#he only even got to hit me one time and it hardly did any damage

[goldensunset]

my apologies larry that was over before it started

[maritotoy]

MAUGA X Support/Medic Reader ((Part. 1))

NOTE: Believe it or not, I never realize how long I've written this one.

This narrative tracks Mauga's obsession with Y/N as it grows to the point where he is prepared to kill everyone who stands in his way. With this in mind, Mauga's commitment would gradually grow. He would start out softly and then this need on you would get stronger.

It all began when your talents were initially utilised for recruitment. You were a terrific help, willing to assist your teammates in whatever way they needed.

Your main issue was that you could never truly let them handle things on their own. As a result, it became increasingly difficult to care for yourself.

They promised you riches if you helped them fight back against their threat. There were only so many ways to profit from rival worlds, after all. You were aware that you were going into a whole new universe when you agreed, but you also felt that you had no choice but to accept them.

Ultimately, you didn't wish to pass away, did you?

It was stated to you when you first joined TALON Organization, that you should concentrate only on the battlefield. Up until you met Baptiste, an exceptional combat medic, it was great with you. Your shared enthusiasm for curing illness is what unites the two of you. It turned into a shared passion. As you try to acquire experience in several areas, like medical supplies, you both hope to discover some more useful abilities, like healing or even a unique kind of combat capability.

But you can hardly ever get to Baptiste, he's constantly at the top. Both a combat mercenary and medic. You're always looking for ways to sharpen your skills.

Even after meeting him again at your base and on missions, you are still determined to improve your ability to deal with any possible emergencies. Not until later do you find out what happens when a member of your unit gets injured.

Baptiste surged in, carrying an imposing stature and a solid, muscular frame. His voice sounded desperate, asking, "I'm sorry if I came to you! I know you are busy, but I need help with my friend, please, Y/N!" The urgency was so obvious that there wasn't much resistance. Even if he was a doctor himself, it must have seemed urgent enough.

Besides... You were in the right place to help.

You rushed over to his side and helped him stabilize his huge friend. "What happened, Bap? Are you hurt?" He didn't reply, but his eyes told you all you needed to know.

You fix your sight on his pal. He does not appear to be hurt or seriously damage. However, the man's body is completely soaked, which looks very suspicious to you. "Is he alright, Bap? I don't see anything wrong." He shook his head and gave a sigh.

"We were attacked. Mauga and I found the source of the enemy attack and got separated."

"How long has it been since then?"

"Four hours, maybe five."

"Do you have any idea of what may have caused the damage?"

"I'm not sure. However, I had already discovered him unconscious but unharmed on the ground. It should not take long for him to awaken.." You glance at the unconscious man again before you say, "Let me take a look at him." He nodded and stepped aside.

"Mauga could never be wounded by shots like that. Despite his size, he could easily absorb one hit thanks to his physique." He explains.

You crouch down and check on his comrade. He seems fine to you. There's nothing unusual about him, other than the fact that he's a bit too heavy.

You knew Mauga.

And with such.

You just don't know how to engage with him.

On a conversation? Yes. Your profession is your duty.

You don’t really get along with those who rely solely on themselves as an advantage, even though you respect their abilities.

The feeling is mutual. Every time someone gets hurt because of something beyond their control, you are there to help them.

Because that's your job as a medic.

You both have quite a difference in interests, though. You can't stand the fact that he’s so reckless, you can't understand why he doesn't think more carefully before he acts. As soon as he sees blood, it's always the most important thing.

Mauga stands tall, towering over his opponents with an impressive height of 7'5 ft tall. (My headcanon)

Mauga is a formidable opponent on the front lines thanks to his strong, muscular physique. His broad shoulders and thick neck gives off an air of strength and power, and his body is well-built, demonstrating his strength and capacity to deal severe damage to rivals.

Did I mention he has two hearts?

Unlike you, Mauga is a ruthless and cunning individual, driven by his own motivations. He never lets anyone interfere with his goals, whether or not they involve you. While he might act with reckless disregard sometimes, he is also able to calculate the best course of action.

Not anyone knows this. But you knew nontheless with Baptiste.

You may be underestimating him in some way, or you may have witnessed the genuine thing, up close and personal, but he always brags about his achievements without hesitation or shame. His fighting style turns wild and unpredictable when he fights. If Mauga doesn't want to win, he will take his time, before using ChaCha and Gunny, his chainguns, to grab the victory, and he won't give up until he achieves his objective.

He definitely is careless, isn't he?

"He's breathing just fine, Baptiste. I would say he is in perfect health, aside from the injuries, I can't detect any signs of any damage injuries either." You said as you stood up. Baptiste sighs relief. "I'll leave him to you doctor. Don't worry, I trust that you have everything under control." He says this to you while nodding in satisfaction.

This gesture of his is a way of gratitude towards the medic's work.

"I will be back later," he says as he leaves to make a round to prepare for battle.

While Baptiste was gone, you sat next to the downed mercenary soldier and begin to observe him. In the midst of his unconsciousness, he seems to be in a good state. There was no sign of discomfort or pain. His pulses are fast but steady, knowing that Mauga have two hearts, one that allowed him to replace his damaged, organic heart with a cybernetic one. That way, his heart will beat twice as fast. You can easily tell that Mauga is in his natural state.

Your eyes began to feel heavy after observing him for some time. You weren't sure if it's due to fatigue from watching him, or simply exhaustion from your duties as a medic.

Before you knew it, you fell asleep.

When you awoke, you find yourself staring back into the face of Maugaloa Malosi, whose lips formed into those flashing, same pasted smile as usual. “Ah, Doctor. How nice to see you again.”

You quickly wake up, sitting straight up on the chair. “M-Mauga!" You exclaimed, alarmed. "H-How is you- I mean are you feeling alright?”

He grinned at you. “I am feeling rather fine.” You let out a long, sigh of relief. However, you didn't anticipate that this would happen frequently. “I see..." You replied.

Silence takes over for a while. Mauga stared at you intensely before taking a step forward. “Your Y/N, correct? Baptiste little assistant. I've heard much about you, but never expect that I would get to get treated from you.”

You flinched slightly at his words 'assistant' and the word 'little', but you remained calm. “I'm glad that you feel better now. You should rest and recover. If you still need them..."

“I appreciate the concern,” he says as he reaches towards your shoulder. You instinctively raise your hands in preparation of blocking. This caught him off guard, causing him to pause in his movements, then booms laughing.

“My apologies, Teuila. I thought that you might have forgotten what I do here,” he said in that familiar, friendly tone.

“If I recall correctly, I haven't given you permission to touch me.” This comment caught him off guard as he chuckles deeply.

He stares at your hand for a while longer. You're beginning to become worried. After a brief silence, he reaches forward and lightly holds onto your wrist.

“That’s a very sensitive spot…” He whispers gently. Your heartbeat begins to accelerate. “And your pulse is fast. Is this normal?” he asks. “Yes,” you respond in a soft voice.

“Then why are you afraid? You know I'm not going to hurt you...” He grinned. His sharp teeth glinted menacingly in the dim light. "Surely you've already made a friend? You also gave him a lot of attention than you do with me. Or have you grown to dislike me?"

"...I... I beg your pardon-" your speech is interrupted by Baptiste with a tired expression.

"Hey... Sorry that I took so long. I went to gather supplies. Mission was a success." He sighed in relief as he approached you.

"Mauga, I'm glad your awake bud." Baptiste sighs in relief and smiles at Mauga. Mauga returned the gesture before looking back at you.

He still has that huge grin plastered across his features while his eyes darted towards yours. "You're crazy out there Mauga. Do you really think that you can defeat the enemies single handedly?" Baptiste says with a chuckle. “You know me Baptiste, I never do things without planning them out.” He grinned, revealing that row of dazzlingly white teeth. “I still don't understand how you've been knocked down so easily. It's hard to believe that you can be beaten like that.” Baptiste gives a half smirk, half frown.

You listen to their conversation, and you try to make sense of it. Mauga laughs at the situation, as if it's all so obvious. "C'mon, Baptiste, we have bigger problems than me right now. The mission is a success because we finally found the enemy camp. But it was a close call, and we needed your medical expertise to treat the wounded," Mauga explains to Baptiste while looking directly into his eyes with a sly smile. "I carried your massive ass in this camp with support of your weight alone. You ought to be pleased to have a subordinate with such skill." Baptiste smirks. He was referring to you. Mauga laughs at his friend's criticism, displaying his amusement at the circumstances.

"So yeah. It was pretty rough, but we managed to secure the objective! Isn't that great news?"

It's not really a surprise to you.

Mauga does tend to put himself in danger, especially when he's in an unfamiliar place.

This guy is completely reckless, which is why you can't believe that he managed to survive so many battles without falling apart or breaking down.

"Your a loose-canon, but I hope ended well..." you say calmly, hoping that you sound convincing enough.

"I can assure that I have the highest respect and admiration for your abilities as a medic. I would never doubt your skills, even if I hadn't personally experience how skilled you are in dealing with wounds." Mauga comments, he sounds sincere as ever.

Baptiste grins again. "That's a big ego of yours, my friend. You should consider giving a few compliments to the people who did more than you."

"I would love to, my friend, but there's nothing wrong with being modest about our accomplishments."

"Alright," Baptiste said, sounding annoyed.

--------

After several hours, days, months of treating your patients at base. You cannot help but wonder seeing Mauga quite often, whether that is purely because of duty or something else. Although it is difficult to tell what he's thinking, there are moments where you notice the way that he is constantly staring at you. Like he's trying to figure out something about you:

studying your appearance, facial expressions, mannerisms. Sometimes he gets lost in his thoughts, sometimes he appears to be lost in his own world, occasionally, you could catch him smirking knowingly, or even smiling to himself. These small gestures usually only occur during times when it's with you with him. Sometimes, the man is just too cheerful, or too energetic in general.

You could hardly handle the stress of handling all these patients in the infirmary on your own. You're starting to miss having Baptiste around to keep him occupied while you go through patients. You sighed loudly not until Mauga appears behind you

You found him with wounds on his chest and torso. You turn to look at him, "What happened?"

"Nothing serious..." He grins, showing his sharpened teeth.

"Just a minor injury, eh?" You raise an eyebrow at the mercenary, crossing your arms over your chest. Mauga simply shrugs as he sits on a table.

There was another period of silence between you two, and the atmosphere seemed to tense up considerably. This time, it's you who breaks the silence. "I'm sorry that you got injured. I don't know how I should react seeing someone else getting hurt so casually. You could have died out there. And that's not the worst thing that can happen," you said sarcastically and sternly.

He chuckles. "Oh really? Tell me more." He leans closer to your face, gazing deeply into your eyes. "Ah. So that's how it is."

You glare at him angrily, but he ignores you as you continue working. "Are you seriously going to mock me for worrying about you?"

"Not at all," he replied, with a hint of sarcasm. "But there is one thing that concerns me."

"What? You're going to insult me too, aren't you?" Mauga laughs while Y/N tends his injury.

The felt of your touch sends shivers throughout his entire body. He tries hard to suppress the sudden urge to grab her hand and hold on tightly. It's becoming harder to control these urges though. He shakes his head rapidly as he pulls away from you. He looks at you with narrowed eyes. "I'm not mocking you, you know?"

Your gaze flicks briefly to his. "Hm."

There was a short silence between you two, until you began to clean a cut on one of his legs. You noticed his gaze follow every movement of your fingers. "Why are you staring at me like that?"

"I'd prefer that you didn't ask questions so frequently, Teuila."

"Teuila?" You face him. "You know, I never asked you of this... But why do you call me that?" He lets out a deep chuckle and replies. "Because you look like Teuila. It fits well, doesn't it?" He flashes you a warm smile before turning his head away again.

You shrugged of his answer, continuing your work without saying anything further, although you were extremely curious. "Teuila... What does that word mean?" There's a brief moment of silence in between the two of you once you finished cleaning up the blood staining his leg. A faint smile plays across his lips again. "I thought you were better than that."

"And you think that you're better than me?"

"Yeah," he replies smugly.

"Then... You've obviously underestimated me, don't you?" You give him a challenging smirk. He returns the smile with a smirk of his own, but he then turns serious again. His eyes narrow. "Let me enlighten you. That name means 'flower'. Do you understand what kind of flower it means?"

You gave him a blank stare. He continues to smirk, waiting for you to understand his meaning. Eventually, you sigh, putting your hands on your hips. "Do I look like I care to know?" You scoff, rolling your eyes lightly.

Mauga laughs. "Well, I guess it doesn't matter what you think of it..."

There was silence between you two for a few seconds, and you looked away with furrowed brows.

You finish patching up the mercenary, placing some bandages around him and securing them securely. "Now that I finished helping you, you're dismissed." You professionaly said after you made sure that everything was covered properly. Mauga laughs at this. "Really? Now? Just like that?" He asks mockingly.

"Yes Mauga, I don't have any other duties besides tending to your wounds. I've been doing that for quite some time now," you responded coldly.

Mauga raises an eyebrow at this. "You know, if you start beginning to care about those wounds, you might find yourself losing them. If you want me to leave your clinic quickly, then you'll have to earn my trust first, which requires some work."

You sigh heavily. Of course Mauga will insist on making things difficult for you. "I am no doctor Mauga, I cannot cure your injuries." You sarcasticly said.

"Oh I know that. But you're still willing to take the risk." He chuckled.

"You wouldn't had to waste precious time coming here in order to talk shit."

Mauga laughs at you again, grinning like a cat that ate the canary. "I wouldn't waste too much time coming here either, but I also wouldn't be able to enjoy it quite as much because you'll be gone by then," he says confidently. "Besides, you're not exactly known for your patience." You roll your eyes, turning back to the table in front of you.

"You know I've always wondered what it feels like to be your patient," Mauga mused. "To be the one receiving the attention of the most skilled medic in your battalion."

"You must be joking," you replied, you know what he meant, not wanting to think that you would ever become his patient.

"No. You know me... " He grins. You groaned. "Don't' make such assumptions, we don't know each other all that well yet."

"Yet..."

You glared at him as he laughed. "Whatever. It seems like there's no stopping you, is there? We haven't even officially met yet, and already you're acting as if you have a good relationship with me." You sighed exasperatedly, massaging the area of your forehead in irritation.

"Listen, Mauga. My job is simple, I care for my patients and treat them well. Nothing more, nothing less."

"Oh yeah? Well, maybe I'm different," he said cockily.

"How? Are you not afraid of dying?"

"No... No I'm not... I've done so much more reckless things than death." His expression suddenly shifted to an emotionless one. For a moment, it felt almost as if he wasn't looking at you anymore. Then he chuckled softly, giving you a playful wink. "But I'm no saint."

"It must be hard to admit being human." You shook your head slightly.

"Sometimes." His grin returned to his features.

You couldn't help but stare directly into his eyes for a little longer, taking in how dark they actually are.

Mauga shows a huge plastered face. His still wearing his dumb smile.

You blinked at him.

He blinked back.

You rolled your eyes. "Stop smiling so much." He continued to laugh, as you turned away from him again. Mauga stood up and stretched lazily, "I have something to attend to, I'll be seeing you later," Mauga teasingly said as he made his way towards the door. He opens it, but he glances back.

A small smirk forms on his lips.

You watch him disappear outside the door, closing it behind him with a click. Once the door closes you let out a heavy sigh, resting your back against the wall behind you. Your heart is racing a mile, a minute, both at the prospect of having finally been alone with Mauga again, and the strange feeling within you after you spent several hours alone with him.

This feeling...

It's definitely not normal.

End of part 1

Part 2- ???

[luveline]

Omg shy reader being really embarrassed about asking Eddie to go with her to get tattoos. Like, she can hardly get the question outta her mouth cause he's looking at her with his big brown eyes

fire request tysm <3 shy!fem!reader | 1.1k words

You’d made the appointment months ago and figured by now you would’ve told him. You’re getting a tattoo tomorrow and you want — need — Eddie to go with you. You know, for moral support. As in, you don’t think you can do it without his hand to squeeze.

You’re embarrassed about it for lots of reasons. You should’ve told him weeks ago and every hour that passes without telling him furthers the feeling. You’ve never even told him you wanted a tattoo.

You ditch your bike at the stoop of his home and run up the steps on toes, letting yourself in without knocking. Eddie or his uncle are both nowhere to be seen, so you walk through the living area and down to his room, knocking the ajar door tentatively.

You flinch as the door swings open, Eddie’s hand on the handle, his eyes bright, happy to see you. He must’ve just got out of the shower as his torso is still shirtless and damp with runoff from his wet hair.

You want to smooth the hair out of his eyes. You don’t, having found yourself frozen to the ground by his smug smile.

“What?” you ask, confused, because there’s no way you could’ve done something silly already. You’ve been here for five seconds.

“You look really fucking pretty,” he says, voice rough.

You smile, momentarily uninhabited by any self-doubt. His endless and earnest praise does that to you.

“You’re naked,” you say, instead of thanks, instead of you’re prettier.

“I’ve got boxers on.” And he does, checkered and blue. You realise in horror that you’ve just oggled his crotch and swing your gaze up, but the damage is done.

“You creep,” he says fondly.

“Sorry,” you murmur.

He shakes his head like he always does after one of your apologies, his nose scrunched up and his eyes squished by a smile. He takes the towel from around his neck and lets his head fall forward to scrub at his wet hair.

“What’s up?” he asks from upside down.

“Nothing. Did you just get up?” you ask.

“Half hour ago. Are you hungry?”

“No.”

“Did you eat?”

You sigh in exasperation and take the towel from his hands. Eddie straightens up to glare at you but swiftly stops when you bring the towel to his face and scrub at his hairline gently. “Yeah, I did. You don’t have to worry about me.”

“I do worry about you. Often.” Your thumb smooths over his cheek. “You’ll tell me if you’re hungry?”

You meet his eyes and he takes your wrist into his hand, waiting.

“Of course I will,” you say. Then, with a hesitant smile, “I actually have something to ask you.”

His fingers massage your arm restlessly and he nods. “Hit me with it.”

He looks his age. The entire time you’ve known Eddie you’ve always thought he looked older than he is because of his style, his hair. Just something about him that gives off an air of coolness, despite his absurd (and dirty) sense of humour and his admittedly dorky hobbies. But here looking at you the way he is, any intimidation you might feel about him melts away. He’s pretty and smiling and waiting patiently for you to talk like there’s nowhere he’d rather be, and suddenly you can’t get the words out.

You drop your eyes to the ink on his chest and part your lips to talk, your inhale ragged.

His own breathing changes in response. He sighs quietly. “Are you worried about asking me?” he asks.

“No,” you work out weakly.

His eyebrows jump up for a split-second.

You drop the towel around his shoulders and take a half step away from him so you’re not breathing on his face. He doesn’t let go of your wrist, only shifts his fingers to hold you as comfortably as possible, which is heart-turning.

“Come on, sweet thing.”

“Will you-“ His eyes are huge.

You cover your forehead with your hand, your pinky finger hiding his face from view.

Unending patience. His thumb sweeps broadly over the underside of your forearm. He gives you a little squeeze, as if to say, go on.

“I have… I made an appointment. Tomorrow. Will you come with me?”

“Like a doctor's appointment? Is everything okay?”

He pries your hand off of your forehead, eyes impossibly wider, softened by concern.

“No, not the doctors.” You pause, your eyes jumping between his, you can’t choose which one’s prettier, and it’s so hot in here you’re melting, and he’s getting frustrated with you — there, a crease between his eyebrows. He shakes your wrist mildly. He’s not frustrated at all, only worried.

“What for?” he asks.

“A tattoo,” you confess.

His concern turns to excitement quicker than you can blink.

“Fuck, really? What are you getting? Why didn’t you tell me? Where is it? I’ll drive you, babe, I don’t think you can bike home after.” His hands work up your arms, appraising even when the man himself is distracted by questions. His fingertips tap your throat, his palms over your collar. He moves one down to your chest. “Your heart is beating so fast. Are you okay?”

“You have really nice eyes,” you tell him quietly.

He gets a familiar look in said eyes, a spark that excites you and worries you simultaneously.

He’s laughing as he presses a kiss to your lips, his hands careful but firm as they wrap around you, holding you steady. Your face flushes with heat and you gasp fast and high like a hiccup.

“I have a huge crush on you,” he says, punctuating his admission with a smattering of quick, sweet nips along your bottom lip that wipe you out completely. How quickly he can turn you from a semi-functioning person to putty in his hands.

“You’re my boyfriend,” you manage to say, blinking.

He smirks. “I know.”

Eddie encourages your head ever so slightly to one side to kiss a line from the corner of your mouth to your ear, his parted lips leaving warm crescents over your skin. He rubs the tip of his nose against the skin before your ear and then stills. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten about the tattoo,” he murmurs, “We’re gonna talk all about it. But first…”

You waited weeks to tell him. What’s another hour?

[xo-rihanna]

Hurt - Neteyam Sully

Warnings - Descriptions of blood and injury

Update - Thank you so much for liking this. Genuinely expected this to get about 5 notes ngl. It means alot. I enjoy writing so much so I'm glad some people have enjoyed what I've produced <3 I have also made a part 2 to this if you're interested called 'Break me' You'll find it on my page. It is a smut so check it out if thats your thing. Thank you all so so much :)

Neteyam didn't like you joining the missions. Don't get me wrong, he knew you'd be amazing at them. No one could deny that you were an incredible hunter. The minute you got on your Ikran, he couldn't take his eyes off you. You left him purely in awe. But he always had a nagging feeling in his stomach that something would go wrong. He was like a hawk, watching your every move waiting for something to happen and for him to swoop in. His sweet golden eyes were so full of concern and worry he could hardly get his head in the game.

Today was no different for him. He begged you not to join but you were too stubborn to accept the offer of staying home with nothing to do. You wanted to help, you wanted to feel like you were pulling your weight for the clan. "Ma Neteyam. Always so worried." You stroked his braided hair that morning as he buried his face in the side of your stomach, keeping you locked in his arms so you couldn't leave and get yourself hurt.

Eventually he had to let go and he couldn't stop you joining the war party. He hung his head almost in shame, like he was letting you down as your mate for letting you put yourself in such a dangerous position. The sky was clear as you readied to take off for the mission. The trees hardly stirred as if they too were listening for sky walkers to invade at any moment.

Neteyam was quiet. Too quiet. It made your tail flick in concern and an uneasy feeling settle in your gut. "Teyam." You soothed, putting a small hand on his large shoulder. He continued to look down, making it look as if he was busy buckling his saddle to his Ikran Seze. "Neteyam look at me." You moved his chin to force those liquid gold eyes to look up at you. He softened at your face.

"I know you don't like it. But I can take care of myself. Please don't worry for me." You stroked his cheek. His face scrunched and he let out a feeble laugh, "You are very capable of protecting yourself I know that. But I will always worry for you, my yawne (beloved)."

He wrapped his strong arms around your waist, pulling you so you were skin to skin and you could feel his heartbeat against your own. Even his heart sounded worried. His eyes flickered between yours and your lips before finally closing the gap. His lips were soft and comforting. You wanted to call off the war party and stay like this forever. Neteyam was desperate not to let you out of his grasp. But he had to and he instantly regretted it.

You kissed his nose gently. "There is no need for the dramatics, my love." Giving him a smile.

His heart ached as you walked out of his touch and climbed onto your Ikran making the bond and pushing your headpiece further onto your forehead. Sucking in a breath, he did the same.

SOME TIME LATER, MIDWAY THROUGH THE FIGHTING

Neteyam had done well to not check on you so much during the fighting. But more gunships were falling in faster then you could count. Neteyam was having a hard time himself dodging hits.

He looked to you and saw you were handling yourself well. You had minimal damage, he could only see a few scrapes. He got caught up watching you flawlessly in your element, taking down ships with the help of your Ikran and your archery skills.

Neteyam was too focused on you to notice the gunship targeting him. He had just regained focus in time to miss a flurry of bullets. "Oh shit!" He yelled, swerving and barrelling to avoid the fatal hits but they were gaining on him.

He frowned when he noticed the shots no longer being fired in his direction. He looked back through knitted brows to see that you had taken it upon yourself to help out your mate.

You effortlessly shot an arrow through the chest of two skywalkers at the same time and then flew above the craft to take it by its tail. That's when it all went wrong. Neteyam saw it all in slow motion. The skywalker positioning his gun in a frenzy and pulling the trigger. The bullet puncturing your torso and the look on your face as you saw the blood flowing from the wound.

You quickly lost your strength, relying on your Ikran to keep you in the air. Luckily, the bullet had missed your Ikran but had shot straight through the side of your stomach, leaving a nasty wound that was drowning in blood. Neteyam only saw you in this moment. His heart was breaking with every second that passed, a second closer to potentially losing his mate.

Neteyam felt like every movement he made was a million times slower then normal. He couldn't get to you fast enough. When he did, he pried you away from your Ikran. Silently thanking her for staying calm and keeping you steady in the air. He applied as much pressure as he could to the wound but it was impossible to stop or even slow the bleeding as the bullet gone straight through your flesh.

Adrenaline was all Neteyam was running on. With a bloody, shaking hand he called to his father through his neck piece. "Father, Y/n's been hit! We're falling back! It's bad." He didn't waste another second, taking to full flight before he could finish his words.

You were drifting uneasily in and out of consciousness. The world was spinning around you. "Stay with me, my love. Don't go to sleep. We're almost there. Grandmother will fix you right up, okay." He was convincing only himself.

The fly there was excruciating. Every second that ticked you were losing more blood and becoming weaker. Neteyam had to bite the inside of his cheek raw ro keep the tears from falling. He needed to be strong for you. He landed swiftly, carrying you bridal style as he practically ran to his Grandmother's tent. He looked down to see you close your eyes. "No, no, no my tìyawn (love), open those pretty eyes for me. Stay awake, we're here." He begged you. You forced your eyes open but it was exhausting

Your sense of hearing was coming and going and you could only make out a few words of Neteyam and Mo'ats intense conversation. Neteyam laid you flat on the woven mat of his Grandmother's floor and kept pressure on your wound until his Grandmother shooed his hands away.

Neteyam watched intently as his Grandmother worked away. "Neteyam." You cooed up at your boyfriend as the pain started to set in. Neteyam stroked your hair and held your hand tightly. "I'm here my tìyawn (love). Don't worry. You're almost done." He brought your weak hand up to his lips and kissed it gently and held it close to his face.

"Neteyam it hurts." You cried, letting hot painful tears spill down your face. Neteyam's heart was throbbing to see you like this. The guilt settling like stones in his heart. This was his fault and he couldn't help you. All he could do was soothe you and keep you as calm as possible.

Mo'at sympathised with you, seeing the true love between her Grandbaby and his mate. "It will, my child. I'm afraid I can only do so much." She patted your shoulder respectfully as she finished.

Neteyam felt a huge relief as his Grandmother left the room. You were alive. Ultimately that was all that mattered. Neteyam finally broke down. His silent tears dripped onto his legs as he was still sitting besides your weak, bandaged body.

"Oh no, my Teyam." You slurred. You attempted to pull yourself up to give him a hug but he put a soft hand onto your chest forcing you down again. "Rest, Y/n. I'm fine. I'm just so sorry, my yawne (beloved). This is all my fault. I should have protected you." He hung his head, not wanting to look at you in such a state.

"Neteyam. I'm alive. There is no need apologise darling. Its my job as your mate to protect you like you've done for me. I'd take a million bullets for you, Neteyam." Your energy was fading by the second.

Neteyam sighed, "Sleep, little one. I'll be here when you wake up."

You drifted off to a peaceful, dreamless sleep knowing your boyfriend was by your side. Safe to say, Neteyam's protectiveness only grew from this event.

[goinsaneposts-blog]

Injured in Battle

The first time you and Alastor shared a bed together was defiantly not by choice of either parties.

Some foolish demon was attempting to attack and bulldoze the hotel, and you had sprung into action before anyone or Alastor could warn you otherwise.

The other demons in the hotel stood by and watched as you focused on the enemy at hand while the Radio Demon more focused on the defense of the hotel, making sure nothing important got damaged. He did, however, blissfully turn a blind eye to the boulder heading towards Angel Dust, who was able to just barely avoid it.

"Hey! Careful w'ere ya' thrown' thangs!" Angel cursed at Al, "I gotta go to work later! Val would kill me if the goods were ruined!"

"Apologies, my eight-legged friend, I simply didn't see you there!" Alastor let out a hearty chuckle before turning his full attention back to the fight at hand. Angel crossed his arms and let out a huff, muttering curses under his breath. Charlie put a comforting hand on his shoulder while Vaggie only seemed to be more enraged by the Radio Demons antics.

While making your way up and around obstacles, you slipped on a stray piece of metal and slid off the side of whatever contraption this sinner had. You tumbled off the side and down towards the rough pavement. As prepared as always, Al had one of his black tendrils catch you and help break your fall.

"Careful, darling," He called out, though he didn't seem very bothered by you near death. He still kept a tight smile on his face, clearly enjoying watching you fight and cause mayhem during the fight.

"Yeah, thanks Al!" You called back before jumping straight back into the action.

It had been a long fight, with Alastor hardly breaking a sweat over the foolish demon brave enough to attempt to attack the Hazbin Hotel. You, however, were barely clinging on at all, putting your all into the fight and diving head first into the enemy. You paid no mind to who, or what you were hitting at that point.

While Alastor could have ended the fight in the matter of minutes, he let you play around for a bit. Watching you fight brought warm memories back to the Radio Demon.

He looked back on your first meeting, you were an aggressive thorn in his side that somehow infested his life.

Some would say the Radio Demon favored you above all the other sinners in Hell. You were able to get away with things most other demons would be erased for. Alastor allowed you within his own personal bubble that not even his closes 'friends' were allowed in. You teased him and got to live to tell the tale.

You had him wrapped around your finger without even knowing how dangerous it really was.

A pained yelp pulled him from his thoughts with a sharp pop of static. Somehow, the lonesome sinner had managed a decent blow to your chest. Nothing fatal, but enough to put you out of commission from the fight.

With a snap of his fingers, his shadows were able to distract the demon long enough for his tendrils to retrieve you and place your bleeding body tenderly in his arms. Deciding to end it, he snapped his fingers once more and with a loud hum of static, the demon and his contraption were sent back to wherever they had decided to come from.

He looked down at your pained face with a mix of emotions swelling inside of him. He felt angry that you lacked the attention to detail and allowed such a blow.

The sadist in him also enjoying the pain.

However, a small part he dared not pay attention to also hated the idea of you being in any kind of pain.

Charlie was the first to appear next to the two of you, spewing questions from and remarks about you being injured. Alastor watched with amusement as you waved her worries off through gritted teeth.

She opened her mouth to say something but ended up closing it again and stepping out of the way and allowing Al to take you up to your room to rest, with Nifty following close behind with a medkit.

Nifty worked her way quickly, sewing up any wounds and bandaging anything she needed too. All the while you laid there in terrible pain, your head resting on Al's lap while he ran his fingers through your hair trying to provide any comfort he could.

His smile was strained as he watched Nifty work, the silence being filled by her constant talking.

After Nifty left, and you had fallen asleep, a tense silence fell in the room. The only noise being was the small hum of static coming from the Radio Demon as he placed himself on one of the chairs by the bookcase in your room.

With a wave of his hand, a book he had been reading on appeared. He sat there with a small glass of Old Fashion on the side table, occasionally taking small sips from the glass.

He was still in that same position when you had finally woken up.

A small groan fell from your lips as you slowly sat up in bed, grabbing your abdomen. A glass of water and a pain-killer appeared on your bedside table to which you swiftly took. You chugged as much water as you could and popped the pill into your mouth, swallowing it.

"Glad to see you awake, Darling! How do you feel?" Al moved to stand at the foot of your bed, looking over your ratted hair. You noticed you had your pajamas on instead of the torn clothes you had fought in. Alastor or Nifty probably changed you while you were knocked out.

"Like a million bucks…" You muttered back, earning a laugh track to play. You fell backwards onto the bed, hissing at the pain that shot through your chest and back.

"Well, you since you seem to be feeling better, I'll be off then!" He chirped up. Both the book in his hand and the empty glasses disappeared before he grabbed his red cane out of thin air. He walked confidently towards the door, a small smile still on his lips.

You wondered how he was able to smile all the time. A sense of dread and loneliness filled your stomach. You didn't want to be alone after your possible near death experience. Without even thinking through your actions fully;

"Wait-!"

A small tug on his freehand caused a shrill static pop and him to stop dead in his tracks. He glanced down at you, his smile wider and a small twitch at the edge of it.

"Please… Just- just stay a little longer.. Until I can fall back asleep…" You muttered softly, heat flushing your face at the vulnerability.

You had no idea where your relationship with Alastor stood at that point. You clearly had his favor, but whether or not it was romantic or not was up in the air. You had grown to like the sadist himself, finding he was always on your mind and easily could fluster you with a simple glance.

You peeked up at him to find him not even looking at you. Instead, he was looking at a spot on the wall, deep within his own thoughts.

"I suppose I can stay for a little longer.." He smiled down at you. His smile was forced and clearly uncomfortable with the idea of being touched.

You moved to make room for him in the bed as he slowly sat down and made himself comfortable. He sat almost pin-straight against the headboard with his hands folded tightly across his lap. After a few moments, you turned to the opposite wall, curled tightly into a ball.

The space between the two of you was huge, and neither one of you said a thing. You were tense, and without even having to look you knew he was as well. Eventually, you fell asleep.

He wasn't there when you woke up that morning, however another glass of water and another pain-killer rested on your bedside table.

A couple of years have passed since that day and you and Alastor had officially defined the relationship you guys had. Officially, you guys shared a romantic interest in each other and were a couple, though both of you were very uncomfortable calling it 'dating'.

He'd have little pet names for you, and often showered you with gifts after his daily strolls. The Radio Demon didn't love the idea of touching, in any form what-so-ever, he still made some effort to provide you with physical touch as you needed.

Though, Alastor hardly ever slept, he still chose to share a bed with you. It was awkward at first, with both of you basically hanging off each side of the bed with a wall of pillows in between. However, over the years the two of you got more comfortable with each other's company.

Now, he would simply sit in his red and black striped, silk pajamas, reading a book under the dim light of the red moon. You were a restless sleeper, always tossing in turning and finding some unconscious way to be touching him.

You would throw your leg over his, or throw your arm across his lap. He was very annoyed with this contact at first, your sleepy need to be touching getting on his nerve. He would pick up your wrist between his two claws, almost disgusted at the contact. He would drop your hand back next to you, only for you to move it back once more after a few hours.

This would only provide more irritation and then he would use his powers to tightly tuck your hands back under the plush comforter. Somehow, you still always find a way to place it back across his lap. After a while of playing these games, he gave up and allowed you to sleep however you wanted.

If you asked very polity on a good day, he would hold you close for the rest of the night, reading you to sleep.

You became the only demon, in all of the nine circles, to be able to touch the Radio Demon and keep all your limps intact afterwards.

[nctsjiho]

Going Home

cw: strong language, mentions of blood and injury, <10k words || era: December 18, 2022

❀ Sometimes it takes a while to realise who your actual family are, and sometimes you realise it when it's just too late

Chapter I:

“Last night there was a reported hit and run in the outskirts of Seoul in the direction of Incheon. The hit vehicle crashed into two other cars, causing a massive crash. Thankfully only one person was heavily injured, the four other victims: a mother with her daughter and two young males, were only lightly injured.

“The crash that occurred at the beginning of a bridge caused major damage to the infrastructure of the bridge. Police have closed off that bridge and authorities are clearing the scene. The perpetrator who caused the crash has not yet been found.

“All traffic heading towards Incheon Airport has been safely redirected. Those who planned on travelling out via this bridge are hereby warned to head out to the airport earlier to assure a timely arrival.”

“Wow, that’s insane,” Haechan reacted in a breathy tone after hearing the news. “To think those people were probably heading out on holiday and now they have to spend time at the hospital.”

Taeyong nodded with a tight-lipped hum, he patted the youngest on his shoulder before sitting down next to him. “I hope they’re all well.”

It was cold in the practice room. The thermostat had only been turned on when the first of the members arrived for their dance practice session. Something about the air in the room today didn't sit right. Maybe it was the frosty weather outside, the equally uncomfortable temperature inside or the exhaustion the members were feeling with their packed schedule, but the mood really wasn’t feeling right at that moment.

“Where are the others?” The leader looked from Haechan to Taeil, who both shrugged their shoulders, yet before Taeil could vocalise his unknowing, the door of the practice room swung open.

“I’m sorry we’re late!” Mark heaved and stumbled into the room.

Taeil chuckled a bit at the younger man’s frantic exterior. “Don’t tell me you actually ran up here.” It wasn’t even a question, more like a statement out of incredulity which had Taeil hardly suppressing a laugh.

“We were in the car,” Johnny said as he pushed past Mark. Jungwoo and Jaehyun followed him shortly. “Did you hear the news about the hit and run? It’s crazy.”

Haechan mimicked Taeyong’s earlier tight-lipped hum in acknowledgment, “yeah we’ve heard.”

“So we were listening to it and came up here as soon as the report was over.”

Noticing Mark struggling with his bag and belongings, Taeyong stood up to lend him a helping hand. Mark mouthed a quick thank you, mentioning briefly how his morning had already been so hectic and he couldn’t seem to keep it together. Taeyong offered him a comforting pat on the back and told him he should take a few deep breaths. Mark complied and after having collected himself, showed Taeyong a grateful smile.

“That makes us seven out of ten. Any ideas where the rest are?” Taeyong asked the whole group.

The boys all shook their heads bar Jungwoo, who spoke up, “I’m not sure, but I think I remember Doyoung mentioned he had something to attend to before noon. I don’t know about Yuta and JiHo though. Should I call?”

Taeyong shook his head dismissively. “They’ll get here soon enough, let’s start warming up already.”

Practice was in session not long after. The members started warming up and began going over choreography. About 15 minutes in, Doyoung and Yuta joined. They seemed distracted and Taeyong took note of it, but didn’t mention it out loud. The practice wasn’t even halted, they just continued on and the two latecomers joined wordlessly so as to not waste any time.

Once the first break arrived all the members went to their own corners of the room for a water and snack break.

“You two good?” Taeyong checked on Yuta and Doyoung who both nodded. “Did you hear anything from—”

“The mother who got injured during last night’s hit and run in the direction of Incheon was willing to explain the incident.” The voice of the female reporter sounded from Haechan’s tablet.

“We were heading towards the airport, me and my daughter were going to visit family in Europe. It was fairly empty on this road, since people usually go from the main road. I just remember a car to the left of me, and I think also one behind me. Suddenly I heard a loud noise and the car left of me hit my car. I only remember hearing another car speed by and they didn’t have any lights on. The next thing I know, I was checking on my daughter and we tried to exit the car safely. Luckily we were able to get out easily. Me and my daughter only had some bruises and I had a little cut from the glass of my side window that shattered.”

“Mother and daughter are safe and were able to catch another flight to their destination. The two young injured men have been successfully treated for their injuries in the hospital. The last victim is still in the hospital, getting treated for injuries.”

Once the reporter stopped speaking the room began filling with murmurs. Some of the members were discussing the news, while others had conversations about entirely different things in general.

Yuta didn’t realise he was drowning out the other members’ voices, preoccupied with his own thoughts until something caught his attention.

“—JiHo, so I’m not sure.” Doyoung was talking, but Yuta couldn’t connect enough elements to figure out the context. This was noticed by Doyoung, who placed a hand on the older man’s shoulder and with a chuckle—not necessarily one out of amusement—he asked if something was wrong, “are you okay? You seem spaced out.”

“No,” Yuta began. “It’s nothing. Just… I don’t know anything about JiHo either—”

“Guys!” A loud high pitched voice cut Yuta off. All the members present turned to the door where they found a heaving Sihyun.

Another one, Taeyong thought as this had been the fourth person he had seen walking into this room who looked like their whole morning was filled with misfortune.

“What is it?” Johnny asked carefully as Sihyun had a difficult time speaking any words. No one was sure if it was because she had been running and was out of breath, or because of what she wanted to say.

“Have any of you guys seen JiHo?”

Chapter II:

“You don’t have to leave,” Yuta pouted playfully. He had a hard time hiding his smile as, even though he did feel a bit sad about JiHo returning to her apartment, he was happy she was in a better place than a month prior.

“You say that, but I’m pretty sure Doyoung is annoyed with me hogging his bed 24/7,” she deadpanned. However, the second she made eye contact with her fellow Japanese friend, the two broke out in laughter. “I think I’m messing with that homebody’s safe space too much,” she confessed.

“You can sleep here as well.” Yuta patted the bed he was sitting on—his bed.

In response JiHo scoffed, turning back to his desk where she was looking for her phone charger. “You kick me out every time you want to sleep. No thank you.”

“Hey! I don’t do that. It’s just that you hate me hugging you in your sleep and I need my space,” he countered. As he spoke those words though, he started to realise how contradicting they sounded. “Okay, so maybe we’re not great sleeping buddies, but if you go back to your apartment, who’s going to cook for me? And our movie nights? And game nights! Those are fun, although Haechan always hogs your attention and it’s getting annoying. That tiny boy needs to learn his place—”

Mid-ramble Yuta noticed how JiHo wasn’t responding to him. His eyes scanned JiHo’s unusually stiff figure until he realised what she was doing—or rather what she had seen. “JiHo, it’s not like that—”

“Like what?” Her voice had dropped an octave and there was no emotion in it. She turned around and was holding a small stack of envelopes. “What are these doing here?”

Taking a deep breath in, Yuta stood up and took a step closer, but JiHo moved back instantly. “I— Okay, I got them from your biological parents. They tried to visit you in Japan and I didn’t think you wanted them to, so I told them to leave. They gave those to me.”

JiHo took a few moments to let the information settle before she spoke up. “Japan? When exactly? At the beginning of the year?” When Yuta nodded affirmatively, JiHo scoffed even louder. There was a scowl on her face as she eyed him with anger. “Why didn’t you at least give them to me?”

“I was planning to. Believe me,” Yuta pleaded, trying to reach out to hold JiHo’s hand, but she shook him off. “I just didn’t know how you’d react or—”

“Well, now you know,” JiHo said and grabbed her suitcase, rolling it behind her as she walked out of his room.

“JiHo!” Yuta called after her, but she didn’t answer. She didn’t even look back as she closed the front door behind her and left the dorm.

Defeated, Yuta plopped down on his bed, cradling his head between his hands. He felt like an asshole for not letting the younger girl know about the letters, or that JiHo’s biological parents had tried to visit her, but if he was being honest, he knew that he wasn’t even planning on doing so. He lied to her.

Yuta never wanted to tell JiHo about her biological parents. They weren’t good people, they didn’t have good intentions. All he wanted was to protect her from them. Although he knew that that wasn’t his place nor call, he just wanted to be selfish. He and the members had been around JiHo for so long, caring for her, loving her, he didn’t want JiHo to meet those people who would give her an empty promise of doing what they had done for so many years. He wanted JiHo to see the boys as her family, he didn’t want her to reach out to those fake parents.

Too lost in his thoughts, Yuta fell asleep that night without changing out of his clothes. When he woke up that following morning it had already been close to noon. There was a lingering headache that made his every move that much more painful, more than the muscle ache of sleeping in an uncomfortable position for many hours.

As the late morning progressed he had pondered on whether or not to reach out to JiHo. He wanted to know if she reached her apartment safely last night, but the memories of their fight halted him. JiHo probably didn’t want him to call her. He had probably broken her trust and she must’ve been very angry at him—the anger in her eyes that looked at Yuta was still imprinted in his mind. He had to, however. It would’ve made him an even worse person if he didn’t at least check on her.

Just as expected, his call went to voicemail. JiHo didn’t want to talk to him, Yuta was sure of it. However, he hoped that she had at least seen the call attempt and knew that he was putting in an effort, but that thinking process even sounded selfish to himself. Yuta coined all his thoughts and actions towards JiHo as selfish. That’s just how I am, he thought.

Chapter III:

“What do you mean?” Yuta asked with a shaky voice after Sihyun had run into the practice room asking for JiHo. “Is she not at home?”

Sihyun turned to Yuta as he heard his voice and shook her head. “No… She isn’t,” she answered, but sounded confused.

“Did something happen?” Doyoung mimicked her confused look, sensing the weird atmosphere in the room.

Again Sihyun shook her head and took a step further into the room. “Why are you guys looking like that at me? It’s just that I’ve been setting up for JiHo’s birthday surprise and I don’t want it to get ruined.”

It took a second before the boys all sighed with a sense of relief. “God, you scared me, I thought something happened.”

“OH! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you guys, but… Wait. If JiHo isn’t here and she isn’t at home? Did anyone call her?”

Yuta raised his hand hesitantly, “I called her earlier, she didn’t pick up, but I…” Everyone eyed the Japanese expectantly. “We got in a little fight yesterday night so I think she doesn’t really want to talk to me.”

Taeyong sighed in a mixture of relief, acknowledgment, but also pain. “That’s why you’ve been acting so strange,” he said as he patted his friend on his shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. It’s hard to get JiHo that angry. She either didn’t see it or she’ll get over it quickly.”

“No, Taeyong. You don’t understand. I really fucked up this time.” Yuta’s eyes were wide before they turned down into a frown. It was clear to Taeyong—and the others—that whatever happened between Yuta and the female member was weighing on him.

“What happened?” Mark asked curiously. Of course he wasn’t beyond realising the weight of the situation, but he would be lying if he said he wasn’t actively curious about what had happened. He would have to admit that when Yuta turned to him and let out a deep shaky sigh that he almost felt bad asking, but he thought that it would be best for his friend to air his worries.

“I spoke to JiHo’s biological parents more than half a year ago… during our concerts.” The gasps of disbelief from the members had Yuta lowering his head in shame. He knew that the boys had already made up their minds and thought badly of him for doing so. A comforting hand from his leader, however, had urged him to continue explaining. “JiHo sent them letters when she felt lonely, when she couldn’t see her actual parents. Her biological parents gave me the letters and I never told JiHo about it. I kept them and JiHo found them last night.”

There was tension in the room. It mostly felt like a feeling of shared sadness, but there was a clear air of disappointment and something akin to anger. The latter was very prominent coming from Yuta’s immediate left, where Doyoung stood and let out a scoff.

“Wow,” the Korean sarcastically commented. “Way to go, Yuta.”

“Hey! You would’ve done the same if you were in my position,” Yuta turned to his so-called friend. “If you met those people, you wouldn’t have wanted them around JiHo even for a split second.”

“You should’ve told her about it at least.”

“Don’t act like you’re a saint and never make dumb decisions.”

“You—”

“HEY!” Haechan suddenly yelled, catching everyone's attention. “What Yuta hyung did was dumb, but you can’t say you would’ve handled it differently when you never had to be in his place. Now, it doesn’t matter anyway. We don’t know where JiHo is and I don’t know about you guys, but it’s starting to get a little concerning to me.”

Mark turned to his friend who was heaving a little and put his arm around his shoulder comfortingly. Taeyong nodded in agreement before looking at Yuta and Doyoung and then at the rest. “I’ll call JiHo, see if I can reach her. Sihyun, you can continue preparing for JiHo’s surprise and the two of you—” Taeyong turned to the two members who were previously yelling at each other “—please make up, there’s no need to fight because of this. I’m sure you both are already stressed enough.”

Taeyong disappeared from the room alongside Sihyun, leaving the other members to themselves. “I’m sorry. I’ve just been feeling off the whole day. I slept terribly last night and,” Doyoung sighed. “I just hope things are fine.”

Yuta pulled the man in a quick hug, which Doyoung reciprocated immediately. “No need to apologise. I understand.”

Despite the two men reconciling, the mood in the room still felt a bit off. The members either stood in place, staring at whatever it might be, or were pacing around trying not to get in their head too much.

It proved rather pointless, because with every passing minute—Taeyong was taking a while—the boys grew more uneasy. They were all worried, but Johnny noticed one member in particular seeming to have an ever harder time. “Hey,” he said in almost a whisper. “You don’t seem too well. Is something on your mind?”

Yuta looked up at his taller friend and released his lip that was held hostage between his teeth. He shook his head from side to side, his eyes unfocused and darting around the room. “It’s just that…”

“Just that what?” Jaehyun stepped forward once he noticed Yuta’s expression. It looked like the Japanese man was about to say something, but had a hard time letting the words come out. “Did something come to mind?”

Jaehyun could act all calm, cool and collected as much as he wanted, but the tone of his voice gave him away immediately. He was panicking on the inside, scared that something might have gone wrong. His faked exterior immediately crumbled, however, when Taeyong entered the room with his phone held up high telling the members he wasn’t able to reach JiHo.

“Yuta, speak up,” Doyoung quickly urged.

The man eyed his friends first before he opened his mouth to speak, “Maybe—”

“The victim who was sent to the hospital with major injuries after last night’s hit and run case in Seoul is recovering well. The young man was in the driver’s seat of the first car that got hit with his two other friends in the back of the car. He will be able to leave the hospital by tomorrow. All victims of the crash will be able to spend their holidays safely with their families and friends. The police are still searching for the perpetrator.”

As soon as the female voice got cut off, Yuta let out a huge sigh of relief. Mark’s eyes widened once the realisation set in after he connected Yuta’s earlier demeanour and actions. “You thought that person was JiHo?!”

Mark’s voice boomed through the room, louder than it ever had.

As if caught red-handed, Yuta started to stutter out words defensively. “It wasn’t ruled out! I just thought there was a possibility JiHo might have gone to the airport because she wanted to see her parents,” Yuta’s loud and defensive tone diminished with every passing word. He looked around at his friends and once again dropped his head in shame. “I didn’t want to think like that, but perhaps hearing her biological parents tried to reach out… JiHo might’ve wanted to get in contact with them.”

Although Yuta sounded meek and defeated, the way his voice started to tremble and his words started to mix together, it was clear he had been insanely stressed and in his head before and that his emotions were finally catching up to him.

“Hey hey.” Mark took a step closer and called out to Yuta in a gentle voice, “you were just worried and scared. Let’s just be happy that it wasn't JiHo.”

Yuta shook his head and pressed his eyes shut tight—tears were starting to run down his cheeks. “I still shouldn’t have thought like that. If I even thought it was possible, why didn’t I do anything?”

Mark pouted and looked at Doyoung with a lost look. He didn’t know what to say or do, so opted to hug the Japanese man instead. Doyoung gave Mark a firm nod and with his own hand softly patted Yuta’s back. “You couldn’t have done anything in such a situation anyway. Let’s focus on actually finding JiHo first.”

As on que, Taeyong entered the room with his phone in hand. He was already shaking his head from side to side. “I can’t reach her.”

A collective sigh came from the boys. At this point reaching JiHo started to feel like an urgent matter, but if she wasn’t going to pick up, it did not matter how many times the boys would call.

“Let me try,” Haechan suggested, although having the same mindset as the others. Taeyong was about to say that the idea seemed almost pointless at this time—although he wasn’t against trying a few more times—when Haechan had already pulled out his phone and dialled JiHo’s number.

He tried 3 more times after that and each time the boys looked at him with held breath. The last time though, something was different. It didn’t take about a minute or two before the call went to voicemail.

“What happened?” Jaehyun asked with much urgency in his tone.

Haechan looked as pale as a ghost as he looked up to his older members. There was a confusing mixture of emotions displayed by him and his voice came out meekly as he answered, “it went straight to voicemail.”

Chapter IV:

JiHo slammed her hands on the steering wheel as soon as she sat down in the car. It was Yebin’s car. Yebin, her manager who had gone on pregnancy leave. Her fiance didn’t allow her to drive so Yebin had nicely lent JiHo her car for now.

It was a nice car, though nothing special. Something affordable and big enough for a kid or two in the back seat. JiHo would’ve decided on something else for a car of her own—if she was allowed to at least. This car was nice, but she wanted a car in which she could get away from life for a moment. A car which she could pretty much live in whenever life became too much. Just like at that moment.

She looked at the stack of envelopes on the passenger’s seat before letting out a scoff and immediately turning on the engine. In barely a minute she was on the street already. Despite it being the weekend, the streets of Seoul were rather empty. That shouldn’t have been surprising, noticing the time of day—rather night—it was.

~“Last night there was a reported hit and run in the outskirts of Seoul in the direction of Incheon. The hit vehicle crashed into two other cars, causing a massive crash.”~

Driving was something that went like autopilot for JiHo. One moment she was still in the parking lot, the next she was pulling up at her destination.

Destination…

Driving was so much like going on autopilot that JiHo sometimes didn’t even realise where she was heading. Usually it was just driving from her apartment or the boys dorm to the company, or returning home from the company. Sometimes JiHo would drive to personal schedules or if she just wanted to go out somewhere on her own. She didn’t have a car though, so it was a hassle to ask a manager for permission each time she wanted to go somewhere. If only she could buy her own car. Her father didn’t approve of the idea. Something about it being too dangerous. “Dangerous my ass,” JiHo mumbled to herself as she relived the arguments with her father about the topic in her head.

There was a nice song on the radio. JiHo hummed along with it, letting her body steer the car to wherever it wanted to go.

~“We were heading towards the airport, me and my daughter were going to visit family in Europe. It was fairly empty on this road, since people usually go from the main road.”~

The road she was on was not the one going to her apartment. That much she was sure of, but even though she was aware, even though she mumbled it to herself that this isn’t the way home, it was like her mind wasn’t connecting the dots. She just continued driving.

“God—” JiHo cursed as she had to hit the brakes suddenly. A car in front of her slowed down abruptly before its blinkers changed from the right to the left. With the sudden movement she heard something shift to the side of her. Looking back down at the passenger’s seat she was confronted with her own handwriting. She didn’t have to look closely to know what it said.

   Dear Mr. and Mrs. Dubois

   It’s me, JiHo. I was wondering if we could meet up one day.

JiHo internally cringed. She didn’t know whether she was more disappointed that she ever wrote it, or that she was still wondering about how her biological parents had reacted when they first read the letter.

“They probably didn’t even care.” The words she spoke were those to comfort her. It did little to do so however because JiHo quickly felt a hot tear on her cheek. She sniffled and wiped the tear away before really focusing on the street in front of her again. “How did I get here?”

In front of her were two cars. Despite this place being a bit further than the main road—JiHo wanted to be on the road for as long as possible—it was a pretty big road. Three lanes wide, but JiHo was in no rush. She continued behind the car on the most right side, heading towards the bridge.

~just remember a car to the left of me, and I think also one behind me. Suddenly I heard a loud noise and the car left of me hit my car.~

A loud screeching noise came from JiHo’s side. She barely had any time to look up before the four headlights started to blur into one big mess. There was rumbling, the sound of metal bending and screeching and scratching and getting crushed. JiHo tried to keep her eyes on the lights but it quickly became impossible.

The lights started to disappear to the left side of her vision and she felt her body get shaken until she couldn’t see any light anymore.

Chapter V:

“Should we call the police?” Mark suggested, earning some of the boys attention.

“We could, but they might not act on it immediately,” Johnny answered. His face looked like one of worry. It looked like he hadn’t slept in days, yet it was easy to pinpoint the source of his concern.

“I can’t sit here any longer, I’m gonna head out,” Jaehyun said as he grabbed his jacket.

“And do what?”

“I don’t know. Something?! We can sit here all day and wait, or we can try to go out and find her,” Jaehyun stated firmly. When he looked his leader in the eyes, however, his whole semblance shattered. He dropped his jacket and shook his head defeatedly. “Hyung— I just don’t have a good feeling about this. Just sitting here makes me feel useless.”

Taeyong nodded, pulling the taller man into a hug. “I know, but for all we know JiHo is just at the gym blowing off steam, or with a friend. JiHo is a smart girl who needs her distance sometimes. Let’s take it step by s—”

A ringing noise sounded from behind Taeyong. Turning around, he found Doyoung looking down at his phone confused. “Who’s that?”

“I don’t know, I don’t recognise the number,” he mumbled confusedly.

“Maybe it's a sasaeng?” Taeil commented with a slight scowl. It was true that lately the boys and JiHo were getting more sasaeng calls. If it weren’t the usual fan girls that bothered them, then it was this new fan who just called and didn’t say anything. As if to taunt them.

Doyoung shrugged, but decided to pick up the phone anyway. “Hello?”

The boys all watched as Doyoung took the call, trying to understand what was going on by watching his facial expressions.

“Car? ... Black car? … I’m sorry, I can’t— Wait, I’ll step out for a sec—” Doyoung stopped dead in his tracks before asking the person on the other side of the phone to repeat themselves. “No… I, you must be mistaken. There were only 2 cars—”

“On further investigation the police were able to find a third vehicle that was involved in the hit and run last night in Seoul. The car was found about a hundred metres down the side of the bridge. There seemed to be only one passenger in the car. The victim’s condition is not yet known.

“It took the police several hours to find the last vehicle. The car was not immediately found since there were no direct traces suggesting more than 2 vehicles involved, as well as the side of the bridge being very overgrown and there being many trees making the last car difficult to spot. They will do an extra search, expanding the search area to make sure no one else is left unfound.”

Frozen in his spot, Doyoung looked Taeyong dead in the eyes. His eyes were filled to the brim with tears and he had completely forgotten about listening to what the person on the phone was saying.

“Doyoung?” Taeyong whispered, but his friend still couldn’t say a thing. “Please talk to me.”

Before long, Johnny snatched the phone from Doyoung’s hand and held it up to his ear. “Yes? … Yeah I’m— I’m her brother.” As Johnny said that he couldn’t look his members in the eyes and so he turned his back on them and continued talking to the person on the phone.

“Hyung, what’s going on?” Haechan asked in almost a whiny tone. It wasn’t the usual playful tone he carried, but a genuine pained sound. “Can’t you tell us what happened? What did they say?”

Just a few seconds later Johnny turned back to the group. “Taeyong, Yuta, Doyoung?” He looked at the three, calling for their attention, but the latter didn’t budge. “Let’s go.”

The three stood there in shock, unsure of what to do, with Taeyong and Yuta eyeing each other nervously.

“COME ON! If you don’t come I’m taking someone else with me,” Johnny yelled loudly which made Yuta and Taeyong move instantly. To help Doyoung out, the leader pulled him by his arm, only partly getting him out of his trance.

“What about us?” Jungwoo asked in a soft, shaky tone.

A sigh escaped Johnny’s lips and he glanced over the room once again. “Okay, one more person can fit in the car with us. The others, ask for the manager to bring you.”

The other members nodded after they pushed Haechan towards the older members. “Where to?” Mark asked. He sounded almost scared to ask the question and when the response came, his apprehensiveness felt not unwarranted.

“To the hospital goddamnit! Where else to?” Johnny had never been this upset—this angry. When he got angry he’d always try to compose himself, using sarcasm or trying to joke about it to lighten the mood. This time, however, every sense of trying to stay composed—trying to be fake—was thrown out of the window and it was scary.

“Yeah. I’m sorry,” Mark had whispered to himself when he noticed the group leave the room without much of a second glance. Jaehyun was by his side in seconds to give him a pat on his shoulder, but when Mark looked up he didn’t see Jaehyun look at him with a comforting or reassuring gaze. The man himself was dying of nerves. He was just as scared as the rest.

“Let’s just go,” he stated short, earning affirmative hums and nods from the boys as they looked for a manager to bring them to the hospital.

Chapter VI:

“I’m sorry, this many people aren’t allowed in here. It’s family—”

The nurse had barely any time to state the protocol when 5 intimidating men were towering over her. If it weren’t for the clear tears, red eyes and clumped-together eyelashes, the woman would’ve called security without a second of thought.

“We’re her family, she’s all she’s got here.”

The woman nodded nervously before looking down at her clipboard. “A—And who’s family is it that you are?”

“Lim JiHo’s,” Taeyong answered in Johnny’s stead. It wasn’t like Johnny was unable to answer, but his height and clearly sour mood was making the nurse severely uncomfortable to the point Taeyong needed to step in. Johnny was tall and really scary at this moment, but he wouldn’t hurt anyone—besides possibly the person in charge of what had happened—Taeyong just didn’t want anyone to misunderstand his American friend.

“Lim? Lim JiHo?” She continued to leaf through the patient documents until she found the right name. “Oh—” Her expression was all but satisfactory.

“What does that mean?” Yuta asked, a clear waver in his voice. He felt the blood in his veins run cold and cold beads of sweat form on his hairline.

The nurse ushered them towards a waiting room—secluded and cold—before telling them to sit down. “I’ll need you to wait here, I’ll send you JiHo’s doctor immediately.” Before the boys could utter another word the nurse had run off already.

“Hyung,” Haechan whispered as he softly poked Doyoung’s shoulder. The latter turned around to look at the younger man, revealing his bloodshot eyes to Haechan despite not having many tears rolling off his cheeks. “Are you okay?”

Doyoung shook his head. It was the clearest answer he had given since the phone call. “I’m not,” he then voiced his answer. “But that doesn’t matter. All that matters is JiHo.”

Haechan nodded, but felt like it was not right. It seemed like Taeyong felt the same way as he reached out to Doyoung and caressed his arm. “I understand, but you have to stay strong as well. JiHo needs you that way.”

The two best friends shared pained gazes between each other and although not by much, it still felt a bit comforting to Doyoung. His mind couldn’t stop thinking about the what if’s and the maybe’s, but at least he didn’t feel alone.

“Hello good sirs,” a doctor said as he approached the five men. He didn’t share any other niceties and went straight to the point. “As you know JiHo was in that car crash?” When the members nodded, the doctor continued, “as she was found much later she wasn’t in good condition when we found her. She was still awake though not able to respond verbally. We brought her here and she’s currently in surgery.”

“What took them so long?” Yuta asked as soon as the doctor finished speaking, but his tone didn’t hold any hostility. He was genuinely curious as to why they had to suffer so long before being called to the hospital and could only imagine how long JiHo had to suffer alone in that car wreck.

The doctor made a gesture of acknowledgement and answered, “JiHo was found about an hour ago. We, the hospital staff, did think it was for the best to keep this information from the public until we found the family of the victim.” He let out a deep worrisome sigh which had the boys at the edge of their seats. “When the police found her and when she was brought into the hospital JiHo’s injuries were too severe to clearly identify her at first. The police couldn’t find any other identification on her until they found her phone a few more metres away from the car. When they charged it they found your number in it and during the surgery one of the doctors recognised her as well,” he explained. “I’m sincerely sorry about how this process has been going so far.”

“Do we have any updates on her so far?” Taeyong asked and the doctor’s brows settled into another frown.

“JiHo’s condition is still unstable. The surgery is getting wrapped up by now, but just surgery alone won’t make her better. She needs a lot of rest and possibly more surgeries. Due to the severe trauma to the head we have decided to put her into a coma.” Doyoung gasped and jumped out of his chair at the news even if his legs felt like they could give in at any moment. “Without it she won’t make it. She had been bleeding a long time before the police found her. It’s a miracle she even stayed awake for that long.”

“How big are the chances of her being back to normal with a coma?” Johnny asked.

Again the doctor sighed and placed a hand on Doyoung’s shoulder. “JiHo’s a really strong girl. The chances aren’t zero, but it will be really hard for her.” Doyoung dropped his head at the words and scared that he might fall, the doctor gripped both of the idol’s shoulders to keep him up. “It all depends on how hard she fights and seeing the support she has I’m sure she’ll put up a great fright.”

Without many more words said, the doctor excused himself and left the room. A nurse informed them that they could go visit JiHo in her room in about 10 minutes from then and offered to bring Doyoung some water since he started to look very pale. The members politely declined the offer and sat in the room waiting for any developments.

Chapter VII:

A droning in her head woke JiHo up. As she tried to open her eyes she was only met with blackness. At first she wasn’t sure she had even opened her eyes, but as she started to make up the interior of the car she realised it was just dark outside.

Her phone had been placed on the passenger’s seat along with the envelopes, but when she looked to her right instead of seeing those items, she was met with what looked like a branch of a tree. The passenger’s side window was indeed shattered and several branches and bushes were covering that side of the car, making it even darker inside.

With a sigh JiHo went to lean her head on the window on her side only to notice that the glass had also shattered. “Fuck,” she whispered tiredly. A piece of shattered glass had grazed the side of her head, not quite enough to leave a cut or even a scratch, but it was the contact of the glass and her skin that caused all the feeling in her body to return.

JiHo felt a hot stream of liquid on the side of her head. It didn’t take much for JiHo to realise it was blood, her own blood, that covered one side of her face. She tried to move her hand to press the wound shut, but her limbs felt unusually heavy.

“Oh God, please help—” she tried to pray but her words got cut when she heard something in the distance. She noticed the sound of her phone, someone was calling her but she couldn’t pick up. Her phone wasn’t in the car, the distance of the sound made her realise that.

JiHo didn’t know how long she was in the car. She had heard a lot of noise coming from the distance, and what sounded like sirens, but when she was still there after the sun started to come up she wasn’t sure if she had only imagined it.

Despite the sun coming up, her vision hadn’t gotten any clearer. The temperature in the car had dropped significantly from the night as the warmth the car had provided escaped through the shattered windows. Thankfully she was still wearing warm clothes and the pain in her limbs and head were still providing her some semblance of warmth. The sun which just hid her windshield provided a little warmth as well.

At this point JiHo could hear her phone ring more often. It was almost as if the sound was teasing her. She couldn’t see her phone and even if she could, she wouldn’t be able to reach out. At some point she felt like she was getting delusional. She couldn’t possibly be hearing her phone, she normally put it on silent anyway. Yet she wanted to believe her members were worried about her. Although she remembered the way she ran out of Yuta’s room and thought that maybe she had acted a bit childish. Yuta must have had his reasons, and JiHo started to understand why he possibly did what he did.

The ringing sound of the phone was drowned out by a sudden ruckus. It sounded like a group of people, but not one of the voices sounded familiar to her.

“There’s someone here!” was all JiHo could really make out between all the shouts and for the first time that night she was sure that she at least wasn’t imagining those people. She could hear them, she could feel them and eventually she could see them. “Hey, are you okay? Can you hear me?”

JiHo only blinked in response, not having the energy and seemingly not even the ability to respond verbally. “She’s awake! We need to get her out now…” The man continued to speak to the other people, but JiHo could only focus on the fact that he looked so much like Johnny. He wasn’t as tall and he didn’t look as fit as Johnny, but his facial structure reminded her a lot of him. “Hey, we’ll get you out of here. Just stay awake, hmm?”

That was the last thing she heard before she closed her eyes, hoping that she was in caring hands, hoping she would be reunited with her family soon.

Chapter VIII:

“You can go inside now, but I suggest only three people go in at a time,” the nurse told the group. At this point in time, the other four members had arrived at the hospital. The mood in the waiting room had grown indescribably cold after Taeyong had explained the whole situation to the others. That also gave the first five to arrive a moment to take everything in once again and it didn’t make it easier.

“Doyoung?” Taeil called for him and motioned in the direction of JiHo’s room. The younger one shook his head though and slumped back in his chair.

“I think I’ll go last,” he told them. “I need to mentally prepare for this.”

Although everyone knew he could never be prepared—none of them could—they didn’t refute his comment and let three other members go in first.

Taeil went in with Mark and Jaehyun. They stayed in the room for about five or ten minutes before they walked back out. They didn’t say anything and no one asked anything either. All that was clear was that the three looked more defeated, more tired, more sad after they went in—no words were needed to notice that.

The next three were Jungwoo, Haechan and Taeyong. They stayed inside for a little longer than the previous three and when they came outside Taeyong had to support a sobbing Jungwoo to the waiting room. He tended to him for a bit before Jungwoo suggested he’d go outside and get some air.

“I’m coming with you. I think I need to get out of here for a little while,” Mark commented and helped Jungwoo get up from his seat. The two friends walked side by side towards the exit at the end of the hallway.

Once they were gone Taeyong turned to the last three. Johnny gave him a small nod before heading in with Yuta under his arm. Hesitantly Doyoung called for Taeyong’s attention, “how is she?”

Taeyong sighed deeply. “Well…” he mused. “It looks like she’s just sleeping,” he explained and Doyoung nodded although he seemed a bit apprehensive. “She looks a little pale and I don’t like it that I can’t see her smile right now. She looks a lot prettier when she smiles,” Taeyong chuckled sadly as he tried to hold back tears. “She almost doesn’t look like herself, but I can recognize those freckles and birthmarks anywhere.”

Doyoung didn’t say anything as he looked in the direction of JiHo’s room. Johnny and Yuta were already inside, but Doyoung couldn’t get himself to move. “You need to go see her,” Taeyong said firmly, yet his voice still held sympathy and enough gentleness. It was enough for the others to share a look before deciding they should leave the two alone.

“I don’t think I can,” Doyoung answered honestly once Jaehyun, Taeil and Haechan left the room. “I don’t think I can see her today.”

Taeyong pressed his eyes shut as he fought his inner turmoil before taking a step closer to Doyoung. “If you don’t see her today…”

“What?” Doyoung snapped his head at the leader. “What are you saying? She’s not going to die, Taeyong!”

“You don’t know that,” Taeyong said exasperated.

“I do! Even if it’s 0.0001 chance it’s not impossible! She’ll survive!” Taeyong let his friend heave in silence. He did not speak, leaving Doyoung with his thoughts and concerns. “They said she wouldn’t have been awake for so long, but she was. She’s strong enough to get through this.”

“She did that because she wanted us to go see her. Doyoung if you see her state—”

“No! I don’t want to! She’ll be fine,” Doyoung yelled and let his tears run freely. He could barely see Taeyong through his blurred vision, but tried to look him straight in the eyes. “I need her to be fine, Taeyong.”

“So you just won’t see her? Why?”

Doyoung sobbed as he tried to answer Taeyong, who seemed eerily calm, but the truth was he just felt so lost and scared he didn’t know how to act. “I don’t want the last time I see her to be like this. I want to remember her being happy,” Doyoung whispered to broken cries.

“Doyoung,” Taeyong called out for him as he placed his hand on his arm. “I know it's hard, but… This could be the last time you see her— alive,” he choked on his last words. Just as he said it, Doyoung had looked up to make eye contact once again, but upon hearing those words, he fell down to his knees and shook his head.

“No, no, no…” he chanted to himself in pain.

“I’ll be by your side okay?” Taeyong whispered comfortingly and caressed his friend’s arms. The two sat there for a bit before deciding to finally get up. However, just as they were about to turn to the hallway a group of people started rushing through the hallway.

“Doctor! Room 245!” Doyoung and Taeyong looked at each other with horror in their eyes as a group of doctors and nurses headed towards the called room, the number being too familiar.

Taeyong and Doyoung both stood frozen before Yuta and Johnny walked out of the room with extremely pale complexions. “What—”

Before Taeyong could even ask his question Yuta shook his head. “I don’t know, I— I don’t know, I don’t know,” like a broken record he kept repeating the words. Even when Taeyong told him to pull himself together, all he could say was “I don’t know”.

“Defibrillator needed in room 245!”

Doyoung stopped right in his tracks as he tried to walk towards the room before. He felt his body become instantly cold and he felt his breath get taken away. His palms were sweaty despite feeling freezing cold and his body started shivering. The tears that ran down his cheeks felt as if they were burning the skin beneath them. All he could do was watch as doctors ran into the room behind big medical equipment. Doyoung fell to his knees, not realising the blood curdling scream he let out yelling for his little sister, before his whole world became blurry and then turned black completely.

Chapter IX:

“I’ll stay with you no matter what,” JiHo smiled brightly as she traced shapes in the palm of Doyoung’s hand. “You don’t think you can get rid of me do you?” She giggled.

Doyoung didn’t respond, neither did he look at her.

“I don’t like it when you ignore me and you’ve been doing that a lot lately,” she pouted, but it was soon followed by another giggle.

Doyoung sighed. He felt exhausted, but he knew this wouldn’t stop. So he opened his eyes and looked at the girl sitting on the side of his bed. She immediately smiled upon catching his gaze and commented on it, “you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

The boy hadn’t slept in days, his complexion was void of its natural colour and his eyes were dull. “Are you still not going to talk to me?”

Again no answer.

JiHo dramatically sighed, throwing her head back before leaning in really closely. All Doyoung could see were her eyes. The colours were still familiar and bright, but something wasn’t quite the same as before.

“I won’t stop bothering you until you answer! I won’t leave you alone! Even if you get sick of me!” JiHo sang in a childish voice as if she was testing his patience. Doyoung only blinked at her. “I promise you! I won’t leave you alone until you talk to me. Will you not talk to me?”

Doyoung wanted to answer with a no, but he didn’t. He didn’t want to talk to her. He didn’t want to give in even if his whole body, his heart and mind were telling him to talk to her.

“You won’t talk?” JiHo nodded her head before sitting back up straight. She tucked away her hair behind her ears and patted down her white dress before quickly reaching out for Doyoung’s hand again to continue tracing her nonsensical patterns. “Then I’ll stay here and continue to bother you,” she sang to no one in particular, but with a raised brow and a sly peak in Doyoung’s direction he knew she said to get a reaction out of Doyoung. “Fine… I’m not leaving though.”

Doyoung closed his eyes, to suppress the tears in his eyes from falling and smiled softly to himself. Don’t leave. That’s all I want. For you not to leave.

Epilogue:

“They found JiHo’s letters,” Taeil said as he walked inside the dorm. He dropped a stack of envelopes—some looking rougher than others—on the table. “JiHo’s biological parents sent the rest over that JiHo had sent them. I haven’t read them yet. Yuta has and he said you might want them.”

Doyoung’s eyes followed Taeil’s figure as he sat himself down on the couch. He took a few moments before turning his gaze to the envelopes. “How did they find them? I mean the letters that her biological parents didn’t send.”

The question wasn’t so heavy, yet the answer was and Taeil wasn’t sure how to bring it. Johnny was with him when he heard the news and he was angry yet collected. When he went to tell the news to Yuta—Shotaro was with him at the time—he reacted very badly. The younger Japanese member had to calm him down which was a struggle.

Now he was facing another obstacle. He was sure Doyoung wouldn’t take to the news well. “They caught the guy,” he stated simply.

“The guy? Who?”

Taeil pressed his lips together, not wanting to actually say it, but Doyoung needed to know. “The guy that caused the hit and run. Well… He’s actually the guy who caused the fire in JiHo’s apartment that time—” Taeil flinched at Doyoung’s loud gasp. The older of the two was almost afraid Doyoung was going to hit him with how he suddenly jumped up to the front of his seat towards him. “He—uhm—did it on purpose.”

“How did he know where she was going?” Doyoung asked and Taeil was actually surprised, yet confused, with how calm Doyoung was.

“He’s a sasaeng. Had so much stuff on JiHo. I don’t know the details, but he was either following her or he must have had a tracker on her. He’s put into custody right now.”

Doyoung jumped up and pulled at his hair in frustration and disbelief. “Sasaeng?! All he did was attempt to kill her! Why would he even—UGH!”

Taeil sighed and put his head into his hands, propped up against his thighs. “I don’t know— Doyoung,” he called out when he noticed him pacing in front of him. “The police will do their job, but I need you to read this. Shotaro and Yuta translated it, but I think the other thing that’s inside is more important.”

Doyoung’s eyes darted from Taeil’s to the letter and back at him. The older one gave him a nod to urge him to grab it. He hesitated for a few more seconds before taking it. It was a clean letter, no tears or creases, just a simple ivory envelope with a bit of weight to it. Aside from the main letter, Yuta and Shotaro’s translation was added on a separate piece of paper. Doyoung chuckled, comparing Yuta’s still neat handwriting to JiHo’s elegant one. JiHo always had great penmanship even back in 2018 when the letter was dated.

    Mr. and Mrs. Dubois

    You still haven’t answered any of my letters. At first I was disappointed, but I understand now. You gave me up because you didn’t want children, so maybe you despise the fact I’m writing to you now. Or you moved into another building and my letters aren’t reaching you—I have reasons to believe otherwise though, because my niece is still in contact with you and told me this is not the case. Whatever it might be that makes you ignore me, today it doesn’t bother me as much.     As you know I have debuted in my group now. At first I was a bit jealous of how close they were to their families and each other, but recently I started to feel like I belonged. I used to send you letters because I wanted a family that was close to me and didn’t lie about not being able to visit—I’m sure my parents have their reasons, however, that doesn’t change anything about me not being able to see them in real life.     Yesterday me and my group members had dinner together and Doyoung called me his little sister. Yuta said he would still bother me like an older brother when we grow old and Taeyong said I’m part of the family now. Maybe I’m living in a temporary state of delight and tomorrow I’ll face the reality that I’m just some girl who these talented people have to deal with, but today I’m feeling happy. It doesn’t matter, because I saw the sincerity in Doyoung’s eyes. He might have laughed after he said it, but he seems to really care about me.     Johnny as well! He looks like a big scary guy but he’s the sweetest. He promised to let me drive his car when I’m older, but I’m guessing papa told him about aunt Danny because Johnny was a bit hesitant when I asked him about it again. You do know about aunt Danny right? She died in a car crash when she was really young. If you didn’t know, I'm sorry to tell you right now… SO, papa told me I was never allowed to have my own car and that if I died in a car crash he would kill me. Pfft, that sounds a bit dumb no? Hahaha, I know he’s just worried, but something like that doesn’t happen as much as people think.     I’m getting a bit off topic, so I’ll wrap it up quickly. I’m super happy being around my members lately. They take good care of me and I feel like I’m at home with them. That’s why I wanted to say that as long as I’m feeling this way I won’t send any more letters. I always send you letters because I want a family, but I feel like they are here for me more than any of my actual family has ever been. That might sound a little rude, but I can’t apologise for it. It’s the truth.

    Stay well! I hope I don’t have to send you any more letters

    - NCT’s Lim JiHo

Doyoung smiled sadly and pulled out the last item out of the envelope. It was a collage of pictures of her and the members of NCT back in 2018. Doyoung laughed when he saw the picture of JiHo and him wearing matching shirts with one of them saying “sister” and the other “brother” and JiHo’s unamused face. At that time, he absolutely despised those shirts as well, but seeing JiHo hate them even more was amusing to him.

Doyoung bit back a teary smile as his eyes scanned all the pictures of JiHo with him and his members. Taeil had taken notice of that and sighed softly, “you’re allowed to be happy and smile at those memories.”

Doyoung nodded, but continued to force his smile back down, “I know. It just feels inappropriate at the moment.”

“You’re right,” Taeil said as he stood up. A confused look was plastered on Doyoung’s face as he eyed his older friend. “Let’s go visit JiHo.” Doyoung smiled softly and picked up his coat that had been thrown over the back of the couch.

The two weren’t so quiet as they made their way to the front door—not that they were trying to be—garnering someone’s attention. One of the bedroom doors in the hallway swung open, revealing a dishevelled Haechan. He eyed both men before his eyes widened. “Are you going to visit JiHo?” Taeil hummed in response. “I’m coming with you!”

The older two smiled as they watched Haechan stumble across the living room, grabbing his jacket from where he had abandoned it earlier. “Why do you so eagerly want to come?” Doyoung inquired softly.

Haechan gasped and placed a hand on his chest. “Why would I not want to come?” he countered, but both of his members didn’t answer. “I just—” Suddenly Haechan had become a bit more bashful. “I had a dream about JiHo yesterday and I just felt like singing for her today. Maybe it’ll make her smile,” he explained with red cheeks.

As Taeil cooed, Doyoung scoffed in amusement. “You know she can’t smile— nor hear you, right?”

Haechan nodded, but after putting his shoes on pulled both of his hyungs out the front door. “I know, but maybe in spirit she will hear me and she’ll smile.”

Although Taeil—and the other members—knew Haechan was hurting just as bad as the others, he couldn’t help but admire how positive and strong Haechan had been. He really had become a source of strength for all the other members, even though he sometimes also needed a person to lean on.

Taeil looked at both of his younger members and couldn’t suppress a smile and as he  ruffled the youngest’s hair he answered him with, “I’m sure she will”.

---

masterlists: main masterlist || jiho.writings masterlist

[heyidkyay]

I guess I’ll take this pain, instead of your name |

Part Fourteen

A/n: Hello! This part honestly took me a while to work out so here's me hoping it came out alright:) Big thank you to @Youlookjustfinetome btw for finding me some more G pics, honestly lots of love to you, practically saved my life🥲 And I hope you all enjoy part fourteen!!

Summary: In life, things changed. The boys you'd once grown up with were men now, and famous ones at that. The type that toured the world and had millions of adoring fans.

The five of you shared a shit ton of history. But you also shared a lot of mixed emotions for one of them in particular, a certain drummer.

Warnings: There's some medical stuff here, lot of mixed feelings, bit of an angry rant but not much to warn you about tbh

Masterlist

—

I'd found myself nodding away, head in another place when the doctor had come in to speak to me. 

Wishing I’d been on another plane. 

Or in a different fucking reality altogether, I really didn’t know. 

But I’d hardly paid her any attention, even when she’d rattled off the extensive list of the injuries they’d discovered since the paramedics had wheeled me in.

Severe blunt force trauma to the head. “There’s no need to fret, I know it can sound daunting but the induced coma you were put into on arrival was used to protect your brain from any further swelling after the initial hit. We’ve also done multiple scans since so we’re almost certain that there will be no longterm damage.”

“Hang on- almost? What’s that meant to mean?” Matty had piped up in retort, having held my hand through it the entire time. He hadn’t let go, not even for a second, once the shorthaired woman had arrived not long after Lee, my nurse, had slipped out.

“Only time will tell with these sorts of injuries.” She’d tried to appease us with a clinical sort of smile, but then had gone on to describe the hit to me…

I had to shake away the thoughts of it even now, long after she’d left. 

It sounded so violent. So harsh to what I could barely even recall.

“You were hit head-on. Meaning that your torso took the brunt force of the collision, which also resulted in you being thrown backwards nearly three feet. That in itself left a lot of room for damage when your body collided with the ground. The back of your head will have a rather large scar but we did our best to minimise it, and the hair should fall nicely over the top without any notice.”

I’d nodded at her once and had fought the urge to reach up and touch beneath the thick gauze they’d padded there. 

Another scar. 

I’d had to look away when Matty had tried to catch my eye. 

One perforated eardrum, left-side. “There was a severe rupture in one of your inner ear canals which was a cause for concern too. At this moment, we’re still left unsure on how long it could take for the damage to repair itself, or if it ever will as a result of the injury to your head. Currently, we’ve got you taking a high dosage of-”

She’d prattled on after that. Talks of antibiotics and surgery (if things really came down to it), and then the warning of me maybe having to deal a with a total loss of hearing incase of any infection in the future. 

I’d checked out rather quickly at that. But in truth, it had explained a lot. The ringing that wouldn’t stop. The earaches and the itching. As well as the feeling like I’m underwater, hearing everything through a tinny in-ear piece, or trying to talk over the sound of a very rowdy washing machine. 

Matty had asked the doctor a plethora of questions on my behalf at that. Or I only assumed, because the woman had replied telling him that she would be happy to pass on a couple of pamphlets for him to look over. I remembered that he’d been anxious in his agreeable nod, thanking her a few times under his breath. And that had been the last of it before she’d moved on again.

A distal radius fracture. Multiple breaks in the ribcage. “The distal radius is the larger one of the two bones in the forearm. You suffered two fractures there, one on the distal end and another a little further up. It’s a very common break though and you were able to avoid any surgery on the arm. Though, it will take between six to twelve weeks to heal. And after that, some patients still find that they need physiotherapy to get back full usage of the wrist.”

I’d looked down at my hand in that moment. Stared at the cast which started at the centre of my palm and worked its way up to the crook of my elbow. The small cut I'd received in the shop earlier that same week had nothing on this.

It was my right arm too. Which only fucked me further, and I’d had to laugh at that. As though I hadn’t suffered enough. Now I had to forgo the next few months trying to manoeuvre through life and work with my left. fucking. hand. 

I’d tried not to let that thought get to me in the moment. Focused on the fact that I could still move my fingers somewhat, even if they were swollen and a tad bit numb. It hadn’t helped then though and hardly reassured me now. 

The detailed description of my ribs current state had followed swiftly after. Which explained the trouble I had breathing, as well as the severe burning pain I felt whenever I even thought about moving.

“It was just the three fractures.” Just, I’d wanted to scoff at her. “All on one side, most likely due to the first impact made by the car. Most cases of broken ribs can be treated with rest, icing a couple times a day and pain relief.”

The doctor had then gone on to explain about the breathing and coughing exercises she was going to have me do whilst I was under-observation. Something about preventing pneumonia or the sorts. Which had just been another thing I had ended up not having the heart to hear. 

Although the fracture in one of my ribs had quickly waylaid her onto her next point. She’d actually had to pause when she’d come to it and really took the time to look me in the eye, her stoic and impersonal manner dropping. 

I mean, the woman had been nice enough, she’d smiled when necessary and took the time to explain things to me in thorough detail, but she was also evidently detached, that much was clear. She didn’t want to get overly involved in my case. Couldn’t. But then, something had ultimately shifted. Even Matty had appeared to notice it, he’d clued in to the way she’d propped herself forward in her seat, the slight glance she’d gifted her colleague before she’d cleared her throat, eyes trained back on me. 

She’d begun her account in a sincere but well-practiced tone, informing me of the injury that had been a result of my broken ribs. And as she had, I’d actually felt my entire world tilt on its head. And I only wished then to be floating again. 

Splenic rupture. That one had been the toughest pill to swallow.

“One of the ribs on your left side pierced the spleen on impact but it only tore the organ further during transport I'm afraid. It had been hard to determine at first, the three breaks had been one of our first concerns and because of your difficulty breathing our first thought had been a collapsed lung. By the time we realised how much damage had been caused, after we’d witnessed a CT scan result, there was a large amount of blood that had poured into the abdominal cavity.”

I’d just stared blankly back at her. 

“You were put under an anaesthetic rather quickly and rushed into theatre…”

“Surgery went well, although there was an altercation or two…”

“Tried to minimise scarring…”

“Risk of infection…”

“Future treatments..”

“Medications…”

I had tuned it all out. 

Physically I’d still been there. In that room with her. And Matty of course. But mentally, my mind had been far away. Beyond even my own compression. It’d felt like I’d sort of drowned and the struggle to find air had suddenly stopped. Leaving me with just an empty head. No thoughts. No feelings. Nothing on the matter.

Just the fact that I had another scar.

And that, that made me feel like a walking voodoo doll.

—

My stay in the hospital was beginning to grate on my nerves. Slowly but surely I was starting to lose my mind. And I was so sure of it. 

It had taken two days for me to come to the first time around. Two days since the hit, I mean. But now, I’d been here almost a week. Sleeping mostly, but bored beyond belief or in mind-numbing pain for the rest of it. 

Ross had come to visit. He came daily, sometimes even twice. He brought food (sticking to what he knew best) and it often ranged from the chocolate pasties he knew I tended to drift towards in the Danish bakery up near his, to all of the sugar he could smuggle inside the lining of his coat. 

He liked to keep me company too; told me all about the football, who was top of the league and what players were currently injured; kept me updated on how things were going with his mates down at the pub (the very blokey bloke types he’d always seemed to get along with); and whispered to me about all the hot gossip that was making its way around the hospital that he often caught wind of on his way up to the ward, and during his frequent visits to the vending machine. 

Ross didn’t ask too many questions either and after his first frantic visit, I found myself wanting to ask him less and less too. He was also one of the fair few that still treated me like an actual person. The usual bullying and typical snarky responses were a very welcomed change of pace, as were those eye-rolls of his that he usually gifted me each time I had a coughing fit. 

“Here we go,” He’d say with a put-upon sigh, slumping in the chair he tended to drag up beside my bed whenever Matty gave him the chance. “Always the centre of attention! I mean, can’t we just talk about me for once?”

Which only proved to worsen things because then I’d been coughing, laughing and spluttering all sorts of obscenities at him, all at the same time.

Yeah, it was safe to say that my doctors weren’t too fond of Ross.

Adam though, they liked. He popped in too, and brought Carly along with him whenever she could make it. Those two were oftentimes too empathetic in their visits though, which was sometimes hard to bare. But they’d also brought me my favourite kind of teabags and the lactose-free milk I opted for. As well as my own little kettle that they’d gone and plugged into the wall beside my bed for me- but only after I’d nonstop complained about the hospital’s lack of fulfilling drinks. 

Their tea tasted like piss water was the shorter defence there. 

But Hann had also been the one to bring me over some of the things I’d been missing from home, like my pillow, laptop and my charger- seeing as my phone had been dead since it’d been handed back to me in a plastic baggy, alongside an array of other things I didn’t much want to look at. Mostly just the clothes I’d been wearing the night of the accident.

It was a heaven send though, to be able to distract myself with a shitty Netflix series or the odd scroll through social media. Although I did have to limit my usage. Stop myself from googling questions I knew I wouldn’t like the answers to. Still, it had been a nice gesture in all, made even better by the comfort of finally wearing my own clothes and actual underwear! Instead of the itchy gown they’d had me in. 

Though mentioning that, the one who knew me best, who I thought would be by my bedside, holding my hand, and making sure I stayed well-rested. Who soothed me during the moments of panic and disorientation. Who whispered quietly in my ear and held me close when the reminders became too much to bare, and when pain was all I could think about. 

He was nowhere to be found.

Because Matty had gone and stepped into that role for him. For me, I guess. Sweet, chaotic Matty who could barely even look after himself at the best of times, and who’d spent most of his adult life revelling in the fact that he had no strings to tie him down. He was there for me. A constant. 

Only ever leaving in a rush to shower and change so that he could make it back in time for when I had to take my medication. 

Charming Lee into letting him stay long past visiting hours and having the sweetheart swindle him a makeshift bed that he could use, instead of the clump of chairs he’d converted into a shitty lounger.

Talking the rest of the patients into doing a bit of karaoke and dancing by my bed to keep me entertained. He’d even had Ross bring him his guitar so that we could sing together before lights out. Him crooning like he did best, me all muffled and croaky. Though he still claimed that my voice was as angelic as the last time he’d heard it. 

Matty. My best mate Matty. 

I didn’t think I’d ever been more thankful to have another human being in my life. Nor would I ever be.

So after prodding him with multiple questions on where George could’ve possibly been. What was keeping him away. And only receiving vague responses in turn, or worse, being easily distracted. I finally decided to give up.

Well. Not give up, per say. Just allowed Matty some peace and quiet. I knew it wasn’t his fault that George had been a no-show. That he’d gone and left me when I needed him most. So the questions had become less and less frequent, until I’d decided to not ask them at all.

“You sure you’re alright?” Matty repeated for what felt like the fifteenth time since I’d accidentally woken him that morning. 

He was setting out my lunch for me, something I found infuriating but was also what kept his hands occupied and brain busy, he was eyeing me a bit strangely. Like he felt as though something was inherently off and he was just waiting for the other shoe to drop.

I rolled my eyes, a fond smile limning my lips even as he pierced the straw through my smoothie’s carton for me. 

“I told you I could do that.” I scolded lightly. 

Matty merely hummed in reply, “Yeah, well you say that but you can hardly hike down your own knickers even after I’ve dragged you all the way to the loo, so…”

He snorted at my sudden glare, waving me off with a smirk as he handed me the drink and stole the sandwich the nurses had dropped off for me.

“What kind is it today?” I asked him, sipping at the smoothie that came with it whilst he plopped himself down on the other end of my bed, kicking his feet up near my uninjured wrist.

“Ham and cheese, I reckon. Maybe a bit of mayo but can’t be too sure. Stingy fucks these lot.” He retorted through a mouthful. I grinned and withheld a painful laugh.  

This had become a bit of a pastime for us. Him stealing the sandwiches that I refused to eat, because they always seemed to line the bread with a crap ton of butter, which even thinking about had my stomach rolling. And him then critiquing every flavour to me. 

Yesterday’s had been stuffing and egg, something that had had Matty grimacing even as he fought to finish the first few mouthfuls. He’d quickly given up on that one though and washed the foul taste out with one of the many cans of San Pellegrino he'd asked Hann to bring in for him. Prat. 

“Anyway, you never answered me.” Matty mentioned again, bringing me back to the present. I hummed at him with only a tilt of my head. He rolled his eyes and prodded my hip with his socked foot. “Come on, something’s up. Can sense it, can’t I?”

I snorted softly at him, quirking a brow. “What, you become a self-proclaimed empath in the time you went home to shower?”

He flashed me a toothy grin which wrinkled his brown eyes. “Summat like that, I reckon.”

I huffed, shaking my head albeit in a measure of amusement. “Nothing’s wrong, Wonder Woman. Dr Mann even said I was improving, did she not?”

I wasn’t met with a reply though, so I glanced away from my smoothie and back towards Matty. I found him to simply be staring back at me. A prominent line etched between his brows.

“What?” I asked him with pursed lips. 

It was his turn to shake his head then, looking away to gaze out the shuttered window. We were quite high up, 6th floor if what I can recall Ross saying is true. The sun was high in the sky, and there was not a drop of rain in sight. 

I looked away then and kicked at Matty’s elbow. “Come on, what is it? You’re bein’ a right weirdo.”

He shrugged, chewing away, eyes still cast outside. “Just, you haven’t mentioned it is all.”

I frowned at him, unsure of what he possibly could've meant. “Mentioned what?”

Matty’s gaze pivoted towards me for a brief moment, looking for something I was sure, probably a a tell only he could make out. Then he shrugged at me again.

“Don’t worry about it, yeah?”

“Matty…” I tried, but my tired groan was cut short by the prominent arrival of Ross. 

An angry looking Ross, actually.

I boggled a little at the sight, as did Matty who'd jumped around to see what had caught me by so much surprise.

“Matty. A word.” Ross demanded of the curly haired twat curled up by my feet, having stuck half his foot in the door and not had the common decency to even spare me a hello. What would his mother say? 

“Erm, morning to you too, MacDonald!” I scoffed as I made a face, but it'd been futile seeing as Ross was already back out the door and pacing up and down the hallway. Matty patted my shin in quiet comfort and gave me an apologetic smile before he gestured his head over towards the hall.

“Best go see what he wants.”

And all I could do was watch as Matty left, still chained to this hospital bed. Once the door had dragged close behind him, I found myself with literally fuck all else to do. So, like the adult I was, I threw myself back into my nest of pillows and groaned pathetically. Wishing I could do more than just lie here day in and day out.

—MATTY’S POV—

“I’m gonna fucking kill him, Matty.” Were the first words Ross spoke to him as Matty slipped out of the room, catching him mostly off guard.

Ross was hardly ever the aggressor. In actual fact, he was one of the most tolerant guys Matty had ever known. It truly took a lot to get him to crack, or even tell you to piss off, let alone this riled up. He didn’t actually think he’d ever been witness to Ross’s ire, but reckoned he could easily check that off the list now though.

Matty blinked for a moment then cast a chance glance back through the glass and towards his best mate. The girl who was currently holed up in a hospital room with a frown as huffy as it was prominent. It was hard seeing her like that, so broken. When in actuality, she was the toughest fucking person he’d had the privilege of knowing.

Cut deep.

“Right,” He dipped his chin and took a much needed breath before he ushered Ross a little farther down the ward, away from the room's entrance. Not wanting her to hear or see the state Ross had seemingly worked himself into, although Matty could already guess what the cause would be. “What’re you playing at? You can’t storm in here like that, mate.”

Ross groaned into the palms of the hands he dragged harshly over his face, tugging on his temples for a second before he dropped them altogether. His shoulders were still tense though, practically touching the lobes of his ears. 

“Yeah, yeah ‘course, sorry.”

Matty jerked his nod back down the hall. “No need for that, ‘cause you, man, are gonna be the one dodging all her questions when she ultimately starts asking what that was all about.”

Ross almost came very close to pouting then. Matty was sure of it, if only it hadn’t been for that fiery wall of anger he was still shrouded in. “Really? Alright. Fine, yeah fair. Deserve that much, I ‘spose. Just- I’m beyond fucking livid, mate.”

Matty’s brow pinched. “Why, what's happened?”

“What didn’t, you mean.” Ross scoffed, back to pacing in his big boots. Matty just hoped that none of the morning staff came to see what was causing the sudden commotion. They already seemed to hate the pair of them enough.

“Alright, mate. Just, I don’t know. Start with what’s got you so…” Matty shrugged a hand aimlessly towards his bearded bassist.

Ross tugged another hand through his long hair, loosening the bun he had it in by a tad.

“I don’t know where to start, to be honest. Maybe with the fact that I’ve tried everything. Fucking everything! Phoning, texting. Even passed by his a couple times. He won’t open the poxy door. Won’t answer Jamie or Hann either. I went over again this morning- saw some shit on Twitter last night so I reckoned I might find him there. Stole that spare key from you too, like you said, and tried using it on the locks but the prick’s only got the chain on. Latch too. So I didn't make it far.”

Matty was already chewing at his lower lip. Something he’d found himself doing more and more often as of late. Ever since that sodding fucking phone call, the one he’d almost missed. He could still hear George’s muffled cries now. The sirens. The pleads. Then the apology. 

His hands shook even as he recalled it all. Fucking coward.

His attention was swiftly brought back to the present when Ross started up again, only getting more and more irritated the longer his story went on.

“So, like the twat I am. I sat outside his all morning. Just managed to catch him dragging himself home, though. Don’t know how the fucker had gone and locked himself out from the inside but, well, it’s G ain’t it?” He said through gritted teeth, “Looked a right state, too. Still halfway to pissed and smelt a bit. I mean, is he deluded? She’s in here. Whilst he’s off, doing fuck knows what, out there! It’s an utter piss take, mate. Everyday she asks after him, asks if he’s doing alright, if things are okay. And he, he could not give less of a shit.”

“Hasn’t today.” Matty found himself mumbling, dark eyes casted out towards the lifts as a familiar itch passed through his veins. Which was convenient because just as Ross went to question him on it, Hann stepped out through the sliding metal doors. 

The man paused, catching sight of them just as the lift closed behind him. “What’s going on?” He asked with a furrowed brow.

“George.” Ross muttered with venom.

Whilst Matty sighed “Nothing.” at the exact same time. He simply shook his head dismissing it all when Hann approached them. “Where’ve you been anyway?”

Hann’s sharp gaze darted between the pair of them before he answered, “Was on the phone to Jamie most of this morning, then popped by to talk to Y/n’s boss. Lovely woman, actually.”

A real grin stretched its way across Matty’s face at the mention of Delia. “Isn’t she just?” He fawned.

Hann gave him one of those famous smiles of his and then proceeded to hold up a bag. “She mentioned she’d be stopping by again soon, but wanted me to bring this over.”

Matty’s attention dropped down to the bright bag, a prominent ‘Get well soon!’ engraved in gold on its side. “Nice of her. Did you get the stuff I asked for too?”

Adam rolled his eyes and moved his right shoulder, showing off the other bag, this one a duffle. “Yes, all here. Don’t stress.”

He went to reach for it when Hann’s eyebrows did a weird sort of dance on his forehead. Matty pulled a face at it and glanced over at Ross, who was still acting a bit aggy with his arms all crossed and nostrils still flared. Though Matty couldn’t fault him. He was still rightfully pissed off too.

“Tell me what’s gone on and then you can have the bag.” Adam bargained, receiving a pair of narrowed eyes in return.

“Drive a hard bargain, you do.” Matty huffed, falling back against the wall as he gestured outwardly towards Ross. “Was gonna tell you anyway.”

Hann merely hummed at him, dropping the bags between his legs as his head rounded on Ross. “What’s G done now?”

Ross’s jaw ticked and he went on another ramble, rehashing things to Hann in a bit more detail before Matty had to stop him.

“Where’s he at now then?”

“Passed out back at mine.” Ross told them, though he didn’t appear too happy about that fact. “Fucker had me drag him back to my car, wouldn’t move from the curb otherwise.”

Matty tucked his tongue between his front teeth, mind whirling. He hadn’t been to George’s yet, hadn’t wanted to leave the hospital let alone the place where everything had happened. He could only imagine what torment George has been faced with having to look at it day in and day out.

From what Ross had told them, the road had been fully blocked off until late afternoon the very next day with police patrolling and removing the vehicle from the scene. Matty grimaced at the thought of it all and listened to the quiet tones of Hann’s voice trying to calm Ross down. He deemed the moment as the easy access he needed to grab hold of the duffle and head back down the ward, deciding not to think too much about it right then.

Adam’s tut echoed and followed after him. Matty threw him a smug smile from over his shoulder.

Now it was time to get to work.

Part fifteen>

[skyler10fic]

You Remind Me of Someone

By Skyler10

Summary: Carol is injured in battle, causing a bout of amnesia! There’s nothing medically accurate in this fic, but it sure makes Daisy sad. Watch her deal with her emotions while caring for her wife, and watch Carol unknowingly fall for her all over again.

For the @ficwip @ficwip5k!

Read on Ao3

------------------

It should have been me. 

That thought chilled Daisy more than the hospital air conditioner blasting purified air. Her knees bumped against the hard plastic frame of Carol’s hospital bed as she prayed for Carol to open her eyes. 

Daisy had been here before, literally and metaphorically. People had died for her, whether sacrificially or coincidentally, all her life. She’d been the motive for her serial-killing parents, a pawn in wars, a vulnerability to Shield, and a symbol others laid down their lives for, so that she could survive to complete her missions and save countless others—sometimes entire planets. 

And then she met Carol Danvers. They’d fought across the galaxy side by side, fallen in love, and returned home to earth to work for the super-agent division of Shield, led by Daisy’s adoptive parents, Phil Coulson and Melinda May. This seemed to be the solution to Daisy’s curse: followed by Death like a shadow. Carol was mortal, but only just. She aged as slowly as Daisy, had otherwise unimaginable powers, flew without the aid of tech gear, and could use light and heat at her command. She was strong in every way. 

But not even Carol Danvers could escape the effects of the amnesia-inducing Kree truncheon. The blow was meant for Daisy. In a surprise attack, Vin-Tak was not going to let another opportunity pass him by to eliminate the inhuman “abomination” his people had created. Instead, Carol had intercepted the blow with a photon blast, but she paid dearly for her actions. He hit Carol hard, and Daisy hit him harder. He was no match for their team together, and the other super-agents on the team tricked him into a containment pod. 

The team noticed Daisy and Carol weren’t celebrating. Daisy hunched over Carol, mumbling, “No! Please wake up!” Daisy remembered it like an out-of-body experience: Shield paramedics. The sirens of the emergency extract pod they had dubbed “the ambulance.” Her friends pulling her away from Carol’s body as the medics worked.  

She remembered Phil holding her and Melinda paying close attention as the Shield doctor explained Carol’s injuries: a broken arm, significant bruising, shock, and, of course, the truncheon’s trademark amnesia could be expected. Maybe more. Jemma and Fitz, the super team’s best scientists, were already exploring any possible antidote to the amnesiac powers of the truncheon if diplomacy (or threats) to Vin-Tak failed. 

—--------------------

Daisy had a question she was too afraid to ask the doctor, so she waited until Jemma visited that evening, interrupting Daisy’s cycle of self-blame and guilt and prayers. 

“Knock knock,” Jemma said at the open hospital room door. 

Daisy glanced up. Her voice was low and hoarse when she spoke. “Come in.” 

Jemma sat next to Daisy, and they watched Carol for a few minutes. Alive, with the steady vitals on the monitor above her bed, but unstirred by the presence of others around her.

Daisy broke the silence. “It’s because of the damage before, isn’t it?”

“From the amnesia when she got her powers, yes, but also whatever the Kree did to heal her while replacing her memories. It’s a theory anyway. Daisy, even if Vin-Tak reverses the amnesia or Fitz and I find a solution, it may take a while for them to come back. This isn’t like when Lady Sif recovered instantly. Carol’s memories may be spotty even after she’s healed.”

“But if neither one works…”

Jemma put her hand on Daisy’s. “We aren’t going to let that happen. She’ll come back to us. We just have to give it time.” 

Daisy took her best friend’s promise seriously, sleeping on a cot in Carol’s room and hardly leaving her side. An agreement was made with Vin-Tak, and he reversed the power of the truncheon. Watching the oddly ceremonial scene of the Kree standing over a prone and sedated Carol, Daisy could hardly breathe, waiting anxiously for Carol’s eyes to open. Daisy didn’t know, and honestly didn’t care, what Phil had promised in return. All Daisy knew was that Carol relaxed into more peaceful sleep afterward. 

—---------------- 

The first thing Carol felt before opening her eyes was all-consuming pain. She whimpered and tried to pry open her eyes, but all she saw was a nurse in scrubs bringing her relief. The medicine fought back the pain but also kept her groggy, and she could barely form words to thank them. When they wheeled her to the bathroom, she’d go through the motions instinctually but not really processing any of it: the color of the tile, the temperature of the water at the sink, how she ended up back in bed. Even her own pale, hollow reflection was a stranger. The pattern continued like this, in and out, but she was aware of a presence always beside her. 

She remembered an older woman dying in her arms, perhaps like a mother. Another and another, in various scenes: human, alien, men, women, children… so much death. The thought that it might be her turn made something inside her scream NO. But after all this death she’d witnessed, what else was there? 

Then the pain meds hit, and she felt like she was flying, really flying. The sting of the wind and the energy it took to sustain and the way of moving her body to change direction. She knew it as if it was muscle memory. Instinct. 

If only she could fly away from this pain and the exhaustion. The care and concern of the voices around her (and lack of restraints) told her she was being treated by her own people, but she couldn’t picture the faces of her team. 

Every time pain came back, she gave up trying to puzzle it all out decided she’d rest a little longer. 

—--------------------- 

Daisy typed away at her laptop in Carol’s hospital room, on her cot with her back against the wall, positioned so she could glance up to check on Carol and her vitals from time to time. Despite being out of the field for the foreseeable future, Daisy had not slowed down on her work between nurses and doctors bustling in to look after Carol and spout instructions at Daisy before disappearing again. 

The team came to visit between missions, and tonight it was Jemma’s turn. She offered to sit with Carol while Daisy took a break. 

“You need to get out of this room,” Jemma admonished. “I can tell. It’s driving you mad being in this box.” 

Daisy had to admit Jemma was right. She rubbed her eyes with her fingertips. “It’s more the lack of answers. The doctors say Carol seems to be in a healing state. Feel her skin.” 

Daisy nodded to the exposed, slightly glowing skin on Carol’s unbroken arm. 

Avoiding the IV line, Jemma did, and just as she had suspected, it was burning hot. Carol’s power was clearly trying its best to heal her from the inside out. 

“I thought she might,” Jemma confessed. “I suggested as much to the doctors, but I didn’t know there’d be such a strong sedative effect of the combination of her powers with the IV cocktail to keep her comfortable in the meantime.” 

The IV bag still had hours of medicine left in it. The screen nearby told them Carol’s vitals remained stable, and despite the warmth of her skin, she didn’t have a fever.

“A shower would be really nice,” Daisy sighed. 

“Go! Shower, get some clean clothes, eat something that isn’t hospital food, have a walk…”  

“Okay, okay, I’m going. All of that sounds really good.” Her guilty expression as she looked to Carol prompted Jemma to lightly pull her off the cot and toward the door. Daisy gave Jemma a tired half-smile and put her laptop in her bag. 

“I’ll be back soon,” she said softly, more to Carol than Jemma. 

“Take your time!” Jemma called after her as Daisy left reluctantly. 

As much as she wanted a shower, her stomach told her food was a requirement first. She headed to the pizza shop across the street and took it to-go, eating at a picnic table with a view of the sunset over the city. One tower of Hospital Hill was dedicated to the general public, but as with most such buildings, no one suspected the other tower was reserved for the intelligence agencies, with a floor of beds specific to Shield with restricted access, even excluding those in other agencies with top security clearances. 

Still, Daisy could clock who was here for Tower One or Tower Two. She entertained herself with this game until she was done eating, then headed back to the old red-brick 1940s “factory” that held their secret base. Home.

—---------- 

Daisy didn’t remember falling asleep on top of the bed fully clothed, but she awoke, clutching a fresh T-shirt, all the same. She’d been searching for a specific pair of yoga pants before her involuntary nap had taken over, proving she was more tired than she thought. By the darkness outside, she’d been gone from the hospital longer than planned, so she wasn’t surprised when Jemma called, expecting her to ask about when Daisy was coming back. 

“I’m so sorry, I will be right there,” Daisy said as soon as she answered. “I just need a shower first.” 

“No, no. That’s not—” Jemma’s tone quieted Daisy’s embarrassment. “The doctor gave her a different painkiller, and it’s not causing the same sedation.” 

“Is she awake? Like really awake?” Of course, as soon as Daisy left her side, that would be when she regained full consciousness. Figures.

Jemma hesitated. “Gradually. There’s good news and, well, the news we expected. She is asking for you, but only as the woman who was there before. She knew you were there the whole time. She just can’t remember who you are, or any of us.”

Daisy’s world stopped. Carol didn’t remember her. They’d known this might be a possibility, even with Vin-Tak restoring her memory with the truncheon. 

“She will, though? She will. It just takes time, right?” Daisy gasped for air. “That’s what you said before. We just have to be patient. She’ll heal.”  

“Daisy, I need you to breathe. I think you’re having a panic attack, yeah?” 

Daisy nodded, forgetting Jemma couldn’t see her, but Jemma interpreted the silence correctly.

“Keep breathing with me. Now, here’s what we’re going to do,” Jemma said in her best gentle but firm doctor bedside-manner voice. “We’re going to let Carol adjust. Let her come back a little at a time. Right now, you’re going to take a shower, and then—only when you’re ready—you can come back here where you need to be. Is that all right?” 

“Okay, yes.” Daisy inhaled deeply, collecting herself. “I can do this.” 

“We can do this. You aren’t doing this alone. The whole team is here for you and Carol. Whatever you need.” 

What she needed was her wife back. She needed Carol to hold her and tell her everything was fine, but of course, that was the problem. 

Off the phone with Jemma, Daisy went through the motions of caring for her body, but the shower unleashed something in her that had been held back for days until it burst out in deep, heavy sobs. 

She struggled to catch her breath and slid down to the tile floor. With the safety and privacy of the water, she let all the grief and fear and trauma spill out through her gasps. She’d tried to hold it together for Carol, but now with it confirmed that Carol’s amnesia was still holding on, despite Vin-Tak reversing the effects of the truncheon, the tears were unstoppable. She thought of having to pretend Carol wasn’t her wife, to keep from drowning her with explanations, which would be terrifying to hear from a stranger. She realized Carol wouldn’t be able to say “I love you” back with any sincerity, no longer knowing who Daisy was to her.

Some childish part of her wanted it to be easy. That she’d walk back in the door of that hospital room and Carol would see her and instantly know. Even if it was too much to hope for that the mere sight of Daisy would bring back all of Carol’s memories, at least maybe Carol would see Daisy and instantly recognize her. Some part of her would know they were bonded for life. And still love her. 

She’d pictured a thousand ways of losing Carol. But given Daisy’s history and their shared profession, all of them assumed death. Never once did she account for having to live with a Carol who didn’t know her. But, she reminded herself, they were both alive. And Jemma was giving her hope that Carol would come back, in time. So the challenge, for however long, was clear: to start over fresh and woo her wife all over again.

Daisy sniffed and shakily stood back up in the shower. She could do this. She had survived orphanages and foster homes, homelessness and Shield training, government plots and xenophobia, space and time travel, fighting super villains and her own inner demons. Daisy Johnson, super-agent of Shield, could do anything. 

And don’t get her started on her wife’s power.

With fire in her eyes and anger at the universe fueling her determination, she packed for the hospital like she was prepping for a mission. She wore her backpack and slung her duffle bag over her shoulder, then marched out of the base and right back to Carol’s bedside.

—------------ 

Despite the (understandable) panic at learning she was missing her memories and wasn’t recognizing people she should, Carol relaxed as the familiar hot girl came back. Jemma had said the hot girl’s name was Daisy. Carol’s head hurt too much to decipher why this answer made Jemma nearly laugh and cry at the same time. Carol understood Daisy was her partner, but Jemma wouldn’t say more. She needed to remember on her own so they were sure the amnesia was fading. Jemma recounted what she knew of the battle that had landed her here but said Daisy would know more. 

Maybe it was the way Daisy looked at her, but something about this “partner” of hers both comforted her and made her heart race. 

“Hey,” Daisy smiled but it was so sad that Carol made it her personal mission to cheer her up. Something to focus on besides being a stranger to her own life.

“Hey,” Carol returned. “Jemma tells me that you’re Daisy, right? And we work together?”

“Yeah!” Daisy sat down on the cot. Carol realized Daisy must have been sleeping here, noticing the state of the room in a different way now. “Did Jemma tell you what we do for work?” 

Before Carol could answer, Daisy swiped a finger through the air and the door to the room shut gently but swiftly. 

Carol’s eyes lit up, but she played it safe. “She didn’t, but I can guess. We help people, maybe in ways that normal people can’t? Maybe ways that are considered… super?” 

Daisy smiled in earnest now. “Yeah, there are a few of us on our team with powers, but yours? Yours are on a whole other level. Do you remember them?”

Carol tilted her head and paused for a moment, taking in more of Daisy. She squinted, and let the loudest thought out of her head, as odd as it sounded in response. “Your hands are always cold.”

“Oh.” Daisy wasn’t expecting this answer and looked away, but confirmed, “You warm them up.” 

Carol fought the urge to vocalize how warm Daisy made her feel. If they had a workplace-appropriate relationship, she didn’t want to scare Daisy off or cross a line. 

“But you do a lot more than that,” Daisy continued. When she turned back to Carol, she stood and held out a hand. Carol took it and cautiously mirrored her, making sure to lean on the side of the bed. With one arm broken and the other attached to an IV, she couldn’t exactly catch herself if she fell. Up until today, she had been too loopy to know much beyond that her most basic needs were being taken care of and she didn’t have to fight their healing efforts. 

“Good,” Daisy praised at Carol’s steadiness. “But I want you to do more than stand. This might sound crazy, depending on how much you remember, but I want you to—” 

Carol knew where Daisy was going with this and levitated off the ground. Familiar warmth shot through her, and she let go of Daisy’s hand to fly as high as her IV would let her. It was like coming home to herself.

“It’s everything more recent that’s fuzzy.” Carol savored the moment but landed, close to Daisy. She watched the yellow, white, and purple light fade from her fingers. “The last thing I remember, I was on a space station that was about to explode. Did explode. But I’m guessing this is Earth, right? How did I get back?”

She looked at the window, the English on the signs around her, the 21st-century technology. 

“That was about five years ago,” Daisy sighed. Carol’s balance wobbled. “Let’s get you back into bed so you don’t fall over.”   

She was missing five years again . 

“Do you remember Agent Coulson?” 

Carol struggled to remember the name. “He was a friend of Fury’s?” 

“Yeah. He’s our boss. And my dad.” Daisy shrugged. “Adopted dad. It’s a complicated story.” 

Carol frowned. “I’ll remember it eventually, right?” 

Daisy hesitated, rubbing the swirl of a tattoo on her left ring finger. “Yeah, of course.” 

Carol’s eyelids grew heavy, and her head sank into the pillow. Using her powers drained her energy faster than she expected, but she fought the exhaustion. “Do you promise?” 

The question came out more childlike than intended, but Daisy simply brushed Carol’s hair back. “I promise.”

Carol’s last thought as she drifted off to sleep was that Daisy’s touch was as effective for her frightened mind as any medicine was for her aching body. 

—----------------- 

The next few days were focused on Carol’s physical health, with the doctors taking fervent notes on how rapidly her body was healing. And if she stumbled or lost her balance, Daisy was always there to lean on, literally, as she recovered. 

They weaned Carol off the IV, and all that was left to heal were her broken arm and missing memories. Daisy and their team answered Carol’s questions with facts or light half-answers. They were advised to let Carol’s mind heal without retraumatizing her or overwhelming her, so they did their best to hide their heartache at her confusion. 

Daisy sensed Carol had a secret of her own. Carol might not remember Daisy, but Daisy knew Carol better than anyone. It killed Daisy how Carol looked at her, but for the opposite reason Daisy expected it would. Carol didn’t look at her as a stranger but with the same spark and affection as always. It just didn’t mean what it had. 

She wore that look now, as they waited in the hospital room for the nurse to summon her for her arm X-ray. With good results, her tight, stiff Shield super-cast would be replaced by a much lighter, comfortable model. Then, home. Daisy had no idea how to proceed from here. They had gotten in a rhythm in the hospital room. Not a long-term one, but for the situation, they adapted, as they always had. Now, Daisy had to figure out how to explain to Carol that they were each other’s “partners” in every sense. 

Carol was watching her, a question on her lips. Instead of asking it, she smiled and shook her head, as if dismissing the thought entirely. 

“What?” Daisy asked. “I can tell you want to say something, and it’s okay.”

Carol moved to sit on the edge of the bed, facing Daisy and cradling her cast with the other arm. Her expression flashed with a challenge. “You promise you won’t be offended?” 

“I can take it.” Daisy laughed, as amused as she was curious. 

Carol licked her lips. “Listen, I know there’s a lot of context I’m missing. So we may have been over this already. But just in case we didn’t… This is a fresh start for me, in a way. I know my memories are coming back, but it’s still made me realize that life is short, and we need to take the chance, you know? Just jump.” 

She reached out her healthy arm and Daisy took her hand. “Sorry, I’m not really following here. What are we jumping into?” 

“I don’t want to wait anymore. I don’t care what Shield rules it would be breaking.” Carol took a deep breath and shrugged her good shoulder. “I’m falling in love with you. I think we’ve have been for a long time, and maybe we were just too scared to say it. And I can tell you feel the same way. You’ve been right here the whole time. Daisy, I don’t remember much of what we’ve been through as partners on this super team, but I don’t think this is what people do when they are just coworkers.”

Carol gestured to the unmade sheets on the cot Daisy was sitting on. 

Daisy’s brain caught up with Carol’s confession. Carol didn’t remember they were married and yet felt something between them. She thought it was a forbidden coworker love. Daisy tried hard not to giggle at the bittersweet irony but couldn’t help the watery smile that bloomed. 

“You’re right. I didn’t know how to tell you—” but that sentence would remain unfinished as the nurses burst in to accompany Carol to her X-ray. Daisy would wait in the room, confession unspoken that not only was their workplace romance mutual, as Carol suspected Daisy’s answer to be, but that they had sealed the deal years ago. 

The words died on Daisy’s lips as she was left alone. She exhaled and ran a hand through her hair before retrieving her laptop. She had about a dozen emails from Jemma asking about details for Carol’s homecoming, from whether they needed to make up a guest room for Carol to what kind of cake she would like. 

Daisy had a feeling that even if Carol didn’t remember they were married, she’d be very on board with sharing a room and a bed. Mission accomplished. She’d helped Carol heal and won her all over again. It wasn’t as magical as if merely the sight of Daisy had brought back Carol’s memories, but fairytale was overrated. Eventually, the amnesia would fade and, as Carol said, this was a fresh start. 

Now just to figure out how to tell her just how correct her assessment of their feelings had been…

—--------------- 

Carol held her hand still for the X-rays, but the best feeling in the world was getting to flex her fingers and roll her wrist around on the walk back to her hospital room. The doctor noticed. 

“Does that hurt at all? Any limits on your range of motion?” 

Carol considered his questions they approached her room. “It’s really sore, but that’s probably normal, right? From being in the cast and the bruises?” 

She tested it out, stretching as they walked through the doorway and Daisy noticed their entrance. 

The doctor took her arm and prodded, pressed, and gently moved her fingers and wrist around, telling her to say something as soon as she felt any pain. 

She stayed quiet. He stopped and watched her face for any cringe or hidden discomfort. “Actually feels good, like stretching when you’ve been in the same position too long.” 

“I’ll be right back.” He rushed out of the room and down the hall in the direction of the radiology lab they had just left. 

Carol and Daisy were alone again. 

“So, you were saying?” Carol prompted. Instead of answering, Daisy took Carol’s newly freed left hand and pressed a kiss to the back, then made a face. 

“Whatever they put on that does not taste good. Kinda metallic?” 

Carol sniffed it herself and laughed. “I’ll go wash it off. If the doctor comes back and says not to get it wet or they’ll have to keep me here another week, tell him I snuck out the back way.” 

Daisy laughed and rolled her eyes. She didn’t say anything but watched Carol closely as she walked to the ensuite. 

Carol noticed something that wouldn’t wash off. She held her hand up and looked closer. When had she gotten a tattoo? Well, that was obvious: during the five years her memory was missing. It was a flower on her left ring finger. Oddly specific placement. The stem and little leaves continued all the way around, with the petals in a circle on top, right where a diamond would traditionally be, shaped almost like a… daisy. 

Oh. OH. 

Carol rushed out of the bathroom and held out her left hand. She could hardly form words, just gaping at the grinning woman waiting for her to figure it out. 

“It’s you.” Carol’s heart raced as she looked to the flower tattoo and to Daisy, whose tears were pooling in her sparkling eyes. 

“Always,” Daisy promised, rushing to hold Carol close. Carol embraced her tightly and choked back her own tears of grief for the missing memories and for their love being more real than she imagined. 

Carol pulled back. “I’m sorry I can’t remember much.”

“It’s okay,” Daisy soothed. “Give it time.” 

“Why do I remember rain?” 

Daisy nodded in encouragement. “It was raining on our honeymoon on the day we got these.” 

Daisy held her own left hand up so Carol could see the treble clef that wove over the top of Daisy’s ring finger and around. 

“It’s beautiful,” Carol said in awe. “So I was right that we’d had that conversation before. But how? I want to know everything.” 

“Actually,” Daisy corrected with a flirtatious bat of her lashes, “we didn’t need that coworkers-to-lovers confession because we were pretty obvious from day one. You said the last thing you remembered was the exploding spaceship five years ago. I was on the closest ship, which became your extract team. We tripped pulling you in, and you landed right on top of me and made some joke about getting to know each other first or at least buying you a drink. And I did, and then we did…” 

“Wow, I moved in fast?” Carol raised an eyebrow. “Too fast?”  

“It was very mutual,” Daisy assured. “Two years later, you popped the question. We’d just finished a mission and were hiking back to the plane, alone with an amazing view, looking out over a valley and all these mountains.”

“Impressed with past me! Not bad. And you said yes?” 

Daisy gave Carol what she was fishing for. “Hell yes. And then a year later, we said for better or worse, in sickness and in health. Which is good because we’re not as indestructible as they all think.” 

The doctor interrupted again, this time trying to contain his excitement at her medical marvels.

“Agent Danvers, we have excellent news. Not only can you go home today, but you won’t need a new cast. No work yet, at least not in the field, and nothing too strenuous, but you seem to have healed yourself.” 

“Uhh… Thank you,” Carol stuttered out. She hadn’t expected that. She’d been cherishing these moments of freedom before being wrapped up in at least a brace.

He asked a few questions about her amnesia and took notes on his tablet. 

“I remember a lot more now.” Carol took her wife’s hand. This was the most unbelievable part of this whole week. Not the blue guy with a memory-erasing and -restoring truncheon. Not that she was on a Shield superhero team. It was that she’d not only fallen in love with Daisy twice now, but this incredible woman was her wife. That part seemed too good to be true. 

The doctor noted the intention behind Carol’s words and his lips turned up at the corner. “Good to hear. If you need to talk to someone, whether in neurology or psychology to process what you’ve been through, here’s the numbers to call for each.” He handed Carol a card, and she passed it to Daisy for safekeeping. 

They checked out and left the hospital together, ready to start their new chapter. 

—------------------ 

In the early hours of the morning a week later, Carol rolled over in their bed onto her sore shoulder and the pain jolted like a lightning bolt to her brain. The last missing pieces flooded in, and in her drowsy state, it hardly registered that this wasn’t a nightmare. It was a flashback: Vin-Tak ready to steal Daisy from her, getting there too late, the impact of the truncheon, and falling with her arm at just the wrong angle. 

She whimpered and, as a defensive reflex, curled up tightly. This woke Daisy up as Carol’s knee hit her lower back. 

“Ow.” Daisy rolled over and saw Carol’s furrowed brow and tightly shut eyes. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. You’re okay.” 

Daisy pulled Carol close, and after a minute, Carol panted and eventually relaxed. When her eyes opened, it was like a dark curtain lifted from her brain. 

“Daisy.” Carol said it with a clarity and recognition and awe that had been slowly fading in, now fully restored. “I’m back.” 

[starfall-spirit]

Renaissance Masterlist

AN: This chapter is so awkward. I didn't know how to write it well, for all I tried.

Word Count: 1386

Chapter IX: Behind the Façade

It turned out that there was only one flight with seats into New York that day, thanks to the summer’s heavy vacationing. They were lucky that it was just that afternoon. Regardless, by the time they got to the hospital, Rhys parent’s would be out of surgery. Whether they were in recovery or not was another question altogether. 

Feyre was tense, to say the least. Not only was she concerned about the accident, but she wasn’t sure if Rhys uncouth proposal was honest or just an impulse following morning sex. It was obvious now he cared for her in more than the physical sense, but they weren’t in love. They’d known each other for a few months. 

They had something that could grow of course, but, love? The grounds of a marriage? Hardly. And if he did expect an answer on the flight or after they saw his parents, she wasn’t sure how exactly to approach it. So here she was on pins and needles, waiting for him to ask her again.

But the time ticked by, Rhys barely speaking a word, watching his phone like a hawk the second they were permitted to turn them back on. About two hours into the flight the first message came in from Mor.

In recovery. Both should be fine. No brain damage as far as they can tell.

Rhys let out a heavy breath. Good. Avy? He texted back.

Just fell asleep on Cassian. It’s 9 am here, but she was up all night.

Thanks for staying. 

He set his phone down, leaning back in his seat. She reached over to lace her fingers through his and he smiled, kissing her knuckles. “Thank you Feyre. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“I haven’t done much,” she mumbled, blushing softly. 

“You’ve done more than you know.”

Knowing his parents were going to live brought him out of his brooding, somewhat, and from there she was able to distract him with small talk, as much as she liked to avoid it herself. Small talk turned to childhood stories, skirting around a few sensitive subjects. And then it was time to land. 

Azriel was waiting for them at the airport, dark bruises under his eyes. “Feyre.”

“Should one of us drive, Az?”

“I’m fine. Not tired enough to be a road risk, I promise.”

She hummed, but said no more, letting him take her bag to put in the trunk before sliding into the back seat so Rhys could have the passenger seat to discuss the details of the accident.

“Like Avy told you, they were on the bridge back to their house. Someone coming from the other direction swerved and hit them hard. Drunk and on a late night joyride. Things look good, all things considered, but they haven’t woken up yet. The other guy got off pretty lucky.”

Rhys nodded, jaw clenched tight. He was right to be angry at that.

The rest of the drive was almost silent, and Feyre was grateful the hospital and airport weren’t far from one another. The second she was out of the car she took his hand, hopeful he would think she was just trying to give him a bit of support. But then, hadn’t she learned he could see right though her?

“Is it difficult,” he murmured when they had to pause at the front desk, “after seeing your parents in the hospital? Coming back?”

“Yes. It’s been a few years, but… apparently it hasn’t faded.” Her mother had died in her early childhood. She didn’t remember the sickness as well as her sisters did. But her father… that had been harder. She shook her head. “This isn’t about me.”

He looked ready to say something else, but Feyre quickly stepped away when she saw Avyanna bolt to her feet. Even as Rhys caught his sister in a hug, Feyre felt his eyes on her. Why he was so worried about her right now didn’t make any sense, considering the situation. It made his unanswered question feel all that more pressing. And yet, the answer was still no.

“It’s alright,” Feyre heard him murmur as she settled beside Mor. “They’ll be alright, Avy. You want somebody to take you home? You can get some real sleep.”

“Can I stay with you? Here I mean.”

It was easy enough to imagine the last place she wanted to be right now is in a car driving that bridge. “Alright, kid. Go sit down. I’m gonna go see them and come back out, okay?” 

She nodded and he left without another word, heading towards the rooms his parents had been given. An awkward silence filled with worry seemed to cloud the room, Mor’s grip on her hand was tight and Avy… for whatever reason Rhys’ sister refused to even look at her at the moment. Knowing so little about her, Feyre didn’t know how to help that yet. She warmed to Azriel when he sat beside her, so at least she wasn’t spiraling in solitude.

“Is Cass sitting with them too?” Feyre murmured, desperate for anything to break through the tension.

“Yes. Their rooms are side by side. We’ve been rotating,” Mor confirmed. And silence fell again. “I’m sorry. I know you hate—”

“I’m fine,” she said again, her voice a bit too sharp. She pulled her hand from Mor’s, rubbing at the gooseflesh pebbling down her arms. Considering it was summer, she’d forgotten to pack a jacket for the plane and the hospital wasn’t much warmer. 

A few moments later a familiar hand was between her shoulder blades, pushing her up. Realizing Rhys was back with his coat as an offering she shook her head. “Honestly, Feyre.”

She sat up, letting him drape it over her shoulders and sweep her hair out of the collar, his fingers gliding over her skin. “The doctor was there. Neither one of them should need more than a few days here after they wake up.” He sat beside her, looking worse than when they came in. She didn’t think it had anything to do with the fact they should be asleep on another continent at the moment. Rhys laced their fingers together and Avy scoffed, drawing both their attention.

“What?” Rhys asked.

“With all this going on, you’re worried about holding up your little ruse?” Feyre blushed, starting to tug her hand away. Rhys grip only tightened, his jaw clenched to match it. “You knew he would dig. You know this little plan would backfire, so why try?”

“I didn’t think he would care to dig, honestly. Not with me cut out of the will.”

“How stupid are you, Rhys?” He raised a brow. “Mom threatened to leave him. If he so much as altered either of our inheritance, she was going to leave him. He started pulling strings, looking into you two as soon as you left the country.”

“What does this have to do with their will?” Feyre asked cautiously.

Rhys sighed, running his free hand through his hair. “The last fight my father and I had before I moved out was over when I would marry, who I would marry, and how to get a prenup in place. I told him he could go to hell and cut me from the will if the family assets were his biggest concern with my marriage. I thought he had.” There was a sudden panic in his eyes. “None of this reflects on you, Feyre. This was before we even met.”

“I’m not your wife, Rhys. It doesn’t matter much, does it?”

“I have every intention of rectifying that.” Mor squeaked beside me. Rhys ignored her. “You never answered my question.”

“Rhys, honestly.”

“You’re still wearing the ring. I have every right to wonder, don’t I?”

“I’m not marrying you. I barely know you.”

A dangerously smug expression met her then. “I’d say you know me quite well by now, darling.”

His poor sister gagged at that. Feyre frowned. “I’m starting to understand the need to talk about you putting something in place.”

“Feyre!”

“We haven’t known each other for half a year and you’re proposing. I’d say that’s a bit impulsive.” He frowned. “Ask me again in six months. That might change my answer.”

He smiled, kissing her brow. “That I can work with.”

~~~~~

AN: The last chapter was prewritten and will be out tomorrow.

Taglist: Reach out to be added or removed.

@goddess-aelin // @shallyne // @the-lonelybarricade // @the-lost-changeling // @faeriequeensuriel // @pandavelaris // @s-uppertime // @reverie-tales // @acourtofwips // @jealousveronya // @darling-archeron // @elentiya-whitethorn // @gwynkyrie // @acotar-fanns

[theomnicode]

I'm once again reading some reddit comments and...

Saitama is "imagining his inner universe" when he can't even imagine a two-hit combo against King ---- Exactly... Saitama is untalented. Him learning a martial arts technique is straight up stupid.

Excuse me, since when has Saitama become untalented? Instead of just unmotivated because he became so strong he felt his talents and whatever he learned no longer mattered?

Is this why people are mad and unhappy with the manga? That Saitama the chad is not the self-insert they thought he was? That he's not actually a complete loser or something (like they pictured themselves in him and are now dissapointed and mad when he displays actual talent and are projecting)?

This talentless loser who does this with chopsticks alone?

And the chopsticks somehow don't even break apart, despite him flinging all this body weight around. Not the only time he uses chopsticks either and they don't break while somehow lifting full body weight of average male adult.

The same guy who pictures himself doing insane acrobatics and gymnastics inside his dreams because that's how he pictures himself ideally fighting if he got actually challenged? How he desires to fight? How he probably fought before he could just start tanking and oneshotting everything?

Same guy who jumped 8 fucking feet and snagged crablante's eye with a frikken tie when he had ZERO ACTUAL TRAINING? Olympic level jump btw.

Same guy who has worked multiple odd jobs like construction and theme park/festival, is great with budgeting, cooks, cleans, can do other household chores, is a handyman, improvises food sources, can prolly mend his clothes and willed himself to break the limitations of his own body?

Then obviously improvises in battles with high battle IQ and good judgement calls (Like when he immediately took out Evil Ocean Water but allowed CE to defeat Phoenixman on his own but was ready to step in if needed), has learned boxing from scratch like how he did a perfect right hook/cross against Garou.

He also performed a karate chop to the Vagus nerve to knock Garou unconscious when he thought Garou tried to mug him. Such an attack has a high risk of damaging the body instead of just knocking the person unconscious even for seasoned veterans and Saitama does it in one strike, flawlessly, without harming Garou otherwise.

Even if he copied what Garou tried to do to him then just before that, it still foreshadows his true abilities that he was able to immediately apply said knowledge properly. It's either that or pure raw acquired talent.

And this is just scratching the surface and not even mentioning his immense talents with his powers, like the sheer control that he trained 3 years to achieve.

"Untalented", btw.

Strongest man in the universe people thought had limitless potential or was infinite but he's just untalented. Physically untalented too.

Does this even make any logical sense?

Feels like we're not even reading the same manga at times.

Idk I guess if you can't be a pro gamer who wins tournaments and beat them in games, you're just a loser huh? Is that how it is?

Feels like there's a lot of cognitive dissonance going on at times.

Saitama is not Garou. It's true that Saitama is not a genious level at Martial Arts, but it hardly means he's untalented in what he sets his mind to. He also genuinely believes that humans are strong because they can change. He's an ordinary person with no special genes like espers, but what he has plenty is acquired talent when he is motivated to work to get it.

We were supposed to agree that Saitama is limitless. That's what we've been explictly told. Breaking limiter doesn't only mean that you get 999999 AP and nothing else.

Guess people forgot that premise of One Punch Man.

(pst he also folds clothes faster than most people, faster than Cyborgs at least)

All I can say to some reddit folks is:

Stop malding and self-inserting and start actually reading with your eyes open. Or stop reading, thats an option too, if OPM makes people so mad and disappointed.

[bluiex]

Okay I have a lot of things to say this morning (<- it is the afternoon but I just woke up) so I’m gonna go topic by topic in different asks

Firstly! Someone request pregnant scarian!! It’s unclear which one you wish to be pregnant! But, given that on this blog we have a tendency to say pregnant Grian (/nm) I’m gonna mix it up and say pregnant scar!! He’s ftm too for the sake of it

Anyway, Scar’s just hitting that point where what he can do is getting more and more limited.

He terraformed a massive cliffside last week, and he’s still suffering from aches from craving at the stone. His balance has been getting worse and worse, and the only reason he hasn’t died by fall damage at this point is because of Grian’s mother henning. They’ve been assured 100 times over by X that respawn won’t damage their fetus, but that doesn’t seem to help Grian’s instincts much.

For as much as Grian scolded him after that, he did also do it while massaging Scars feet and calves. So, Scar didn’t argue too much.

Unfortautely, turns out, while he was melting into the couch as Grian tug his fingers into a particularly tense muscle, Grian had gotten him to agree to limit his actions now.

Which, like, Scar understands, but he still hates. His body may be changing, but he still has the same amount of drive and energy for his projects! He wants to go finish that cliffside under Scarland, he wants to grind materials, he wants to keep building main street interiors!

Allegedly, the deal they made when Scar wasn’t paying attention, is that he can only work for 4 hours a day, and any extra time he spends will get taken out of the next day. Which is very stupid and controlling, in Scars opinion, but he doesn’t know how to articulate against it, especially because he knows Grian is trying to look out for his health.

Thankfully, Scar has friends with massive brains.

He’s telling Cub about this issue, one afternoon a few weeks later, and his dear best friend says something brilliant. “Why don’t you just, work as much as you can handle, and any overtime gets put into your recovery time?

“What’s he going do if you work 6 hours one day, and then 7 the next? That’s 7 hours overtime. But you just keep going. Obviously take time off as you need, but you’re only in your second trimester, right? So, just save all those hours for later, like the weeks before you’re due. And even better, they can carry over into recovery time! You could make him do the dishes or something every night because, oops, you’re on Grian-mandated break.”

Scar could’ve kissed him! A loophole! Absolutely genius!!

So, he did just as Cub said, much to Grian’s squawks of disagreement. And when Scar inevitably got closer to his due date, he began working less and less. The few weeks before his due date he hardly even left the nest Grian made, spending most of his time with his husband, Cub, or Mumbo, given they were the only ones allowed near.

(The Vex in Scar had agreed with many of Grians avian sentiments regarding the nest; namely, strangers stay far far away)

Everything paid off one night after their baby was born. They’d just gotten them to sleep, and were both exhausted. Scar lulled his head to the side to look at his husband and said, “Can you get me a bowl of cereal to eat?”

Grian meanwhile had been beginning to doze off, absolutely exhausted, right there on the couch. “You get it,” he grumbled.

“I can’t, I’m not allowed to work, remember?” Scars face spread into a slow grin. “I have about 140 hours of overtime to make up for.”

Grian groaned, long and drawn out, as he heaved himself off of the couch and began to trudge towards the kitchen, mumbling about Scar being a menace.

— abridged anon

I'M- Scar 140hrs- Cub is a genuious an Grian is the one with the consequences of his idea. Not that he minds too much- just didn't expect Scar to actually go this far with it LOL

[kirk-says-wah]

𝐒𝐭 𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 - 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏𝟔

Pairings: Kirk/Lars, Kirk/James

TW: violence, drugs

You can also read it here

“Put the gun down,” Kirk stammers, hands spread wide either side of his head.

He can see Dave in the doorway, uncertainty written all over his face as he watches the scene unfold before him.

Kirk takes a shaky breath, can hear Lars wiggling about in the chair behind him.

“You know I don’t think I will.”

It’s a statement that just gets Kirk’s heart hammering even more. He can’t believe this; out of everyone, he never expected it to be him.

Dark blue eyes meet his own and Kirk pleads.

Jason smiles.

“You didn’t think I’d give up that easy, did you?” Jason asks, stepping closer, gun still aimed at Kirk’s chest.

Kirk swallows, his whole body trembling as he eyes the gun. One move and this could be over. One move and he could be dead. 

“Why?” he finds himself saying. “Why are you doing this to us?”

Jason smirks, though his aim quickly shifts to the doorway. Dave stays stuck in his place from where he’d tried to move further into the room, the gun pointed at his head a reminder not to move.

Dave’s eyes flick to Kirk’s but Kirk can hardly look at him. He can just see grey, cool metal and a finger pressed over the trigger.

“Don’t move,” Jason hisses at Dave, before cocking his gun back at Kirk.

“I never wanted you to be a part of this,” he says. “You and Lars were never meant to be a part of this.”

“Then let us go,” Kirk pleads, slowly letting his arms drop. He doesn’t think Jason will shoot, but the fear is still piercing his chest like a hot knife.

Jason chuckles, rubbing at his temple with the jut of his wrist, the but of the gun to his forehead.

“I told you,” Jason says, swinging the gun back into Kirk’s view. “You should’ve taken my money.”

Kirk realises then that Jason had been trying to give him a way out all along, and he had been a fool not to take the bait, all because he wanted to fight his own battles.

“Put the gun down, Jason,” Dave’s voice sounds from the doorway. He’s still holding that stupid pocket knife, holding it high, almost like he might pounce any minute.

Jason looks over his shoulder.

“Drop the knife.”

Dave scoffs, stepping forwards. “Cmon, it’s not like you’re gonna shoot us anyway. You haven’t got the guts.”

Jason’s eyes narrow, and Kirk thinks Dave probably just put his foot in it, only, Jason twists back to face Kirk.

He watches Kirk’s face for a moment, before suddenly aiming. The sound of the gun going off sounds in Kirk’s ears and he thinks he’s been shot, snaps his head down to see the damage, screams filling his ears.

Only, they’re not his screams.

He whips round to see Lars, his voice muffled by the tape as blood oozes out from his foot. Kirk gasps, watching as Lars tries to fight the rope keeping him in the chair, the pain evident on his face.

Kirk goes to move, wants to hold Lars and at the same time wants to deck Jason, but before he can make his mind up the gun is back on him.

“Move again and I’ll be aiming higher.”

Kirk gulps, sweat prickling his neck.

“Please,” he says, or merely whispers, feeling a hot tear slide down his cheek.

“Put the knife of the floor, Dave,” Jason calls, and within moments Kirk hears the clattering of the knife hitting the floor, skidding a few feet away from Dave.

Lars is whimpering behind him, and it takes everything in Kirk not to just go over there and comfort him. Instead, he looks back up at Jason, noticing the stoic expression on the younger man’s face.

“So what’s your plan, huh?” Dave asks, silently stepping forwards. Kirk watches him over Jason’s shoulder as he moves further into the room. “You’ve already shot one of us. There’s no way you’re getting out of this unscathed.”

Jason rolls his shoulders, playing with the gun now between his hands.

“You’re just upset you own plan was ruined,” Jason says, cocking his head. “You thought you’d come in here, beat me up and get me to stop selling whiplash so that there’d be no competition.”

Jason turns now, his back to Kirk, and Kirk uses the opportunity to look back at Lars. His lover is just staring at him, cheeks pale and wet, eyes a little faraway, and worry skins Kirk alive. Is his injury serious? Is he in shock?

Jason’s voice has him whipping his head back around again in fear of getting caught.

“It’s safe to say that you were wrong, Dave. You’re not top dog at this school anymore. And you haven’t been for a while,” Jason says, smirking as he lifts the gun back up, aiming at Dave.

Dave goes to open his mouth when the sound of footsteps makes him pause, and within seconds a familiar head of blonde hair rushes around the corner, skidding to a halt a few inches away from Dave, eyes wide at the sight of the gun.

Jason sighs dramatically, the gun faltering.

“Jason, what are you doing?” James asks, hands held high.

Jason rolls his eyes. “What are you doing here, James?”

James blinks at him before finally meeting Kirk’s eyes. Kirk can hardly hear him of the sound of blood rushing in his ears.

“I noticed Lars had disappeared and lost track of him.”

So, James was doing what Kirk asked him. Even when it had upset him, he’d still put Kirk first.

Jason laughs, obnoxiously loud.

“So you’re getting him to errands first you now?” Jason asks Kirk. “Surely it’s cruel to get your ex boyfriend to look out for Lars for you.”

James turns red, several emotions flicking over his face before he speaks.

“Fuck you.”

Jason lifts his eyebrows. “Sorry what was that?”

“So help me god I’m gonna…” James trails off, stepping past Dave.

“You’re gonna do what?” Jason asks, lifting the gun, but instead of being aimed at James, it swings back to land on Kirk.

Kirk’s breath dies in his lungs and his eyes flicker over to James, silently pleading with him.

“You move, James, and I’ll shoot him,” Jason declares, finger steady of the triggers.

Kirk realises then that Jason knows James still loves him. That Jason pointing the gun at Kirk for James is like when he pointed it at Lars for Kirk.

James goes silent, and Jason smiles irritatingly.

“Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

Kirk’s eyes zone back in on the gun, the sound of Lars’s harsh breathing behind him ringing in his ears, the scrape of the chair as Lars struggles almost too loud in the silent room.

“Now,” Jason starts. “You’re all gonna do as I say.”

“Fuck that,” Dave says, not caring that the gun is still on Kirk, instead rushing towards Jason, barging past James.

But Jason’s too quick, the gun settling to aim at James, and Dave stops in his path.

Kirk frowns. So Dave cares more about James than him? He guesses that makes sense, but he can’t help but feel he’s missing something.

Jason senses his confusion, stepping forward to aim the gun at James’s chest.

“Yeah, I know about you too, Dave,” he says, teeth brimming over his lips.

“You don’t know shit,” Dave hisses, though his eyes stay trained on the gun.

“I know you’re all gay for James. Or what would Cliff call it? You’ve got a soft spot for him.”

Cliff? How does Cliff come into this? Kirk thinks, head snapping between Dave, James and Jason.

Dave likes James? Dave is gay?

That whole notion nearly has Kirk passing out by itself. All this time, after years of being bullied for being who he is, Dave turns out to be gay too?

Kirk’s head swims, and he has to plant his feet to keep himself up right.

“And don’t think I’ve forgotten about the coach. That you’re fucking him to keep him quiet.”

What? Kirk really can’t take this in, blinking rapidly as his head begins to spin.

“Is that true?” comes James’s voice, soft but hesitant. Dave can’t even look at him, and Kirk guesses that’s their answer.

Dave growls, stepping forwards as if to jump Jason, but a loud bang has him stopping.

Jason shoots into the ceiling, eyes narrowed and jaw set.

“I said don’t fucking move,” he bellows.

Kirk watches as Dave swallows, the anger still bubbling under the surface.

“You think you get to treat everyone like shit and still own the school? I don’t fucking think so,” Jason says, walking over to Dave. He tilts the gun up, pushes it under Dave’s chin.

“I own the school now. And you play by my fucking rules.”

They stare at each other for a moment before Jason pulls back, letting the gun drop.

“So here’s what’s going to happen,” he says, moving back over towards Kirk.

“You’re either going to let me continue selling whiplash and step back, or you’re all going down with me.”

Kirk looks over to Dave for some help, but Dave’s eyes are on the floor.

“Please, just let us go,” Kirk tries, embarrassed at the way his voice trembles.

Jason shakes his head, and Kirk can’t help the tears that spill over his cheeks.

“Please. I thought you were my friend.”

Lars is still struggling behind him, and Jason looks at the two of them before bringing the gun, walking forwards until the barrel presses against Kirk’s head.

“Y’know, I liked you better when you were a nobody.”

Kirk squeezes his eyes closed, the metal pressing harshly into his forehead.

He knows this is it. He’s going to die.

Lars is struggling behind him, and Kirk just wants to see him, just one last time.

He can’t though, his body stuck in its place as Jason gets closer, breath hot against Kirk’s cheeks.

Kirk tenses. Jason grins.

[almost-a-class-act]

Fluffy Seasonal Prompts - December 10th

Christmas baking! That's it, that's the prompt.

Fandom: The Pacific (HBO) Pairing: Burgie/Sledge Author's Note: I'm so sorry, this one got a little sad on me. I am dealing with some trauma brain of my own at this time of the year and clearly I made Burgie wear it. I hope you enjoy anyway? I will be compiling my holiday fills and posting them together on AO3 after Christmas, where you can find me under roaroftheninth.

--

“This might,” Eugene says, doing a slow turn in the middle of the kitchen as though he is worried that if he moves too fast, he will upset something, “be too many cookies.”

Burgie wipes off his forehead with the shoulder of his shirt – the kitchen is a furnace, probably because the oven has been on without interruption all day – and he’s so distracted by studying the results of his handiwork that Eugene’s comment takes a moment to catch up with him. “What?”

“How many batches did you make?” Eugene asks.

Burgie puts his hands on his hips, and his gaze travels over the various cookie-laden surfaces in the kitchen as he tries to count. After the silence has gone on too long, he merely shrugs and returns his gaze to Eugene. “A lot. Why?”

Eugene has been paralyzed since coming home from overseas, which from the outside tends to look like idleness. It’s something that he knows is a privilege. Burgie came back and had to get right back to work on the farm, hitting the ground running as hard in civilian life as he had once done in the Marines. That had apparently suited him fine, so much so that when Eugene turned up, at loose ends and needing to get out from under his parents’ scrutiny, he had made the mistaken assumption that Burgie had a handle on it all.

And then, sometimes, Burgie has a moment or two to himself and he decides to clear out and paint the insides of the closets, or drag Eugene into the barn to kiss him in the pitch-dark like he’s on a mission from God to get the hurt out of the inside of himself, or apparently, bake dozens and dozens of cookies. That’s when the cracks show – when he has more than a split second alone with his thoughts.

Eugene remembers the first barrage they were under together, and the bleak realization that these men who were the veterans of many more battles than he were hardly less stunned and frightened than he was. It had been the leveling ground between them. He thinks that maybe something like it is happening again now.

 “You know,” he says slowly. “No one would hold it against you if you didn’t… bake dozens of cookies.”

Burgie watches him for a second. There is no momentary flicker of confusion, no failure to understand what Eugene is really talking about. Damage recognizes damage, after all. “I don’t got a choice,” he says eventually. “I have to. For the old man. For the kid.”

“You can’t keep it out forever,” Eugene warns, grim and knowing, though he is not an expert on this, by any means. Anything he can do for Burgie is no different than one Marine grabbing another by the back of the shirt when the world is collapsing around them and dragging him somewhere that he thinks might be a refuge, even though there are no promises of that.

“If it weren’t this, it’d be drinking.” Something wracks behind Burgie’s eyes, like he’s come too close to a flame like that before. Like he’s hiding burns. “Cookies ain’t hurting anyone.”

There’s almost no warning before Burgie’s face twists in a way that Eugene hasn’t seen since they lost Ack-Ack, and Eugene only has to start to reach for him before Burgie almost collapses into him, wrapping his arms like a vice around his ribs and presses his face into the white collar of Eugene’s shirt. He’s not crying, but he can’t seem to catch his breath. Eugene holds the back of his head and runs his knuckles in a firm pressure up and down his spine, slowly.

I’m here now. I’m sorry I wasn’t before.

There are men like the two of them, no doubt, in almost every house in America. Eugene thinks about the last time he saw the Pacific islands disappearing behind him and the way he’d imagined that it would be the last time he would see them. Good riddance. He hadn’t understood yet that he would be covering those few hundred miles again and again and again, bringing the islands back with him. They are here now, specters in this little farm house kitchen, where they have no business being.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, aloud this time, and Burgie acknowledges it only by holding on tighter. Neither of them move for the space of time it takes Burgie to take one deep breath, and then another.

And then there is a sound outside, like a door closing from far away, maybe, and Burgie releases him. Eugene lets him go, keeping his own counsel as Burgie squeezes at the bridge of his nose, blinking away whatever he sees on the backs of his eyelids. Eugene doesn’t need to ask what it is. He’s sure he’d recognize it if he saw it.

“Huh,” he says, and likely because it’s easier, he surveys the kitchen again rather than looking at Eugene. “You were right. This might be too many cookies.” It doesn’t have the levity it deserves, but he tries.

“Now, hold on,” Eugene says. “Now that I’m thinking about it. Is there such thing as too many cookies?”

Burgie catches part of his lower lip under his teeth, raises an eyebrow in a facsimile of a shrug, and decides to go with it. “You know, when I was a kid, I did have a not-so-secret fantasy that being a grown-up meant you could eat cookies for breakfast whenever you wanted.”

“Well, I’ve got some good news for you, Burg.” Eugene reaches out and keeps his touch friendly, the grip on Burgie’s shoulder easily passed over as casual had they done it in the Marines. “I think it’s gonna be a cookies for breakfast kind of week.”

Burgie smiles, finally. “The kid is gonna lose it.”

“Like Christmas came early,” Eugene agrees. He gives Burgie’s shoulder a little squeeze, and then lets him go.

[queen-scribbles]

For the Record

My other kiss prompt for @haledamage​ hit full fic length, surprising no one. :D

28. One person tracing the other’s lips with a fingertip until they can’t resist any longer, tilting their chin towards them for a kiss. (Ves/Kurt)

----

Th first dosantat nearly dropped on her head.

Vesper yelped, backpedaled--narrowly avoiding collision with both a tree and Síora--and shot it out of the air even as it screeched at her. This, she scolded herself as more followed, is why you pay attention to your surroundings.

The nearest dosantat spat venom at her--oh, lovely, it was one of those flocks--that spattered on her sleeve and her return shot nicked its wing as she dodged to the side to let Kurt past. His opening swing took out two, and a bolt of golden-green magic knocked another to the ground. Síora finished it off even as it tried to rise. Vesper shot the one she’d wounded again, and this time it tumbled into an awkward and lifeless heap.

A larger one swooped down from the trees, headed for Kurt with talons outstretched, then made a dirty white blur through the air when he backhanded it away. The creature shrieked its indignance, righting itself midair and launching a spray of its poisoned saliva in retaliation. 

Kurt threw up an arm to block it, but Vesper still heard his quiet hiss of pain that meant some had gotten through.

“Kurt-”

“After,” he cut her off, his focus on the fight. Dosantats were about the only thing where he was at a disadvantage; their size and maneuverability made smaller weapons more effective against them. She could hardly blame him for being more focused as a result.

Síora killed the dirty-white dosantat during their brief exchange, removing the more venomous specimen as a threat. Vesper got off one more shot, taking another clean through the torso, before switching to her saber rather than reload. There were only a couple left now, easily finished off, especially with how determined she was to end things fast. 

She turned to Kurt the second the last dosantat fell. “Let me see, how bad is it?”

“I’ve had worse,” he said with a shrug, though he did hold still for her.

Vesper gave him a flat look. “Kurt. You’ll forgive me if that doesn’t mean much coming from you,” she said dryly as she sheathed her saber.

That made him laugh. “I promise it’s not that bad, Green Blood. Stings more than anything.”

“That would be the lingering venom on the side of your face,” she retorted with fond exasperation, having moved to where she could see the damage and traces of venom running from his temple down to almost the corner of his jaw. “Come here.”

Kurt let her grab his wrist and steer him over to a boulder, sat without prompting so she could get a better look.  “It’s really not that bad--”

“Says the man who can’t see it, and stitched up his own bullet wound,” she said, nudging his hat out of the way.

“That was a graze.” His voice was rife with amusement on the familiar rebuttal. He slid the hat off and sat it off to the side with his sword.

“My point,” Vesper said, pausing to catch his eye, “is that your scale for ‘not that bad’ skews quite a bit from the norm. For the record.”

The corners of Kurt’s mouth pulled up in a small smile and he tipped his head in concession of that much, at least. “And you, Sweet Excellency, worry too much. For the record.”

“Not in general,” Vesper protested, attention back on his injuries. “Just... about you.” She bit her lip as she carefully cleaned away the clinging venom. One bit was extremely close to his eye and she shuddered to think how badly that could have turned out. “I don’t like seeing you get hurt...”

“Comes with my job,” Kurt said softly, flinching just enough to notice when she brushed her fingers over the worst of it.

Maybe I don’t want to lose anyone else close to me, she thought but kept to herself. My mother... that was bad enough, I can’t... But that wasn’t a conversation she wanted to have now, in the woods, with Síora in earshot extracting what she could from the fallen dosantats. So she gave a noncommittal hum as she examined the reddened, blistering skin left in the venom’s wake. There wasn’t much that could be done for it conventionally, not with the supplies they had at hand, but Síora had been teaching her how to use magic for healing. She glanced over at her friend, who looked to be almost done, then back at Kurt, found him watching her.

“What’re you thinking, Green Blood?” he asked.

“That Síora taught me about magical healing, but I’ve only ever used it for myself. I’m not sure how well I’d do with it for someone else.” She bit her lip.  “How much do you trust me?”

In answer, he canted his head to give her better access to the injuries.

Her heart stuttered a few beats, warmth curling in her chest, and she was unable to wholly suppress a smile as she nodded. “Alright.”

The magic came with relative ease, which it had been doing with greater frequency, and while it did take some extra effort to focus it outward rather than in, it was hardly the struggle she’d feared. The skin healed clear, unblemished by any new scars, and Vesper let her hand linger against Kurt’s jaw when she was finished.

“There,” she said softly, fingers drifting over to trace his lips. “All better.”

Kurt held her gaze, reaching to give her free hand a gentle tug. “I didn’t doubt it for a moment. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Vesper murmured, briefly wondering what Síora was doing before deciding she didn’t really care.  She acquiesced to the unspoken request and shifted closer, bracing one knee against the boulder as she leaned in, thumb still tracing back and forth over his lower lip. “Hopefully it’s not something you’ll need again anytime soon, though.”

“I can almost guarantee I will,” he returned, and it was the spark of teasing in his eyes that did her in.

Vesper settled her hand against his jaw again, tipping his chin up to kiss him, mindful not to lean in so much they lost their balance.

She felt the laugh hum in Kurt’s chest, his hand coming up to press the small of her back and hold her close. She smiled into the kiss in return, finally breaking it just enough to murmur, “Enjoyable as that was, I much prefer to kiss you without you getting hurt first.” She stole another quick one. “For the record.”

Kurt chuckled, kissed her again even as he shifted to stand up, then straightened her tricorn when he pulled back.  “Noted,” he whispered, stealing one last kiss before he moved to reclaim his gear so they could get back to Síora and the task at hand.

[a-cacophony-of-silent-words]

Still Breathing Part One: Into The Tiger's Den

Chapter 2: Desperation Makes Demons of Us

The rest of the journey is mostly a blur for Tim. He half doses as the wind blows through his hair, opening his eyes every so often to catch Bruce glancing at him. Never quite catching him with enough time to tell him to keep his eyes on the road. Jesus, this is the guy wouldn’t even let Tim look at the Batmobile like he wanted to drive it, right? This is the same guy? It’s a thought that almost makes Tim laugh. He can’t find the energy though.

Eventually the Jeep comes to a stop and Bruce is gone in a moment, carrying Jason into a tent, Sheila right behind him, barking orders to her assistants. They all seem confused and scared but immediately scramble to do what she asked.

One of them, a small young lady approaches Tim. “Um, Dr Haywood said you’re hurt?”

Tim hops out of the jeep and takes off Jason’s jacket, pulling off his shirt too for good measure. “It’s just a flesh wound.”

“Oh my god, are those claw marks?”

Tim looks at the injuries himself, nasty looking puncture wounds. Not quite slashes but there’s a little bit of a trail from where Tim tried to pull away. Worse on his left arm than his right. “No. I think some of the shrapnel from the explosion hit me… I didn’t even notice.”

“Oh, um, that’s probably the shock.” She carefully looks him over for other injuries. “You’ve got a nasty bruise here.”

Tim nods. “I tripped and fell onto a crate.”

“I see.” She takes out some supplies from the bag she’s carrying. “I’m sorry this might hurt a bit.”

With as much of a smile as he can muster Tim says, “It’ll hardly be the worst pain I’ve ever been in.”

She frowns sadly as she looks across his torso. “No… I guess not.”

With that she sets to work. The disinfectant, the poking and prodding to make sure there isn’t any shrapnel stuck in his injuries, the stitches, it all stings like hell, but it’s nothing Tim’s not used to. Tim smiles when the woman asks him a question, answers when he can. But quickly he loses himself in his own thoughts, hardly noticing when she finishes wrapping a bandage around his arm and only nodding when she tells him to make sure he gets the bandages changed regularly.

She leaves and Tim’s left alone, staring at the holes in Jason’s jacket. He pulls his mangled shirt back over his head – making a mental note to just take the sleeves off the shirt, they’re beyond repair – before he picks up the jacket and assesses the damage. It’s not as bad as the shirt, probably because it’s leather and a bit too big for Tim, he could patch it. Not like it’d be the first patching and bloodstains that this jacket’s endured. Tim runs a finger across some stitching in the hem, recognizing Jason’s needlework. He always used the same work for stitching injuries as he did for mending his clothes. Neat, tight, precise.

Tim exhales softly, slowly, carefully.

He shakes himself and puts the jacket on, feeling in the pockets and finding his bo staff still there. At least there’s that. His fingers brush against something else as he starts to withdraw his hand from the pocket. He pulls out the pack of cigarettes. Jason’s favorite brand.

God, he’s such a mess.

Swallowing all his feelings he shoves the pack back into the pocket with his bo staff and decides that’s their home for now. At least that means there’s probably a lighter somewhere in one of these pockets, that could be useful sometime in the future. It’s Jason’s jacket so there’s probably some extra ammunition clips too, if Tim can find the right kind of gun that might be useful.

Now he just needs to find a way to leave. Discretely if possible and soon. Especially soon. If he doesn’t get out of here, he’s screwed. As much as he’d like to stay here with Bruce, the longer he sticks around the more likely it is that Bruce will figure him out if he hasn’t already. That would completely destroy the entire plan.

What is the plan though?

He freezes at that thought. God, everything got so complicated, so quickly.

It was such a simple plan before. Save his family by killing the Joker, then just cut the loose end that is him and be done with it. Now he’s already changed the future beyond repair and yet… there’s more he could do. More he should do. The choices he has to make now are far from easy. He could use Bruce to get back to Gotham. Kill Joker when he comes back.

But that would limit his mobility. Once Joker’s dead, he’ll have too little time to spare before Bruce or Clark catches up to him, when that happens it’s over. There would never be enough time or money for Tim to find a way out of Gotham.

No. It’s better if he stays here. As much as he hates it, this is the best way. Tim looks up at Bruce who came out of the tent a few minutes ago. Standing there, staring at the entrance to the tent, worry written across his face. He deserves to see his kids grow up and be happy. All of them. There’s no salvaging this timeline now anyway. Might as well go big or go home, right?

Tim sighs and scrubs at his face with one hand. Great. What’s the plan for that then? Fuck. Everything sucks. And it sucks twice as much as a large shadow falls over him. Goddammit, Bruce.

“Who are you?” Bruce is breaking out his best intimidating voice, but it’s pretty clear he’s just using this interrogation as a way to distract himself from Jason’s condition.

Unfortunately, Tim’s not going to be much help in that regard. He leans back against the jeep door and looks up at Bruce. “My name’s Alvin.”

“That’s not what I asked,” Bruce growls.

“I know.” Tim says, with a quiet laugh.

The look of pure bewilderment on Bruce’s face when ‘Alvin’ utterly fails to be cowed by the Batman is brilliant. Tim – No, not Tim, he’s Alvin now. Gotta stick to that. – wishes he could record it and send it to Jason. His Jason, who would’ve laughed until he fell off a rooftop over something like this.

Alvin shakes away the pain from that loss as it starts creeping back into his chest. This isn’t the time for a breakdown. Save it for later.

Bruce switches tactics. “You’re… you’re not one of Joker’s men. Why were you in that warehouse?”

“You think I’m not one of Joker’s men.” Alvin crosses his arms. Fuck, how does he get out of this. “I might be.”

There’s little hesitation in Bruce’s voice as he says, “You never would have saved Robin.”

Alvin sighs, letting his exhaustion bleed into his voice. “God, I don’t have time for this.”

“Make time.”

That deserves a laugh, and yeah maybe it comes out just barely this side of hysterical. “You know, I really wish I could, but I’ve got just so much to do and you… You have a little bird to look after. Don’t you? That’s pretty important.”

Bruce sets his jaw, but it’s not going to work this time.

Shoving himself away from the jeep, Alvin sticks his hands into the pockets of Jason’s… the jacket. “Tell the kid I hope he gets well soon. Batman’s kinda crap without a Robin, just for the record.”

“Where do you--” Bruce is interrupted as Sheila steps out of the tent.

Alvin seizes the opportunity, moving away from the jeep and into the shadows of the nearby tents. Hiding behind a stack of boxes and bags, listening from a distance.

“He’ll be okay.” Sheila says, looking distant, guilty. “His injuries weren’t nearly as bad as I was afraid of.”

Bruce looks like he might cry with the relief. “Thank god.”

“It’s a relief for certain.” Sheila looks back at the tent. “It might still be a long time before he’s fully healed though.”

“He…” Suddenly Bruce goes very still as though he just realized something that’s leaving a sour taste in his mouth. “I’m… I’m sure he’ll have a very attentive doctor.”

Sheila doesn’t answer, her shoulders trembling ever so slightly. Alvin can already tell what she’s thinking, but Bruce isn’t looking at her anymore. He’s staring down at the ground. Finally Sheila starts to say something before pausing, looking past Bruce towards the jeep. “Wait… wasn’t he just here?

Turning around quick, Bruce stares at the empty space where Alvin had been. “What in the…”

Alvin’s kinda glad he stuck around long enough to see that, but he needs to go now. He doesn’t have time to stick around and get interrogated by Bruce again. He creeps away around the back corner of the tent and strikes out into the desert, heading for civilization. It’s time to prepare for phase two of his new, sorta impromptu plan. If he’s going to survive this next stretch and get what he wants he needs to approach it with extreme caution.

Ra’s and Talia are not easy opponents.

Damn. The next few months are going to be hell on Earth.

.

Bruce lingers in the corner of the tent where Jason is sleeping, his life no longer in danger. It’ll take some time for him to heal completely though. Bruce can’t help but be concerned about all the work that will go into his recovery, even as he thinks about that though he realizes that… it’s no longer his place to worry about that.

He watches, warily, as Sheila takes Jason’s vitals, professionally, her face betraying none of her thoughts. Whatever’s on her mind, Bruce has a feeling he’s not going to like it when she finally speaks. He can only imagine. She knows now. She knows her son is Robin. How will she react to that? Will she expose their identities? Will she demand something for her silence? What kind of person… what kind of mother is she really?

“He needs a hospital if he’s going to recover quicker.” She sighs, suddenly, startling him. “We’re lucky though. It could’ve been… so much worse.”

He feels like there’s something left unspoken there. As though she blames herself. Bruce can’t really say she shouldn’t, he still hasn’t heard the entire story. “I can arrange for a good hospital… the best.”

“Yeah… yeah, I guess you can. You should take him back to Gotham as soon as possible. Gotham needs Batman. The world needs Batman.” She give him a sad smile. “And so does he.”

Bruce frowns. “Dr Haywood, I--”

“It’s horrible, right? How desperation makes demons of us?” Sheila stares down at Jason, stroking the side of his face gently. “That’s all I am now… a demon of my own making. Look what I did to a boy who’s only ever tried to help me. And he still tried to save me…”

“Sheila.”

She shakes her head and turns to him, speaking with more conviction. “Tell him I lied. Tell him… I’m not his mother. I was just using him. Please.”

For a long moment Bruce lets the quiet rest between them. “And what will you do?”

“I’ll…” She shrugs, helplessly. “I’m going to stay here… work with the refugees… for real this time. I have a lot I need to atone for. More than I ever had before. Maybe the Joker will think I’m dead and finally leave me alone.”

Bruce speaks carefully. “If he doesn’t?”

She closes her eyes. “Then I’ll get what I deserve, won’t I? It’s not like I could do any more damage for him anyway. If he finds out I’m alive, he’ll just come to finish the job. All I can do is hope that won’t happen… But Jason deserves better. So much better than me. Batman… Mr Wayne, I’m asking you, please, take him home to Gotham a-and tell him that all I’ve ever been is a liar.”

“He won’t just accept that.” Bruce tells her. As much as he wants this – wants to just take Jason home, no strings attached – he owes it to Jason to try.

Sheila leans back against an empty cot, dragging a hand down her face. “I know. I’m sorry. I’m asking a lot of you, but after what I did… I-I can’t bear to face him. This… this is for the best.”

“I can’t change your mind?” Bruce tries one last time.

“Go.” She insists softly. “And don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me. I won’t tell anyone. Even if I did, I doubt they’d believe me.”

Bruce hesitates a moment longer, then taps a button on his gauntlet to summon the jet. Carefully he gathers Jason up into his arms and carries him outside. Sheila follows, shielding her face from the sun and wind as the jet lands, and watching blankly as Bruce secures Jason in the back.

After everything’s settled, Bruce turns back to her. “That boy who rescued you, do you have any idea who he is?”

“No.” She pauses for a moment, thinking. “It’s… it’s so strange. I could have sworn there was no one else in the warehouse when Joker locked us in. That young man just appeared from nowhere. And he knew Jason’s name from the start, I swear I didn’t tell him.”

“I believe you.” As disturbing as it is, Bruce knows she’s telling the truth. No one gave Alvin Batman and Robin’s identities. He shakes off the unease and glances back at Jason before he speaks again. “Thank you… for helping save Jason.”

Her smile is half-hearted as she answers. “Don’t thank me. Just take care of him.”

“I will.”

.

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[morningstarascending]

Life No Longer Silenced - Part 6

I wake up in the hospital only to discovered I have been ran over. I have 24 hours of memories from that day missing. Problem was, a car theif stole a car and I was ran over. Doctors told me I have two severe brain concussions ( front left lobe and back right lobe), pinched and damaged nerves and, a possibility of paralysis. I looked at the doctor calmly and that freaked them out, since I was a pain before. I wanted to take care of myself and go to the bathroom myself. So I was awake and stubborn about taking care of myself, yet I remember nothing. Even my subconcious a bad habits. Though I can;t remeber the episodes or movies on a lot of shows or movies I seen, so it fun to watch it like it was the first time again. Sometimes, some flashes sneak in, better that than negative memories. Finally I come back home and ask to work and only do office work, no stocking or heavy lifting. That didn't last long, he became even more demanding to help remove house tenants, belongs, collect rents checks and, maintenance on a/c units. Stress on me and wear and tear on my car was getting to be way too much. I needed a pay raise and asked for one. I get a possition demotion with a pay decrease and firing for nearly a year in advance. You can re read that, that is true. So in the mean time I tried these stuppid app jobs while working at that gas station. First it was postmates and taht was so horrible. Hardly any orders, pay was so bad and no one really tipped at all. In two weeks I only made 24 bucks and stoked doing that. They I did Lyft, it was also bad. There were too many drivers in an area and then also no one really wanted to tip. After a few months I found out you can only make a living on this in a major city. I found a job at a private liquor store and quit the gas station but kept doing Lyft. Sadly I ended up doing Lyft as a side hustle when my account kept ketting hacked, cars put on there, money taken. Lyft's software security sucks, so I had to contact them to deactivate my account. They didn't even understand that. They kept asking if I wanted to delete it, faq said it can only be deactivated. I have lost faith in the intelligence of humanity and many have been warned about it deteriorating. THis guy was a new owner to the business, kept rude and toxic employees and had a revolving door for more toxic employees. He would never hire enough and expect people to work so many hours for so little pay but was always a couple more dollars than most till the pandemic hit. In the begining it was ok and not too bad, just working till 10 and getting to bed at midnight. As usual I awlways show up to work on time, follow company policy and, constantly keeping the shelfs full. Well he buys another store making it 3 of them and asks me to become manager. Yet again, trust and being promoted quickly, I hate it. It cause animosity in the work place, especially others that want it that have been there longer. It made me alienated but I remained friendly and did my best. Since I was manager I had full access to the system. So I got to work in improving inventory, profits and, stock. I ended up doing so much physical and mental work. I cut inventory down to what sold the most, made it more so easily accessable for stock and sales and, improve profits. All three stores bounces around 23% and 25%. After looking at prices at major and local stores, going through the system (correcting all the numbers; stock, margins, inventory, case sizes. ect...) I had it up to a constant 26% a month. As usually a revolving door of employees but not raising pay during the pandemic caused them to lose employeess and forcing to work at all three stores. Two pretty far apart in one city and the other in another city entirely. Me being promoted, one manager left and other was just lazy and was fired. He promoted a gun loving racist that scared that shit out of me, especially always on drugs. The third manager position kept changing and more toxic employees come in. I finally get the margin at a steady 30% / 31% a month and a usually average is 25 percent.