have your privacy? Yes. Have you ever been severely burned? No. Did you ever dream that you had a baby? I've had many, actually. Guess with who. What was the weirdest thing you've ever seen cross the road? I want to say a turkey? Or maybe it was beside the road.

#survey #suveys #random questions #lyrics: ''boss's daughter'' by pop evil

2 notes · View notes

your-eternal-muse · 4 years

Text

I’m Getting Colder

Heather Series Part 6 (Were halfway through it!)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Bonus! Readers Card Confession

Summery: Reader leaves the BAU for some personal time, and turns to her vices to deal with the voices in her head

Warnings: Description of someone falling into a deep depressive episode, self-deprecation, unhealthy coping mechanisms, description of emotional breakdown, reader is not in a good mental state so please be prepared for that before reading

Words: 1.8k (she smol)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Heather Charmical, Spencer Reid x eventual Female!Reader

A/N: So, this is not a light chapter. It’s not that long in my opinion, but it is very depressing. I do not recommend reading this if you are not in a well state of mind. Reader is very depressed, and she is falling deeper into that hole as we speak. I promise it does get better, but this chapter is just sad. I took from some personal thoughts and feelings I had when I was at a low point in my own life, which made it kind of difficult to make it any longer than I did, though I’m going to try and make the following chapters longer. I do recommend reading the bonus episode I posted, as it gives a lil insight to something said in this chapter. If you did not see, I sadly had to close both my permanent and my heather tag list, so if you are not already on there, and you want to be notified when I post a part, I suggest turning on my post notifications. Okay, that’s all. Love You!

~~~~~~~

“You really think he would love someone like You?”

“I will never love you.”

“Look at you. You’re disgusting.”

“I did love you. And then I met Heather and realized how much better she was.”

“Worthless.”

“Stupid Girl.”

“Useless.”

“UGLY!”

My eyes snap open.

My room is dark, and the sun is just barely rising over the horizon, the dim blue light leaking through my curtains.

The alarm on my phone goes off.

5:30 A.M. Meeting with Hotch at 8.

I slide my thumb across the dismiss button, and rub my face. All I want to do is go back to sleep, crawl deep under my covers and stay there until the end of time.

But I can’t.

My therapist's voice echoes through my mind.

“You’ve been through some emotional turmoil, y/n. It’s okay to take a break to get yourself better. But you need to talk to your unit chief in order for that to happen.”

So, that’s what I’m doing. I have a meeting with Hotch to discuss medical leave, where I’ll turn over my badge and gun and leave.

I sit up in bed, running a hand through my hair, trying to convince myself to get up.

Spencer comes home from his honeymoon today.

And if I haven’t been in the right head space when he hasn’t been here, then I’m definitely not okay to be shooting a gun when he is.

He called.

I didn’t answer.

He left a message.

I didn’t listen.

I don’t need to listen to him telling me that there's nothing we can do.

That it’s over.

That I have to move on.

No thanks.

I’m good.

I get up, and walk though my dark apartment, not bothering to turn on the lights as I go.

I strip in the pitch black bathroom, only lighting a candle so I don’t trip and break my neck.

The water is cold, and I let it run over my spine.

I leave once my teeth are chattering.

I get out and hastily dry off, before running a brush through my hair and cleaning my teeth.

I avoid my own eyes in the medicine cabinet mirror, but they slip back, and I don’t recognize the girl staring back at me.

I blink, pressing my palm to my eye, using my other hand to open the cabinet, turning the mirror away from me, so I don’t have to look anymore.

By the time I’m dressed and ready to leave, it’s 7:15.

I grab my purse, and my keys and head out of my apartment.

Once outside, I light up a cigarette, walking the short block to where I’m parked, climbing in and cranking the heat.

I used to stop and get a bagel and coffee from the bakery around the corner, but my appetite has left me.

My smoke will suffice for breakfast.

It’s a quiet ride to Quantico.

Mornings of listening to the radio, turning up my favorite songs have all but disappeared.

I pull my chin into my chest to keep the cold from biting my nose, as I walk up to the building.

The eyes of the security guards that I used to greet each morning follow me, as I keep my gaze glued to the floor.

The warmth of the elevator is no longer welcoming.

I’m the only one in the bullpen, as I walk past desks covered in files and papers.

I knock on Hotch’s door at 7:56.

“Come in.”

We’re the first ones here, and I know any moment, the others will trickle in, and their eyes will scan and find me standing before him, through his open blinds, where they will proceed to profile and figure out why I am acting the way I am.

I enter the office, and close the door behind me.

“You didn’t give a reason for this meeting, just stating that it was urgent that we met.” He sets his pen down, and gives me his full attention. “May I ask why?”

I rub my forehead, a headache already forming. “I didn’t know what to put for a reason. Every time I thought about what to write down, it seemed stupid.”

“Y/N, if something is bothering you, it’s never stupid.”

I nod, sniffling, taking my purse off my shoulder and pulling out the note from my therapist, handing it to him.

“I need at least two weeks of mental medical leave.”

He’s quiet as he reads through the letter, looking up at me every now and then.

I look out the window, and see all their heads turn to avoid eye contact, as if they weren’t just sitting and watching the whole exchange.

I bet they’re talking about it right now.

When he’s finished, he simply folds it and places it on his desk, waiting for me to speak.

I look down at my shoes.

I know he knows.

I'm pretty sure everyone knows now.

“I can’t be around him, Hotch.” My voice is no louder than a whisper, but I know he can hear me.

Jesus, I’m so sick of crying.

“Everything changed that night. I can’t even look at him without wanting to cry or…” I pinch the bridge of my nose again, harder, trying to distract myself from the pain.

“I can’t. At least not yet. Not now. And I’m not in the right state of mind to turn it off during the work day so we can work like a team.” I turn to look out the other window, so I don’t have to deal with the eyes.

“I just need some time to work through it. And I don’t want to put the team at risk during that time.” I shove my hands in my pocket, and bite my lip.

He nods.

“I understand. I hope you know your job will be waiting for you when you’re ready.”

I nod, breathing in to keep the tears at bay. “I know.”

“Good. I need your badge and gun please.”

That’s when the tears start falling.

I love this Job.

I love these people.

And here I am, abandoning them all because I can’t get over myself.

Yeah because you’re weak. Letting a boy take over your life. How Pathetic.

I untie my jacket, removing my badge from the inner pocket, placing it before him on the desk. I then remove my gun from the holster from my hip, making sure the safety is on, before setting that by my badge.

He stands, as I make my way for the door, moving out of the eyesight of the others.

“Y/N,”

I stop and turn, only to be met with his arms wrapping around me.

I fall into the embrace, so uncommon for Hotch, but oh so needed at this moment.

Hotch is a father through and through, and right now, a father’s embrace is what I need.

“I’m always here if you need to talk. No matter what time. I’m here for you.”

I squeeze my arms around him, taking in his scent before backing away. “I know. Thank you, Hotch.”

He nods, smiling softly, before stepping back as I open the door, and walk out into the bullpen.

The team stands, unashamedly staring at me as I walk down past them.

Now including Spencer.

I hastily wipe my cheeks, and shove my hands back into my pockets, beginning to walk past them.

“Baby girl,”

“Don’t, Derek.” I spit. If he hadn’t been a dick….If i had just watched where I was going.

Spencer is closest to the door, and I turn my head away from him, not wanting to engage in anything with him.

He reaches out and grabs me by the crook of my elbow.

“Reid.” Hotch says, but Spencer’s eyes are burning into the side of my face.

“You asked me to come and catch you.” His voice is soft, and once again, I wish someone would scream at me.

I swallow hard, and pull away from him, stepping back, retreating as far into myself as possible.

“I’m not yours to catch anymore.”

I place a hand over my mouth and practically run out of the glass doors.

I don’t stop running until I get to my car, where I collapse into the cold, and sob against the steering wheel.

“Come and catch me?”

“You asked me to come and catch you.”

He knows he’s killing me.

He has to,

He can’t say shit like that and not know.

My phone lights up with his name, and I slide my thumb across decline, before starting my car and pulling out of the parking lot.

The minutes blur by as I make my way home, just wanting to collapse into bed, and sleep away my problems.

My apartment is lighter now, but it’s still relatively dark. Light seeps through my curtains, but it doesn’t reach far.

I kick off my boots, and take off my jacket, tossing it across the counter.

A full length mirror hangs from my corridor wall, watching me. Taunting me.

“He’s just trying to talk to you.”

I pinch my eyes close. This isn’t happening. Not again.

“But you’re too selfish to accept him as anything other than a friend.”

The voice talking is high-pitched, and stings like a bell.

Heather.

“Seriously? You think he would ever want someone like you? When he could have someone like me? You’re pathetic.”

I turn to the mirror, where she stands staring back at me in the reflection.

“Shut up.”

“You are so stupid. No one wants you. No one will ever want you. The team will be so much better off without you.”

“Shut up!” My teeth grit, and I know I’m talking to a figment of my imagination, but I don’t care.

I can’t care.

“You’re so useless. You’re so stupid. You’re so pathetic. Do you know you’re the last thing on his mind? Especially when he’s deep within me, and I’m making him feel so good.”

“I said shut up!”

I grab a stray book laying open on my counter, and throw it at the mirror, watching it shatter upon impact, the pieces looking like snow on my floor.

I bawl into my hands, leaning over my counter.

Who have I become?

I pull myself together long enough to grab the bottle of whiskey sitting open by my sink, taking a long drink from it.

With it still clutched in hand, I shuffle over to my couch which is pushed up against my windows.

I lean over the back of it, opening the one above it, the cool air freezing the tears on my face.

I set the bottle down and pick up a stray smoke, lighting up and leaning back, exhaling the smoke up into the air and out the window.

My cell vibrates in my pocket, and I pull it out, seeing Spencer’s face pop up yet again.

In the photo, he’s smiling, birthday cake on his face. I hit decline.

Another swig, another hit.

My brain is becoming fuzzy.

A text comes through from Derek.

I swipe the notification away.

I lie down on my couch, holding a pillow close to my body, my cigarette hanging from my fingers, the bottle down on the floor next to me.

Another text.

I turn my phone off.

Permanent Tag List: @criminalcow @pinkdiamond1016 @eternityofaxiom @you-had-me-at-hello-dear @marvels-gurl @theamuz @write-from-the-heart @sungieeeeeee @mjloveskids666 @chococereal @itzsoff @gia-kerks @doctorspencereid @imsuperawkward @andreasworlsboring101 @itsmoony @cielo1984 @heistmaster69 @nevvvv @theseuscmander @completmentaryvacuum @waywardswain

Heather Tag List: @drsoftboyreid @lindaze @urie-bowie-mercury @racerparker @avaholcombe @rodgertayloroof @stephanieisgay330 @swiftspaperings @rainsong01 @darthseph @liaabsurd @tracyn910 @kxllyxnnx @holypicklelightnickel @pianofirepirate @radtwinkie @madcrazy50 @bweakmybonez @constantlywishingonstars @l0ve-0f-my-life @expressiodepressio @flannelpjpants @x-midnight-violets-x @kwyloz@todaynotseen @caitlin-f @mylovehes @spencerreidsimptime @yoongi-holland @vamp-army @realimbo @stardream14 @magicbeanssss @jessaminelovelace @darthvadersturd @nikkilikewoah @mellifluouswildbluebells @lex-rodgers-sheild @crist1216 @voguekristen @doctorspencrreid @girlwithcrocs @harryscherrymoon @cherriesnwatermelons @heyitssomegirl101 @mollygetssherlockcoffee @colorfulsunflowerx @falcon-arrows @hereforbeebo @leagallyplatinumblonde @thatsonezesty13

#spencer reid #spencer reid angst #spencer reid series #spencer reid x female!reader #dr spencer reid #dr. spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds self insert #arron hotchner #song fic #heather #conan gray

529 notes · View notes

hellimagines · 5 years

Text

Sunbird (Part Two) -- Jason Todd

*My masterlist link can be found in my blog description*

Summary: Y/N wakes up after the bomb, and after Jason’s return she has to deal with the retaliation.

Warnings: Emo Bruce Wayne, angst

Pairing: Jason Todd x fem!reader

Word Count: 2,500+

Part One

A/N: Me? Disappearing for three weeks after impulsively creating another series? Wild. The beginning is a little rocky, but still, let me know what you think!

~Two weeks following the bomb~

Her whole body felt like it was on fire, flames licking the inside of her veins with each breath she took. However, as Y/N pried her sleep-crusted eyes open, she realized that she wasn’t in pain because of it. It simply just didn’t feel right. She was laid flat on one of the nursing beds in the BatCave, with IV’s in both arms, a tube down her throat, and other medical equipment enclosing her. Unable to lift her arms to properly find the source of the fire or to yell out for anyone, Y/N groaned in pain in hopes of someone hearing her.

Someone did hear her, but it wasn’t someone she was expecting. “Fuck, she’s awake,” Dick cursed, startling out of his chair to press a button on the wall beside her bed. “Hey, don’t move, Alfie’ll be here in a sec’, okay?” Y/N weakly nodded, wincing at the pain that jostled in her throat. Dick hushed her, petting a hand down her face to move away some sweat-slicked strands of hair. She hadn’t seen Dick in nearly a year, which wasn’t uncommon for the detective of Bludhaven, but it felt weird to have him as the first person she saw.

A few moments passed with Dick simply murmuring soft words and trying to keep Y/N from shifting too much as the pain increased. But, soon enough, Alfred and Bruce were both rushing toward them, the former snapping latex gloves onto his hands. “Please keep her steady, Master Dick. This will hurt more if she jerks too much,” Alfred instructed, gently placing the palm of his hand against Y/N’s throat.

Dick did as he was told, holding onto the younger girl’s shoulders to keep her down, while Bruce stood to the side with furrowed brows. “You’re gonna be just fine, Miss Y/N, this’ll be over in a moment,” Alfred hummed, before he was pulling the tube out without warning. Instinctively, Y/N jerked, wanting to fight against the pain in her throat as she yelled out, but Dick kept her from moving. And, as Alfred had said, the tube was gone in only a few seconds, leaving her able to gasp for air while choking and coughing on her own spit. Dick helped her into a sitting position as Alfred fluffed the pillows up, checking her vitals as her hacking calmed down.

Dick’s eyes caught Bruce’s across the bed, silently motioning him to come over, which Bruce began to do. But, he stopped short at the girl’s next words; “Where’s Jason?” she croaked while massaging her throat, before looking up at the older men. “Is he okay?”

Alfred turned his back, busying himself with putting away unneeded medical supplies with shaking hands. Dick looked up at Bruce, pleading for guidance before the older took a step back, shaking his head. “Bruce-” Dick tried, reaching out a hand for the other. Instead, Bruce shook his head and turned, walking away from the others.

“Dick, what happened?” Y/N whispered, dread filling her gut as she felt the tension cover the room like a cloud of smoke. “Please, where’s Jason?”

Dick took a deep breath, “Do you remember what happened?”

“Yeah,” she nodded with heavy breaths, “Joker used me to lure Robin and Batman, but Jason ran in without thinking, got trapped. Then we were tortured, well… Jason got the brunt of it, before… before the bomb went off.”

“Do you know how you survived?” Y/N shook her head. “When you were a baby, Joker wanted to make you like him, as much as possible at least. But Harley drew the line at the chemical vats, electrocution, and all the other stuff they did to themselves. So, when there was that giant Arkham break ten years ago, Joker had grabbed a whole bunch of random shit from the experiment and confiscation rooms,” Dick explained, taking a seat beside her bed.

“How do you know all of this?” Y/N questioned.

“Miss Quinzel stopped by when she heard what had happened. She’s still in hiding, but she thought you had died. I must admit, I feared for Master Bruce’s safety for a moment,” Alfred chuckled, despite the sorrowful look on his face. “She told us everything and explained why you hadn’t.”

“Jason’s dead. Isn’t he? You’re only talking about how or why I survived, not him.”

“Always did rival my detective skills,” Dick huffed, unable to look Y/N in the eyes anymore. “When Bruce got there, Jason… Jason was already dead. You were unconscious on top of him, with your fingers against his neck, checking for a pulse I think.” Memories began to filter into her head, ones her mind had blocked immediately after the bomb. Freeing herself from the charred zip ties, crawling over burning metal and wood, collapsing beside Jason, his lips trying to form her nickname one last time, before feeling his heart stop and his eyes go blank. Y/N’s heart ached at the memory, and she choked on a sob that she refused to let escape.

“And on fire,” Alfred added, grabbing ahold of Y/N’s hand as he watched the despair fall over her face. “Harley didn’t know what exactly Joker did to you when you were younger, he never told her the full extent. But whatever he did, insured your immunity against most things. You still bruise, bleed, and break, but those things are harder to kill you than most people. However, I don’t suppose he expected a bomb to fit into that category. So, while you were still burned and in a coma, you survived and healed within days.”

Y/N looked down at her arm, trying to block out the memories again, and noticed the subtle, red glow beneath her skin. The only scars on her arms were of old cuts, bullets, and other injuries. But not a single burn scar laced her skin. “Why didn’t it leave a scar?”

Dick chuckled at the question, having expected her to ask more about Jason, and closed his eyes briefly. “Fire seems to be your best friend. We had to keep a fire extinguisher and buckets of cold water on standby for the first week because whenever you got hot, your skin would spark and catch fire. That,” he pointed a finger to an abandoned charred bed near the corner of the room, “was your first bed.”

Y/N gave the bed a brief glance, before staring back down at her arm. The feeling in her stomach had yet to go away, now filled with grief she didn’t know how to handle. “Are you… are you sure he’s gone? I could’ve been wrong, maybe his heart only stopped for a second, maybe he’s still alive, I’m sure he’s fine-”

“Y/N,” Alfred whispered, the absence of the ‘Miss’ causing her to stop. “Jason’s dead. We haven’t had his funeral, wanting to wait for you to wake up, but he’s gone,” he said softly, rubbing a calloused thumb over the back of her hand.

“I’m so sorry, kid,” Dick choked, letting his forehead fall against her arm as he squeezed his eyes shut. “He didn’t deserve this.”

She looked between the both of them, tears falling over despite her reluctance. “I-” she began, before pausing and shaking her head. “What if Joker comes looking for me again? What if he comes after all of you next? I can’t lose anyone else, I have to leave.”

Dick shook his head, “It’s already been taken care of. The world thinks Y/N Napier is dead, and that Robin survived. We won’t go public with Jason’s death for a few months to keep shit from hitting the fan. That’s why Harley was here, she thought you had died. Joker even… he even sent Batman a ‘Sorry for your loss’ card.” His voice was dejected, feeling sympathetic for the younger girl on the bed.

“The second I left, he stopped caring about me. I’m not surprised,” she grumbled, wiping her eyes roughly. “Now what? I was only the girl Robin protected, nothing else. With me supposedly dead, and Robin, what do I do?”

“Don’t worry about Robin, we’ll take care of it. But you’re more than just Robin’s ward. You’re smart and strong, there’s plenty for you to do. Whether it’s taking up a mantle, helping out around here, or making a new name for yourself, you’ll find something. We’re not throwing you away, Y/N. You’re family.”

Y/N listened quietly as Dick talked, absentmindedly running her fingers over her arm as he did. Everything Dick and Alfred were telling her was soaking into her like a sponge; the information was there, but she wasn’t able to process much of it. She knew how cruel the world could be, she was the Joker’s daughter after all, but it still wasn’t fair that Jason was taken from her. That she had to live without him, knowing that it was her fault he was dead. Alfred continued checking her wounds and body temperature as Dick filled her in a few more things (such as Bruce’s refusal to take a break and Batman’s wavering moral code), but Y/N could only listen numbly. She had to figure out her next step, and for the first time in a while, she had to figure it out without Jason by her side.

It took nearly a year for Y/N to completely recover and get ahold of her powers. She no longer had to carry around a fire extinguisher, and spare ones no longer crowded random rooms in the mansion. The only time her powers would act out was when the temperature around her crept above 80°; needless to say, hot weather and heaters were her kryptonite (but she wasn’t allowed to say that around Clark). She also discovered a new power alongside her… combustion skills- she had the ability to make people feel as though they were burning inside. There were no physical effects, and it couldn’t kill anyone, but the pain was definitely there. Also during that year, a small funeral was held for Jason at Gotham Cemetery, consisting of Y/N, Dick, Alfred, and Bruce. Bruce hadn’t stayed for long, with Alfred following shortly after to keep an eye on him. Y/N and Dick remained until the sun began to set, sitting in comfortable silence and staring at the headstone.

It only took two more years after that for Y/N to grace the streets of Gotham as Nightwing’s sidekick, Sunbird. It was the nickname Jason had given her after she had admitted that being with him was the freest she ever felt while they were sitting on top of Wayne Enterprise, watching the sunset. At the time, Jason didn’t know that there was an actual bird called sunbird, he just liked the way the words went together when he thought of her. And now, with Jason gone and her newfound abilities, the alias stuck. She would have been Batman’s sidekick, but there was a new, scrawny genius taking over Robin and Bruce still couldn’t look her in the eye without seeing Jason’s body. So, Dick had taken on the job of training her while Alfred created her battle-ready, fireproof suit, with built in cooling technology to keep her from overheating. It was a grey bodysuit with red down the back of her arms and over her upper chest, creating an abstract wing design, paired with a red domino-mask. Being Sunbird and racing across rooftops with Nightwing or Robin, and the occasional Titan or other vigilante, gave Y/N the freedom she had been chasing her whole life.

Now, six years after Jason’s death, that freedom was about to be torn away.

“You can’t keep me locked up, Bruce!” Y/N’s screech filled the Cave, causing Tim to wince from his spot on the nursing bed. They were all still in their suits, reeling and arguing with the fact that Jason was alive and what to do next.

“You’re the reason he’s back, if you go out there who knows what he’ll do,” Bruce argued, his voice steady yet tinted with anger. “He could’ve let slip that you’re alive to anyone. It’s not safe.”

Y/N let out a yell of frustration, slapping the bag of ice she had been holding into Tim’s stomach as she stalked forward. “This is Jason we’re talking about, he won’t hurt me,” she snapped, pointing a finger at Bruce. “He knows what Joker did to me, he was there half the time, saving me. He’s not going to go blabbing off to everyone and their fucking mom, knowing that it could result in me actually dying. Just because he has a different alias and kills the occasional drug lord, doesn’t mean he isn’t one of us anymore.”

“That’s exactly what it means-”

“Master Wayne, I suggest you take a break.” Alfred’s voice, the calmest in the room, caused the two bickering vigilantes to immediately silence. Bruce was still breathing heavily, looking down at the younger girl with conflicting emotions, while Y/N stared up at him with narrowed eyes, ready to keep fighting. “You’re both upset, as I assume we all are, but arguing over Master Jason’s role in our family will do us no good in figuring out our next step.”

“Alfie’s right,” Dick sighed, wedging himself between Y/N and Bruce. “B, let’s go let Gordon know about the takedown tonight.” Putting his hands on Bruce’s shoulders he turned the older man around, giving Y/N one last look before guiding Bruce out of the Cave.

Once the door was shut Y/N collapsed onto the edge of Tim’s medical bed, holding her head in her hands. “Jason’s more part of this family than I am, Bruce can’t just say stuff like that.”

“You are a part of this family,” Tim said, allowing Alfred to poke at his ribs to find the broken ones, “he’s just upset, you know how he gets.”

She murmured, “that doesn’t make it okay,” before lifting her head. She looked over at Tim, watching how Alfred wrapped bandages around his torso and applied more ice to his side.

It was quiet for a few moments, before Alfred spoke, “if you plan on going solo, at least make sure one of us knows what you’re doing.” Y/N chuckled, flashing him a cheeky smile. “Better yet, take Master Tim or Dick with you.”

At that, both birds scoffed out a laugh. “Yeah right, he’d kill me on sight, same with Dick. No offense, Y/N, but you’re own on your own,” Tim huffed, earning a slap on the shoulder from Alfred.

Y/N laughed loudly and shook her head. “You’re right, no offense taken, baby bird. I have to do this on my own, there’s something off about him right now. Throwing the original and the new Robin at him won’t end well. I can handle myself, he won’t hurt me; no matter what Bruce says, Jason Todd is still under that helmet.”

All Writing Taglist (OPEN): @teageowen @alex--awesome--22 @hxdesworld @frozenhuntress67 @samanthasmileys @simonsaysyasss @marvelismylifffe @bademliimagnum @wherewecangazeintothestars @loxbbg

#jason todd #jason todd imagine #jason todd x reader #redhood #redhood x reader #redhood imagine #red hood imagine #red hood #red hood x reader #batfam

163 notes · View notes

lisatelramor · 4 years

Text

Be a Better Me

Hi, I’m back with angst fic. >_>

So with COVID19 going on I 1) had more time to write + 2) have had a bit more background anxiety with the world, and stress + time = angstfic for me most of the time. So this got written in about a month. Instead of any of my WIPs =_=;;;;; Hope other people are up for some angst. Either way I'm being sent back to work next week so I'm glad it chose to finish when it did.

This was 100% inspired by @ickaimp's Robo!Kaito fic and has probably low key kicked around my brain for years since I read it back in like 2011.

Chapter 1

His arm aches. Kaito flexes his hand, blood running down from the bullet graze that feels like fire. The robot that impersonated him is wires and synthetic skin smoking in a pile. He feels sick in his stomach, both from almost dying after a few days trapped in a lab and because he’d just seen something that had run around with his face blow its own head off.

It’s just a robot, but it’d thought it was human. It’d thought it was him, had seen his memories, just hadn’t quite been human enough to understand life, death, or morals. What kind of sick fuck made something like that?

Kaito shudders. His hand flexes again. Bandages. He needs bandages, and maybe stitches, or maybe to just. Go lie down.

His skin doesn’t feel quite right but that’s the shock probably. A lot’s happened in a couple days’ time. Like finding out someone with his face killed someone. A creepy scientist who also kidnapped Kaito, but yeah. How anything that had Kaito’s memories and personality could do that… He shudders again.

Kaito isn’t a megalomaniac in disguise right? He has lines and morals and things he’d never do in a million years, even if some of his morals are grayer than others. He doesn’t hurt people. Not physically permanent. And not any other way if he can help it.

Blood drips from his fingertips.

There’s a laboratory burning down with a corpse of a man who tried to make a man from metal out there and Kaito doesn’t want anything more to do with it.

He turns away. He has a gem to return and a budding reputation to save.

o*O*o

He feels weird for a while after that. It’s the trauma probably. Kaito can’t say his life has ever been normal. His father was a stage magician, both his parents turned out to be thieves, and he puts on a white suit to stir up shadows to try and find out why his father was murdered. That’s hardly the sort of thing a teenager usually goes through, but killer robots and kidnapping were new. His balance a bit off for a day? He spent two days strapped to a table. His arm took a bit to work right? He did get grazed by a bullet. Swimming takes a bit more effort than the last time he did it? Not weird since he generally avoids swimming in the ocean if he can. Aoko’s mop swings seem a little slower? He’s kind of hyper aware of attacks lately, so he’s just paying more attention.

Things are different but not that different so it’s just his head being weird about it all. Life goes on, he stops feeling a bit off and he keeps on going as usual. Bait Aoko, play like a good student, perform magic, and pull of the next heist. Simple.

But then there’s suddenly a magic wielding witch and a detective trying to sniff him out, and life just keeps getting weirder. He doesn’t remember it being this strange before he became Kid, but it must have been at least a little weird. It’s just that practicing magic and acrobatics with Aoko and actual magic and jumping off buildings are very different things. It’s a miracle he’s managed not to break anything. What with the roller coaster, or jumping off buildings, or getting shot at, or ghost(?) pirates, or being attacked by a hoard of hairy rats… Yeah. Life is weird.

So if Kaito’s a little weird in it, well, he fits right in, now doesn’t he?

o*O*o

Kaito’s chest is aching and there’s a nasty bruise forming. He supposes that’s what happens when a gem blocks a bullet. It’s yet another miracle the sapphire didn’t shatter let alone that the bullet hit it instead of him at all. Aoko liked her birthday gift but it had taken all Kaito had to set that up for her and he’s dead on his feet now.

He might have a cracked rib too. He winces, easing off the costume. It has a hole—two really where the bullet deflected—that will need patched and the usual bleach treatments to keep it white. White is the worst color for climbing around rooftops and crawlspaces. He’d change it if it wasn’t for the fact that it’s one of Kid’s signature identifiers at this point. Thanks, Oyaji.

The bruise is worse than he first thought when he gets his shirt off. Mottled purple all along the left side of his chest. Like someone took a wooden mallet to him.

Thankfully there’s an x-ray machine down in Kid’s hideaway. It’s old and definitely not something he’s going to ever use much because, well, radiation, but he’d rather know if he’s managed to break a rib or not so he knows how much acrobatics he can get away with.

It takes a bit to set up and a bit longer to figure out how to get everything to work, but fifteen minutes later he’s got x-ray film developing in a little darkroom off to the side because apparently his dad had a little bit of everything thought out down here. He loves and hates it in equal measures sometimes.

He sighs, feeling the deep breathing ache, and looks at the forming image. And frowns.

He’s not a medical expert, far from it, but he has a general run down of the human body and has seen x-rays before. What Kaito’s looking at? Not what he’d expect to see. There’s ribs, yes, but they’re not quite right, and too dark. Then there’s all the metal. It’s like his nervous system is registering as wires, radiating out like something from one of his textbooks, same with the circulatory system that’s a bit too dark on the film. Should he even be seeing that? Heart, maybe, but branching signs of the rest of his veins and arteries? His lungs aren’t the right shape. The vague shadows of organs aren’t right either. And there’s… there’s the shadow of screws and pins and mechanical bits that shouldn’t be there. There’s wires instead of tendons that shouldn’t be showing and he has to stare.

His chest throbs and he looks down at it. Bruising. At the film. Barely resembling something human. He hurts. Aches. Yet there in front of him is mechanical parts.

Feeling like he’s floating, or maybe sinking, Kaito plucks one of his razor cards from its deck. He slides it along his finger. Skin parts, blood wells up, pain registers dimly.

But is it blood?

It drips, just a few drops, already clotting as he stares. It’s red as any blood he’s seen. The pain is real. And yet. He looks at the film.

Kaito hasn’t thought about the robot in months. Why would he? It’s over and done. He’d read a police report about the lab in the paper. About the body found and the equipment sitting in police evidence for ages as the murder case went cold. They didn’t know to look for a robot. And the robot had been left for scrap. Kaito doesn’t know what had happened to its remains.

There hadn’t been a second body found.

He looks back at his hand and finds it shaking.

The robot’s face had peeled off, but when he tugs at his cheek he just feels pain. Same with his hair. He feels. He eats and shits and sleeps and bleeds. His breath is coming too fast and it hurts.

It’s a mistake, right? He could take another scan and it’d be normal. Human. He could scan his hand and it would be bone and tendons and the ghost of muscle, not wire and metal joints that would make a prosthetic expert weep. Not too-dark veins and tendrils of nerves that shouldn’t be visible.

His lungs were the wrong shape, he couldn’t breathe.

“Shit.”

He’s Kaito, right? Just a normal teenager with an abnormal life. Just a normal, human teenager.

The robot thought it was human.

The robot thought it was Kaito.

Kaito doesn’t remember being taken, he just remembers waking up strapped down. But the robot barely passed as human. But Kaito has wires in his chest.

He looks at the film again. “Well. No cracked rib.” He laughs. It’s not funny at all. He can’t breathe. “What do I do?”

The empty basement hideaway his father left him has no answers at all.

Like usual, it’s just Kaito facing crisis alone.

He’s never felt worse.

o*O*o

Eventually, he picks himself off the floor. Eventually he changes into new clothes. Eventually he slides into bed and sleeps, terribly, but sleeps. He sees his face melting in his dreams, a broken metallic skull leaking fluid and smoke and blank mechanical eyes staring at him. His skin peeling away to show metal bones and wires as everyone he loves stares in horror.

Kaito wakes up feeling like he’s going to throw up, in a cold sweat. He can dream and sweat and feel sickening terror, surely he’s wrong. Surely.

But the x-ray is the same damning image this morning as it was last night.

Kaito’s hands start shaking again.

If he goes into class, Hakuba will take one look at him and know something’s up. Hell, Aoko will notice. He laces his fingers together. Poker face. Poker face. Whatever is going on, he’s still been Kaito for months without noticing anything wrong so. So maybe he’s… a cyborg or something. A robot wouldn’t be having a panic attack about being a robot. Who would want to make a robot capable of having a panic attack in the first place?

He doesn’t know what the hell is going on, but he needs answers before he can do anything else.

Kaito calls in sick, leaves Aoko a message so she doesn’t show up demanding he get ready for school. Eats plain toast without tasting it—how can he taste it?—and slides on his shoes. His chest is a mass of dark bruises just like a human body that had a bullet deflected should be. But nothing under his skin is apparently human.

It’s easy to slip into the police record room with a borrowed face, and a matter of minutes to seek out the mad doctor’s case record. His charred remains are photographed in gristly glory front and center, but his cause of death isn’t fire. Kaito knows his hands don’t have the sort of strength to do what that file describes.

He almost throws up looking at it.

There’s lab equipment listed off, melted computers and bits of paper files to survive the destruction kept in evidence files. Kaito might need to come back and see what he can salvage from them. If he’s… not fully human, he might need some of the doctor’s research no matter how much the thought makes his skin crawl. There’s nothing in the file about the robot, but there is notes about unfinished pieces parts sifted from the wreckage. Police notes only speculate what they thought was going on in the labs.

The file doesn’t mention another body.

Kaito does a quick look into active unidentified male bodies found in the last few months, but none of them are young enough to be him. None of them recognizable. It should be a good thing.

It should be.

Instead it has Kaito’s breathing tight again because what if he died and no one ever found the body? What if he rots somewhere and no one will ever know he’s not. That’s Kaito’s not.

He leaves the police station.

There’s a disconnect between his self and emotions and it’s something he’s done before, but rarely outside of a heist. His poker face, most of the time, is an act. This is different. This is shutting bits of himself away because otherwise he couldn’t function. This is putting off a breakdown knowing it’ll be that much worse later. This is shutting a door knowing it’s going to open later and drown him.

He heads for the lab. It’s the only place he can think to go.

o*O*o

The building is condemned. It’s a burnt husk of a thing and a surprise that it hasn’t been torn down yet. Perhaps the doctor had owned it and it’s in the air what to do with it. Either way, Kaito approaches with detached caution.

He can remember leaving here in a rush, the explosion that followed not long after he made it out. He can remember the sickening glimpse of a body on his way out, trying not to look too hard and knowing it’d haunt his nightmares. Kaito steps inside and pinpoints the twisted metal that was once where he was strapped down, the shattered remains of the memory transfer machines still imbedded into the wall behind it.

The police had removed a lot of things, but they couldn’t remove the scorch marks on the walls and floor or the dark bloodstains in the corner. He shivers.

What is he doing here? The scene was gone over by police. It’s not like he’s going to find something they didn’t, and it’s not like he’s going to know what any of the machine bits left can do beyond the memory transfer one.

It’s damp and drafty inside. It smells like wet ashes and chemicals and he wants to turn around and leave, especially when he sees a metal start of a skeleton still bolted to the back wall. How many had this guy made? How many robot failures before the one that Kaito fought? How many thought they were human? How many other people were kidnapped in the process of building these things?

Things. Robots were things. And Kaito was…

The wall had collapsed along one side, and no one had bothered to clear the rubble. If Kaito was a crazy robot building scientist that kidnapped teenagers, what would he do with them? Ok, he’d been strapped down to the memory machine. But if he built a robot and implanted memories in it, he’d want to compare, right? He’d want to prove that he’d done the transfer right, so he wouldn’t just get rid of the teenager. The robot Kaito faced had transferred memories fine, but the emotional and moral processes hadn’t been right. The doctor had been basing it off Kaito and if Kaito was. If he was then that meant the transfer had worked right on Kaito. Probably. And maybe the scientist had been trying to duplicate whatever happened with Kaito or maybe they’d been two different models for different purposes. Who the hell knew at this point? Certainly not Kaito.

Kaito prods at rubble. If there’s one thing he’s learned about people who have secrets to hide, things aren’t as they appear. This is a lab, but it’s missing living space. It’s missing storage and a metal foundry. The pieces that built the robots are too specialized to not be custom made. The cabinets that had existed had to have been full of wires and polymers and the fine details bits that you’d want a nice open workspace to better work with, but there had to be a place the doctor had done the base work and he’s not seeing any sign of it here. Just the start of the skeleton on the wall that’s missing its head and lower half.

He can’t look at it. It’s somewhere in between the scan Kaito took of his chest and the metal chassis from the robot he fought, its skin peeling back and—

There had to be a basement. Still is a basement probably. But the door is either hidden or buried, and Kaito’s not sure what to do first. Test the shattered remains of cabinet bases? Try scrounging through rubble? See if anything still hooked into the wall shifts and shows a hidden room like his painting at home?

The basement wouldn’t have been legally added or the police would have its existence on file for the building blueprints. But most of this place can’t have been legally built. Not with the amount of equipment secreted away. People would have asked questions. So. Hidden door.

Kaito estimates wall thicknesses versus the interior versus how dangerous it is to get close to places where the ceiling and walls are still crumbling bit by bit.

There’s a cabinet with shattered glass cases and medical supplies that have all been taken away as evidence. Kaito vaguely remembers it before the explosion. Despite half a roof caving in around it, it’s still in one piece structurally and that means it’s built stronger than a cabinet should be.

It takes twenty minutes of careful prodding and digging and tugging to get it to budge and when it does it shrieks like rusted hinges. But Kaito keeps pulling and gets a space big enough for him to crawl through, stairs traveling down.

It’s dark and even mustier than above. The floor must have cracked or the foundations, and it’s growing mold, but Kaito’s surprised to find it isn’t completely dark. Somehow there’s still power running here, probably underground. The overhead lights are shattered but in the gloom are a few red blinking lights of appliances.

Kaito wants to turn back but he’s never been one to shy away from the truth.

Glass crunches under his shoes as his small pocket flashlight illuminates fragments of the dark. A table. A kitchen. A bed, all in the first room, but heavy metal doors beyond. They’re warped though, and the ceiling sags ominously where a support beam crumpled slightly from the explosion above. Kaito has no idea how it didn’t get destroyed with the rest of the place, but it had to have been the placement of explosives.

He creeps further, leaving the eerily normal living area for one of the metal doors. It’s stuck, but he gets it to move enough to squeeze past, his ribs protesting the movement. It’s fine. It’s not important. The room is the metal foundry he’d expected, casts and tools and carefully disguised air vents branching off. It’s heavily reinforced, probably also muffled so the metalwork didn’t make too much noise. He sees finished metal bones, all sorted neatly into labeled bins and racks of molds. There’s a half-finished skull just sitting there on a work bench, empty eye sockets unnerving.

Kaito wrenching his eyes away from it. There’s papers and diagrams, documents on the doctor’s research about how the robotic body comes together, about alloys and density and weights that Kaito should keep if it ever becomes something he needs—He drops the thought into that emotional void growing in his head.

If he needs anything from here, he will take it. And will not think about what it means.

The documents about the muscular, nervous, circulatory and digestive systems aren’t here. Might not even exist anymore. But there had been a personal computer in the living space and it had glass littering it like the floor, but it wasn’t destroyed. It was one of the blinking red lights, so maybe…

Kaito’s taking that when he leaves.

The other metal door is warped worse than the foundry. Kaito has to go and get a metal femur to lever the gap wide enough to pass through and he’s surprised to find the inside almost fully intact.

One light flickers on, the only bulb not destroyed. He’s not sure at first what the room is. There’s a filing cabinet by the door, sure, but also a chest freezer and something that looks like an opaque glass case except there are wires running to it and an electric hum that’s louder than the freezer. Something in his instincts prickle and Kaito can’t explain the heavy terrified feeling bubbling in his gut the longer he stares at the simple room in the dim, flicker light.

Glass crunches and he tugs the freezer lid up. He’s half expecting to find a dismembered corpse in there. There’s not a corpse but there is vial after vial of dark liquids with strings of numbers on them and containers labeled ‘skin’ with numbers after them. The liquid looks a lot like blood. Kaito’s stomach lurches. The other containers are opaque and thankfully impossible to tell the contents of, though they could be organs, real or synthetic. Kaito really hopes the skin is synthetic.

He lets the lid close and tugs the file cabinet drawers. Locked, but he can easily get in them later. That leaves the glass case.

It has a computerized box attached to the front with strings of numbers displayed that mean absolutely nothing to Kaito. There’s controls too, but the only one he cares about is the one that opens the glass case. It unlocks with a pneumatic hiss, like its contents were under pressure and Kaito swings the glass up.

And stares down at his face.

Peaceful. Like it’s asleep. He’s asleep. But his lips are bluish and his skin is pale and, when Kaito reaches out with a shaking hand, he’s cold to the touch.

The police never found a second body.

The room goes a little sideways and dark and Kaito realizes only after his face is mashed against the metal edge of the glass case that he’s hyperventilating.

“Shit,” he hisses through chattering teeth. “Shit.” His hair’s standing on end and his whole body is shaking and he’s having a panic attack next to his own corpse. “Shit.” It shouldn’t be possible to have a panic attack when he isn’t even real.

The room keeps spinning and blinking bright and dark as he tries to control his breathing. Shit, how can he hyperventilate when he doesn’t have real lungs and maybe not even a real brain—unless. He pops back up like a man drowning and scrabbles for the case.

He tilts Kai—the body’s head one way or another, but there’s no sign of it being cut open. The hair’s the same wiry texture he feels when he touches his head and there’s no injury he can feel. The knobs of its spine along the neck are intact. There’s wires, now that he’s looking, glued at the temples, but they’re not going in the body. There’s wires other places too and he has a stupid, fleeting moment of gratitude that at least the sick fuck that did this left Kaito’s underwear on. The body’s. Shit. There’s no marks and no indication of what happened, but the body isn’t breathing and there’s no pulse at its throat and it’s Kaito’s body right there.

It’s him but it’s not because Kaito isn’t.

He has to let go of the body and take three steps away to empty the meager contents of his stomach on the glass-littered floor. Stomach bile burns his throat. Is it even stomach acid? Is it even—how is he digesting if he’s wires and not-quite-organs? What is he?

He’s crying and hiccupping and he can’t quite seem to stop, the sour taste in his mouth and the smell of mold in his nose. What was the point in making a robot so close to human it can’t tell the difference between flesh and machine? What’s the point of a machine that can cry and vomit and panic like a real person? What’s the point of killing a teenager to replace him with a machine?

He crouches for an unknown period of time until the panic sort of flat lines and his tears dry. His hands stop shaking and his throat is raw, each breath a rasp. He bleeds and feels pain and emotions and—

Kaito goes back to the body. His body. Say the memory transfer worked. Say that Kaito in his entirety went from human flesh and bone to this. Intact. Say that the process fried Kaito’s brain and the doctor was left with a comatose teenager and a robot that didn’t know it was a robot. What would the doctor do with his mistake? Was the case to preserve the corpse? To keep the body as reference or had there been another purpose?

Or maybe the process hadn’t fried Kaito’s brain. Maybe the real Kaito had looked at his double. At the other Kaito and tried to break free. Maybe he’d been sedated or something else went wrong. But maybe that Kaito had died in terror and left an imposter in his place.

Kaito will never know.

There is no sign of decomposition. No sign of the body going through rigor mortis or any kind of trauma. Like he’s just sleeping. Like a few tiny stimuli could open the hidden blue eyes and the body would rise up and express how frigging cold it is in the case.

Maybe, for a scientist playing god, that had been the intent. Make a man from scratch achieved, next step bring back the dead. The first person to successfully revive a cryo patient.

Kaito closes his eyes, then closes the glass case. He can’t look at his own body anymore. He can’t. It seals with another hiss, preserving the body for however long the machine keeps running.

What the hell is he supposed to do?

He presses the heels of his hands against his swollen eyes. It’s not right to leave this here. It’s not right for any of this to be left here. It’s not right for Kaito to take the place of the real Kaito either but he doesn’t know what the hell to do. He’s been taking his place for months now; what else is there for him?

Is it better or worse if he is, in fact, a complete imprint of Kaito’s brain? Would he even know the difference if something is missing?

Worst of all, no one noticed. Not Aoko. Not Kaito or Jii. Not Kaito’s own mother. No one.

Kaito died alone. And no one noticed.

He’s crying again, not sure if it’s for himself or for the body at his back. Months. Months.

The overhead light flickers out and all at once Kaito can’t stay here. It’s like he’s the one in the box, trapped and slowly running out of air, and he squeezes out the door and up the stairs before he can even process moving. He doesn’t stop until he’s up a tree and breathing smoke and mold free air and trying to stop trembling. ‘What now?’ his mind asks. ‘What now, what now, what now?’

It’s night when he finally moves. He doesn’t know how long he sat up a tree, can’t remember the sun going down, only knowing that his body aches everywhere from stillness and unforgiving solid tree limbs beneath his ass. He makes a call. “Jii?”

He doesn’t know what his voice sounds like, couldn’t pick up his poker face if he tried right now.

It must be horrible though because Jii’s voice comes through the line sharp and worried. “What’s happened?” he asks.

There’s no way to start, no words to draw on to explain the mess that this is. How does someone say that they’re dead? That they’re dead and not, human and not, all at the same time?

“Kaito-bocchama?” Jii says sharper.

“How good,” Kaito says, voice gone all wobbly and out of control, “is that friend of yours with robotics?”

“…Kaito-bocchama?” Jii says a lot more dubiously.

Kaito licks his lips with a dry tongue. Dry mouth. Probably dehydrated and doesn’t that make no sense for a robot to have that feature. “There’s a problem. And I don’t know what to do,” he admits.

He can’t say it. How can he say to Jii that Kaito’s dead, like Toichi is dead, to Kaito’s mom that he’s dead and there’s just this remnant body of wires and meat-mimicking mess wearing his face left? How can he do that?

“Where are you?” Jii says, the sound of him getting clothing, maybe or a coat in the background.

Kaito hesitates, but gives the address of the burned down lab. “How good is your friend with robotics?” he asks again.

“…It isn’t his specialty,” Jii says after a long moment.

“Ah.” Too much to hope for. Still, maybe this mysterious friend Jii gets the occasional gadget from will know how to read the research notes better than Kaito would. Keys jingle as Jii locks his front door. “Jii?”

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry, in advance,” Kaito says knowing it’s not enough. He hangs up before Jii can say anything in response and doesn’t pick up the return call. Instead he stuffs his phone in a pocket and covers his face with his hands and just breathes. If nothing else makes sense, at least he can do that.

#magic kaito #detective conan #robot kaito #fanfiction #my writing #not really shippy this time guys #but there's a lot of skirting the lines later #and much friendship #you know #between the angst moments

49 notes · View notes